#how do i draw deeper still’s cloak help

[thewandererh]

some old-ish @daszombes fanart from before spring break!!! was jamming to the razzmatazz IDKHBTFM album in school after watching a stream of his the evening before :]!! this is fanart of that steam haha. att might perhaps be das’ favorite il character but who knows

but!! first time drawing deeper still in a year(wow) and first time drawing att ever💔. but!! enjoy the sillies, i loved drawing them :]. had to look up deeper still on google during school so thats on my history now

ft. chonny jash💥💥

[jetii]

Roy. My love. Bestie.

I saw a tag that there was Obi Wan smut in Event Horizon but you deleted it cause it wasn’t relevant to the plot

…*deep inhale*

Can we get

Perhaps

If you’re willing

Maybe

Please?

A deleted scenes bit? 👀👀

Ahh okay so I was hesitant to post this bc I didn't want to give the wrong impression about their relationship and my planned end game. I went back and edited a few things, clarified some other things a few days ago. Decided to post this now as a treat since neither Obi-Wan or Rex appear in this week's chapter. 💙

Even though I ultimately decided to leave this chapter out, it is "canon" and takes place between chapters five and six.

Event Horizon

Interlude: Remember to Lock the Door

Words: 6,189

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! angst, friends with benefits, Force bonds, smut, masturbation, rough sex, cum play, inappropriate use of the Force?, i would not call this a healthy relationship

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It's been months since the fight, and you and Obi-Wan have never been closer. The bond between you has strengthened, and the trust has returned, the years of resentment and pain fading away day by day.

The two of you have worked through the issues that led to the rift between you and have rebuilt the relationship into something new, something deeper and stronger than it was before. You've been meditating more, trying to find balance, and while it's not easy, you're slowly learning to control the tumultuous emotions that have plagued you.

And, perhaps most importantly, the two of you have finally made amends.

As the months go by, you spend more and more time together, and it feels like no time has passed at all. You spar, and talk, and laugh, and it's almost as if the last few years never happened. On the battlefield, you move as one, the bond between you allowing you to anticipate and react to each other's movements without a second thought.

There's still a part of you that resents the Council for not believing you, for your fellow Jedi for turning their backs on you, but Obi-Wan has been there for you, helping you to process the emotions and come to terms with the pain and loss. And while it's not easy, you're working on it, one day at a time.

You still have nightmares, and the anger is never far from the surface, but you're learning to deal with them and channel the negative emotions into something productive. It's what you're attempting to do now as you sit in your quarters, your eyes closed and your mind focused on the Force.

You can feel the darkness within you, the rage and the hatred, and you're trying to find a way to balance them with the light, to bring the two into harmony. You've been at it for hours, and while the progress is slow, you can feel yourself getting closer. It's exhausting work, and you're starting to flag, but you press on, determined to make some progress.

Just as you're about to give up, there's a knock at your door. You groan, annoyed, but rise to your feet and make your way to the entrance. As soon as you draw nearer, you feel a rush of familiar energy, and a smile spreads across your face.

You open the door, and Obi-Wan's blue eyes sparkle with mischief, a hint of a smirk playing at his lips.

"You didn't tell me you were back," you say by way of greeting, your tone light.

Obi-Wan shrugs, the movement exaggerated, and his voice is dripping with sarcasm when he dips his head toward you.

"Well, I wanted to surprise you," he teases. "Since you've been so busy with...what, exactly?"

He gestures at the room behind you, and you blush, realizing how much of a mess it is. There are sheets of flimsi and holopads strewn about, and your cloak is crumpled in the corner, your boots lying haphazardly by the door. You look up at him, and the laughter bubbles inside you, the frustration and exhaustion melting away.

"Oh, stop it," you say, and Obi-Wan chuckles. "You know I've been working."

"Yes, I can see that," he replies. "Working yourself to death, apparently."

You roll your eyes, but the smile stays on your lips. You're glad he's here, glad he's teasing you, and it's a welcome distraction from the heaviness that's been weighing on you.

"Something like that," you admit. "How was Christophsis?"

"You'll be pleased to know we won," Obi-Wan says dryly. He casts a look down either side of the long hallway, then, finding no one, he leans against the doorway and crosses his arms. The pose is casual, relaxed, and he gives you a crooked grin. "But I didn't come here to discuss strategy."

"Ah." You smirk, mirroring his pose, and raise an eyebrow. "What, then, brought you to my door at such a late hour, Master Kenobi?"

He huffs a laugh. "I think you already know the answer to that."

"Perhaps. But I think I'd like to hear you say it," you tease, a playful glint in your eye.

"Very well." 

He sighs, feigning exasperation, but the corners of his mouth turn up into a smile. Obi-Wan steps forward, close enough to reach out and tuck your hair behind your ear. His hand lingers on the side of your face, and he lets the back of his fingers trace a gentle path down your neck. 

"I missed you, and I wanted to see you,” he murmurs.

"That's sweet," you murmur. Your gaze flickers up to meet his, and you take hold of the front of his tunic, tugging him through the door. "Now get in here. We can't have your fellow Council members seeing you visiting me at this hour. They'll start to think I'm corrupting their precious poster boy."

Obi-Wan snorts, his eyes rolling, but he follows you inside without protest, the door sliding shut behind him. He engages the lock, just in case, and turns back to you, finding you standing a few feet away wearing a coy smile.

"I did miss you, you know," Obi-Wan admits, walking towards you. He slides his robes off his shoulders, letting them fall to the floor in a puddle. "Very much, actually. We could've used your expertise. There were times when Anakin's tactics were..." He waves a hand, searching for the right word. "Unconventional, at best."

"So, the usual, then?"

"The usual," he confirms.

His eyes trail over your form, and his expression softens. You know the circles under your eyes must be dark, the fatigue etched into the lines of your face. He reaches out, running his fingers down your arm.

"You've been overworking yourself again, haven't you?" he asks, his voice gentle.

"I suppose," you shrug. "But I've made some progress. I think I'm getting better."

Obi-Wan nods, and the concern in his eyes is touching. "I'm glad to hear that."

You nod, and his fingers trace back up your arm, over your shoulder, and to your face, tilting your chin up. He searches your eyes, his gaze lingering on the shadows beneath.

"Are you sleeping?"

You shrug again, not meeting his eyes. "Sometimes. Not as much as I should."

"And eating?"

"Obi-Wan," you say, rolling your eyes. "I'm fine. I promise."

He frowns, but doesn't push the issue. Instead, he leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead.

"If you say so," he says, pulling back. He glances around the room, taking in the chaos, and shakes his head. "Do you think you could possibly clear some space? If I recall, there are a few chairs in here somewhere, though I'll admit it's hard to tell."

"Hilarious," you deadpan. You step forward and wrap your arms around his neck, pressing yourself against him. "But I have a better idea."

Obi-Wan smiles, and his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you closer.

"I'm listening," he says.

"Well, since I haven't seen you in weeks," you say, trailing a hand down his chest. "I think we should skip the pleasantries and just go straight to the good stuff."

"That sounds like a plan," Obi-Wan murmurs. His lips are only a hair's breadth from yours, his breath warm on your skin. "And just what might that entail, exactly?"

"Oh, you know." Your hand travels lower, sliding down his abdomen. "I was thinking a bit of this." You grab the hem of his tunic, tugging it upward. "A bit of that."

"I'm listening," he repeats, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

You slide his tunic over his head, exposing his muscled torso. Your fingers roam across his smooth skin, and his breath hitches, his eyes closing. He leans into your touch, and his lips ghost along your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

"I'm going to need a little more information," Obi-Wan murmurs against the shell of your ear.

You tilt your head, offering him better access. Your hands move down his stomach, slipping into the waistband of his trousers. You grin when he sucks in a breath, and your fingers brush his growing arousal, eliciting a soft groan.

"Is that what you had in mind?" you whisper, your voice husky.

"Not quite." Obi-Wan's eyes crack open, and they're hooded with desire. He presses a kiss to the spot behind your ear, his lips trailing down the side of your neck. "Keep going."

You chuckle, and your grip on him tightens, eliciting another gasp. You run your thumb over the tip of his length, and he shudders, his hips bucking.

"More," he says, his voice strained.

"You want me to keep talking?"

"No, no," he groans, his teeth grazing your pulse point. "I want you to show me."

You pull your hands out of his pants, and he sighs at the loss. You turn your back to him and move toward the bed, pulling your own shirt over your head. Your breasts are bared to the cool air, and the sound of his sharp intake of breath makes you smirk.

You look over your shoulder, and his eyes are dark with desire, his gaze roaming over your exposed skin.

"What, no quips this time?" you ask, feigning innocence.

"I'm afraid not," Obi-Wan murmurs.  "I think I'll leave the talking to you."

You chuckle, and begin unbuttoning your trousers, swaying your hips a bit more than necessary. You kick the fabric off and then turn around, your fingers trailing over the curve of your breast. Obi-Wan's eyes follow the movement, his pupils dilated, and his tongue darts out, wetting his lips.

“Are you going to join me, or are you just going to stand there and watch?"

Obi-Wan takes a moment to drink in the sight of you, his gaze roaming over every inch of exposed skin.

“I rather like the view from here, actually."

You scoff and turn away, feigning annoyance. As soon as you're sure he can't see, you let a mischievous grin spread across your lips. You slide your hands over your stomach, dipping into the waistband of your underwear, and slide them down your thighs. You glance over your shoulder, and his gaze is fixed on your exposed skin, his cheeks flushed, and his mouth slightly agape.

"Then enjoy it,” you tease, bending over and sliding your underwear off.

He groans, and the sound sends a shiver of anticipation through you. You lie back on the bed, propping yourself up on your elbows, and spread your legs. Without breaking eye contact, you let your fingers wander down, slipping between the slick folds.

You moan as your finger circles your clit, the pleasure coiling inside you. Obi-Wan swallows, his gaze fixed on your hand, and he starts to undo his pants. You can't help the smug grin that spreads across your lips, and you pick up the pace, your breath coming in short gasps.

"This is what you want to see, isn't it?" you ask, arching your back and pushing two fingers inside yourself.

Obi-Wan is struggling to undress, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of his trousers. His gaze darts between you and the task at hand, and you can see the frustration building, his patience wearing thin.

"Stop that," he growls.

"Why? Am I distracting you?"

"Yes."

He finally manages to free himself, and his erection springs free, hard and flushed with blood. He steps forward, kicking his boots off, and moves towards the bed. You bite back a moan, the sight of him, bare and ready, making your heart race.

Obi-Wan crawls onto the bed, his eyes locked with yours. You feel the anticipation building, the pressure coiling low in your stomach, and you can’t help but grind your hips down, trying to relieve the ache.

His hand wraps around your wrist, pulling your fingers out, and the whimper that escapes you makes him grin. He pins your arm to the bed, his other hand gripping your thigh.

"I thought I told you to stop that," he murmurs.

"You did." You smirk, your free hand tracing up his stomach. "I didn't listen."

Obi-Wan huffs, and his grip on your thigh tightens, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. He moves between your legs, and his erection brushes against your entrance, the head teasing you. You let out a soft moan, and your hips rock forward, desperate for more.

He chuckles, and he moves closer, his lips ghosting over yours. He doesn’t kiss you though, a boundary the two of you agreed on years ago. One of the few things the two of you didn't share, even back then.

"You're insufferable," he breathes, the words a whisper against your skin.

"And yet, you're here," you murmur.

He groans, and his eyes flutter closed, his nose brushing against yours.

"Corruption, indeed."

You laugh, and the sound seems to break the last of his restraint. He thrusts inside you in one smooth stroke, burying himself to the hilt. The sudden intrusion, the sudden stretch, makes you gasp, and the pleasure washes over you, the heat of his body sending sparks flying.

"Fuck, Obi-Wan," you pant, your eyes squeezing shut.

"What was that?" He pauses, waiting for you to open your eyes. "I'm sorry, did you have something to say?"

"No," you say, shaking your head.

"Are you sure?" he teases, and his lips brush the corner of your mouth.

"Just fuck me, please," you whine, trying to roll your hips, desperate for more. He doesn't let you, though, his grip on your leg keeping you in place.

He chuckles, and pulls back, just enough for the tip to catch on the edge of your entrance. The anticipation is driving you crazy, the aching emptiness making you groan. You open your eyes, and his gaze locks with yours, his expression playful, and teasing.

"Obi-Wan, please.”

He doesn't respond, his gaze still fixed on yours, and you're about to beg him again when he finally thrusts forward, filling you completely in one swift motion. The force of his movement rocks the bed, the metal frame squeaking in protest, and your body arches, the pleasure overwhelming.

"Like that?" he asks, a self-satisfied smirk spreading across his lips despite the innocence of his tone.

"Don't be smug," you breathe.

"Me? Never."

You scoff, and the sound dissolves into a groan as he rolls his hips, the angle sending stars across your vision.

Obi-Wan begins moving in earnest, setting a slow, familiar pace. His hands move to your waist, holding you steady, and his grip is strong, his fingers digging into the soft skin of your hips. He moves inside you, his movements languid and deliberate, each thrust drawing out a soft gasp.

The pleasure builds, slowly, and steadily, and the heat in the room rises, the sweat starting to bead on your skin. You can feel your bond with him, the connection between you humming and singing, the emotions and sensations flowing between the two of you in an endless loop.

It's a connection you've both been wary of, one that can be dangerous if allowed to spiral, but one you can't help but give into, to revel in.

The tangled threads of emotion are difficult to separate, the love and the lust, the friendship and the desire, the anger and the pain, all of it swirling together, creating a heady mix of sensations. You can feel Obi-Wan's arousal, and his affection, his concern and his desire, and it only fuels your own, the emotions spurring each other on. 

You're both drowning in the intensity of the feedback loop, the connection amplifying everything, and you can't bring yourself to care, to even try and stop.

His thoughts and feelings are intertwined with yours, and you're not sure where one ends and the other begins. The lines are blurred beyond recognition, the barriers between you stripped away. It's all too easy to lose yourself in it, to allow yourself to seek out the lightness of his heart and make yourself at home.

You're drawn to it like a moth to a flame, and you let yourself go. You let yourself consume the happiness and the joy that he feels, the comfort and the pleasure, and you allow it to fill the aching void in your chest. The darkness is pushed back, the shadows chased away, and the light that fills the hollow places inside you is warm and sweet.

It's the happiest you've been in months.

"What are you doing?" Obi-Wan pants, his voice a hoarse whisper.

"I don't know," you breathe, your fingers digging into his shoulders. "Just, please, keep going."

He nods, and he thrusts deeper, the pleasure rippling through the two of you. The sensation is intoxicating, and you find yourself clinging to it, the euphoria making your head spin. You can't help but reach out and search for more, the need to drown the pain and the grief, to silence the voices, driving you to chase the feeling.

It's dangerous, you know. It’s more than you’ve ever allowed yourself to take, but you're so lost in the sensation that you can't bring yourself to care. It's too much, too good, and you're desperate to hold on, to cling to the feeling of safety and peace that flows through the two of you.

You want to drown in the light, the hope and the warmth, and never resurface.

And so, you continue to take, and take, and take, until, with a sudden jolt, it's over.

The sudden absence of his energy, the cold shock of the emptiness, makes you gasp, and your eyes snap open. You’re met with Obi-Wan's concerned gaze, his eyes wide and frantic, and it takes you a moment to realize what's happened.

"Sorry," he breathes, his brow furrowed. His eyes search your face, and he swallows. "That was...intense."

You swallow, the guilt gnawing at your gut, and you nod, trying to calm your racing heart.

"Yeah," you murmur, your voice raspy as the shame threatens to make your throat close up. "Obi-Wan--"

"Shh, it's okay," he murmurs, his hand coming up to cup the side of your face. His thumb traces along the line of your jaw, and his touch is gentle, comforting. He leans down and presses his forehead against yours, his hair tickling your face. "It's okay."

You watch his eyes squeeze shut, his brows drawing together. He's trying to regain control, to rein in the emotions and the sensations that have gotten the better of him. Obi-Wan takes a deep breath, and his grip on your waist tightens.

The bond between the two of you has always been there, ever since the moment you'd met, and over the years it's only grown stronger. It was inevitable, really, with the amount of time the two of you spent together.

It's a natural, unconscious, and unavoidable process, and the fact that you can sense each other's emotions is not something the two of you can change. It's just part of who you both are, and while it's not a burden, not in any way, it is something that requires a delicate balance.

One that is easily lost.

And this, this is exactly why the Jedi forbid such attachments. Why the rules were created, why the lines were drawn, and why the two of you, no matter how much you care about each other, can never be more than this. The bond between the two of you is a double-edged sword, the connection amplifying both the good and the bad. It can bring the two of you together, closer than any two people could possibly be, or it can tear you completely asunder. 

And you know, just as you've always known, that if such a thing would ever come to pass, it would be your fault.

Obi-Wan's grip on your waist loosens, and the tension drains out of him, the momentary lapse forgotten. His eyes open, and he searches yours, his expression soft. He smiles, the warmth of it spreading through you, soothing the anxiety.

"Still with me?" he asks, his voice gentle.

"Yes," you breathe.

His gaze drops, and his eyes lock on the place where your bodies are joined. He lets out a quiet noise at the sight of your arousal coating the base of his cock, the wetness dripping down his length. His softening erection hardens again, and his hips twitch, the need to move returning.

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down, pressing your chest against his. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him as his body shields yours from the outside world.

You're enveloped in his warmth, and you revel in the closeness, the intimacy. The pleasure sparks to life with each shift of his hips, and the two of you begin to move, slowly at first, then with more urgency, the rhythm picking up speed until the pace is frantic.

Your lips find his neck, and you begin to trail kisses up his jaw, the stubble rough against your lips. You nip at the sensitive spot just below his ear, and the moan that escapes him sends a shiver down your spine. His arms wrap around your waist, and he pulls you impossibly closer, his hips thrusting erratically. The pleasure builds, and the pressure in your abdomen grows, the release just out of reach.

Obi-Wan's grip on you tightens, and he buries his face in your neck, his lips tracing a path along your shoulder. His teeth graze your collarbone, and you can't help but tilt your head, exposing the sensitive skin to his wandering mouth. He takes the invitation, and his lips close over the soft flesh, his teeth biting down gently.

Your mind goes blank as the pressure inside you suddenly snaps, the pleasure flooding through you, washing over you in a wave. Your entire body tenses, and a low, keening moan escapes you, the sound echoing in the room. Your back arches, and you can't help the way your hips buck, grinding down against him, seeking out every last drop of the overwhelming sensations.

Obi-Wan lets out a groan at the feeling of your walls fluttering, and he rears back, his head snapping up, his eyes wild. He searches your face, his gaze darting across your features, as if trying to memorize every detail.

"I—" He swallows, his expression almost reverent, as if he can't quite believe what he's seeing. "I need—"

He cuts himself off, and his words are lost, his voice trailing off. You watch, transfixed, as he tries to get his breathing under control, his chest heaving with the effort. His eyes drift back to the spot where the two of you are joined, and he watches as his length disappears inside you, his breath hitching at the sight.

He's always loved this, watching the two of you come together, and he's not ashamed to admit it. Obi-Wan's not shy about what he wants, and he's never had a problem asking, not when it comes to this. He likes to watch, and he's never hesitated to tell you so, and as always, the words are on the tip of his tongue.

But he's distracted, and his gaze is unfocused, and hazy. He's lost in the sensation, and you can't help but marvel at the way his eyes widen as if the sight of the two of you together is somehow brand new, as if he's never seen anything like it.

"Obi-Wan," you whine, trying to get his attention.

"What?" he mumbles, his eyes glued to the spot where your bodies meet.

"Obi-Wan."

"Hmm?" He blinks, his gaze flickering up to yours. He looks like he's trying to remember how to speak, his lips parted, and his eyes unfocused. "Yes?"

"What do you want?"

His swallows hard, and his hips stutter. His expression turns pained, and he squeezes his eyes shut, his hands gripping the sheets so tightly his knuckles turn white.

He shakes his head, his breath coming in short gasps. "I can't—"

"Obi-Wan."

"Please," he moans, his voice a strangled whisper, and his hips slam into yours, the force of his movement making you cry out. "I can't."

You wrap your legs around his waist, your ankles locking behind him, and he whimpers at the sudden tightness, the increased pressure. His arms are trembling, and you can feel the tension in his muscles, the strain of holding back.

"Then don't," you murmur.

You can see the conflict on his face, and his jaw clenches, his lips pressed into a thin line. His eyes flutter closed, and he lets out a soft groan, his head dropping forward, his forehead coming to rest on yours.

"But—"

"Obi-Wan, please."

You reach up, and your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. He leans into your touch, and the contact seems to break the last of his resolve, his restraint shattering. He's still for a moment, as if the weight of what he's about to do is sinking in.

Then, his hips move faster, the slow, languid thrusts quickly giving way to something more primal, and frantic. You can feel the pleasure building inside him, and his thoughts, and emotions, bleed through the connection, his desire spilling over into you.

"I've got you," you murmur, and the words seem to shatter the last of his composure, the final pieces of his carefully crafted control slipping away.

He groans, the sound raw and desperate, and his hips slam into yours. You can feel the pleasure building, the tension growing, and his thrusts grow more erratic, the pace becoming frantic.

He's consumed by the feeling, and he's unable, or unwilling, to hide the way his mind is spiraling. The bond between the two of you is wide open, and his mind is an ocean, his emotions swelling and breaking against the shore. The waves of arousal and lust are overwhelming, and they're crashing over you, threatening to pull you under.

The intensity of it all is too much, and you have to turn away, squeezing your eyes shut. You can't look at him, can't bear the sight of him. He's laid bare before you, completely and utterly vulnerable, and you can't handle it. You're drowning in it, and it's all you can do to cling to him, to keep your head above water as Obi-Wan loses himself.

His hands find your thighs, and he holds them, lifting you up, and positioning you how he wants. The movement pushes him deeper, and the angle makes him hit that sweet spot, and you gasp, your eyes flying open.

"Please, I—"

"Not yet," he groans, his voice raw. "Wait, not yet."

"I—oh fuck, please," you gasp.

He doesn't respond, his body acting on instinct. His mind is a haze, and the need to be as close to you as possible, to give you everything, consumes him.

He wants to lose himself, and he's begging you to let him, and there's no way you can deny him. Tears spring to your eyes, and you can't stop the sob that escapes you.

And he doesn't care, doesn't even notice. He's blind to it, his senses too full of his own pleasure, his own need, to feel anything else. He doesn't even hear the words, the soft pleas, the whispered prayers that tumble from your lips. All he knows is that you're there, that you're with him, and he's holding you, touching you, inside you, and he wants, he needs, so badly.

And he takes.

He takes and takes, and you let him. You let him use you, and you bask in the sensation, in the knowledge that, at least for a few moments, you can be there for him.

You can be the light, and he can be the shadow.

And for those few moments, it's enough.

With a choked gasp, Obi-Wan pulls out, and you're left empty and wanting, biting your lip to stop from screaming at the loss. Through half-lidded eyes, you see him reach down, his fist closing around his erection, pumping it roughly, and then he's coming, his release coating your stomach, his cock pulsing as the pleasure floods through him. He moans through it, the sound muffled by the arm he throws across his mouth, and his face is twisted with pleasure, his brows drawn together.

The feeling of his pleasure crashes into you through the bond, and the sight of him losing himself, the look on his face and the sounds he makes, is enough to send you over the edge. You feel your walls flutter and clench around nothing, the emptiness only heightening the pleasure. Your body trembles, and your hands grasp at the sheets, searching for something, anything, to hold on to.

Obi-Wan watches in awe as your orgasm ripples through you, his eyes wide and his mouth agape as his arm falls away. You can feel his shock and wonder through the bond, his amazement at the sight of you coming untouched, and his hand doesn't stop until the last drop has spilled onto your stomach.

You're left breathless and boneless, your body trembling with the aftershocks, and you can't help the smile that spreads across your lips. The pleasure, the satisfaction, and the joy is radiating from him, and it's contagious. It's hard not to laugh, and harder still not to cry, and you're not sure what you'd do if not for the fact that you're both so utterly, completely spent.

Obi-Wan looks down at the mess, and chuckles, a hint of embarrassment in his voice. "That was..." he trails off, his brain unable to come up with a coherent thought.

You nod, and let out a weak laugh, the sound more like a sigh. "I know."

"And I didn't even—"

"I know.”

Obi-Wan chuckles, and the sound is warm and light, his happiness spreading through the room. He runs a hand through his sweat-soaked hair, his eyes sparkling, and there's a shy grin plastered on his face.

"My apologies," he says, his tone sheepish. "I don't know what came over me."

"That makes one of us," you tease.

He snorts, his cheeks heating, and he falls to the side, rolling over on his back next to you. The two of you sit in silence for a few moments, trying to catch your breath, your shoulders brushing with each exhale.

You grin and nudge his arm. "Welcome back, by the way."

"I'm glad to be back," he replies, rolling onto his side to face you. He traces a lazy pattern across your skin, smirking when the muscles in your stomach flinch. "Though if this is the welcome I get, maybe I should stay away more often."

"Don't you dare," you warn, laughing.

Obi-Wan grins, and the look in his eyes is soft, the affection bleeding through the bond as his fingers trace along the curve of your hip. He watches you, his gaze lingering on your face, and there's a look in his eyes, a vulnerability that he rarely allows himself to show.

You feel a sudden wave of emotion, a mixture of love and regret, and the force of it steals your breath.

He shouldn't be looking at you like that, like you're his entire world, because you're not. You're his best friend, his confidant, his equal, but you're not his lover. And you're certainly not his soulmate, or his other half, or whatever the hell it is people call the person they're meant to be with.

He shouldn't be looking at you, and it makes the guilt gnaw at your gut, a reminder of what the two of you are doing, and what the two of you have done, over and over again. Because, as good as it feels, as much as it eases the pain, you can't pretend that it's not a mistake.

The Jedi are forbidden to love, and for good reason. Love is dangerous, and complicated, and it's the kind of attachment that leads to the Dark Side. The Council knows this, and the rules are in place to protect everyone, to keep the Order strong and united.

It's for the best, and it's necessary, and yet here the two of you are, breaking those rules. And for what? For some fleeting moments of pleasure, and a bit of fun? For some meaningless, empty physical connection, something that will never lead anywhere, and that can never last?

It's not worth it, not really. You both know that, and yet you continue to seek each other out, continuing to risk everything for the sake of a few hours of bliss. To pretend that everything is as it used to be, and that the war, and the fighting, and the dying are still a thousand worlds away.

It's foolish, and selfish, and reckless, but it's not something either of you can seem to stop. Obi-Wan has always done well at following the rules and obeying the Code, but he's also never been the most truly obedient of the Jedi. He's never been able to completely give up his attachments, and you know that his love for you is not the only one he carries. It's something the two of you share, the inability to let go of those you care about, and it's a weakness.

A weakness that, if not handled with care, could be his downfall. One that you can't help but feed into and encourage at every turn, even if it means destroying him. One that, despite your best efforts, you have come to rely on, to seek out, and to cling to.

It's a problem, and one that neither of you are able, or willing, to solve.

And so, the two of you remain in your little bubble of bliss, pretending that the universe isn't burning.

"Let's clean up and then come back to bed," you say, interrupting the silence. "There are some things I'd like to discuss with you, and I'd rather not be covered in fluids when I do so."

"Agreed."

Obi-Wan looks around, and a moment later a box of tissues flies from across the room into his hand. He helps you wipe off, and then you stand on shaky legs. You head to the fresher and clean yourself off properly, and by the time you return, he's already in bed, the blankets pulled up around his waist.

You slide in next to him, and the bed dips as he shifts closer, the warmth of his body seeping into yours. The two of you prop yourselves up on your elbows, and the position is familiar, the two of you having spent many nights discussing strategy and planning.

"What did you want to talk about?" he asks, his voice gentle.

You hesitate. You could tell him about the nightmares. You could tell him about how the fear of losing him, of losing everything, is weighing heavy on your heart. You could tell him about how you can't sleep, can't focus, because all you can think about is how everything is falling apart, how the darkness is winning, how there's nothing you can do to stop it.

You could tell him, and he would listen. He would hold you, and he would comfort you, and he would offer his own advice. He would tell you that it's okay, and that everything will be fine, and that the nightmares are not real, and that he is not going anywhere. He would tell you that the darkness cannot win, and that the Republic will prevail, and that everything will work out.

He would tell you what you want to hear, and he would do it because he loves you, and because he wants to believe it, too.

But you don't. You can't bring yourself to, not yet. Not while he's looking at you like that, his gaze full of warmth and fondness and trust. Not when things are finally starting to get better, not when the two of you are finally getting somewhere. 

Obi-Wan has enough to deal with as it is without the weight of your own anxieties, and so you push aside your doubts and fears, and you decide, for once, to follow his example and to put on a brave face.

"Everything," you reply. "Tell me about Christophsis. Tell me what happened. I want to hear everything."

Obi-Wan takes a deep breath, and you know that the stories he's about to tell you are going to be anything but pleasant. You also know that, no matter how bad they are, it will be a relief to talk about them.

You'll listen, and you'll offer what comfort you can, and you'll let him vent his frustrations and worries. And then, when it's all over, and the stories have been told, the two of you will curl up and sleep will take you. The nightmares will be held at bay, and the darkness will stay where it belongs, locked away until morning.

"Anakin's plan was insane," he begins, and you smile.

taglist: @baddest-batchers @lolwey @chocolatewastelandtriumph @hobbititties @mere-bear

@thegreatpipster @lordofthenerds97 @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @aynavaano

@ayyyy-le-simp @mali-777 @schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon

@heavenseed76 @dreamie411 @sukithebean @bimboshaggy @bunny7567

@lostqueenofegypt @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus @heidnspeak

@ghostymarni @gottalovehistory @mrcaptainrex @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay

@callsign-denmark

[lunieloon]

Max and Cal art?!?! In 2024?!?!?!

Im not gonna lie, Peeps. I forgot these two existed for a bit. BUT NOW THE BRAINROT IS TAKING HOLD AAAAAAAA

Deranged ramblings below!!

So Cal (pigman) and Max (demon) are two of my earliest characters EVER. Like, when I was still drawing with notebook paper and crayons after middle school.

They were also two of my absolute favorites ever. (So much so that they made an appearance on my wattpad back in 2015!)

This plotline is a bit outdated, though! And their designs and personalities have changed a lot since then!

Nowadays, Max is a demon with weak magical abilities. However, by human standards, his magic is incredible! So as a teenager he disguised himself as a human and lived among them as a promising mage.

Cal is a pigman. He wasn’t always one though. At one point, he was just a kid from modern times who ended up getting transported to this magical medieval world with witches and demons and all sorts of things! But he wanted to go home, and caused a lot of trouble trying to do so. He meets Max one day (in his human disguise) and begs him for help getting back home

Max agrees, and he sets off with Cal. Theh travel the land until they're 18 in search of a way for Cal to get back home.

On one of their journeys, Max is contacted by the ruler of a nearby kingdom. He's been summoned to be the royal mage for a large sum of money.

But Cal wouldn't be allowed to go with him.

Cal tells him to take the job, and that he would be fine on his own. Max does, and the two separate for years.

At some point, Cal got into a situation he couldn't talk his way out of.

He had angered a witch. A very powerful one. One that cast a spell on him to turn him into the hulking pigman he is today.

But the transformation was slow. So slow, in fact, that for weeks afterwords he thought he escaped the witch unscathed.

But then his teeth turned into tusks, his ears moved up his head, a taik grew out of his spine.

It hurt. And it didn't get easier once the transformation was over. He was a stranger in his own skin. The townspeople branded him a monster. He was chased out and into the woods.

He had to relearn how to exist in his own body. He hid out in the woods. Wandering from town-to-town in search of food.

Eventually, he decided to build his own place. Deep in the forest, he constructed a wood cabin. He learned how to farm his own crops. He spent a year living alone.

Max, on the other hand.

He had been the king's top mage for 5 years. But he was overworked, and the promise of gold was no longer worth it. His illusion spell he used to appear human took too much of his energy. His disguise was starting to slip- and he knew if the king knew he was a demon, he would be killed. But burnout waits for no one, and one day he isn't able to perform his disguise spell anymore.

He escapes the castle with all the gold he can carry before he is discovered. He ran deep into the woods. His only cover was a cloak he had kept in the back of his wardrobe for years.

The woods were unforgiving, nights cold and danger around every corner.

One day, he heard the distinct sound of a tree being chopped down. He froze. People weren't supposed to be out here.

He hid in a bush and watched a large, shadowy figure carry the tree deeper into the forest.

He followed and was surprised to see a single cabin.

The figure stepped into the sunlight. He was a pigman- and yet- Max felt something familiar when he saw him. Something that reminded him of the friend he left so long ago.

Eventually, Max finds the courage to confront him, and they're both overjoyed to meet again. Cal lets Max stay in the cottage, and once he recovers from his magical burnout, he uses his human for to buy things at the local market for both of them

It looks like their lives are finally peaceful.. until one day another misfit found his way to the cabin in the woods...

But that's lore for later!

Also: old art I used to have on my wall from when I first made them!!!

[exalted-dawn-drabbles]

How about “Hey! I may be a dumbass but I’m your dumbass!” for Alistair/Shaesa?

omg omg omg I was so happy when I got this prompt and I knew IMMEDIATELY what I wanted to do. So this is a lil scene after Alistair finds out that Shaesa had been previously engaged, and he gets a bit insecure about it cause Shaesa was his first love and finding out she had someone before him that she felt THAT SERIOUSLY about (jokes on him, it was arranged, but he didn't know that lol) sorta freaked him out. He started distancing himself from Shae but she noticed and called him out on it and so this is what happens after that :3 hope you enjoy! for @dadrunkwriting Rated G: Fluffy goodness, ~800 words

Try Again | By Exalted_Dawn

Shaesa stifled a snort into her palm, her smile curling against sword-formed calluses in a cheeky sort of way. Even so, the feeble attempt did little to hide the blossoming up-turn to her lips, or the way her eyes crinkled with joy, so the elf didn’t bother to pretend that she didn’t find this whole situation funny. “Maker, you’re such an idiot,” she chuckled, the words almost breathy as she spoke them, clouding on the brisk morning wind.

From the corner of her eye, she watched as Alistair’s face turned an even deeper shade of red (something she hadnt previously thought possible), scrunching in an adorably flustered scowl. “What? And you’ve never made a wrong assumption, hm?” he muttered, scrubbing at the back of his head. “It’s not as if you particularly liked to talk about it in the beginning, and when your father brought it up, I thought-”

Shaesa broke off with a laugh, curling in on herself. She rocked back against the Vhenadahl, using its sturdy trunk to balance against as she finally and truly succumbed to her amusement. She shook her head briskly, wiping a stray tear from her eye as she did. “What? That I’d lost the love of my life? That I’d never want to be engaged again?” She peaked up at the man standing beside her, all wrapped up in scarves and a thick-knit traveling cloak from head to toe. He really was too cute for his own good. It was hardly fair. She sighed deeply, sucking down a centering breath in an attempt to reign in at least some of her laughter, and reached over to grab his hand in hers. “Alistair. Just because I was once, doesn’t mean that I’m still spoken for. Sorta hard to be betrothed to a ghost… y’know?” 

He stared idly at their interlocked hands, fingers woven together tight, and Shaesa watched as something in him settled. His gaze grew distant, more contemplative and sullen. His head dipped in a tentative nod. So he wasn’t entirely convinced, then. 

Huffing, she turned and yanked him to face her, picking up his other hand so she held both aloft between them. She squeezed roughly, her conviction demanding. “Marry me.”

Alistair blinked. “I’m sorry- what?”

“Marry me, you dumbass,” she repeated, stern. 

“Uh-”

Shaesa frowned up at him expectantly, glaring down his baffled confusion. 

“Wait, are you serious?” Alistair asked.

“Of course I am.”

“What do you mean ‘of course you are’????” he quacked, balking. “You just ask like that? Out of the blue? With absolutely no warning or preparation?” 

Shaesa’s frown deepened a fraction. “Well I wouldn’t exactly say it was without planning, or entirely out of the blue. We were talking about it, and it’s been on my mind for some time now. I thought, if you really cared about me being engaged, then-”

Alistairs lips closed over hers, pressing and insistent. Warm, against the Denerim chill. Shaesa signed into the kiss, leaning up into him as he stooped to cup her face, drawing her closer. His thumbs brushed across her freckled cheeks in tender refrain, teasing a flush to them to match his own. 

They parted slowly, breath catching in the air between them. Shaesa could not help the silly, lopsided grin on her lips. “So I take it that’s a ‘yes’, then?”

“Absolutely not,” Alistair puffed indignantly, thunking his forehead against her own. “You don’t even have a ring- let alone flowers or proper mood lighting. I’m not some cheap date, you know. If you were going to propose, I would have liked to see some actual effort.”

“But if I did have all that stuff…?” She tried not to sound too hopeful, in case he was simply deflecting through humor. But her worries were swept away as Alistair grinned something goofy and pecked her nose with another kiss. 

“I suppooooose you’ll just have to ask me again and find out, won’t you?” He grabbed her hand again and tugged her along, back towards the direction of Shaesa’s family home. His ears were pink to their very tip, but his grip was firm and sure.

The nerves in her softened, as did her smile. She squeezed his hand back, stumbling to catch up with him. “You really are a dumbass,” she murmured, love swelling in her chest. How could he have doubted her for a second? As if she ever stood a chance against him.

“Yeah, well,” he started, not even bothering to look back at her. “I’m your dumbass now, so I guess you’re stuck with me. Afraid it's a bit too late for regrets.”

Regrets?

Never.

Never.

[dxctorstephenstrange]

“Home Again, Home Again; Jiggity-Jig”

Silence. Dust. Stagnant air.

Months of absence had led to an eerie stillness within the Sanctum Sanctorum. Had anyone dared to illegally enter, they would've found an empty space that even ghost would think twice about inhabiting.

From within the shadows spawned a widening circle of magical sparks, slicing through reality like a spinning scythe. Seconds after its appearance, Doctor Stephen Strange sprang through the glowing portal as if launched.

The sorcerer tumbled until he came to a sudden stop against a bookshelf. He groaned and cursed as he rolled to a sitting position, watching the portal seal itself.

"We did it," Strange said as the last spark of eldritch energy dissipated. He got to his feet, and the Cloak of Levitation lifted from his shoulders, floated a few feet away, and then shook violently to free itself of its dusty coating gathered from the floor.

"Now, to figure out how long we've actually been gone," Strange thought aloud before coughing and waving the cloud of dust from his face. "Thanks for that. Let's get some of these windows open and air this place out."

Thirty minutes later, magical constructs were working feverishly to clean the Sanctum while Strange and the recently-arrived Sorcerer Supreme, Wong, chatted and walked through the Sanctum to check for signs of disrepair.

"Six months? Six goddamn months!? I tracked the days in Otherworld; it had to be at least a year!"

"Time moves differently there, Strange; you know that."

"That last stretch from the Green Chapel to the Portal was rough; Le Fay's armies had the most viable paths fortified.  If it wasn't for King Oberon and his forces, I wouldn't have made it back."

"Morgan Le Fay?" Wong's eyes widened slightly at the mention of the ancient sorceress.  "That's a name I haven't heard in a while."

"Yeah..." Stephen's eyes hinted at a deeper story that he was, as yet, unwilling to tell.  "She was...strenuously intent on keeping me in Otherworld indefinitely."

"Do I even want to know how you ended up there in the first place?"

"It was...a miscalculation. I was attempting to create a multidimensional portal so we wouldn't have to rely on America's powers so much. I was certain I had the incantations down, but..."

"I should list to you the different varieties of foolish you were for trying that, but I suspect you know them by now.  We'll have to strengthen the hex field of that dimension's barriers.  More work for me and the acolytes; thanks for that," Wong sighed.

"Always happy to help," Strange remarked with a smirk.  "Missed ya, buddy."

Wong simply grunted, but he couldn't help but reveal a slight smile of acknowledgment.

"Did I miss anything interesting?"

"The Noor Bangle has been found; an 18-year-old girl in Jersey City is bonded with it."

"Naturally."

"The Avatar of Khonshu was spotted several times in London and Cairo."

"Maybe I should've just stayed in Otherworld," Strange sighed, struggling to wrap his head around the snippets of news.

"There's more," Wong said as he followed Strange into the kitchen.

"Not on an empty stomach," Strange replied with a dismissive handwave as he opened the refrigerator. "Hungry? I'm STARVING."

"No, thank you; I need to get back to Kamar-Taj to consult with the other Masters and prepare for the consequences of whatever you may have, or may not have, done in Otherworld."

"You're so trusting, Wong. Really warms my heart."

Wong grunted in exasperation before drawing open a portal to his chambers, where a woman wrapped in a fleece blanket sat, waiting for him.

"WONGERS! Oh my GOD, you were taking FOREVER! Hurry up; we gotta start Season 3 of Breaking Bad!!! I've almost eaten this whole bowl of popcorn already!"

Wong sighed, then looked at Strange with cautioning eyes.  "Not a word, Strange."

"I'm sorry, but..."Wongers"?"  Stephen repeated in a mixture of disbelief and intense amusement.

"I'm leaving now." Wong charged through the portal in a hurried pace.

"Oh! Buh-bye, sorcerer guy!" The woman called out as the portal sealed itself.

"'Wongers'. That almost makes everything worth it," Strange observed aloud.

[the-brain-cells]

Flora's Disappearance Pt. 1

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Michael, can you please be quiet for once?" asked Eliyen. Her voice sounded like she was seconds away from snapping at him. Her arms were crossed across her chest and she glared at Michael.  

"Maybe one day," Michael said. He smiled at Eliyen from the large brown couch he sat on. While it may not be the best idea to mock Eliyen when she's this annoyed, it was fun and helped relieve some of the tension. 

"For once can you listen to me?" Eliyen snapped. "I need to find out what Cordelia meant about wand less magic. I can't do that with you talking. This might be the only way for us to save Flora,". 

"Fine." Michael stood up and left the room. Probably the Inn as well to avoid her at this rate. 

Eliyen scanned the empty room. A stack of dishes were stacked on the coffee table, they haven't had time to take care of them with Flora's disappearance. Her books were set aside on the bookshelf, each marked with an iridescent glow to indicate their magical properties. She grabbed a book with a flame engraved on the dark brown leather and flipped the pages for spells that were wandless. 

A page with orange shimmering writing stood out to her, the spell was called Ingis. Drawings of small flames ranging from sparks of light to the size of forest fires decorated the page. Eliyen took a deep breath and started the cantation on the page. Seconds after small blue sparks flew from her hand landing harmlessly on the spellbook. She sighed as regardless of how big the flame was it was a step in the right direction.

The sunlight that flooded in the windows was long gone and replaced by the gentle light of the moon. Dread and concern gnawed at Eliyen's stomach. Michael had left the room hours ago and still was not back, regardless of their fights he has never been gone this long. What if he was taken by the same people who took Flora? What if they kill– She took a deep breath thinking the worst case scenario will not help. 

Grabbing her black cloak on the rack and her wand she left the room. Eliyen's steps echoed throughout the narrow hallway, the red carpet alerted her to slow down when entering the lobby. There were no signs of Michael in the lobby, concern bubbled in her stomach. 

The bitter cold winds greeted her when she opened the large oak doors. Eliyen glanced for Michael at the sets of tables and chairs around the Inn. Groups of families and couples littered the area, but Michael could not be found. 

Eliyen turned left on the trail that leads into the forest. The trees loomed over her and the leaves rustled with the wind blowing through them. Sounds from crickets, birds, and frogs greeted her deeper in the forest. The silver light from the moon guided her through the forest. 

Sounds of goblins squealing alerted her to a small clearing. Michael's sword and armor gleamed with crimson, blood from the goblins. Eliyen pulled out her wand and muttered a simple spell to release a spray of blue fire on the goblins. They squealed in agony as two of them dropped dead, their burnt skin taking on a blue shimmer. 

Michael turned and looked at her, as another goblin charged up and swiped at his arm with its claws. He grimaced in response as he slashed at the goblin, who dodged at the last second. The goblin raced up to Eliyen and snatched her wand with her fruitlessly pulling it back. With one final tug her wand slipped out of her grasp. She jumped back as the goblin started to slash at her. Pieces of her robe were shredded, nothing that could not be repaired over the course of the next few days. 

"Michael, step back," Eliyen shouted with urgency. She raised her palms up, facing the hostile goblins. Michael stepped out of her line of fire with a confused look on his face. She muttered the cantation for Ingis. A burst of blue fire erupted from her palms, scorching the goblins in their tracks. Heat surrounded her and her vision swirled around her as the temperature increased. 

"Eliyen, are you okay?" Michael asked, allowing her to lean against him as her vision returned to normal. 

"Yes, are you okay?" 

"I'll live," 

"Let's head back to the Inn. I think I found out what Cordelia meant by wand less magic." She grabbed her wand from the goblins laying on the ground. Michael followed behind her quietly. 

The journey back to the Inn was uneventful. She and Michael avoided talking to each other on the walk. The crowd of people near the tables and chairs have cleared out. The lobby was mostly empty with one person trying to get a room. 

"Michael, I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier," Eliyen said. She put her cloak away and placed her robes on the coffee table.

"I forgive you, and I'm sorry for mocking you earlier," Michael said. He took off his armor and placed it neatly against the wall. The cut on his arm was still bleeding. Crimson soaked the sleeve of his gray shirt. 

"Why didn't you say anything earlier?" asked Eliyen. Concern was heavy in her voice, as she went and grabbed the bandages from Flora's medicine bag. She gingerly wrapped the cut. "Is it too tight?". 

"It’s fine. We have Flora to worry about first.” He fished out his waterskin from his bag and gulped down the rest of the water. Water splattered on the front of his shirt. 

“If you get an infection over not taking care of your injuries Flora will lecture you,”

“Look who's talking.” He flashed a smile. They both remembered the time when Eliyen hid an injury. Flora was the one to find out when Eliyen came down with a fever from infection. He will never admit it, but he was terrified for Eliyen’s life. He hated seeing her weak like that.

“It was one time,” Eliyen said. She glanced at the window. The moon's pale light reminds her it has been three days since Flora's gone missing. Three days after they arrived here she and Michael were forced underneath an unstable truce until Flora was back. 

“One time too many,” Michael smirked. He wandered over to his bed, and moved the books atop of it to the dining table. "Please, don't make my bed the books' bed,". 

"I won't for now,"

The adrenaline and worry left her body as she collapsed on the small bed. Eliyen barely heard the words good night from Michael before darkness swarmed her vision.

She groaned and hid her face in the flat pillows as the sun hit her eyes. Another day of attempting to find Flora. Yesterday even after her and Michael’s fight they made progress with her learning wandless magic. She got out of bed and stretched her back. Glancing around the small room she saw Michael passed out in the other bed. His limbs were sprawled out and his hair was a mess. 

Eliyen grabbed her cloak from the clothes rack, and went down to the lobby to grab her and Michael breakfast. A so-called peace offering until Flora is found and safe. The Inn’s muted brown walls were a sharp contrast to the bright red rugs on the hardwood floors. The room where the breakfast was served was no better, brightly colored paintings hung on the walls and rugs of bright blue and purple covered the floor. The owner said he allowed his daughter to design the place. She grabbed a small fruit platter for herself and some eggs and meat for Michael. 

The presence of goblins in the area could make Flora's disappearance a kidnapping from them. A ploy from the Dark Lord to delay his downfall. She would have to discuss this idea with Michael more after breakfast and cleaning his wound. 

"Michael, wake up." barging in, she placed the food on the table. Michael jumped out of bed, his hair messy from rolling around, and drool lingering at the corner of his mouth. "Good, you're awake."

"After you scared me half to death," 

"How else am I supposed to wake you up?" A small smile formed on Eliyen's face as she handed Michael his breakfast. 

"Thank you,"

After breakfast she gathered her belongings and packed them up. She played around with different methods to carry hers and Flora's stuff effectively, none of them worked out with her muddled brain. Michael grabbed most of Flora's stuff and shoved them into a bag he'll throw over his shoulder for the road. 

The sun burned her back throughout the walk. How Michael handled the sun in heavy armor was a mystery she would never know. There was little to nothing to forage along the way to Crescent Leaf to see Cordelia. Flora would have been upset given her potion supplies were dwindling for a while now. 

Crescent Leaf was small in comparison to the majority of towns. A small house stood in the center as the mayor’s house for important business, crumbling stalls littered the streets, a lingering remnant of when this town was a trade town. Elderly people wandered around wearing faded fabrics held together from mismatched fabric. One man wore clothes of higher quality than the others; he was likely the mayor of this town. 

Eliyen searched around for Cordelia, or any signs of her. The Innkeeper was unhelpful with her droning responses that glossed over her question. Michael searched the other part of town as it would be quicker, plus they needed to talk to the locals about the increased goblin attacks. She stumbled across a small alley with a few muffled voices talking briskly about money maybe. The alley was dark enough to hide the people’s faces and identifying features. A glimpse of bright golden light caught her eye as the people stumbled back as if being pulled by an invisible force. 

“She has magic, run,” a rough voice shouted. People scattered like mice and a lone hooded figure emerged from the alley. Their cloak was dark gray with holy symbols embroidered along the hems in golden thread symbolizing someone of high respect in their community. The figure took off their hood revealing short messy black hair sticking up in random directions. The moment the person looked up Eliyen knew exactly who it was. 

Hooded eyes peered up at Eliyen. Her face softened in concern at Eliyen’s disheveled appearance with sunken eyes, frizzy hair, and muddy clothes. The woman’s short black hair was pulled back from her face and dirt smudges covered her cheeks. “Eliyen, have you learned wandless magic yet?” Cordelia asked. Her hands nimbly grabbed a red potion off her belt as Eliyen and her group are prone to getting severe injuries. 

“Yes, well a bit,”

“I see. Where are Flora and Michael?”

“Michael is searching around town for you and Flora disappeared,”

“Disappeared?”

“Yes, there were some tracks that resembled goblins, but their trail was covered halfway through the trip. The strangest part was that Michael and I didn’t hear anything during the night,” 

“Goblins don’t cover up their tracks well, so there is an outside force at play here,”

Eliyen groaned. “Of course there is. Of course it can’t ever be straight forward,”

“Patience, young one.” Cordelia handed Eliyen the potion with a soft smile. “Look I’ll help you and Michael find Flora as I don’t like the sound of this,”

“Thank you,”

Cordelia hummed a slight tune underneath her breath as her hands glowed a light yellow. “Michael’s near the Inn.” Cordelia gave Eliyen a wave of her hand before walking towards the only Inn. Eliyen raced to catch up to her before halting to a brisk walk.

The Inn was small and falling apart. Wooden boards laid in piles around the place and the windows had a faint shine of magic instead of glass. The sign with “Falling Stars” sloppily painted on in white hung crookedly near the door.  Michael stood near the front talking with the Innkeeper, each word from her lips seemed to annoy Michael even more. Eliyen and Cordelia walked towards them.

“Have you seen a high ranking mage in this town?” Michael asked. His eyebrows were furrowed as he looked down on the short woman in front of him. The woman had her mousy brown hair pulled in a low ponytail and her skin was dark from prolonged exposure to the sun. She wore a white linen dress that was held together by stitches around the falling apart seams.

“Mages don’t come to this town. There was a woman who claimed she was a mage though,”

“Where did she go?”

“Don’t you hate it when people claim to be mages?”

Eliyen chuckled at Michael’s expression. She was lucky she found Cordelia and did not have to ask the locals if they saw her. Mages were less common in this region, typically traveling mages are the ones that interact with these towns. “Michael over here,” she said. The smile vanished off her face to avoid Michael finding out that she overheard their conversation. 

"Finally, that woman was messing with me and I know it,"

"You can't blame her mages are rare in this region," Cordelia spoke up. She handed Michael a healing potion as well. 

"I know, but still every second we waste is another second Flora could die. Thank you for the potion," 

"Patience, young one. Running into a plan without knowing your enemies will lead to failure and death," Cordelia said. Her voice issued an unspoken command to the both of them. "Now that we are all together let's come up with a plane," 

"Yes ma'am" Eliyen and Michael said in unison. 

Cordelia gestured at them to follow her. The walk was slow with Michael looking over his shoulder as if someone was following him. Eliyen strolled past him. Her eyes scanned over the commoners and the landscape. She knew their chatter and unknowing looks were useless. The trees wouldn’t whistle the answer to her no matter how much she stared at them. 

“Earth to Eliyen.” Michael waved his hand in front of her face. His armor glinted in the sunlight, a pale figure behind them. The figure was clothed in black robes and his face was covered by a mask. 

"Don't turn around," She whispered.

[softboisupreme]

Chapter 1 of Under the Willowtree

“That will do it, I think,” Liam said to himself, looking over the latest addition to his drawing pad proudly. Plants have always fascinated him and this one was really unique. In a patch of moss stood a single white flower, so small that one could easily miss it passing by. Its five translucent petals seemed to glow in the light shining from the broken window nearby, reaching outward like they were embracing the light that fell upon them. It really was such a beautiful sight in the dilapidated old house he frequented.

The house had been abandoned for years. Deep in the woods, overgrown, forgotten by everyone except for him. The roof was haggard with almost no windows left. The car in the front yard was rusted and sunken deep into the earth. Its vast hood, the perfect spot to lay down and watch clouds pass behind tree branches. Here, Liam could escape the world. It was just him and nature. No beeping cars or crabby strangers. No one to yell at him or for him to clean up after. He could just be at peace and that’s all he really wanted.

He held his pencil in his mouth while he tucked the tattered drawing pad away in his hoodie pocket. Satisfied with his new rendition, he continued along the narrow path he found today. “Path” may be a generous term. The tall trees here were tightly packed and the undergrowth was thick. This forest had been growing undisturbed for many decades, probably centuries. The warm light trickled down through the treetops, casting light on the growth below. Not long from now, the air will chill and the leaves will give way. But today, the heat still radiated from the earth where the light fell.

As he made his way through the woods, he heard a soft whimpering. What was that? he thought as he moved towards the sound. In a small clearing, there was a red fox. It was trapped in a rusty wire cage, with its foot wedged in the door. Who knows how long this cage had sat to rust over like that. When the fox saw the new arrival, it thrashed and yelped, desperate to escape, tightening the hold on his ankle.

“Shhh shh, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you,” Liam soothed as he tried to open the cage. “ I’m going to release you, okay. Relax, you're only hurting yourself more.” The fox pulled his hind leg close to examine it as the door creaked open. The flesh was torn and bleeding. He gave it a few licks before taking off through the brush.

“Wait! You’re injured! Let me help you!”

Liam ran after it, navigating the obstacle course of fallen trees and low branches. He slowed down, out of breath, when he arrived at a towering willow tree. Its thin, numerous, branches flowed slowly in the breeze giving off the air of a powerful elegance. Liam’s golden eyes widened at the sight. This was unlike any tree he had seen before. Never had he felt such a presence from anything, like it’s almost looking back at him, majestic and all knowing.

A fluffy red tail caught his attention as it slipped between the branches that swept the ground. He parted the leaves in pursuit, just in time to see the red tail disappear in the hole at the base of the tree. Liam peered down into the opening and he discovered it was less of a hole and more of a tunnel.

Seeing a faint blue light deep in the tunnel, Liam decided to hop down after the fox. He landed with a soft thud in the dirt. How could such a large space exist under here? There’s plenty of room for me to stand. Did somebody carve this out? As he continued deeper into the cavern, he ran his hand along the wall to steady himself amongst the roots and rocks. The blue light slowly grew brighter as he neared a corridor. Peaking slowly around the corner, he saw the fox, but also someone else.

A person, tall and slender, seemed to be tending to the fox. A cloak hung from the man’s broad shoulders. His short, curly white hair peeking out from the hood hovering over his pale face. In the faint light, he could see his soft glowing red eyes looking down tenderly at the table before him. He held the fox’s paw in his delicate hands, white as snow. Liam’s heart quickened as his eyes trailed over the man’s body. How could someone be living down here? Did the fox come to him on purpose? As his thoughts and eyes wandered, he found himself staring into those deep red eyes again. Only this time, they were staring back at him.

Oh no! He saw me! Liam turned quickly to escape, stumbling over the exposed roots as he scrambled his way back to the opening, clamoring out onto the forest floor. Gasping for air, his chest tightened in panic. Who was that? He was so gentle with the fox but when we locked eyes, I thought I was done for!! And those eyes! I’m pretty sure they were red. Liam ran his fingers through his long, jet black hair. What the hell was that? I gotta get out of here!

The rusty metal steps creaked under his weight as he made his way back to his apartment. I hope she’s not home yet. I really don’t want to deal with her right now. The sounds of late night sitcoms crept out of the door as he cracked it open to hopefully sneak in. Fuck, why today? He swore as he tried to get by unnoticed.

“Hey, you little shit! Where the hell have you been!? I work all day just to come home to an empty house! I’m hungry, you know! Ungrateful little shit! Get in here!” the woman bellowed from the couch. Her brown hair tied into a messy bun. Although the makeup was caked on, it still didn’t hide the bags under her eyes or how hard the years have been on her skin. Her bloodshot eyes stared at Liam in a scowl as he stood in front of her. “I told you to clean up this mess! The least you could do is some house work, you lazy fuck. Here, empty my ashtray.”

Liam grabbed the ashtray from her yellowed fingers. “Alright but how hard is it to just use the trash can I put in here for you? Stop leaving your bottles all over the damn house.”

“Excuse me?! Does it look like I have time to put that shit away? You’re lucky to have a mother like me! All I ask is for you to clean up the damn house. I work my ass off for you and this is the attitude you give me? Get the fuck out of here! Go to your room! Don’t come out until it’s time for you to cook dinner,” she hollered. The ashes fell from the cigarette hanging from her lips as she settled back into the couch, turning up her tv show.

“What’s the point of me even coming home if you just want me to go to my room,” Liam muttered under his breath. “The only reason you even knew I was gone was because there wasn’t anyone here to be your servant,” he hissed as he slammed the door to his room. He stared at the ceiling while he laid on his bed. I wish I never had to come back to this hell hole. At least she was being nice today. She didn’t even throw anything at me, so that’s cool I guess. No, I shouldn’t have to even think that. *Sigh* What’s the point? Maybe if I died she would actually give a fuck. He shook the thought away. No, I won’t ever let that bitch win. At least I have my little house in the forest. I know that will always be there for me.

Liam sat up suddenly when he recalled the events of the day, “Oh! How could I forget what happened!? That was crazy. Where’s my book? I need to draw it right now!” He frantically patted down his hoodie realizing that his drawing pad was missing. “I could have sworn I put it in here. What the heck? No way…I must have dropped it when I was running out of that place! Shit! I’m gonna have to go back…There’s no way I can do that now though. Cruella DeVil isn’t going to let me leave until I feed her and clean her mess.”

Liam peeked out his bedroom door to see if the coast was clear before tiptoeing to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, he was greeted with the familiar scene of mostly booze and condiments. What can I even make with this shit. He opened the bottom drawer and pulled out what used to be a potato, probably? Kind of hard to tell. Ugh, this is going in the trash for sure. Liam covered his nose with his shirt as he plopped the black mush into the trash can. Well, that was a bust, he brooded as he opened the cupboard. Let’s see. Looks like ramen again. He snatched up the last packet of ramen from the almost empty shelf and filled a small pot with water.

The flames licked the edges of the worn pot as Liam stared out the window, thinking, I wonder if I’ll even be able to get my drawing pad back. Hopefully, it’s just at the entrance so I can get in and out without him noticing. That’s the only one I have and I doubt she would buy me another one, saying that it’s a waste of money and blah blah blah... Liam was snapped back to the present when the noodles boiled over, quickly turning off the heat. I wish she would let me get a job but then I would have a way out of here and that’s unacceptable, Liam ranted to himself as he poured the ramen into a spaghetti stained bowl.

“Here’s your dinner. We are out of groceries by the way. You got the last ramen and there’s none left in the fridge,” Liam prodded as he handed his mother her bowl, hoping maybe she’d have the heart to at least give him some cash to eat with.

“What? I just bought groceries on Monday. Why you eating so damn much?” she complained.

“Groceries? You mean booze? There’s still plenty of that in the fridge. I ment like food. You know, stuff to eat? We need it to live?” Liam reminded her while picking up the empty bottles and trash around the couch.

“Don’t take that tone with me. I brought you into this world and I’ll take you out,” she repeated like she’s done a thousand times before.

“God, I wish you would,” Liam sneered.

“Excuse me? Finish picking this shit up and go to the store,” she growled, throwing some money at him.

“Oh, you’re too kind. Giving me the bare fucking minimum to survive. I’m so grateful.”

“You can just give it back then. I don’t need to listen to your bitchin’,” she snapped back, palm extended.

“No, I’m sorry. Thanks. I’ll take this out to the dumpster and head to the store. Try to use the trash can please? Look, I’ll put it right next to the couch so you don’t have to get up to use it,” Liam resigned, placing the empty can against the armrest. “There. I’ll see you later.”

“Don’t be gone too long! It’s getting late!” she called after him.

But he was already gone. The door clanked shut behind him as he jumped down the stairs, half a flight at a time. He pulled the hood over his head as he walked briskly to the convenience store nearby. That stingy old hag only gave me five dollars. How am I supposed to eat anything with that? She’s got all the money in the world for booze but it’s like pulling teeth to feed her own child? Fucking bullshit.

The bell chimed as Liam strode into the dingy corner store, making a bee line for the deli section. The halogen lights flickered as he made his way down the aisle, illuminating the chipped tile he walked over. Well, looks like a soggy sandwich and some hard boiled eggs. Liam placed his selection on the counter for the cashier to scan. “Hey Harv.”

Harvey Lancaster owned this store for as long as he could remember. In the many years that he worked the front counter, he witnessed many things. Like, this poor kid. He’d always felt bad for him. He was a sweet boy, no older than twenty-two now, with a terrible mother and no father to speak of. He often came in the middle of the night to just sit at the tables by the window. Sometimes he would buy things, oftentimes he did not. Occasionally he would come in looking like he’d just left a fight. At least tonight he didn’t have any new cuts or bruises. Harvey looked down at the young man and asked, “Hey Liam, how’s the old lady doing?”

“My mom? She’s the same as always I guess. She was in a good mood today so I’m going to eat this and go take a walk. Maybe she’ll be asleep by the time I get home,” Liam replied as he tucked the eggs into his front pocket. “Thanks Harv.” He grabbed his change before heading out the door, dumping his wrapper in the bin along the way. Munching on his new lackluster sandwich, Liam made his way back towards the woods. By the time I get there, hopefully he will be sleeping too, he thought, brushing the crumbs off the front of his hoodie.

Nightfall was nearing as he reached the tree line. The air at the forest's edge was damp and chilled, the earthy smell permeating his senses. The beautiful flowing leaves he wondered through during the day, now looked foreboding. Man, I hope my phone is charged enough, he worried as he turned on his flashlight. Forty-eight percent. That should be plenty, right? A shiver ran down his spine with his first step into the forest. “Here we go Liam,” he encouraged himself. “You know these woods like the back of your hand. Nothing a little late night adventure could hurt. Not even a weird, unknown guy living in an underground tunnel you’ve never noticed before…With glowing red eyes… We are definitely not breaking and entering… Again… He has no door. How could it be breaking and entering if there’s no door?”

The deeper he went into the forest, the darker it became. It was a lot more difficult to tell where he was going at night, even with the help of a light. I thought it was around here somewhere. I feel like I’m going in circles. Liam was about to turn around and try another area when he came into the familiar clearing once again.

“Ah ha! I knew I was close!” He brushed past the long hanging branches towards the trunk of the tree once more. The blue light was now clearly visible from the outside. He knelt at the mouth of the opening, peering in to see any signs of his drawing pad. I don’t see it and I didn’t see it on the way out here either. It’s probably further down. Liam took a deep breath before jumping back down into the cavern. The blue light seemed more intense at night, but maybe that was just because his eyes had adjusted to the darkness. As he retraced his steps, there was no sign of the drawing pad he was hoping to retrieve. Crouched at the end of the long hallway, Liam’s thoughts wandered to the room before him.

The blue green glow was emitting from many small dots on the ceiling. The longer he looked, the more they seemed to be moving. The room wasn’t much larger than his living room at home. There were shelves and shelves of many different kinds of plants. In the middle of the room there was a desk made of stone, covered in books, loose paper, and plants in little containers. The room was messy but not disorganized. Everything seemed to have its place, no matter how chaotic it seemed at first.

“Looking for this?” came a deep voice from behind him. Liam yelped as he spun around to see that the man from earlier was standing above him. He fell back onto his hands, too startled to speak. After a moment he realized that “this” meant his drawing pad, held in the man's thin, pale hand.

“Y-yes, I am. I-I didn’t mean to intrude before. There was this fox and it was hurt and I wanted to help it but it ran down here. T-Then when I ran away earlier it must have fallen. I really didn’t mean to bother you, I just really don’t want to lose that. It’s very important to me,” Liam rambled on, unable to look the man directly in the eyes. They were indeed red like he noticed before, but they didn’t seem to be glowing. Not right now at least.

“Did you draw this?” the man asked, pointing to the drawing he had made earlier that day.

“Yes, I did. I like to draw the plants that I find when I am exploring,” Liam replied quickly, afraid to anger the man.

“Where did you see this?” he questioned Liam.

“It was in the abandoned house on the far side of the woods. I had never seen it there before,” Liam replied, expecting the man to be more upset that he invaded his home than he was, which seemed to be not at all.

“Will you take me to it?” the man inquired.

“Y-yeah, I can do that.” Liam answered in a daze. How come this man isn’t upset that I’m just in his house. Why is his voice so relaxing? It’s so deep and velvety. He could probably tell me the worst news and I would be cool with it. Standing up, he brushed the dirt off his black pants. They were baggy at the top but got tighter the lower they hung. A black strap ran from the front pocket to the back. There used to be more but they had fallen off at some point or another during his adventures in the woods. The hems were starting to fray and one knee was showing a bit of skin, although it hadn’t fully torn yet. They really were his favorite pants. Not like he had many to choose from anyway, but he had to beg his mother to buy these for him. She didn’t see the need for so many extra bits but she eventually gave in.

“After you,” The mysterious man said, gesturing towards the hole Liam arrived through not long ago.

“Okay, follow me then.” Liam swallowed as he took one more look at the man before heading back into the forest. The moon was high in the sky and shone brightly on the ground around him. It was enough to see so he decided to forgo the phone light, wanting to save the battery anyway.

Branches cracked under their feet as they made their way through the dense forest. It seemed like forever in the awkward silence. He had so many questions to ask but was too afraid to ask them, like what was his name, for starters.

“Arthur,” the man said, ending the long silence.

“Pardon me?” Liam replied, caught off guard by his deep voice again.

“My name is Arthur, in case you were wondering,” Arthur said calmly.

“Oh, thank you. I was wondering… My name’s Liam.”

“I know.”

“What?” Liam croaked back. Okay, this is just weird. How does he know my name already? I never said it to him. And, he knew when I wanted to know his. “How do you know my name?”

“It was in the front cover of your notebook. I figured that must be your name.”

Liam flushed red, coughing into his hand. “Ah, yeah, I forgot that was in there.”

“I like your drawings. I hope you don’t mind that I was looking through it,” Arthur continued.

“No, that’s okay. I did kind of invade your home so it's not really a big deal,” Liam said as he passed through the brush. “The house should be just up ahead.”

As they exited the thicket, the haggard old house creeped into view. It looked serene in the moonlight, like time had not yet forgotten it.

Is it just me, or does this place look nicer than it normally does, Liam wondered to himself. “Hold on, something definitely seems off here, Arthur.”

“Does it? I don’t think so. I think it seems exactly right. Now, about that flower?” Arthur smiled, gesturing once again for Liam to lead the way.

“Right. It’s in the house,” he acknowledged before continuing towards the front door. He couldn’t help but stare at his surroundings as he got closer. What is going on? The car isn’t rusted or sunk in. It and the house both have their windows back… and the roof is somehow okay? I feel like we came back in time. Everything seems so… normal looking? But it's not normal because this place should be run down, and it’s not!

Liam turned the knob to the now working door as they entered the house. He froze when he was welcomed by a cozy living room and kitchen. Gone were the holes in the floor and broken glass. Instead, the walls were a deep blue-green and the floors were a well kept, hardwood. Little shelves were scattered about, filled with mostly empty pots and jars. The once fallen stone fireplace was now standing tall, lain with logs atop a beautiful andiron. The kitchen cabinets, which were rotten before, now held up a grand granite countertop with matching cabinets hanging from the ceiling.

“Wow, I…This…It doesn’t normally look like this,” Liam stammered.

“Oh? I think it probably does. I just don’t think you have seen it like this.” Arthur walked past him to inspect the kitchen, peeking inside cabinets and drawers.

“What do you mean? You don’t understand. It’s normally falling apart! There’s never any windows or paint or, or this!” Liam opens his arms wide at the kitchen. “It looks like a real house right now. What if somebody lives here. What if we get caught?”

“ Relax,” Arthur soothed as he held up a jar to peer at its contents. “I don’t think anyone has lived here in a long time.”

“Well, I used to think that too, but what is all this? How can it just poof back to being a regular house?” Liam was exasperated now. He really didn’t understand. He came here almost every day. He knew this house like the back of his hand, or so he thought.

“It has always been this way, probably. At least since you have known it. No one has lived here in a very long time. All of these containers are empty, and what is left is so old that if you opened these jars, it would probably crumble.”

“But, that doesn’t answer my question. How come I can only see this now?” Liam pleaded.

“Probably the same reason you were able to see my house,” Arthur riposted.

“I told you, I just followed a fox there. I didn’t mean to find your house.”

“I understand that, but my house is not something normal people can just ‘find,’ even when being led by a fox. They can’t even see the tree most of the time. So, you did indeed ‘find’ my house today, and also this one,” Arthur chided, walking up to look Liam closely in the eyes. “You do have the yellow eyes. They are near gold when you get close like this, granted my sight isn’t the best. They could very well be golden. I guess that would explain it.” Arthur turned down the hallway, checking in the rooms for the flower they came for.

“Wait a second. You can see that they are golden too? I’m not crazy?! No one else has ever seen them the way that I do! Wait up!” Liam huffed as he caught up to Arthur. “I have so many more questions for you. What do my gold eyes explain?”

This time, Arthur found the right room. Under the window was the same patch of moss from before, but it was filled with many flowers, basking in the moonlight. “Perfect. This is exactly what I needed,” Arthur said more to himself than to Liam. He opened his cloak to pull out a small glass jar with a little cork top. He knelt down and gently plucked a small portion of moss, careful not to disturb the single white flower it held. He placed it gingerly in the jar before returning the cork to the top. “That should be plenty.”

“There are so many now, it’s beautiful,” Liam exclaimed before kneeling next to him.

“Isn’t it? I haven’t seen these flowers in many many years. I was starting to think that I would never find them. Thank you, Liam.” Arthur tucked the small jar into his cloak and returned with Liam’s drawing pad. “I believe this belongs to you.”

“It does, thank you,” Liam whispered as he brushed his fingers tenderly over the worn pages. “I don’t know what I’d do without this.”

“Not a problem. And to answer your questions from earlier. Put simply, it's magic. The more complicated answer, I’m not positive but the Golden Eyes are a trait of a well known family of alchemists. They were the best in their craft for hundreds of years. Sometimes too good for other people's liking. About three hundred years ago, another prominent family committed a great atrocity to the Golden Eye family and wiped them out. Or at least they claimed they did. No one really believes that though. The Golden Eye family was one of the greatest alchemist families of all time. There’s no way they could all get taken out like that. Most believe the few who remained went into hiding.” Arthur tilted his head towards Liam as he continued, “I suspect that you are a descendant of that family. That would explain the golden eyes you have, and the way you were able to see what you saw today. Probably why you were so drawn to this house in the first place. You’re probably just a late bloomer. Most people find their affinity for magic whenever they hit puberty.”

“Then how come you can see all this too? Are you an alchemist or whatever?” Liam pried.

“I probably fall into the ‘or whatever’ part, but I have met the Golden Eye family before. Albeit, that was many years ago, but I picked up a thing or two from them.”

Liam collapsed backwards onto the floor and let out a long sigh. “This is a lot. I don’t even feel like any of this is real. Like you’re not real. Or this house. Any of it.”

“Oh, it’s real,” Arthur chuckled softly. “But I understand where you’re coming from. I felt similarly the first time I witnessed magic. It was kind of mind blowing. I got thrown into this crazy world that I had no clue existed. It’s much calmer than it used to be though. You don’t see it much anymore. Most folks have gone into hiding and keeping to themselves. Not a bad thing in my opinion. It was a little too busy for my taste back then.”

“Do you…Do you think you could teach me some stuff? Like alchemist things,” Liam asked meekly.

“Me? I’m not so sure about that.”

“Please? This is a lot. What if I accidentally catch something on fire or blow up my house?!” Liam cried.

Arthur laughed then his face grew solemn as he stared into Liam's glowing eyes. “I don’t know if that’s the best idea.”

“Okay, what if you just let me come visit you? I won’t touch anything in your house without permission. I just want to watch and maybe talk just a little bit?”

Arthur exhaled the air he had been holding before agreeing, “okay. You can visit sometimes. But no touching anything. I have many things that shouldn’t be disturbed, lest they cause a problem.”

“Yay! Thank you so so much!!” Liam boomed as he rolled around on the floor, giddy.

“That’s enough. That doesn't mean we can start tonight,” Arthur schooled. “Tonight you need to go home. I need to prepare my house for guests.”

Liam stopped mid-wallow to look back at Arthurs stern face. “Aw okay. I understand,” he replied, forlorn.

“Don’t be so sad. It’s just a day. You can wait until tomorrow,” Arthur chided as he stood. “Now, it’s time to go. You should go home, as must I. We can meet again tomorrow. Come on.”

Before Liam knew, Arthur was already out the bedroom door and he was left to scramble after him. “Alright, I get it. I can wait until tomorrow.” But by the time Liam got to the hall, Arthur was nowhere in sight. “How did he just disappear like that?” he questioned as he walked into the living room. There’s no way he’s that fast. Can I learn to do that?

Liam took one last look around the room before heading out the front door. The yard was still the same as it was when he arrived, years shaved off its age. Weird. Tomorrow, he was definitely coming back during the daytime to take another look.

Liam didn’t quite remember how he got home, but he managed to sneak past his mother sleeping on the couch without disturbing her. That was great because his mind was a mess. Nothing he had seen today seemed to be real. When he woke up, would it all have just been a dream?

Liam checked his eyes with his phone before going to bed. Yep, they are still very golden. He looked even closer. I guess they really are gold. There’s even little shiny bits in there, like gold ink, swirling around. Liam plopped onto his bed and looked up at the glow in the dark stars painted on the ceiling. Tomorrow, we will go check. If everything is still there, then I’ll believe it’s all real. That Arthur is real too.

[ostensiblywhump]

Hare and Kit

Augusnippets day 9: hypothermia | overheating | dehydration

Word count: 496

Trigger warnings: implied/referenced death, description of corpses, implied/referenced child death

——————(0)——————

“You,” Archaios says, “are not just shivering from pain, are you.”

The child, predictably, shivers in response.

“Fuck,” Archaios says, and picks up speed. “Look, in my defense, you were getting shredded from the inside-out by curse energy, I had other things on my mind! Like keeping you un-shredded! I forgot that humans are—squishy! Don’t like being cold! Fuck!”

Because he’s reveled in blizzards before, only to come across blanched, stiff corpses, squirreled in little snow-dens that they thought would save them. He’s tried to save ones that were still breathing by feeding on their cold, hoping that drawing it away would help keep them warm. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn’t.

“I hate doing that on children, you know?” he murmurs into the child’s forehead. “It’s filthy, feeding from the young. And you shouldn’t have to be so close to death, anyways. You should—”

Be with your parents, laughing and loved, free of curse marks, not small and alone. Be warm.

Too many things this child should have instead of some inhuman hermit that came upon them by happenstance; it all crowds Archaios’ throat and clogs there.

His next step echoes, warps; his own wards welcome him as he slows his run into the cave to a purposeful stride. He has pelts stored away, despite his best efforts to foist everything he hunts on humans that actually need it. Humans always bundle themselves up in the cold, surely those will help.

He has two pelts … well, one is a cloak. He wraps that first around the child, then the second, until only the child’s pale face and baby wisps of their white hair show. Then—and this is the hard part—he sits back until only a comforting hand is touching the swaddled child.

“Fenn always told me my skin was icy,” he tells them. “I don’t think holding you will help, no matter how it’ll make me feel better. But ….”

He’s bundled up the child, stopped touching them with his cold hands. Is there anything else? How will he know this is helping? How soon? He’s always known his knowledge on humans is essentially a dark, unknown chasm, but never has it yawned deeper, faced with a child he must save.

“Maybe,” he starts, then looks at the black marks crawling up the child’s cheeks, and stops. Bringing this child to humans, to anyone that knows better, will only get them killed.

Then a realization clicks, followed by his heart dropping.

“Fire,” Archaios says. “You need fire. Except I … I don’t know how to light one.”

He’s never really needed it—he needs cold, not heat. And he’s never committed to saving a cold victim like this child, so he’s never thought of it before.

Wait, no. He has.

He sighs and heaves himself up. “I hope Tiana forgives me,” he mutters. “And you. For using a practice meant to invite ambient magic to light funeral pyres for you.”

He goes to find sticks.

[alilmusebundle]

♣ - woods sleepy time (@thetraumazone)

WELL! What, a, surprise!

Not.

Jasper, curled up at the foot of an ancient tree, insulated by a sensible thick coat and hiking boots, though not so much his pants, (did he own anything other than jeans?), fast asleep like the roots and leaves were a comfortable nest.

This had been happening a lot lately!

Of course, every time he has ventured into the woods, they have known. They have a longstanding habit of keeping an eye on the woods. Ever since the barrier dropped, humans or beloved pets going missing draws attention that they didn't care for.

Normally, though, they wouldn't care so much about a monster wandering the woods. Monsters go in and out of the woods at their leisure no matter the season, assured of their safety after years and years of mutual friendship and respect. It wasn't anything to worry about.

Except when the monster is going in at night for seemingly no reason, keeps staying longer and longer, has been in a very obvious depressive episode, and ventures deeper every single time.

Accompanied by the rustle of too many leaves for this still winter night, they crouch down, arms resting loosely on their knees, and stare.

"What ever am I going to do with you?"

They know what others would love to do with someone as desperate and lonely as he. Their friends in the court had no qualms 'helping' those that were clearly not taking care of themselves properly. He was practically asking for it, laid out like a package on someones doorstep.

There is a thermos sitting next to him, carefully propped up against a root higher up than where Jasper rested. They grab it and take a sniff of it's contents. Milk- a rich cream, still warm, mixed with honey, vanilla, and cinnamon. A very nice offering, all things considered.

Sipping it, they gaze out into the dark forest around them. The bushes with their creeping claws shrink back. Motes of light flicker and vanish, turning tail at their glare. Even the tree receives their wide, unblinking gaze with a slow, grumbling creak of swaying branches.

Satisfied, they reach over, dumping the rest of the offering out for the tree- it had behaved itself, after all- before they turn their attention to Jasper, lifting him in one smooth motion.

This wasn't the first time they had done this. They are beginning to suspect it wouldn't be the last. That he would welcome disappearing into the twilight, to dance and sing and be admired without a care in the world... if only so that he didn't need to think anymore.

Well, too bad city slicker. You get to slog through your problems until you figure your shit out! If they have to haul him out of the woods nightly till it happened, then so be it.

Long fingers pick bits of leaf litter off the fur of his hood and flick them onto the forest floor. They sigh and shake their head, phantom leaves rustling once again.

"What a mess you are..."

They wondered how strong his perception was these days. What would he see if he woke? Would he see Wes the skeleton monster's ever present smile? Or would he see a long limbed stranger, shadowed by their cloak but for three 'eyes' staring back, the distinct smell of flowers a perfume all around?

As far as they know, he hasn't woken up yet! ...except for that one time they unceremoniously dumped him at the edge of the woods. But they had been tired that day, and anyways, they're pretty sure he hadn't seen them duck away when he sputtered awake.

Maybe they will drop him again. It was rather funny the first time!

...they aren't entirely sure what they'll do if he does wake. At least it would be fairly easy to identify which version of themself he'd see...

@thetraumazone

[fe-fictions]

Any dimileth reposts? Idk if my requests got eaten up ;^;

(How about some stressed out and overwhelmed Byleth that needs some Dima comfort stat?!)

Of course he came into your office the one time you couldn’t handle it. The one time you couldn’t balance your queenly duties with your Archbishop duties, the one time that it all hit you at once and you couldn’t hope to defend against it.

Of course he would step through the door at that moment and practically fly into a panic.

“Beloved!!” He exclaimed as he practically stormed into the room, seeing the tears that fell and immediately flying into a panic. “Who did this to you? Who made you cry? If anyone did you harm, I’ll have them taken down immediately with the maximum amount of prejudice if-”

“Dimitri, no, i-it’s not that, I…” You stumbled over your words, trying to calm him down while simultaneously calming yourself down. “I’m just really...really, really stressed.”

“You’re stressed?” His brow furrowed deeply, though his hands never left your face. “...Are you sure?”

“Yes, Dimitri, I’m sure. I-I just have a lot to deal with.” You assured him, seeing how clearly unconvinced he was.”Seteth just gave me another stack of paperwork to handle, on top of the mountain I already have to tackle…”

“So Seteth is the culprit, then.” He deduced, and you had to resist snapping at him.

You were only irritated because of your stress. Dimitri was just trying to help. You just wish he’d help less violently.

“No, Dima...he’s just doing his job...which unfortunately means I have more to do with mine…”

“I see.” He grimaced, “Forgive me, beloved. If I had known you were struggling so terribly I would have rectified the situation ages ago.”

“There’s not much you can do.” You said with a shrug of your shoulders, slipping from Dimitri’s grasp to sit back against the desk, “I’m a queen and an Archbishop. It makes sense I’d have so much more to do.”

“I suppose so, but...even so.” He said with a deeper frown, eyes narrowed as he tried to think of a proper response. “You shouldn’t be taking the weight of the world on your shoulders, like this. Surely there must be something I can do to alleviate it.”

“I-I just have to adjust.” You said with a sniff, whisking away the tears that slipped away. His heart crumbled just seeing them, and was quick to return to you, taking it upon himself to remove them from your cheeks.

“Then allow me to help with the adjustment, my love. You’re not in any state to be struggling so terribly, let alone without someone by your side. At least let me assist in some way...if only a little.” He insisted, and you smiled softly at his earnest sweetness.

“You’re doing enough just offering me sympathy.” You replied in a quieter voice, covering his hands with your own. “I’ll find a way to bear it, so then we won’t have to end up like this.”

“And I will help you.” He promised, kissing your forehead as he drew you into his arms. “Whether you want me to or not.”

“I do want you to.” You reassured him, sinking into his embrace with a happy sigh. “Just being like this will...help me a lot more than you know.”

“Will it?” He quirked an eyebrow, peering down at his wife who rested far more peacefully on his chest than she had been, a moment ago.

“Very much.”

“Then I will remain like this as long as you wish.” He hummed, stroking your hair and drawing you into him closer still, enveloping you both in his cloak as if to shield you from the weight of it all.

“Thank you, Dimitri.” You whispered, drawing a bashful smile to his lips.

“Anything for you, beloved.”

[warmblanketwhump]

Can I ask for🥶?

anon, you can ALWAYS ask for 🥶 here. hope you enjoy!!

🥶 chills / shivers | send a prompt!

The way A’s life had gone, there were just certain things you didn’t do. You took care of yourself - quietly, swiftly, without complaint. You never asked for more than your share. And you never showed weakness. Ever. The human body could withstand a lot - so you’d better not ask for anything a second before you needed it.

So when they wake on the cold ground after one particularly frigid winter night in their tent, feeling a little more chilled than usual, they say nothing. A few extra shivers were nothing to complain about - besides, they’ll warm up once they get moving. After packing up their things, A tightens their cloak and heads out to meet the rest of their group.

The day was clear and crisp, a stiff breeze from the north whispering through the trees, and a thick frost blankets the ground. The head scout barks out the plan for the day, and the party sets out onto the rocky path. And if anyone notices A hugging themselves a little tighter, they don’t say a thing.

As the day wears on, A seems to only get colder and colder. After weeks of traveling out in the elements, days spent trudging through wind, rain, and storms, and nights of inadequate shelter, they were beginning to feel the inevitable toll on their body. Even the slightest breeze cuts right through them and sends tingling chills up their spine.

When they stop for a break, it’s all they can do to curl their shaking fingers around their canteen and sip their lukewarm coffee. A friend jokingly wraps them in a bear hug, and the brief exposure to blissful warmth is over almost too soon.

By nightfall, they’re chilled through and aching with cold as they stumble into their campsite for the night. A few of their friends are building a fire, but before they can get near it, another friend calls their name.

“A! Can you help us set up the tents back here?” A casts a longing glance back at the rising flames, then shakes their head and does as they’re told. They can thaw out later.

When later finally, blessedly arrives, they take their spot among their small, raucous band of compatriots as food and drinks are passed around, noisy laughter floating up into the cold night. A curls into their cloak and shivers quietly, trying their best to warm themselves while attracting as little attention as possible.

As the night wears on, A burrows deeper into their cloak, inching toward a fire that can’t seem to melt the ice at their core. Now that they’re not moving, the shivers are nearly constant, ceaselessly rippling through their muscles like a current just beneath the surface.

I should go get a blanket. But the idea of leaving the hard-fought heat to run back to their cold tent is less than inviting. Drawing their cloak closer, they hunch their shoulders up to their ears, tucking their frozen hands under their arms and trying to will the internal flame to catch in their own body.

At this point, they’re considering setting their cloak on fire.

Soon their friends begin saying goodnight, heading to bed, but A remains, inching helplessly closer to the fading warmth of the dying embers. They’ve been in front of the fire for hours and they still can’t stop shivering.

“Caught a chill, then?” A turns to the sound of footsteps to see B, one of the group leaders.

A shakes their head stiffly. Deny it. “I’m fine.”

“Now don’t give me that.” B’s tone is teasing, but there’s an edge of concern in it. “You’ve been over here shivering all night. I thought I was gonna have to pull you out of the fire, you were so close.”

A’s shoulders slump. Caught. “Just feeling the cold a little, I guess.” A sudden shudder rattles their teeth, betraying their efforts to hide how frozen they really are, how deep the chill has sunk into their bones.

“Trust me. It happens to all of us at one point.” B throws another log on the fire and sheds their own cloak, wrapping it around A’s shoulders. “After our last winter trek, I don’t think I fully thawed until the spring. Shivered in bed for three days when I got home. These cold nights can sink in your bones after a while.”

A intended to protest the extra layer, but the fabric smells faintly like the woods and cinnamon and something like home – so instead, they close their eyes and sink into its extra warmth.

“Give me your hands,” B says quietly. A slowly slides their fingers out from the layers and B takes their icy hands in their own, gently rubbing them and blowing warm air to get the blood flowing again. After a few minutes, A finally feels the feeling come back, and B wraps an arm around their shoulder.

"Come on now. Let's get you tucked in." A's dreading the thought of another cold night alone in their tent, but they're surprised when they end up in front of B's tent instead. As B pulls back the flap, A's surprised to see the tent filled with blankets and bedrolls - in fact, as A's eyes adjust, they realize the entire group is in here.

"Gonna be another cold one tonight, I reckon. It'll be warmer with all of us in here." B smiles and ushers A to an open spot, where a small nest of blankets awaits them between two of their friends.

One of them blinks awake and smiles blearily, patting the open spot on the ground. “Been saving this spot for you, A.” A can’t help but laugh as they ease themselves down, and B tucks them under the covers before wedging themselves among the sleeping bodies of their friends. Another friend shifts in their sleep and throws an arm around A’s bundled body, and A gratefully nestles closer.

“Sleep tight, A,” B whispers. And after hours and hours of cold, warmth finally blooms from the center of A’s chest.

“Night, B.”

[besanii]

shattered mirrors 73

[ set after #69 ]

He’s stumbling forward before he even realises he’s moving, knocking into the low desk with his foot and almost falling over if not for Lan Wangji’s steady hand around his elbow. His limbs feel like lead and his body moves as though wading upstream against a rushing river. His ears are ringing, his vision spotting at the edges, but through all of that he sees the person before him.

“A-Xian.” A sob bubbles up inside his throat at the sound of his name in her voice. “A-Xian.”

She too is stumbling towards him, arms outstretched and tears in her eyes. He wants desperately to fall into her arms, to bury himself in her embrace and let her warmth wrap around him and wash away the horrors of the last fourteen years. Pretend as though he is still Wei Ying, the ward of Yunmeng, her brother in all but name and blood, the little boy who had grown up as her second shadow.

Instead, he sinks to his knees at her feet and presses his forehead to the floor. Lan Wangji follows him to the floor, hovering protectively around him

“Your guilty subject pays respects to Gongzhu-dianxia,” he says. “I humbly beg Dianxia’s forgiveness for failing my duty to Yunmeng Jiang.”

There. He’s said it. The words that had been eating away at him all these years, the constant shadow of guilt lingering in the corner of his mind. His family had been tasked with the protection of Yunmeng and its royal family, it had been their job to gather intelligence and wield it in their defence.

He’d failed. And Yunmeng had fallen.

A strangled noise leaves Jiang Yanli’s throat.

“A-Xian, no,” she says. “No, A-Xian, there is nothing to forgive. Please, get up—”

She reaches for his hands, tugging at them to make him stand, but he remains resolutely prostrate.

“Gongzhu-dianxia, this guilty subject does not dare.”

Her hands tighten around his almost painfully for a moment before she sighs, her whole body sagging with the movement.

“You did everything you could,” she tells him. When he goes to deny it, she squeezes his hand again. “Look at me.” He reluctantly raises his head and sees her looking back at him with a tremble in the firm line of her mouth. “A-Xian, I would be dead—or perhaps worse—if not for you. You saved me.”

He presses his lips together in a hard line, his breath heavy through his nose as he struggles to keep the tears at bay.

“I could have done more,” he whispers. “I could have—”

“You did everything you could,” she repeats firmly. “A-Xian, there was nothing more you could have done. Not under those circumstances.”

A raw, wounded noise tears itself from his throat, through his tightly closed lips.

“I should have realised the reports were false,” he argues, hands twisting in the fabric of his robes. “I should have verified them personally, I—”

She takes his face between her hands, shocking him into silence.

There are new lines on her face, around her eyes and mouth, that hadn’t been there before; she’s older, he realises, and has had to fend for herself for many years. The Jiang Yanli before him now glows with health and vigour, dressed in the thick, coarse garments of the northern border tribes rather than the silks of the capital—a far cry from the sheltered princess from Yunmeng she had been in their youth. Her hands, still so small against his cheek, are rough and callused from hard labour.

“A-Xian, you did everything you could,” she repeats firmly. “It is in the past. Do not blame yourself any longer. Alright?”

He closes his eyes with a shuddering sigh.

And then he’s falling forward into Jiang Yanli’s waiting arms with an aborted cry, clutching at the back of her heavy cloak desperately. Her scent is different—the lotus blossoms replaced by something earthier and less floral—and the arms she wraps around him are stronger, the hug firmer than what he remembers. But the way her fingers run through his hair, the warmth of her body, the way she envelopes him in her embrace despite the difference in stature—there is no mistaking it. He would know it anywhere.

“Jiejie.” He’s repeating himself, over and over again, the way he has not done since they were children and it was still allowed. This is not a dream. “Jiejie, jiejie, jiejie—”

“A-Xian.” Jiang Yanli laughs, her voice thick with tears. “Oh, A-Xian, I’m so glad you’re alive. I’ve missed you so.”

He’s missed her too. There are no words to describe how much he’s missed her. So he just holds her tighter, buries his face in her shoulder as they sink to their knees in the middle of the study floor. He’s dimly aware of movement around them—the servants, perhaps, or Lan Wangji, stepping away to give them some privacy—but he doesn’t acknowledge them, overwhelmed by the fact that Jiang Yanli is here, in his arms, safe and sound after so many years.

“Fourteen years…” She pulls away, running her hands over his hair and face as she does, drinking in the sight of him. “A-Xian, you’ve lost weight.”

He shakes his head and laughs. “I’m alright. Don’t worry about me.” He leans into the hand resting on his cheek. “You look good, Jiejie. You haven’t changed at all.”

It’s her turn to shake her head, falling so easily into their familiar banter as she admonishes him for lying.

“Nonsense. Look at me.” She sits back on her heels and raises her arms to show off the travel-worn garb beneath her heavy cloak. “I’m just a humble farmer’s wife now.”

At the word ‘wife’, Wei Wuxian is suddenly reminded they are not alone. His attention is drawn to the doorway where Jin Zixuan stands with his arm around a boy of no more than ten. Gone are the fine, embroidered silks and gilded jewels signature to the Crown Prince of Lanling. Instead, both are dressed in the same thick, northern-style robes as Jiang Yanli, both with the same broad shoulders, sun-kissed skin and matching vermilion marks between their brows. Jin Zixuan offers him a nod when their eyes meet.

“Wei Wuxian, it’s been a while.” After a moment, he hastily corrects himself and bows. “My apologies, I did not mean any disrespect. Jin Zixuan greets Hanguang-wangye, Hanguang-wangfei.”

“Taizi—Jin-gongzi.” Wei Wuxian corrects himself quickly, returning his greeting with a short bow. “There is no need for such formality. It is good to see you all well.”

He is surprised to find he means it sincerely; there was no such goodwill the last time they had crossed paths, young and foolhardy as they were. But those days are long past. Gone is the spoilt young prince who had spurned the woman he regarded as a sister, buried beneath the cold ashes of a war that took everything from them in one fell swoop. This Jin Zixuan is a husband, a father, who had done the unthinkable—renouncing his claim to the throne of Lanling to search for Jiang Yanli without knowing whether or not she was even alive—and had been rewarded for his devotion.

Jiang Cheng, ah, Jiang Cheng, Wei Wuxian thinks. I think even you would hold a bit of respect for him now.

Jin Zixuan’s eyes shift to Lan Wangji, standing silently behind Wei Wuxian, and offers a deeper bow, which Lan Wangji returns with an incline of his head. Jiang Yanli follows suit from where she is still on her knees with Wei Wuxian, bowing low at the waist.

“Jiang Yanli greets Hanguang-wangye, Hanguang-wangfei,” she echoes. “Thank you for taking care of A-Xian. Yunmeng owes you a great debt.”

Before either of them can react to dispute her claim, she turns to beckon the boy—her son, Wei Wuxian’s heart leaps with realisation—closer with one hand, dabbing at her eyes with the sleeve of the other. She draws the boy closer, turns him to face both Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji with a warm smile and a comforting hand on his back. The boy looks up at them with something akin to awe in his eyes.

“A-Ling, come and pay respects to Wangye and Wangfei,” she tells him. “They are our family’s benefactors. Without their help, we would not be here today, so we must repay this debt however we can.”

“Yes, A-Niang.” Jin Ling steps away from his mother, squaring his little shoulders in a way that reminds Wei Wuxian of his father when they had first met, trying to put on an air of importance despite his small stature; he clasps his fingers in front of his chest and performs a textbook-perfect bow from the waist. “Jin Ling pays respects to Hanguang-wangye, Hanguang-wangfei.”

Wei Wuxian looks back at Lan Wangji, helpless in the face of their collective insistence, and sees the corner of Lan Wangji’s lips twitch. He sighs in defeat.

“Jin-xiao-gongzi,” he says, struggling to keep his voice steady. “Your mother’s family took me in when my parents passed, kept the roof over my head and the clothes on my back. Without them, I would not be here today. Whatever debt there is between us, let us wipe the slate clean now and start anew.”

He sees Lan Wangji incline his head in agreement, eyes soft as he holds out a hand to help him to his feet. His arm is warm and steady around his waist, his hand firm in his, holding him upright as he works to calm the storm of emotions warring within his chest. Finally, he gives the hand in his a brief squeeze and turns back to their guests with a bright smile.

“Now, let’s dispense with all this formality,” he says. “You must be tired from your journey—you must stay with us, here in Hanguang Manor. In fact, I insist upon it.”

Jiang Yanli exchanges a quick look with her husband.

“We do not wish to—” Wei Wuxian clears his throat pointedly, and Jiang Yanli falters mid-sentence, pauses and acquiesces with an amused sigh. “Then it would be impolite of us to decline such a generous offer.”

--

Translations

Gongzhu-dianxia (公主殿下) - Your Highness, the Princess

wangfei (王妃) - consort to the Duke, his legitimate wife/spouse

--

Notes

Approximately a billion years later!!!!

WWX called JYL jiejie as a child, before they got older and it was inappropriate to do so, after which he sometimes called her shijie in private, but mostly addressed her as Gongzhu-dianxia in public.

Any errors or inconsistencies will...be addressed at some point. It’s been a while and I need to revisit some things to remind myself what’s happened >_>

--

buy me a ko-fi!

more shattered mirrors fic | verse

[artfullypoetic]

The Burn of Cold Niceties (6/?)

Title: The Burn of Cold Niceties

Summary: Three years after the the Fourth Shinobi War, newfound peace in Konoha is rocked when one of their own is suspected of treason. Determined to uncover the truth, Sakura takes it upon herself to dive deep into Konoha’s best-kept secrets. As she faces danger and betrayal, can she protect the village and those she loves? Blank period, mostly canon-compliant, SasuSaku-centric but will include all canon pairings. New chapters every week!

Disclaimer: I do not own nor did I create Naruto. This was created solely for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (for future content)

FF.net Link | AO3 Link. Please comment/review!

---

Chapter 6

Sasuke visibly cringed at the filth and mildew that lined the walls of the abandoned Akatsuki hideout. Rubble and debris crinkled beneath his sandals as he tread through the decaying building, the sound echoing eerily throughout the empty space. It was difficult for him to picture Itachi, disciplined and methodical, in such a filthy place.

Stopping before a pile of scrolls on the ground, Sasuke opened each one only to find that none were legible, the ink blurred from rain damage. He knew that the chances of him finding anything still intact was slim, but he wasn't ready to give up just yet. He was desperate for a glimpse into Itachi's life, no matter how small it was.

Deeper into the hideout was more of the same, to his dismay. Disappointed but still persistent, he continued his trek through the building, running his fingers along the wall as he moved. Just then, an abrupt change in the wall's texture made him halt his steps.

Moving closer to inspect it, Sasuke continued to run his fingers across the surface of the wall, finding that the change in texture was localized to a single spot. As he prodded the wall, he noted that the area was barely shoulder width apart, its borders distinct. A hidden door, he realized. And suddenly, with a push, it opened.

As he peered into the darkness, a piercing scream resounded in his ears. Caught off guard, he couldn't dodge quick enough when a body crashed into his and tackled him to the ground. As he got his bearings, he couldn't help but think that he's heard that scream before.

But before he could continue that train of thought, a fist flying towards his face demanded his attention. As he blocked the assault, he quickly pushed himself out from under the assailant's body and up to his feet. Waiting there to meet him was a woman clad in an ANBU mask and a black cloak.

Sasuke activated his Sharingan and summoned electricity to his hand. He took aim at the woman as the familiar high-pitched sound filled the room. But before his chidori could make contact with the attacker's body, a blade pierced his shoulder blade from behind. Seeing him pause, the woman jumped out of the way and disappeared into the darkness.

Whipping around, he found himself in the midst of five masked assailants, each one stood poised for attack. Kunai and shuriken flew towards him but his visual prowess allowed him to dodge each one with ease.

With a rough shove, his chidori pierced the chest of a man to his right. At the same time, he crouched to avoid a jutsu cast by another ninja, sending a wave of water blasting towards him at full force. Cringing slightly at the feeling in his hands, he ripped his arm out from where it impaled his opponent and darted to the far side of the building.

At a standstill, he could feel the enemy size him up. Four attackers remained now: two men and two women who quickly spread out to surround him. Drawing his sword from where it rested at his waist in its sheath, he wasted no time in charging at the man who stood directly in front of him. He could sense the others chase closely behind him.

At the last minute, seconds before his blade would have hit the man, Sasuke abruptly turned and swung his sword behind him, slashing the body of an unsuspecting attacker. A scream echoed in the hideout as the woman collapsed, blood pouring from the mortal wound on throat.

Spinning on his heels again, he dragged his blade across where he sensed another attacker. However, this time, his weapon was blocked by another. A metallic ring sounded as the two metals met, with the man's sword held vertically merely inches away from Sasuke's face. The only thing stopping Sasuke from being slashed was his own sword held perpendicular against the assaulting weapon.

Swiftly, he moved his sword and ducked before the man could swing it further down onto his face. Moving quicker than the naked eye could see, Sasuke kicked the man's legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground on his back. After channeling chakra into his sword, enough to audibly hear the crackle of lightning, he plunged the blade deep into the man's chest. Sasuke did not plan on showing mercy today.

Three down, two to go. The remaining assailants stood in front of him now, several feet away. Sasuke made a mental note to keep at least one alive for interrogation. Although he was pretty sure this attack had something to do with that bounty on his head.

He was poised, ready to be on the offensive again, when the scream he heard earlier rang throughout the room. Hearing it a second time, he was sure that he knew it. His suspicions were only confirmed when the voice shrieked his name, causing his chest to lurched painfully at the sound. Blood running cold, he froze in place and couldn't force himself to move or even think. His body, now moving on its own, started to run towards the direction of the scream as he tried and failed miserably to stop the panic rising in his stomach.

The scream got louder and louder as he neared its location and he could only pray that he got there in time. He had no idea what they were doing, but he'd heard screams like that before during his time with Orochimaru; screams of excruciating pain that could only mean one thing: torture.

Finally, he reached another wall that seemed to be equipped with the same hidden door mechanism he had stumbled upon earlier. But this time, nothing he did would open it. Pressing his ear against the door, his heart dropped when he realized that the screams were now replaced with hysterical sobbing, begging for the torture to end.

Before Sasuke could continue his desperate attempts to break down the entryway, a hard object smashed against the side of his head, hard enough that he could almost feel his brain reverberate against the inside of his skull. Very rarely could he ever be caught off guard by such an attack, but his thoughts were still racing a mile a minute and his movements were fueled solely by autopilot.

His vision blurred from the force of the impact on his head and he could feel his Sharingan deactivate. Reaching up to touch where he was struck, he was unsurprised to find warm, red liquid spewing from the wound. But he couldn't give up just yet.

Pulling himself to his feet, he surveyed his surroundings, finding that the attackers have activated some sort of smoke bomb. As haze filled the room, he realized that this was no ordinary smoke. The substance burned his nostrils and rendered his eyes completely useless. He recognized this smoke bomb as one specially formulated to combat dojutsu. He had only ever seen this weapon once before, back when it was being developed in Konoha, and it had no reason to be in the hands of some ordinary bounty hunters.

Coughing quickly became a gasp for air. With the last of his energy, he summoned Chidori again, readying himself to break down the door. But before he could move, arms reached from all around him to trap his body in place. Another hand reached to cup the back of his head as a sudden nausea overcame him. Someone was absorbing his chakra.

Black spots danced across his vision and he knew he wouldn't be able to hold on any longer. As he lost consciousness, he could only think of the scream from behind the door that was begging him to save her. It was a voice he knew so well, one that he had to physically suppress his memories of when he left the village. It was the voice of Sakura Haruno.

***

When he woke, Sasuke almost didn't believe he was actually conscious but the pain radiating from the side of his head convinced him otherwise. His vision was completely black, covered by a blindfold tied across his eyes. His lone arm was shackled against a pipe as the metal restraints dug uncomfortably into his wrist.

Before he went unconscious, he could remember the feeling of someone draining every last drop of his chakra. His suspicions were confirmed when he tried to activate his eyes only to realize that it was nearly impossible. Sasuke cursed to himself when he realized that his lack of chakra also made it extremely difficult for him to sense his surroundings. He was completely blinded and defenseless.

At this realization, his mind wandered back to the sound of Sakura's screams. He had to fight back the guilt that bubbled in his chest, when he grasped the fact that she was probably here because of her connection to him. The image of her bleeding and battered body lying on the ground of the Kusakagure forest flashed across his mind. Even after so many years, he still consistently endangered her and the thought of that brought along an uncomfortable feeling he wasn't yet ready to face.

As Sasuke grappled with his plethora of emotions and his current captive situation, the creaking of a metal door snapped him from his thoughts. Heavy footsteps accompanied the sound, getting louder as they drew closer to him. He counted the steps as they occurred, estimating the distance between him and a potential escape route. Because he probably wouldn't have enough chakra to summon his Susanoo or cast a space-time ninjutsu, he needed to plan an escape without them and he needed to plan one fast if he wanted to save Sakura.

Fuck, he thought as a foot kicked him roughly in the face. Unable to sense the attack coming, he took the hit with full force. The kick knocked him down from the sitting position he was in with his back against the wall and he landed harshly, with his face slamming against the floor. His wrist burned with pain as it was tugged against the handcuff and he could taste metal where his teeth cut into the insides of his cheeks.

Pushing himself up as best as he could using the stump of his left arm, he was only met again with another kick directly into his ribs. The impact briefly knocked the air from his lungs, leaving him to gasp for oxygen as blood dripped from his open mouth.

"The great Sasuke Uchiha, you don't seem to live up to your reputation," sounded a deep and gruff voice as the person speaking loomed above him.

Sasuke did not reply and another kick was delivered to his stomach, forcing him to fight desperately against the urge to vomit. Without his chakra, he was defenseless and fatigued, even the act of lifting his head seemed to send fire coursing through his veins.

"You should have rotted in jail years ago," there was a second person speaking now whom Sasuke missed the presence of while he was recovering from his assault. "Any other criminal would have but I guess it pays to know that useless Hokage."

The words rang in Sasuke's ear as they have been things that he repeated to himself over and over the past several years. He knew that he shouldn't have been released from the jail cell he was in after the war. It was only with Kakashi's help and the rest of the Konoha Eleven's testimonials that allowed him to walk as a free man.

"What? Nothing to say?" The first man spat as he grabbed hair from the back of Sasuke's head and lifted his face.

With a grimace, Sasuke growled, "Where is she?"

At his question, the two men released booming laughs that resounded against the empty walls of the room.

"Where is she?" Sasuke repeated, putting as much venom as he could into his voice.

The laughter only continued.

"I knew you were weak, but I didn't realize you were so weak that you couldn't spot genjutsu," one of the men taunted.

Sasuke scolded himself silently. He was so engrossed in the thought of Sakura being captured and tortured that he didn't even notice the miniscule discrepancies in the auditory genjutsu. He should have figured; the Sakura he knew who fought in the war would have never begged for him to save her that way. She would have been able to hold her own.

"Fucking pathetic," one of the men spat.

The grip on his hair was released as the man slammed Sasuke's head against the wall. Unable to keep his head lifted up, he let it hang limply forward, his chin pressing into his chest. His head spun and the muscles on his neck strained from the tension. It took all his energy not to groan; he wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

Hands suddenly grabbed him and he could feel the shackle on his wrist release. He was dragged across the room and towards another before being strapped in a vertical position against a cross. His arms were pulled horizontally and strapped against either arm of the cross, leaving him to hang there painfully, held upright only by the restraints on his right wrist and what remained of his left arm.

"You're going to pay for everything your brother did and you're going to feel every sin you Uchiha scum committed." the man spoke in a low, menacing voice. "You are going to endure the torture my brother did when Itachi put him under genjutsu—all 72 fucking hours of it and more."

The realization hit Sasuke like a ton of bricks. He recalled the way Kakashi described his experience under Itachi's genjutsu. How he was stabbed repeatedly for what felt like days when in reality, only mere minutes had passed.

The man brandished a sword, summoning chakra to the blade. With this technique, he could do as much damage as he wanted while the chakra immediately cauterized the wound and healed any punctured organs. It was the perfect weapon to recreate Itachi's genjutsu.

With unadulterated force, he plunged the weapon deep into Sasuke's stomach, twisting it painfully against his insides. Unable to hold it back any longer, Sasuke screamed.

[coffee--writes]

The Message on the Wall

Pairing: James Potter x gn!Reader - Marauders x Reader Content

Word Count: 5.9k (jdklfdh im sorry) 

Warnings: Underage Drinking, Implications of... yeah. I think that’s about it. 

Requested: Yes, a long time (i feel bad for only getting to it but i hope the nonnie stuck around to see this piece) by an anon who asked for James x Reader with childhood best friends to lovers trope. 

Summary: In which, James Potter was busy writing himself a message on the wall but was too blind to read what he had to say. 

Pictures. 

In actuality they were only images. For Muggles, they stood stagnant, for James Potter they moved slightly. 

But in deeper meaning pictures were moments in time captured in a frame. They were a personal reminder of things that were, things that used to be and anything else that didn’t fall into one of the other two categories. 

James Potter adored pictures. His room was littered with them. A handful were of Quidditch players and Tutshill Tornados merchandise. One picture of him and his parents sat on the nightstand beside his bed. But adjourned on the wall to the left was a mostly blank wall. One small Tornados banner was pinned against the soft red paint and in the middle a picture he was particularly fond of. 

The film captured James at the age of four. A broom was clutched in his left hand and a toothy smile on his face as the wind rustled his hair causing it to stick up more than it already did. Beside him was you, your eyes crossed and your tongue licking a swirled lolly. 

When his mother had shown him the picture you had just left for home, making a young James quite sad that his friend couldn’t stay just a little longer. Euphemia Potter had smiled, handing the picture to her son. “It’s okay, my love. Now you have a piece of Y/N with you.” 

“How?” James had asked, his lower lip jutting out in a frown. 

Euphemia laughed. “The picture captures you together. Look how happy the two of you look!” she points at her son’s smile in the photo. “You can do whatever you’d like with it.” 

James grinned, his eyes lighting up once more. “I want to hang it, mum!” he dragged her hand into the bedroom with him, climbing on top of his bedsheets and pressing the picture to the wall. “Here. That way I can say goodnight to them even when they're not here.” 

Euphemia Potter smiled watching as her son tucked himself under the covers. “That’s a brilliant idea, James.” With a wave of her wand, two pins fastened themself to the wall, the photo beneath. 

That was the beginning of James’s love for pictures. More pictures would accumulate such as the one of him and his father at a Tornados game. Drawings you would give him of flowers and Kneazles. The pictures would come and go but yours stayed the same. An additional picture of you and James would later be added three years later when the two of you were seven. James’s broom no longer sat in one hand, instead was gripped with two and hovering five feet off the ground. He had a wicked smile on his face, his glasses slightly falling down his nose. You sat behind him, your small fingers clutching to his waist as the picture captured you mid-squeal. 

Time went on yet the pictures of the two of you stayed the same. Along with your drawings, which had improved dramatically since you were seven, he’d occasionally find a Hollyhead Harpies banner plastered to his wall. When he came to scold you, pink banners adjourned in his hand, you’d laugh at the pout on his lips. He could never stay angry at you and always joined in on your laughter. 

The final year before things would slightly change was the year before going to Hogwarts.  A third picture was added at the age of ten. The Potter family had accompanied your family on a trip to Diagon Alley in which you had bought your screech owl, Juniper. James had one arm wrapped around you. His hair was untidy and a goofy smile was on his face as his other hand flicked your forehead. Your eyes were closed mid-laugh as one hand pushed his face away and the other perched with Juniper who screeched happily on your available arm. 

Again, time went on quickly and changes were made in James Potter’s room but you were not one of them. He packed up his Hogwarts things the night of August 31st, leaving his room full of pictures with a soft smile. 

You rode on the train with him, both of you waving goodbye to your loved ones. You grinned at him wickedly, “Excited?” you ask. 

“Definitely.” he responded. “Do you have money for the trolley?” 

You slide into a train compartment, one small boy already sitting there. “Yeah. Do you need to borrow some?” 

James nodded and you rolled your eyes, handing money over to the kind witch who passed by, grabbing pumpkin pasties for you and Bertie Botts for James. 

The ride was life-changing as you made acquaintances with similar mindsets. Two more boys entered your compartment and along with the scrawny boy from before, all of you made it to Gryffindor. “Where dwell the brave at heart” as James liked to put it. 

First year was an interesting feat with James quickly falling head over heels for Lily Evans. Your friendship never faltered although the thought of her in his life made you feel odd. However, you were sure she wouldn’t be in his life for quite some time seeing as his persistent efforts were met with an equally stubborn rejection. 

“She’s a firecracker, that one.” he sighed, walking beside you down the hall after another devastating encounter with Lily. 

“You’re just embarrassing yourself now, my boy.” you reply, dubbing his nickname to ease the comment. 

He smirked. “Then why do you hang out with me?” 

“Because, I’m the one who makes sure you don’t cross the line from embarrassing to mortifying.” 

He shakes his head with a silly grin. “I doubt that. You love me. That’s why.” 

You laugh, an effective way of avoiding the curious ideas that ran through your young mind. “Don’t throw around the l- word so quickly! You’ve got to mean it.” 

James bumped your side. “But I’ve known you for years.” 

You ruffle his hair, making it messier than it already was. “Save it for Evans.” 

---

The year ended and the two of you went home to Northern England hands overflowing with Gryffindor red, spirits high with a drive for Quidditch practice and addresses from Remus, Peter, and Sirius tucked away in your pockets. 

James’s room changed tremendously that first year. Alongside the Tutshill Tornados merchandise were small Gryffindor banners, lions enchanted to roar at the touch. You had given him one of your sketches from the school year, one of Sirius and him laughing in Transfiguration, another of him and Peter skipping stones. The pictures of the two of you still remained, a small collection of dust coating the edges which he wiped away with a smile. 

Second year was merry and full of high spirits. James had acquired his father’s invisibility cloak which gave cause to a number of nighttime rendezvous and adventures in the kitchens. Suspicion arose on Remus, whose monthly disappearances came to your attention. With the help of Sirius and Peter, the group soon discovered Remus’s guarded secret and accepted the furry little problem with open arms. 

The Lily Evans situation did not get any better with James’s persistence holding up fiercely and her hatred toward him even more harsh. As Sirius had dubbed it, “Mate, at this point you’re never getting married.” Remus and Peter whole-heartedly agreed, sending James into an adolescent spiral. 

“What if I don’t get married, Y/N/N?” he confided in you by the shores of the Black Lake. 

You chuckled, his delirium quite adorable. “You’re going to get married, James. Trust me.” 

He sighed, snapping a twig between his fingers. “It’s not definite.” 

“Nothing is.” you counter. 

James groaned. “I know. I know. But I would like it to be. Wouldn’t you?” 

You contemplated the idea, a thought coming to your head. “What if it could be?” 

He stared at you curiously. Your eyes lit up and James grinned. “Hit me.” 

“If by the time we are thirty neither of us are married then we should get married to each other.” you propose, a proud smile on your face. “That way we can have a definite of our own.” 

James grinned. “I like that idea. But what if one of us gets married before that?”

You frown. “Then I guess it’d be a flop. But it’s better than nothing, right?” 

He agreed quickly. The sun was setting into a pond of pink. The wind rustled and birds chirped and the moment seemed picture perfect and James wished a camera would magically pop up and capture the moment so he’d be able to hang it on his wall for years to come. It did not work that way, instead, he turned to you with a smirk. “I don’t have anything to propose with.” 

You looked down in embarrassment and gave him a shove. “We’re not getting married yet! It’s just a deal not the real thing.” 

He rolled his eyes at you. “I know but it feels as though something special should happen. How about we seal with a spit swear?” 

You stick your tongue out and pretend to gag. “Ew! No.” you flick his forehead causing him to wince. He grins before flicking you back, watching as you fall back onto the grass. 

“I guess a flick works as well.” he sighs. “Y/N Potter has a nice ring to it.” 

Your head falls against his shoulder. “I can’t believe I might be a Potter one day. Sounds disgusting.” 

James laughs, the weight of your head feeling oddly familiar against his shoulder. “Oh, shut it!” 

--- 

The years came and went. Third year, James made the Quidditch team and he quickly became a ladies man despite his obvious pining over Evans. You made sure to keep his feet on the ground as you didn’t want his ego to get larger than it already was. You came to all his games, occasionally bringing a camera so that James could add his moments of glory onto his beloved room wall. There was the time he tried dedicating a shot to you and ended up getting knocked off his broom by a Beater. 

He made the next one thankfully. 

On the other hand, you had earned the title of master dueler amongst the third years for your quick arm and sharp spellcasting. While James was at Quidditch practice: you, Peter, Remus, and Sirius would practice in empty classrooms although after a while they became rather bored as you would always win. James would cheer you on, even when you beat him there was a compliment of your skill and he was more than anything, proud. 

The summer between third and fourth year was the year the Marauders got their first group picture together. Everyone had met up at the Potter residence, Euphemia Potter snapping the photo with Sirius and James to the left, Peter and Remus on the right, and you in the middle. James hung the picture on his wall as it was routine by now. The whole gang got to see his famous wall of pictures, his life an open storybook to anyone who looked closely. 

Fourth year sparked love, pranks, and new ideas. Peter went on his first date, flaming at the cheeks as his friends waved him off embarrassingly. Group pranks ensued upon Snape whose oily hair was dyed all colors of the rainbow by the end of the first semester. You had gone on your first date as well, Steven Goldstein from Hufflepuff whom James threatened to beat up and Sirius who gave him “a talk”. 

Most importantly, the group addressed Remus’s furry little problem seeing as each year he came back with more and more scars than before. Two ideas sparked up from the meeting and both were large feats that every member of the group was willing to take. 

“So wait..” Peter asked. “You want to make a map… that tracks everyone in Hogwarts?” 

James nodded and Remus shook his head. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. Don’t look at me that way, Remus.” 

Remus shoved him lightly. “How would that even work though? Isn’t it a little invasive?” 

You smiled. “It most certainly is invasive but think about how awesome it’d be to have something like that. All we would need is…” 

“A complex locator spell.” you and Sirius said together. 

Everyone grinned. “Pete can do the drawing and sketching. He’s good at that stuff. We should check for secret passageways. All of us could do the magic. We’ve got the brains.” 

“I don’t think someone with brilliant magic technique would use the word brain to describe their intelligence.” you point out. James simply flicked you in the head. 

“And there’s the Animagi thing…” Sirius added. 

“That’s a reach.” Remus replied. 

“More than the map?” Peter questioned. 

Remus sighed. “You guys don’t have to do that for me. I’ve been transforming on my own for years. No need to have buddies now.” 

“Nonsense.” you say. “Anything for you, Rem. This is what you deserve.” 

The friends looked at each other silently. “Are we ready to pull off the biggest student feat in Hogwarts history?” Sirius whispered. 

“Aye, aye.” Everyone cheered. 

Peter grinned. “We’re up to no good.” 

James smiled back. “Then let us manage our mischief well.” 

WIth that the group commenced, exiting the abandoned classroom they used and taking off to class. James walked by your side as you headed to astronomy together. 

“I can’t wait till we pin this down. It’s going to be an epic year.” he grinned. 

You chuckle. “I know you’ll end up stalking someone, Potter. Evans by the looks of it.” 

He shook his head, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Nope. I’m gonna stalk you instead. See if you’re hiding any secrets from me.” 

You smile. “What secrets could I possibly be hiding from you, my boy?” 

James nudged your side with a smirk. “You’re telling me a good-looking fellow like yourself isn’t sneaking off with some other lad other than their best friends.” 

You shook your head, the word “good-looking” repeating itself in your mind. “No. If I did I would tell you.” 

“Good.” he said, starting up the stairs to the Astronomy tower. “I don’t need some arsehole stealing you away from me.” 

You roll your eyes. “No one could ever steal me from you, James. I’m not a Quaffle.” 

He nods with a grin. “Yeah. I suppose you’re more of a Snitch.” 

You laugh, dashing up the stairs in hopes that you wouldn’t be late for your Astronomy lesson.

--- 

As one could guess more pictures and sketches made their home on James Potter’s wall. It was a cluttered mess but beautiful nonetheless. It was as though the wall had an expression of its own with its array of Quidditch jerseys, photographs, art, and ticket stubs. Nobody touched the wall except James as he liked having every picture in place. His wall organized the way he liked it best… messy. 

Fifth year was the first year you didn’t see James every week. He had eagerly signed up for Quidditch camp and had left for Wales with promises that’d you write about the boys and the progress on the map and Animagi projects. The projects went well with Peter completing the outline sketches of the maps, Remus filling piles of papers on Animagi transformations and finally Sirius and you gathering the needed ingredients for the Animagi process. 

You had grown taller over the summer, hair lightening and your features more accentuated. Eagerly you awaited James’s return and when the time did come you had woken up early in the morning to see him arrive by Portkey on the hill. The second he appeared you had rushed over, engulfing him in a hug. You had missed his touch, his constant nagging and overall  the James Potterness that followed him around that would never fade with time. 

Meanwhile, he was left out of breath, a couple of inches taller and a smile on his face as he squeezed you back. “Y/N/N! I missed you, you lazy hag.” 

You laughed, messing up his hair that sat more neatly than in previous years. “And I missed you, my boy.” 

The next days before school were spent catching him up on the map and at the pond by your house. With each swim you noticed the changes in James such as the six-pack the tedious trials at Quidditch camp had given him. 

“Oi!” you shouted, splashing him in the face. “Whatever happened to the skinny twig that was my friend?” 

He smirked. “Oi! Why are you looking?” 

You bit your lip, not allowing him to see you flustered. “I’m sorry. You’re my best friend and it’s a very noticeable change!” you pointed at his toned stomach. 

James tapped your nose and you stared at him in annoyance. “It’s only noticeable if you want to notice it.” 

He turned around, making to walk back to the shore of the pond. You didn’t remember when James had gotten so cheeky although he’d always been that way, just never with you. Wickedly, you took the bucket that floated beside you and dunked it in the water. With a mischievous grin, you snuck up behind him, dumping the bucket of water on his head. 

James turned around with a gasp, jaw dropped. You laughed, a wide smile on your lips at the sight of him drenched in his swim trunks. It wasn’t until his arms tucked along your waist, dragging you to the deeper ends of the pond did the smile drop and his return. 

“Why you little…” you seethed. “James Fleamont Potter if you-” 

It was too late by then, your body submerged in the water and you swam up, his laughter the first noticeable sound. You scowled as he doubled over with laughter on the shore. “I’m never letting you go to Quidditch camp again.” 

The two of you walked home as the sun set, many flicks to the forehead ensuing as you did. 

---

Fifth year was by far the most epic year of your Hogwarts experience. Everything was prepared for the Animagi transformation and phase two of the map project was ready to launch with Remus having gained access to the restricted section of the library. 

It seemed as though the whole student body had recognized the change in James’s physique which only led to an inflation of his ego. The worst part was that Lily Evans just so happened to be one of those said noticers and while her defiance toward him was still strong, she could be caught staring in class much to James’s delight. 

The Animagi process began as soon as the September full moon. While Remus suffered in the Shrieking Shack, the four other Marauders set their Mandrake leaves into their mouths preparing for an uncomfortable month of bitterness on their tongues. The leaves were held under their tongues when talking in class and for the rest of the time they resorted to note passing leaving the entirety of Hogwarts wondering why the Marauders went quiet so suddenly. 

During the period between moons, they worked on their map. Stacks of books, both regular and restricted, lay among them. Each had a quill and parchment used to take note of spells or pass messages back and forth. As you worked you received a message from James in the form of a crumpled ball of parchment. You smoothed it out with a sigh. 

I hate this thing. It tastes like piss and lime. 

You held back a chuckle, writing your own message next to his. 

You’re not backing out of this, Potter. It’s for Remus. 

He stuck the leaf under his tongue in order to stick it out at you and you rolled your eyes. He scribbled a message back. 

I know. I know. Doesn’t mean I can’t complain about it. 

You smirked, tossing the parchment back to him. 

If your scrawny arse can come back from Quidditch camp with abs then you can stomach keeping a leaf in your mouth for a month. 

He smoothed it out and you went back to your work only getting in a minute's reading before the parchment bounced off your head. You scowled at his antics but he only looked at his book with a smirk. Unfolding the paper, James’s messy handwriting took up the last blank space on the parchment. 

Nice to know you still think about my abs. 

Your stomach squirmed at the feeling that inflamed from his words and the smirk that was on his face. You flicked him on the head, throwing the parchment into the fire before Sirius could ask what it was. 

--- 

It took moon soaked leaves, untouched morning dew and a lightning storm to finally complete the transformations. It was on a late November night that a lightning storm finally struck and in the fifth corridor bathroom the Marauders made their first transformations. For Peter, a small rat with a wriggling tail. For Sirius, a pure black dog. For James, a large stag with mighty horns. For you, a sly fox with sleek orange fur. 

Thus that night began the use of the nicknames: Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, Prongs and Vixen. Dubbed by James and agreed upon all around. The final full moons of fifth year were spent prancing around Hogsmeade alongside Remus whose scars diminished with each transformation spent with his friends. 

The downside of it all was the building tension in the school. With Lord Voldemort on the rise, more and more of your classmates were showing their true colors. Select Slytherins no longer wore short sleeves, their wrists always covered even in the heat of summer. Watchful eyes and protective glares, you went home for summer in worry. 

Over the summer, Prongs lost his Pronginess. He wrote to Lily Evans most days of the week and now the things she sent him hung on his wall alongside you and the Marauders. An anticipated change but a scary one still. Every outing with James became more about Lily and less about anything else. You could feel your best friend slipping away and you told him so the night before the start of sixth year. 

The two of you sat together in the branches of a tree. The sun hit your skin in rays and clouds passed by over your heads. James’s voice droned on about his darling Lily flower and with an unknowing malice you snapped at him. “Shut it!” you groaned. 

His eyes looked over at you, hands holding your head in remorse. “Aren’t you happy for me? You’ve been acting off all summer.” 

“I’ve been acting off because you’ve been acting off. I am happy for you but Evans is the only thing you talk about these days. What happened to talking about the Tornados or sneaking out together for milkshakes?” 

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s different now.” 

“Well, it shouldn’t be.” you exclaim. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t grow up. I support the idea of you no longer being a cheeky bastard. If you’re happy with Evans then I am happy for you. But being with Evans doesn’t mean you have to forget about me or the Marauders or everything else.” 

James nodded, a leaf spinning between his fingers as he frowned. “I’m sorry, Y/N/N.” 

You shake your head. “I am too. Sorry I snapped at you, my boy.” your head fell onto his shoulder the same way it had done for years only this time things had changed. The weight still felt perfect on his shoulder but now his stomach turned and his breath hitched at the close proximity. Things were indeed changing although the two of you only danced around it, not wanting to address the mess you two had made. 

Your head was still against his shoulder as you spoke quietly. “Just remember you’re not a Quaffle.” 

He chuckled, stroking your hair affectionately. “I guess I’ll be the snitch then.” 

You smiled, swimming in the feel of the James Potter you knew so well. Later that night, the two of you snuck out like old times, sharing a chocolate milkshake and sending each other glances the whole way home. 

--- 

Sixth year was a rollercoaster. The map was finished, all the efforts poured out finally receiving an equally impressive outcome with the parchment branded with the names of the Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, Prongs and Vixen. Remus had his first kiss and Sirius decided on leaving home and James welcomed him with open arms. 

The other Marauders were not impartial to the changes in your and James’s behavior. The miniscule changes in his face when you napped on his lap or the flush of your skin when he rustled your hair. In all honesty, it was as though the two of you were finally waking up and seeing what they’d been seeing all along. However, your own defiance was strong and love wasn’t simple. James was still under the impression that his heart beat for Lily Evans and you flirted around your feelings as opposed to finally confronting them. 

When Gryffindor won the Quidditch season, you were the first one in James’s arms to congratulate him. He spun you around, a large grin on his face. “We won!” 

You smiled. “That you did, my boy. Celebration calls and are you thinking what I’m thinking?” 

He tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “Hmm? Let me guess… Firewhiskey?” 

“That’s my boy.” you cheer, linking your arm in his and dragging him off the field as Lily Evans watched the boy she had taken a chance on run off with someone else.

---

Firewhiskey made for a fine celebration and resulted in James and you collapsed on the floor of the Gryffindor common room at two in the morning. His glasses were crooked as he stared up at the ceiling and your hair fell in waves on the floorboards. 

“Blimey, I can’t believe we won.” James chuckled, his words slurring together slightly. 

“You deserve it, my boy.” you say, lightly punching his arm. “How are you feeling on this fine evening?” 

His cheeks went pink but a smile overtook his features making for a hilarious expression when he shouted out. “Randy!”  

You doubled over with laughter. “Gosh, James. I don’t need to hear about this.” you shove his grinning face with your palm. 

“What, you've never felt randy before?” he asked, a childlike expression on his face juxtaposing such an intrusive question. 

You hide your embarrassment behind a grin. “Yes, but I’m not going around telling you about it.” 

He tapped your nose with the tip of his finger and your stomach swirled. “And why not?” 

You turned over to your side. “I’m not sure best friends tell each other about being randy, Prongs.” 

James sighed. “I guess not. But how are you feeling, my little vixen?” 

With a swig of your drink and a grin you reply. “Randy.” 

The two of you erupt into fits of laughter. James pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I suppose it’s the whiskey then.” 

You stare up at the ceiling. “Yeah, I suppose so.” 

Both of you knew that wasn’t the case. You knew that despite the whiskey slowing the gears of your mind you still noticed James’s hand laying by your waist. You could still trace the outline of his chin and the bridge of his nose. James could still see the curve of your lips and the rise of your chest. Firewhiskey was most definitely not the cause of your randiness. 

But it was the easiest thing to blame. 

--- 

Your birthday came soon after with the Marauders celebrating in joy. Presents were exchanged with Remus giving you some books, Peter knitted (with the help of his mother) a pair of mittens for you and Sirius had gifted you a record to play on your stereo. 

But James had to be extravagant. It wasn’t everyday his best friend turned seventeen and he marked the occasion with something expensive yet meaningful. When you opened the small box inside had been a silver fox ring. It’s eyes sparkling gems that twinkled as if blinking. 

“James, I’m going to kill you.” you seethed. “This is way too expensive. I’m turning seventeen not fifty.” 

He laughed. “Oi, woman! It’s fine. Nothing I couldn’t handle. Besides, only the best for you.” 

You stared at it once more before engulfing him in a hug. “It’s beautiful, my boy. Thank you.” 

His arms squeezed your waist, breathing you in and remembering the sweet smells of childhood and friendship rolled into one. His eyes closed and it was as if he had drifted off into a pleasant dream. “Of course, my little vixen.”

You made certain to flick his head after. 

He was starting to regret giving it to you already. 

---

Sixth year came to a close with an even more devastating end than the last. The war only continued to rage with Muggles being murdered miles away from the school, Muggle-borns driving into hiding. Sirius’s brother was slowly falling into line with the other Slytherins, devoting their hours to the torture of Muggleborns, Lord Voldemort and the likes. 

James left Hogwarts heart-broken when Lily Evans broke up with him on the last day of term. “Look around!” Lily had told him. “You’re blind, James. I’m not the person you want and it’d be clear if you’d stop and take a look.” 

He hadn’t known what she meant and the first week of summer was spent crying and eating ice cream on the sofa with you by his side. His room had become a mess and Lily’s letters no longer remained on the wall instead crumbled up in a ball in the trash. 

Euphemia Potter couldn’t dread to see her son in the dumps any longer and she made sure to tell him so one evening after you had left. 

“James, you need to get your life together, my love.” she whispered, rubbing her sons back reassuringly. 

His words came out muffled into her neck. “It’s hard.” 

“I know.” she soothed. “And I’m always going to be there for you.” 

“Promise?” he asked. 

“Promise.” she smiled. “Now how about you go clean your room. It’s become quite dirty.” 

He nodded, trudging to his room with a broom. Lily’s words repeated in his mind as he entered. “You’re blind, James. Look around!” But there was nothing to look for. All he saw was his wall and a soft smile came to his face as he approached it. The Tutshill Tornado banners clung loosely to the paint and drawings of Kneazles and landscapes and trees. Pictures of the Marauders and Gryffindor lions. 

And finally the ones of you. 

His fingers ran across the picture in the middle. Four-year old James grinning and you licking a lolly. His eyes moved to the next one, seven years old and flying together on a broomstick. A grin broke out on his face as he saw the one with your owl in Diagon Alley, his fingers flicking your forehead. James’s mind was on hyperdrive as he examined each picture, one common factor in almost all of them. 

You. 

You were in many of the photos, a smile adorned on your face. If you weren’t in the photos you were the one taking them, knowing how much he adored them. Any pictures that hung were sketched by your hands. Here was James Potter’s open story, the story of his life all plastered to the wall as though it was an empty canvas. Present in every moment, every aspect, had been you. You had been the start of his book, the picture of the two of you as tots still smacked in the middle of the wall. Yes, he realized. You had started his book and had remained in it for quite some time. 

Lily Evans must’ve noticed and maybe everyone else had too. 

James had been blind to the message that was sprawled across his wall. He had been the one writing it, maybe not knowingly but writing it out all the same. Everyone had seen it except the writer and his subject, the message painstakingly clear years prior to its conception. 

He quickly removed all the pictures from the wall, grabbing each one that hung and piling them up in his hand. The door swung open as he dashed out of his room yelling, “I’ve got to go, mum!” before running out the front door. The hills of green were illuminated by the night sky, the stars burned for James as he hopped over branches and boulders to get to you. 

Your house was in the distance, your figure standing a few feet away from the home. He called out to you, your eyes turned to meet his. When he reached you, he paused, catching his breath. 

“James, what on Earth are you doing here?” you laugh, placing a hand on his shoulder as he breathed. 

He stood up straight, panting as he held up a photo. “This is us when we were four. The first photo we ever took together.” 

You squinted at him. “Right?” 

He shuffled through the pictures, fingers tracing each one. “And this is from when we were seven. That one from when we were ten. You gave me this drawing when we were six because you loved Kneazles and wanted one as a pet. That drawing was from the first year when we went skipping stones at the Black Lake and you sketched me and Peter.” 

Your face melts slowly. “James, I don’t understand. You’ve had these for years.” 

He exhaled, his eyes lighting up. “That’s the thing. I never saw it till now but Lily said I was blind and that she wasn’t the person I wanted.” You nod, wiping the sweat from his forehead with your sleeve and he grinned. “See that right there. That’s what I want.” 

The night air bit at your spine. “You want me to wipe the sweat from your forehead?” 

He shook his head with a soft chuckle. “Not exactly. I want you to wipe the sweat from my forehead for the next year and the next ten and then the next fifty. You’ve been doing it for years already and the thing is… I don’t think I want anyone else doing it for me.” 

You blinked as he came closer, his palms cradling your cheek as you gazed into his eyes. “You’ve been in my life for as long as I could remember and I want you to stay in it for as long as I live. You told me once to not throw around the l-word and I said…” 

“But I’ve known you my whole life.” you mutter. 

“I think I’ve loved you for a while. I just didn’t know it yet.” 

You shook your head as the wind rustled the branches, the windchime on your porch creating soft melodies. A large grin spread across your lips yet you continued to shake your head. “There’s a war, James.” 

He smiled. “Only more the reason to be with me.” 

“But I’ve been with you my whole life.” you tease. 

“Oh, shut up!” he chuckles, before leaning down to capture your lips. At that moment everything made sense. All the pieces of the puzzle sifted into place and the stars applauded you from the sky and the night gale created a ruckus at your shed blindfold. 

“Be my Snitch?” he asked. 

You rolled your eyes, “That’s the cringiest thing you’ve ever said, my boy.” 

He smirked. “Oh, but you love it.” 

“Perhaps I do.” you replied, flicking his forehead for good measure. 

---

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[pencilofawesomeness]

htryds: touch starved

That’s right a surprise microshot I literally wrote this morning because I was inspired by today’s—Day 6—theme for @whumptober2021​ @whumptober-archive​: touch starved. 

---

March X778

She kept touching him, and Acnologia didn’t know what to make of it.

It was pragmatic at first—riding him when he flew, sleeping against his wing during the colder nights. When Wendy’s mind reeled from remembering what the black magic scrambled, and she had been feeling far from her best, she stayed pressed to his side more often, sleeping more or just laying there. Acnologia assumed it was a normal response for a child who was borderline ill; she required more heat, and she wanted whatever comforted her.

However, as the days continued to pass, and Wendy returned to normal, it only happened more often. She would tug on his cloak to ask him questions, or lean against his side when they ate, or bury herself extra deep in his wings, or grab at his arm or claw whenever she wanted to show him something.

It freaked him out. Wendy was small, but she was far from stealthy. He could hear her or smell her approaching if he did not see her. Yet she still surprised him, in a way that he couldn’t properly explain. No matter if he was in human or dragon form, her tiny hands could send spasms through his nerves and warm his blood too quickly.

Wendy did not fear dragons or strangers, and she had no reason to fear him. There were reasons, though. There were so many reasons, and he thought of many of them every time Wendy ran up to him with no heed of his reflexes. Acnologia could hurt her so, so easily. He didn’t want to, of course, and he made no effort to, but all it would take was one accident or one lapse of judgement for things to go…badly.

Yet he did not stop her. He should have, but he didn’t have the heart to. He just stayed still and let her do whatever made her comfortable.

At least the cat was more cautious. Acnologia hoped that her friend’s intelligence (though not her sassiness, because damn) would rub off on Wendy, but it ended up being the opposite. A week in, and Acnologia woke up to a very, very small ball of fur pressed up against the heel of his foot, even though he could hear Wendy already tottering around, probably drawing. Even though Charle was smaller than one of his claws, the little area she encompassed next to him was felt through half of his body.

He waited for her to wake up and move—which she did—all the while wondering how a single touch could make him feel the way that he was.

It happened again. Acnologia was tending to the garden when Wendy shuffled up to him and immediately inserted herself between his arm and his side, wrapping her arms around him. “Hi Ac-nii,” she mumbled sleepily.

She started bouncing between calling him that or ‘Acno.’ He ignored the implications of the former, because the six-year-old had already proven to be unable to pronounce his full name, so she settled on similar yet shorter sounds. That was all.

“Are you cold, squirt?” he asked. Acnologia had asked before, because it was winter in the mountains, even though he sensed that Wendy knew (at least unconsciously) how to circulate her air magic within herself to keep warm. Still, he had retrieved old furs he had kept, and gathered and cleaned new ones, so Wendy and her cat had something to burrow in when they couldn’t use him. He also kept a fire going and repurposed some cloaks to fit her if her clothing was ever too thin.

Still, she kept getting close to him, and he couldn’t help but to wonder if it was colder than he realized. Degrees of temperature meant little to him; all he knew was that it was cold, even though spring was approaching early this year, and he was still lethargic. (Not that he could sleep, truly; not with a six-year-old and a kitten somehow in his care.)

His side was more sensitive, comparatively, having thinner scales than his back. The sensation carried over to his human form, because even something as small and delicate as this child sent his nerves into a warm frenzy. Not in a bad way… but it was weird.

“No,” Wendy responded, not moving away from him.

Acnologia was at a loss. “Is there something else you need?”

She was quiet for a moment, before she gave a quiet, “A hug. You’re big enough to hug.”

He froze. He…hadn’t considered that the reoccurring habit was simply…out of want.

Wendy hugged Charle all the time, though it was practically just her way of carrying the kitten. But when she mentioned his size, he realized that what the two girls did wasn’t…double sided. Charle was too tiny to do much of anything, especially with those stubby little arms.

It was obvious now that Wendy was simply an affectionate girl. For practically being a sky dragon spawn, it made sense. Dragons were lone creatures, but when they had packs, they were close-knit. Humans were similar, in that aspect. And Wendy…

Wendy had practically been alone. The specter was there, somewhat solid and pretending to be a mass of people, and maybe their touch could fool someone for a moment, but it would never be prolonged. Not the way Wendy would just…stay there, practically snuggling.

Oh. She did need this, didn’t she?

“Okay,” he whispered back, and Wendy responded with happy fervor, pressing herself deeper into his chest and wrapping both her arms tighter around him. She couldn’t even wrap the entirety of her torso. She was so tiny—so fragile.

He was hyperaware of this, as he always was, when he slowly lowered his arm to return the gesture, just as she had requested. Acnologia focused on the sensation of feeling, acutely aware of how differently his nerves were mapped in his form than in the other, so he wouldn’t apply too much pressure by mistake.

Tentatively, hesitantly, the dragon hugged the girl.

The warm sensation in his chest bloomed and doubled. If Acnologia was at all aware of his own desires or feelings, instead of being single-mindedly focused on not hurting Wendy, then maybe, he could have admitted to himself that he was just as touch starved as she was.

---

I have a headcanon that all of the dragon slayers are very snuggly. Especially since they accidentally developed a little dragon pack early on, and all of these guild people are clearly not the lonesome-dragon types, so uh... Yeah. Does this have to do with my desire to make dragons just like giant reptile cats? Little bit, yeah.

[snezi]

I Care For You (part 2)

Jaskier trembled as the rain and humid wind cut through Geralt’s cloak, and shrunk closer to the Witcher’s warmth. He could feel Geralt’s arms wrapped around him, and it would be amazing if he didn’t feel like such utter garbage.

Geralt, for his part, was attempting to shield Jaskier from the elements as much as he could. Now that the bard was so close, he could sense the pain the bard was feeling — how long had Jaskier been sick? How could he have missed it? For all the shit Geralt gave Jaskier about complaining, the man really didn’t speak up when it came to his health. Or maybe he had, and Geralt had just brushed it off.

His self-reproachful thoughts were interrupted by the bard looking up at him, his striking blue eyes red-rimmed and watery.

“‘M riding Roach,” he croaked.

Geralt knit his brow. “Of course you are.”

“‘S nice. First time,” Jaskier got out, before succumbing to a coughing fit he muffled in the cloak, his body shaking violently.

Geralt felt a wave of guilt course through him, and his arm tightened protectively around the bard. After all this time, he had never allowed Jaskier to even touch his horse. He rubbed Jaskier’s back until the fit subsided, and the bard slumped against Geralt, exhausted. He urged Roach to go faster, overwhelmed with shame and worry.

It felt like an eternity passed before Geralt finally saw the hazy lights of a town ahead. He knew he was pushing Roach, perhaps too hard, but damn it, Jaskier shouldn’t be out in this weather. He’d make it up to her.

They raced to the tiny inn, and with one fluid motion Geralt slid from Roach’s back and gently lifted Jaskier down after him. The bard was still conscious, but clearly out of it. He leaned heavily against the Witcher as the two made their way inside.

“I need a room, preferably with a bath, and some hot stew if you’ve got it. Plus, a stable for my horse,” Geralt said to the innkeeper.

The man flinched away from the “beast in a man’s body”, as his kind were often called, and Geralt glowered at him. “I assume you have the ability to pay?” The man eyed Jaskier suspiciously, who slunk down deeper in the cloak, and Geralt bared his teeth.

“Of course,” he snapped, tossing the coin across the bar.

The innkeeper pressed his lips into a straight line, displeased, but passed a key over. “Second room on the left.”

Geralt nodded to him curtly, and proceeded to gently ease Jaskier up the stairs.

Jaskier made it as far as the threshold of their room before he all but collapsed. Now that he didn’t have to keep putting one foot in front of the other, it seemed his body was fully giving up.

Geralt dragged him onto the bed. “You have to get out of these clothes.”

“Knew you’d wanna get me naked ‘ventually,” Jaskier rasped, a ghost of a smile playing at his lips, and Geralt threw the dry clothes at his head.

“No, you idiot, those are soaked. You’re ruining the bed,” he grumbled, but there was a hint of a smile in his voice, too.

Jaskier laughed, but it quickly tumbled into a deep, painful coughing fit. Geralt was immediately at his side, holding the bard upright and rubbing his back.

“How long have you been feeling like this?” Geralt murmured, his golden eyes flashing with worry.

“Dunno,” Jaskier wheezed, struggling to catch his breath. “Day or two?” He slumped weakly against Geralt, relishing the contact.

The Witcher frowned, mentally kicking himself. Jaskier had been coughing here and there, and he had seemed unusually tired. But Geralt hadn’t thought anything of it.

“I’ll draw you a bath,” Geralt said quietly, getting up. “The steam should help your lungs.”

Internally, Jaskier groaned. While a bath sounded nice and all, he was so damn tired, and every joint in his body was aching. All he wanted to do was sleep, but he knew the Witcher was probably right. He let his eyes close while Geralt filled the tub, but too soon, the man was back, pulling him to his feet once more.

Jaskier shakily began to undress, shivering as the cold air hit his skin, and half-jumped, half-fell into the hot water. A contented sigh escaped his lips, dragging a jagged cough with it that brought tears to his eyes.

“Jask,” Geralt murmured, and Jaskier flinched. He had almost forgotten Geralt was there. “Maybe I should get a healer.”

“No, no, I’m alright,” Jaskier choked out, embarrassed.

Geralt frowned at him, his golden eyes soft with concern. “You don’t sound alright.”

The bard blushed as his insides grew warm and mushy, and quickly attempted to deflect with humor. “Awww, Geralt, I didn’t know you cared!” he grinned widely.

It worked, for now. Geralt glowered at him. “Of course I do, you brat.”

Jaskier smiled cheekily, and proceeded to wash his hair with more energy than he felt, his heart still warmed by Geralt’s display of affection.