#it would be unfair to measure other costumes to hers

[scorchedhearth]

there's literally every other lantern if you want a trunks-less version of the uniform, let hal keep his 70s swag and hang around the other oldies with their undies over pants, it's a brand at this point don't take it away from them what else would they have left?

[wayward-dreamer]

Under The Red Hood

Square/s Filled: Red Hood (@anyfandomgoesbingo), Jensen Ackles (Tell Me A Story Bingo).

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Female!Reader

Word count: 3,458

Rating: Explicit 18+!

Summary: Y/N is a photographer, friend of a SPN crew member, who agrees to take the photos of Jensen in his Red Hood costume. They instantly catch each other’s eye, fighting the urge to jump each other until after the shoot is over.

Warnings: Swearing, Smut: Dirty talk, Oral Sex (male receiving), Hair pulling, Brief spanking, Unprotected sex (wrap it up before you tap it people), Fluff.

A/N: This one shot is also for @supernatural-jackles‘ Tell Me a Story Bingo, Square Filled: Jensen Ackles. Thanks to my twin @downanddirtydean for being beta on this one! And a special thanks to @wonder-cole as a conversation about Under the Red Hood sparked this fic idea! As always, happy reading and enjoy! :)

Y/N walked through the studio lot, smiling as she walked past crew members that she recognized. Making her way to the costumes trailer, she adjusted the visitor badge around her neck, making sure it was visible. She had been on the Supernatural set a few times, each time going to visit her friend who worked in the costume department, and she always came back with amazing memories. Everyone was so nice and instantly made her feel welcomed, making her wish she could just ditch her actual job and somehow work there.

The last few times she had been there, she had only ever seen Jared. Jensen was an elusive figure in her mind, either never there when she was or extremely busy while filming that she never caught a glimpse of him. Hopefully that wouldn’t be the case this time around.

Finding the costumes trailer with ease, she walked up the small steps and knocked on the door. The door opened instantly, and she squealed as she saw her friend, Sarah, on the other side. They hugged tightly, happy to see each other as it had been a while since they had.

“Come in, come in,” Sarah muttered, gesturing quickly into the trailer.

She shut the door once Y/N walked in, her eyes scanned around the trailer at all the clothes in there.

“Wow, you’ve been busy,” Y/N said, smiling.

“Yeah, it’s a crazy week,” Sarah breathed, her hands on her hips as she looked around the small space. “But you have to see what I did.”

Sarah moved behind one of the clothes racks, and pushed a mannequin out, causing Y/N’s eyes to widen.

“Oh my god!” she exclaimed, as she walked closer to admire her friend’s handiwork.

Sarah was big into cosplay, making her own costumes and doing photoshoots, ones that Y/N was usually the photographer for. Sarah would also make outfits for other people, and as Y/N admired the Red Hood cosplay in front of her, she of course knew it was for someone else.

“Babe, this is fantastic!” Y/N couldn’t believe the detailing, her eyes constantly moving over every part of the costume.

“Thank you,” Sarah said, smiling wide. “And uh… it’s the real reason I called you here today.”

“Okay…” Y/N turned to her, folding her arms across her chest as she waited for her friend to explain.

Just as Sarah was about to speak, the door to the trailer opened and Y/N felt as if her knees were about to buckle. Jensen walked in, smiling at Sarah and giving her a hug, both of them discussing their days so far. She found herself staring at him, noticing that the cameras just didn’t do him justice. Seeing him right in front of her… she felt parched.

“Jensen, this is my friend, Y/N,” Sarah introduced them, smiling.

“Ah, so this is your photographer friend who I keep missing,” he said, a smile spreading across his face, every one of his brilliant white teeth beaming. “Good to finally meet you, Y/N.”

He offered her his hand, and she placed hers in his, telling herself to calm down as she shook it.

“You too,” she said, smiling back.

Sarah looked between them, knowingly. “Okay, so… the reason you’re here.”

“Yes, enlighten me,” Y/N muttered, turning to her.

Sarah looked between Jensen and her and smiled. “So, I made this on a whim, but then I remembered Jensen did Under the Red Hood and so I adjusted the measurements. Anyway, I thought it would be fun to do a photoshoot, and luckily he agreed.”

Y/N looked at Jensen and he shrugged, with a bright smirk on his face. She understood what Sarah was telling her straight away. She wanted her to take the photos. She was about to spend an extensive amount of time with this gorgeous man in front of her. She wasn’t nearly prepared for that.

“Well, luckily I have my camera in the car,” Y/N said, looking between them. “When are we thinking of doing it?”

“We’ve got an extended lunch, so we were thinking we’d head out to the old train tracks on the end of the road,” Jensen explained, his eyes boring into hers.

She nodded, trying to tell herself to speak but the words weren’t coming to her.

“So, you in?” Sarah asked, bouncing slightly on her feet, unable to contain her excitement.

Jensen raised an eyebrow, his eyes glancing over Y/N as the smirk never left his face. With that look, how could she say no?

“Let’s do it,” she replied, smiling wide.

“Awesome.” He gave her a small nod, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Yes!” Sarah yelled with a small laugh. “Alright, you get dressed and I’ll keep everything I need. We’ll meet you at the car?”

“Sure,” Y/N agreed, a small smile on her face as she looked at her friend.

With one last glance at Jensen, she left the trailer and walked back to the parking lot. She walked over to her car, opening the passenger side door and taking out her camera bag. She waited by Sarah’s car, smiling as she thought about the small interaction between her and the green-eyed actor. There was an attraction already, she could sense it, and she had to hope it wouldn’t be too presumptuous of her to ask him over to her apartment once he finished filming.

Hearing footsteps approaching after a few minutes, she turned to see Sarah and Jensen walking over. He was now in the Red Hood outfit, and she felt a heat radiate throughout her body. The leather cinched in all the right places, and she found it hard to look away from him as he got closer. Sarah unlocked her car, dumping her bag in the backseat.

“What do you think?” he asked, his arms out to his sides as he turned slowly.

She quickly glanced down, biting her lip as she admired the way the leather pants accentuated his ass. Their eyes met as he turned back around, both of them smiling flirtatiously.

“I think… you don’t want to know what I think,” she replied, biting her lip.

His eyes moved over her; the smirk still present on his face. “Maybe I do.”

She shook her head with a small laugh, turning away from him and opening the door to the backseat, sitting behind the passenger side.

“Very considerate of you to give me shotgun,” he said, looking back at her as he sat in the passenger seat.

“Well, it just means you have to shut your cake hole,” she countered, laughing.

“Fan of the show, huh?” he asked, smiling.

“Oh yeah,” she replied, nodding.

“You know, Jay…” Sarah started, as she pulled out of the parking space and drove towards the exit. “Y/N’s a Dean girl.”

She felt her cheeks heating up and was thankful she was sitting in the backseat, so he couldn’t see her.

“Good to know,” he said, softly as he continued to smile.

Sarah drove them out to the old tracks, surrounded by old factories that weren’t operational anymore. They got out of the car, both women taking what they needed with them, and walked along the buildings until they got to the tracks. Y/N suggested a few angles she could take photos from, seeing what would look better in the background before they started. She took a few photos of Jensen with the helmet on first, knowing it would easier on her if she couldn’t look into his eyes.

“Hey, do you think if they ever wrote Jason as older, you would do it?” she asked, as she checked over the last couple of pictures she took.

“If that happened, I certainly wouldn’t say no to at least auditioning,” he replied once he took off the helmet.

Sarah walked over, fixing his hair as told him to close his eyes, allowing her to cover his eyelids and around his eyes with the black makeup. She took out the red eye mask and fitted it over his eyes to his face, stepping back and admiring her work. Y/N was barely keeping it together before, and then Sarah had to go and add the damn mask.

Y/N took a deep breath as positioned herself with her camera again. It was becoming increasingly harder to look at him, and she was practically praying that Sarah would be satisfied by the number of photos soon, so that they could head out and she could actually do something about the way she was feeling. As she looked through the eyepiece, she saw him look at her directly and wink, before quickly turning back into the pose he was in. It was completely unfair that he knew the effect he was having on her and using it to his advantage.

Soon enough, Sarah looked through the photos and hugged her tightly, ecstatic about how they turned out. As she told her which ones to send to her, Y/N looked over at Jensen, smiling as she saw him looking at her. He walked over to Sarah, looking over her shoulder at the photos on the camera.

“These are great, Y/N,” he said, looking up at her. “Thanks for doing this.”

She smiled at him, shaking her head. “No problem.”

“Alright, we better head back,” he sighed, frowning slightly. “As much fun as that was, I have to get back to being Dean.”

“Well, you’ve still got some time before you have to be back,” Sarah said, looking between them. “So why don’t I take the car back and you two can talk?”

Jensen and Y/N looked at each other, before she looked at her friend and glared at her.

“I’ll take your camera for you, too,” she offered, walking over to Y/N.

“What’re you doing?” Y/N asked, whispering as she continued to glare at her.

“You can thank me later,” Sarah whispered back, winking before she turned away.

“You two have fun,” Sarah called out, taking her bag and Y/N’s camera bag, along with the helmet to the costume.

“Wow, she really just left us out here,” Jensen muttered, his voice deep and gravelly. He chuckled as he looked over at Y/N, her laugh joining his.

“Yeah,” she agreed, shaking her head. “I guess we better get back.”

“Well…” he trailed off, turning to her. “I’ve got time to spare if you do.”

She looked at him, sighing as she bit her lip, contemplating what he was suggesting. “Where?” she asked, glancing around.

He smirked, offering her his gloved hand. “Follow me.”

Y/N slipped her hand into Jensen’s, allowing her to lead her past warehouses, coming to a small gap between two where he stopped. She turned to him and smiled, gasping as he leaned down, kissing her fervently. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pushing herself closer to him as he moved into her, pushing her up against the side of the warehouse. She pulled away from his lips, breathing harshly from the intensity of the kiss.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since I saw you,” he mumbled against her lips, lightly nipping at her bottom one.

“I’m just glad you finally did,” she said, her eyes glancing over his outfit.

“Costume doing it for you, huh?” he asked, wagging his eyebrows.

“Fuck yes,” she gasped, grabbing his leather jacket in her hands and pulling him closer.

She kissed his pouty lips, softly sucking at the bottom one as she deepened the kiss, pulling him closer. Their bodies pressed together tightly, neither of them wanting to move as they continued their feverish embrace. She felt herself getting wet already, the attraction between causing her arousal to build.

“Fuck, I want you,” she whispered against his lips.

He groaned slightly as he pulled her closer and turned them around, his back now against the building. She reached for the belt on his pants, quickly unbuckling it as she unzipped the pants, tugging them down along with his boxers. His hard cock sprung free from the confines, and she bit her lip at the sight of him.

She hummed as she wrapped her hand around his shaft, bending her head to drop some of her saliva along his length. “Fuck, your cock is so perfect.”

She pumped her hand back and forth, smirking as he closed his eyes, tilting his head back against the wall. She moved down to her knees, smiling up at him as she leaned in, kissing the tip of his cock. She sucked at the pre-cum before moving her mouth over him, taking him in. She began to bob her head, his shaft sliding between her lips and hitting the back of her mouth with each stroke.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he growled, his hands moving into her hair. “Your mouth feels so fucking good.”

She moaned around him, the vibrations around his shaft shooting straight through his whole body, as she continued to pleasure him with her mouth. She squeezed her thighs together, feeling her wetness begin to soak her panties.

“Fucking love your mouth,” he grunted, as he watched her.

She looked up at him, winking as he watched his cock slide back and forth between her lips. She pulled back, gasping as her hand wrapped around it and stroked him, her saliva coating his shaft. His hand suddenly came down, stopping her movement.

“You got to stop, baby,” he said, breathing heavily. “I have to fuck you, and I won’t be able to if you keep going.”

She quickly stood up, stripping her jacket off and pulling up her top, revealing the black lacy bra she wore underneath. Jensen pulled back the Velcro of each glove, pulling them off and tossing them on the ground.

“Come here, darlin’,” he whispered, his Texas drawl seeping through as he cupped her face gently in his hands.

He leaned in, kissing her heatedly, her hands holding onto his wrists to keep him from moving. He moved one hand away from her face, his knuckles lightly brushing the soft skin of her stomach as it moved down to the top of her jeans. He opened the button and zip, slowly pushing his hand in and rubbing his fingers over the fabric of her wet panties.

“Jensen,” she gasped.

“Look what sucking my cock did, Y/N,” he said, smirking. “Can I see just how wet you are?”

She nodded, looking into his green eyes, still framed by the red mask. He slipped his hand past the waistband of her panties, his fingers moving lower between her folds. He groaned as they met her slick, smirking as he looked at her.

“God, you’re fucking soaked,” he groaned, smiling at her. “So ready for me, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” she whimpered.

Jensen pulled his hand out of her panties and pulled her into him, turning her around and pressing her front against the wall. She gasped as she turned her head, looking back at him. He smirked at her as he hooked his fingers into the top of her jeans, pulling them down to her knees along with her panties. He let out a low grunt at the sight of her ass, his hand lifting up and landing against the globe, causing her to yelp.

“Fuck,” she gasped, a small chuckle leaving her lips.

He squeezed the flesh, smirking as their eyes met. “You like that, darlin’?”

She nodded, angling herself so that she could look at him.

“I’ll have to remember that for tonight,” he said, his voice low and deep.

She smiled, biting her lip at the realization that he wanted to see her again. He pushed his pants open a little wider, taking hold of his cock and placing it at her entrance. He teasingly pushed in an inch, the head of his cock moving in and then out, feeling her already clench around him.

“Fuck, Jensen,” she whimpered. “Please fuck me. Please.”

“Patience, Y/N,” he muttered, chuckling.

He pushed forward, his cock sinking into her heat right to the base, his pelvis pressed against her ass. He groaned, feeling her sheath him, clenching around him perfectly. He wasted no time, instantly setting a quick pace to his thrusts, moving deep within her.

“Oh fuck,” she moaned, her hands balling into fists against wall.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he grunted, as he held onto her hips and pulled them back against his. “Feel so fucking good around my cock.”

“Jay,” she gasped, looking back at him. “Fuck me harder, faster.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, making quick work of speeding up. He angled her hips and grunted, feeling his cock slide deeper into her and hit her sweet spot repeatedly as her walls clenched around him, causing her to cry out.

“Fuck yes! Right there,” she moaned, loudly. She had a brief thought that someone could hear them, but she forgot about it as he continued to thrust into her. “Fuck, Jensen, your cock feels so good inside me.”

His hand reached forward and wrapped around her hair, tugging it roughly. “Is that what you wanted, Y/N?”

“Yes, fuck yes!” she yelled. “God, feels so fucking good.”

He tugged her hair again, pulling her back towards him, her back pressed to his chest. He thrusted up into her, his lips close to her ear.

“Can’t wait for tonight,” he whispered, softly nipping at her ear lobe. “The things I’m going to do to you… you’re gonna be screaming my name all night, darlin’.”

“Fuck,” she gasped, turning her head and looking into his green orbs, his red eye mask still in place. She moaned loudly, feeling herself clench around him, as his thrusts began to falter. They were both close to their release, the coil within her winding tight.

“You’re close aren’t you, Y/N?” he asked, kissing her cheek.

“Yeah,” she cried out, nodding against his shoulder. “Make me cum.”

He grabbed her hips tight in his hands, his hips thrusting faster into her, the slap of skin mixing with their pleasured moans reaching their ears. She suddenly threw her head back, moaning as her climax hit her like a tidal wave.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” she yelled. “Jensen, oh god yes!”

He felt his cock pulsing within her, causing him to stop his hips, as he throbbed and spurted ropes of cum within her, her walls contracting around him.

“Oh fuck,” he breathed.

Jensen leaned down, kissing her shoulder blade softly. He stood up and slowly pulled out of her, turning away from her as he pulled up his boxers. They redressed in silence, but Y/N couldn’t help but look at him as he fixed all the buckles and zips of the costume back into place. He glanced at her, smirking as he caught her looking at him.

“Man am I glad this worked for you,” he said, pulling the leather jacket back into place.

“Me too,” she said, softly as she smiled at him.

“I’ll have to remember it for another time,” he said, wagging his eyebrows.

She hummed, as a playful glint in her eyes as she looked at him. “Maybe you’ll have to be dressed as Dean next time.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, stepping closer to her and pulling her into him. “You’re full of surprises, babe.”

“Yes, I am,” she whispered, softly pecking his lips.

“So… about tonight,” he started, chuckling slightly. “Uh, you don’t have to take it, but… the offer’s there.”

She shook her head, wrapping her arms around his neck. “There’s no way I’d give that up.”

He leaned in, kissing her sensually, pulling her close. Pulling away after a moment, he looked deep into her eyes.

“We really owe Sarah a big one,” he said, smirking.

“Absolutely,” she whispered, pulling him closer by his leather jacket and kissing him, passionately.

They hurried back to set, no one the wiser of what had occurred between them. Jared eyed him suspiciously, but he would just have to wait to hear that story. Y/N stayed for another couple of hours, soon saying her goodbyes to everyone and hugging Sarah, promising to tell her what happened later after she asked. As she grabbed her camera bag and left the set, she and Jensen exchanged looks, both of them smiling as they anticipated what would be happening later.

She walked towards her car, a spring in her step as she smiled, butterflies in her stomach as she couldn’t wait to spend the night with the green-eyed actor who had captured her heart.

And maybe, just maybe, it would end up being more than one night.

-x-

Tags: @deanwanddamons @winchest09 @downanddirtydean @jensengirl83 @wonder-cole @that-one-gay-girl @whatareyousearchingfordean @flamencodiva @ellewritesfix05 @roonyxx @akshi8278 @hobby27 @michellethetvaddict @spngirl05 @kyjey @halesandy @440mxs-wife @stoneyggirl @deanswaywardgirl @redbarn1995 @marianita195 @babypink224221 @deans-baby-momma @parinarain @thoughts-and-funnies @mandalou29 @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @supernatural-love14 @vicmc624 @prettyboyswow @lunarmoon8 @supernatural-bellawinchester​ 

[fallen-gravity]

Cheap Thrills and Expensive Snacks

Mabel grins. “Grunkle Ford, do you want to go on a road trip with us? One last adventure before we have to go home?”

Ford’s smile softens with sadness. He’d gotten so caught up in reveling in Bill’s defeat that he’d almost forgotten the kids were heading back to California at the end of the summer.

Ford shakes his head. “I would love to, but…” he frowns. “I’m not sure we have enough time”

The young twins exchange grins, like that’s exactly the response they were waiting for.

“I wouldn’t say that, Grunkle Ford” Dipper grins, looking like he’s struggling to suppress a fit of giggles.

“We have all time in the world” Mabel finishes Dipper’s sentence for him, and in perfect unison the twins pull out a roll of measuring tape from their pockets.

Notes: Here's my belated entry for Week 3 of Forduary: Road Trip!! I absolutely love the road trip trope, and highkey wish Ford could've gotten to see some of Stan's competitors just for the sake of how awful they were compared to the Mystery Shack. C'mon! Give Stan some credit.I also wanted an excuse for Ford to bond more with the kids before they went home, and what better way than through a never-ending roadtrip that somewhat breaks the laws of time and space?

@forduary

AO3

Ever since Ford heard the first bird chirping the morning after Weirdmageddon’s conclusion, he’s felt like a thirty-year old weight has finally been lifted from his shoulders. For the first time in decades, Ford has found himself able to sleep, able to eat, able to do and say anything he pleases without having to speak in hushed tones or cast a cautious glance behind his shoulders.

For the first time since his childhood, he truly feels like himself again, and no longer like a marionette whose strings are always on the brink of snapping under pressure.

It was that first morning after the war, upon waking up before others (out of habit, mostly), that he allowed himself to truly sit and ponder on everything he’s been missing since shutting himself out from the world in his early twenties. He quickly came to the conclusion that the things he missed most were always the things he’d always had just outside of arm’s length; He missed the thrill of discovery, of exploration,  the passion for his life’s work that had faded into thin air the moment that fateful first test run of the portal had failed.

Most of all, he missed companionship.

As much as he hated to admit it to himself, Ford needed other people in his life more than anything else, even more than Ivy League schools and research grants and all the knowledge in the universe.

He told Stan the reason he wanted to take a boat out to the Arctic was to track and contain the remnants of Weirdmageddon that had begun to spread outside of Gravity Falls. But truth be told, he would’ve asked Stan if he still wanted to travel world with him regardless, because Ford found himself wanting nothing more than to chase their childhood dream and never let it go again.

There’s a light knock on his study door as he’s scribbling down navigation notes and he’s half-expecting to see Stan when he turns to the noise. He’s instead met with Dipper and Mabel, standing side by side in his doorway.

“Got a minute?” Dipper asks.

“We have something super important to ask you!” Mabel beams.

Ford places his pen down on his desk, and smiles. “I’m listening”

“Well,” Dipper starts. “We’ve been thinking about how we didn’t get to spend a whole lot of time with you this summer because...” he shrugs. “Well, because we didn’t know you existed until a few weeks ago”

“And that’s totally unfair to you!” Mabel throws her arms up in the air. “It’s not your fault you missed out on all the fun because you were trapped in another dimension”

Dipper nods. “And that got us thinking of all the time we spent with Grunkle Stan, and the road trip he took us on a few weeks ago without you. I don’t know if that was because he asked you and you said no, or if he left without telling you out of spite, or something”

“And that’s when a super genius idea came to us!” Mabel grins. “Grunkle Ford, do you want to go on a road trip with us? One last adventure before we have to go home?”

Ford’s smile softens with sadness. He’d gotten so caught up in reveling in Bill’s defeat that he’d almost forgotten the kids were heading back to California at the end of the summer.

But…a glance to the calendar hanging by the doorway tells him it’s August 29th, and the twins are set to leave after their birthday party ends on the 31st.

Ford shakes his head. “I would love to, but…” he frowns. “I’m not sure we have enough time”

The young twins exchange grins, like that’s exactly the response they were waiting for.

“I wouldn’t say that, Grunkle Ford” Dipper grins, looking like he’s struggling to suppress a fit of giggles.

“We have all time in the world” Mabel finishes Dipper’s sentence for him, and in perfect unison the twins pull out a roll of measuring tape from their pockets. Before Ford has even a moment to wonder what they could mean, they each pull on their tape, high five each other, and disappear into thin air.

Ford stumbles to his feet, nearly knocking his chair to the ground. Between one blink and the next the kids reappear, both of them wearing period piece costumes. The measuring tapes in their hand crackle with blue lightning.

Ford gasps. “Time tapes! Of course!” He approaches the twins in the doorway. “How did you two get ahold of these?”

“Let’s just say we have an inside to these sorts of things” Mabel replies, kicking her costume off and placing her time tape back into her sweater pocket.

“So what do you say?” Dipper steps forward. “Do you want to come with us on a road trip? We can literally go whenever we want”

“You mean when--” Mabel pauses, backtracking. “Oh, wait, you did say that”

“So what do you say, Grunkle Ford? One more adventure for the road?”

Ford’s chest fills with warmth. He’d love to; he really would, but…

“What about Stan?”

“Y’gotta give me some credit, poindexter” Stan’s voice rings from behind the corner. If Ford had to guess, it’s probably because he was waiting for his response. “Someone’s gotta tag along to babysit you three”

Ford wants to glare at his brother at the insult, but his excitement overtakes it and a grin spreads to his face instead.

“Let’s go,” he says, with all the wonder in his tone that he’d been missing for years.

Dipper and Mabel exchange nods, and take each other’s hands. With their free hands, they stretch their measuring tapes out the same length.  Stan grabs on to Mabel’s shoulder, and after he and Dipper share a silent, knowing glance, Ford places his hand on Dipper’s shoulder.

Dipper and Mabel release their tape in unison, and a large flash of white light overwhelms Ford’s vision. When it finally fades, the four of them are still standing exactly where they’d been a moment ago, the only indication that anything changed being the sparks of blue lightning crackling from their clothes.

Dipper’s the first to step away from the huddle. “See?” He gestures at Ford’s wall calendar, which now displays June instead of August. “It’s practically the beginning of the summer all over again!”

Mabel breaks away to stand beside Dipper. “Now we can go anywhere we want! We could go to Portland, or Vegas, or the lost city of Atlantis, or anywhere in the world, because this bad boy prevents us from missing our bus ride home for as long as we want!”

Stan chuckles, shaking his head. “Not so fast, Mabel. I love the enthusiasm, but I’m not sure my old RV can handle driving into the ocean. Not unless Brainiac over here is willing to do some modifications on it” Stan throws an arm around Ford’s shoulder, squeezing it tightly. “Besides, I’ve already got a plan!” Stan’s gaze shifts to Ford, and the grin on his face could split it in two. “If you think my attractions look fake, just wait ‘til you see how bad my competitors look compared to me!”

“I dunno,” Dipper frowns, scratching at his chin. “Don’t you think going back to the place where you were almost eaten by a giant spider lady is a bad idea?”

“Hey, time travel rules mean that I never met her in the first place, right?” Stan crosses his arms. “Besides, it’s not like I’m gonna fall for her tricks all over again just because she offers me discounted tickets, or something”

Dipper and Mabel exchange worried glances.

“Mmm, okay,” Dipper says. “But we’re keeping an eye on you”

“That’s the spirit!” Stan exclaims, and slaps Ford on the back as he backs out of the room. “I’m gonna go pack. I doubt you have anything to pack, Sixer, but we’re reconvening in the gift shop in an hour. Go…take a shower or something. I don’t wanna spend next twelve hours driving with someone smelling like that.”

Ford glares at him, but before he has time to respond Stan’s already gone. The kids must’ve slipped out close on Stan’s heels, because when Ford turns he’s alone in his room. Rolling his eyes, he walks to his couch and kneels on the ground, reaching underneath for his emergency exploration pack. It’s a backpack torn and worn from age, and comes already packed with water bottles, nutrient bars, sunscreen, and just about every brand of monster repellent known to mankind.

A nostalgic sort of smile threatens to tug at his lips. He hasn’t seen this bag since his early research days with Fiddleford. He slings it over his shoulders, and pats at his trench coat pocket to make sure his journal is still safely tucked inside. He doesn’t necessarily plan on making any more additions, but he supposes that old habits die hard.

~~

It’s a very bulky RV, much bigger than Ford was expecting. He’d assumed that Stan calling it an RV was just an exaggeration, and that the four of them would just be piling into the Stanleymobile as they tugged some tiny trailer along that they would only would only step foot in for sleeping. But as Ford approaches, he can see Dipper and Mabel chatting at a small table through the window, and Stan rummaging through a cupboard above them, and it looks as though there’s still plenty of room to walk between them.

Mabel taps on Dipper’s shoulder, points in Ford’s direction, and both of them wave frantically out the window at him.

“Took you long enough,” Stan suddenly appears in the doorway of the camper. “Now get in. The last thing we need is to run into the past versions of those two and get bombarded with questions” He gestures with his thumb towards Dipper. “Especially him.  He sees that journal sticking out of your pocket and we’re done for”

Ford chuckles. “I can only imagine,” he says, and climbs aboard behind Stan. He’s about to take the passenger side seat besides Stan when the kids frantically wave him over.

“Grunkle Ford, over here!” Mabel beams, and hops down from her seat across from Dipper. “Come sit with us!”

“This is a road trip about spending more time with you, after all” Dipper nods. “What good will it do for us if you’re sitting way up front with Stan?”

“Yeah! No good interrogation ever happens from across the room!” Mabel exclaims.

Ford raises an eyebrow, but smiles at the pair as he takes a seat across from them. “Interrogation?”

“Yep!” Dipper grins. “We already know all of the heroic scientist stuff about you…”

“But we want to know the fun Grunkle stuff about you!” Mabel finishes his sentence for him. “You favorite ice cream flavor, your first kiss, the most illegal thing you’ve ever gotten away with…you know, just the basics!”

Ford blushes. “Well, I don’t know about that…”

“Aww, I’m sure it’s not that bad! Dipper’s first kiss was with a merman he had to give reverse CPR to!”

“Mabel!”  Dipper squeaks, his whole a dark shade of red. “That’s not fair! You know I didn’t have a choice!”

Ford can’t help the fond smile that spreads to his face. It’s moments like these that he’s going to miss the most. Sure, he’ll have anomalies, and treasure, and the whole world to explore, but he just knows that none of that is ever going to compare to time alone with the kids.

Once Stan gets the RV up and running, Ford knows there’s no going back. He and the kids swap childhood stories for hours, only pausing when Stan pulls off the side of the road to fuel up on gas and snacks. Dipper tells him of the time him and Mabel shaved their heads after a bully stuck gum in Mabel’s hair on photo day, and Ford tells them of the time that he and Stan swapped clothes on photo day just to see if they could get away with it. (They could, and Ford still has the yearbook where their photos are mislabeled as each other hidden away in his study to this day).

It’s eye opening, honestly. The young twins really are a mirror image to himself and Stan when they were kids.

“We’re here!” Stan grins, screeching the RV to a sudden halt. Upon looking out the window, the only thing Ford can see is a gift shop about the size of an outhouse and a ball of yarn about three sizes bigger than the RV.  Stan stands from the driver’s seat, stretching. “You think I overcharge for my tours, Sixer? This woman charges double the price of my admission just to take a picture of this fuzz ball” He reaches underneath the driver’s seat, pulling out a large hook attached to a thick rope. “We’re only doing her a favor by stealing it! Starting from scratch with a new attraction could do her some good”

“Hmm, I dunno” Dipper shrugs. “Don’t you think that doing the exact same prank on all of your competitors in the exact same order is just gonna result in them, I dunno, pranking you again in the exact same way?”

“Nonsense!” Stan brings his hand to his chest like Dipper had offended him. “The only reason they got away with it last time is because we left poindexter here home alone in the basement. There’ll be dozens of tour groups coming through the shack today with my past self taking care of the place for me.”  He taps at his forehead. “Besides, wasn’t this whole road trip your idea in the first place?” He smirks. “Are you telling me that your own idea is dumb?”

Dipper opens his mouth to argue back, realizes he has nothing, and pouts grumpily as he hops out of the RV. Stan cackles, and hops out of the RV after him. Ford rolls his eyes, and hops out after them to take a look at his surroundings. Stan really wasn’t kidding; everything really is contained to the one parking lot with nothing to show for it but the giant ball of yarn and a converted outhouse with tie-dye tee shirts hanging from its roof.

“Don’t just stand there gawking at it!” Stan slaps him on the shoulder, grinning. “Either help the kids out or talk the old woman’s ear off long enough to distract her” he gestures with a thumb towards Dipper and Mabel, giggling and poking at each other as they tie the rope end of the hook to the RV. As Mabel walks to attach the hook to the large yarn ball, she notices Ford watching her and waves hello.

“Hey Grunkle Ford!” she shouts. “If there’s enough left over from this mound after we drag it home, I’ll knit you a sweater with it!”

Ford laughs as he approaches to help her. “I’m counting on it.”

As it turns out, she wasn’t joking. As soon as they’ve all piled back into the RV to head to the next tourist trapped, Mabel already has her sewing needles in hand and a tangled ball of multicolored yarn sitting on the table in front of her. It’s amazing watching her work, clicking the needles together so quickly yet delicately, not missing a single fold. Ford’s never seen someone pour so much love into something so particular since the early days of his research.

Ford doesn’t want to interrupt her focus, so he turns to Dipper instead.

“How long has she been able to do that?”

Dipper glances at his sister beside him. “Oh, you mean sewing? Our grandma from our mom’s side of the family taught her when she was about six.” He rolls his eyes. “Our parents tried to buy her an electronic sewing machine for our eighth birthday, but she flat out rejected it because she insisted there wouldn’t be enough love in her creations if she didn’t make them by hand”

“It’s true!” Mabel exclaims, not looking up from her sewing job. “I’m not gonna sit around and let some machine do all the work for me! How are my friends and family supposed to know I made them their sweaters with love if I didn’t sew my blood and sweat into the threads myself?”

Ford hopes she’s being metaphorical, but the sentiment is still there. “So you’re telling me that every sweater you’ve worn this summer is homemade?”

“Yep!” she beams. “All the way down to the embroidery.” She holds up the skeleton of the sweater she’s working on into the light. “You’re real lucky, Grunkle Ford. This’ll be my first sweater I’ve ever made out of stolen materials!”

Her use of the term first rather than only makes Ford laugh.  The more time he spends with them, the less he wants to say goodbye to them. Stan must be the bravest man alive, being willing to send these kids home after three months with them, because if it were up to him he’d already be signing adoption papers to make them legally his.

“Stop two!” Stan yells from the front of the RV, and hops out as soon as they’re parked. Mabel places her work gently on the table, and follows Stan out without any effort. Dipper, on the other hand, takes one look out the window at where they’ve stopped and pales.

“Oh no”

Ford follows his gaze. It’s just a single story home turned on its head, absolutely nothing about it giving Ford the impression that there’s anything scary about it.

“What’s wrong?” Ford asks. “Do you get motion sickness? I learned quite a few tricks on how to deal with just the thing in the Spinning Top Dimension! You’re going to need a few things first, but I’m sure we’ll be able to find them around here somewhere-”

“N-no, it’s not that” Dipper cuts him off, face turning a dark shade of red. “The last time we were here I tried asking Grunkle Stan if he had any advice on how to talk to girls. And there was this one really cute girl, and we hit it off, but…” he rubs at his arm. “I acted like a total jerk. I treated her like she was just a number and I feel awful about it”

Ford frowns, getting down on one knee. “You’re not worried you’re going to run into her again, are you? This time loop should be stable enough to prevent her from showing up early”

Dipper’s gaze falls to the floor. “No, it’s more like…I’m so afraid of being myself that I feel like the only way I can fit in is to act like something I’m not. I just wish I could figure out a way to talk to girls without forcing myself to act like I’m better than them or something”

Ford smiles. “Dipper, I may not have any sound advice when it comes to girls,  but I’ve only known you for a number of weeks, and I think anyone would be lucky to have you. You’re kind and caring and so brilliant for your age” Dipper opens his mouth to protest, but Ford shakes his head. “Some of the most brilliant minds in the world suffered from anxiety and depression, my boy, and look where they are now. I have the upmost confidence that the same thing is bound to happen to you”.

Dipper’s eyes are big and wide, like he’s about to cry, but the waterworks never come. Dipper throws his arms around Ford’s neck in a hug, and Ford hugs him back. Once they pull away, they hop out of the van to join Stan and Mabel outside to prevent Stan from coming back in to yell at them. This stop is a bit less complicated, just a simple walkthrough to make sure there isn’t a hoard of tourists inside before running back out to tip the whole house right side up. It’s a lot of laughing from Stan and sprinting back to the van, and once they’re out of the parking lot and back on the highway it’s as if they never stopped at all. Mabel gets right back to working on her sweater, and Dipper gets right back to chatting up Ford for life stories.

A good portion of their stops go equally as smooth. The kids convince Ford to go on the log flume at Log Land with them which he absolutely does not throw up on, thank you very much, and Mabel nearly gets lost in a corn maze, but otherwise there’s nothing much of interest. Ford’s starting to suspect that Stan must be right, that the Mystery Shack really is the most interesting tourist trap in the entire state, until a giant mountain looms over the horizon.

“There she is,” Stan says, as if he could read his brother’s thoughts. “Her first year of opening I lost over half my usual revenue and I’ve sworn revenge on her ever since” He balls his hand into a fist and smacks the top of the steering wheel. “Our biggest mistake last time was getting too attached. I say this time we run in, grab as many mummies as we can get our hands on, and book it back to the shack before Darlene notices.”

“Don’t you mean that was your biggest mistake?” Dipper quips. “Besides, didn’t we find out last time that those mummies are real dead bodies?” He shivers. “I’m not sure how comfortable I’d feel about stealing them”

From the rearview mirror, Stan raises an eyebrow at Dipper. “What, you afraid their souls are gonna follow us home and haunt us? Work on your moral compass later, kid, this is about revenge” He adjusts the mirror. “Besides! What’s the chance we rescue someone who isn’t dead yet, just slowly suffocating in that nasty tasting web?”

Dipper opens his mouth to say one thing, pauses, and starts again. “Grunkle Stan, are you telling me you tried to eat the web you were trapped in?”

Stan shrugs. “Hey, I’m no stranger to chewing my way out of things. I’m just lucky I didn’t break any teeth on it, like I did with that car trunk”

As if that doesn’t raise more questions than it does answers, Stan drops the conversation entirely and doesn’t say another word until the RV pulls into the parking lot. Ford can’t even see the mountain peak when he hops out, it’s so obscured by fog that he knows wasn’t there ten minutes ago. Fog is the number one trap produced by anomalies to hunt their pray, so it’s no wonder this place gives Stan the creeps. Ford can’t even begin to imagine the size of the spider monsters the others described to him.

A shriek nearly escapes him at the feeling of something spindly crawling up his arm, but when he whips around he sees it’s just Stan running his fingers along his shoulder in a quick, scattered pattern. When he catches Ford’s eyes, he laughs so hard that tears pour down his cheeks.

“You should’ve seen the look on your face!” Stan wheezes. “You were all oh no, mister spider half the size of my hand, don’t eat me!” he cackles, wiping at his eyes with his wrist. “C’mon, time is money, and we don’t have any to waste” he gestures to the kids, already waiting at the information booth. “If we don’t hurry the kids are gonna get on the sky tram without us”

Ford raises an eyebrow. “You? On a sky tram?”

“Dipper didn’t tell you?” Stan’s raised eyebrow matches Ford’s. “Mabel helped me conquer my fear of heights! Now I’m untouchable!”

Seventeen years of the boardwalk and all the cotton candy as bribe in the world couldn’t fix Stan’s fear of heights. Dipper and Mabel really do continue to amaze him the more Stan tells him about them.

“Right,” Ford shakes his head, smiling fondly. “Of course.”

~~

It’s really no wonder this place boasts having the world’s slowest sky tram, because if it weren’t for the moving tree line Ford would almost think they weren’t moving at all. The bored expression on everyone else’s faces, a massive shift from the mischievous grins they’d been wearing before they got on has Ford choking down laughter. It’s about five minutes before there’s any sight of anything but tree bark, and the sun beaming directly into the glass car makes the whole thing feel like a sauna.

Still, it’s a dramatic shift in pace, and not one that Ford rejects. It’s really forcing him to slow down and think about his own feelings for once, a privilege he hasn’t had since he was in high school. Maybe it’s a little selfish of him to cherish the times he just gets to lose himself in his own head, rather than to spend so much of his time calculating plans to rescue others from danger, but-

“Whaddya think, poindexter?” Stan’s voice suddenly breaks through Ford’s thoughts, startling him.

Ford blushes. “What do I think of what?”

“The new plan!” Stan gestures to Dipper with his thumb. “Since this buzzkill is so against stealing ‘real dead bodies’,” he emphasizes with air quotes, “and since we probably couldn’t shove them all in this car anyway, we’re gonna go ahead with Plan B instead; Burning down Widow’s Peak!” Stan throws his hands in the air dramatically.

Dipper beams. “That way, they can’t make any more mummies for their mummy museum, and we might be able to save a few people from suffocating to death!” Stan and Dipper high five.

“It’s a brilliant plan, but…” Ford taps at his chin. “Where do you suppose we’re going to find the fire to burn it down?”

Stan cocks an eyebrow at him. “You tell me, mister ‘setting my face on fire is faster than shaving’. I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a lighter in your pocket right now. They have a bunch of prop torches in the caves, but if we pop the lightbulbs out of them and light them they should work good as usual” Stan’s mischievous grin is back on his face, a perfect reflection of when he was thirteen and pickpocketing a dollar from people’s wallets on the boardwalk to buy a box of saltwater taffy.

Turns out, it’s just as contagious now as it was back then. Ford reaches into the front pocket of his trench coat, and sure enough, comes up with a lighter. Stan erupts in laughter at the sight of it, and soon enough the entire car is infected with it. The rest of the ride up the mountain is much bubblier after that, with everyone swapping overdramatic stories of how the plan is going to go.

~~

Widow’s Peak is much bigger than Ford was expecting. It’s a whole cave that looks like it stretches for miles, and there really are rotting skeletons hanging upside down from the cave walls and ceilings.

Ford shudders.

“Aww, c’mon, Sixer! I know for a fact this isn’t half as bad as the stuff in your journals” Stan jabs at his shoulder with his unlit torch. “Besides, didn’t you say in your own journal that most ghosts come from their old bodies not having a proper burial? He gestures at a skeleton hanging upside down from the ceiling, its left hand barely hanging on by a thread. “You think any of these guys look like their spirits were able to move on peacefully, or however it goes?” Stan shakes his head matter of-factly. “You really want some poor unsuspecting tourist to bump into a hoard of angry ghosts? Tsk tsk”

“Alright, alright” Ford raises his hands in self-defense. “I suppose you’re right”. He takes his lighter out of his pocket and tosses it to Stan. Stan lights up his own torch, helps Dipper and Mabel with theirs, and then he turns back to help light Ford’s.

“Alright,” Stan rubs his hands together the best he can with a lit torch tucked under his arms. “Everyone knows the plan. Burn as many mummies as you can find, rescue the poor suckers who are still alive, and signal if you hear Darlene coming. Since I don’t trust Sixer over here not to try and interview her and get himself in trouble again, I say I’m in charge of lookout duty.” He adjusts his collar and flattens down the wrinkles of his suits with a quick pat down. “I flirt with her just long enough to distract her, I throw my torch in her face, and then we book it out of here as fast as our legs can carry us”

Dipper still doesn’t look convinced. “I don’t know, isn’t that exactly how you got yourself tangled up in a web last time?”

“Oh please,” Stan scoffs, waving a dismissive hand. “The only reason that worked last time is ‘cause she cornered me when we were alone. Besides, where’s she gonna take me if she catches me that you can’t just throw a torch and rescue me five minutes after it happens?”

Dipper’s face darkens. “True,” he mumbles under his breath, which makes Stan laugh. Stan slaps him on the shoulder, and Dipper glares at him, but there doesn’t seem to be any malice in it.

It’s one final glance between the four of them, and they’re all running off in different directions of the cave. It’s not long before the stench of burning silk fills the air, mixed with the stench of something Ford doesn’t want to think too much about. The webs burn relatively quickly, and together they burn through half of the cave in a much faster time than Ford would’ve expected. He’s about to light up one that looks like it was left here fairly recently, until something inside it starts wiggling.  Startled, Ford steps backwards until his back hits the cave wall, a soft oof escaping him.

“S’matter, poindexter?” Stan looks up from the fire he’s stomping out with his foot. “You see a widdle baby spider that freaked you out?”

Ford tries to glare at him, but the fear stabbing him in the chest doesn’t let it stick. He swallows hard, and points towards the wiggling cocoon with his torch.

“I think we have a live one” he whispers, stepping to stand beside Stan. Once Stan follows Ford’s torch with his eyes, something inside him tenses up.

“Ah, wh-what’d I tell you?” Stan’s voice shakes. “It’s probably just some poor sucker who fell for Darlene’s charms. Definitely not a gross sack of baby spider people or anything”

“R-right,” Ford swallows hard, and inches back towards the cocoon, rapidly waving his torch back and forth to potentially scare off whatever could be inside trying to break out.  But the longer he waves the torch in front of the web, the more he can make out the silhouette of a regular human being.

Throwing all caution to the wind, Ford rushes forward and begins tearing at the web with his bare hands, just enough so that the man is free from the chest up. He takes large gasps of air, and upon realizing that his hands are free he begins tearing at the web himself.  Once his feet are free and hit the ground, he takes one look at the Pines family, mumbles a startled thank you, and runs for his life out of the cave.

After that, the rest of the burnings go pretty smoothly. There’s significantly less living tourists in the cave than Ford would’ve expected from such a large tourist trap, and Ford’s not entirely sure whether he should find that reassuring or downright terrifying.  He’s almost surprised everything went so well, until the four of them nearly collide with a woman on their way out of the cave.

She looks just as baffled to see them as Ford feels to see her.

“Can I…help you?” She asks in a thick Jersey-esque accent. The name tag pinned to her shirt reads DARLENE in large brick letters.

“No!” Dipper cuts in before neither Ford nor Stan can respond to her. He clears his throat. “I mean, uh, no. Uh, apologies if this is a restricted area, but we got lost trying to find our way back to the sky tram” he shrugs overdramatically, no doubt in attempt to show Darlene that his hands are empty. She squints at him, and for a moment Ford could swear he just saw her blink horizontally. The silence that follows, though it probably doesn’t last for more than a few seconds, feels like it drags on for ages.

Suddenly, she’s donning an overly sweet smile. “Well, why didn’t you just say so? Let me walk you back. We’ve gotten more than our fair share of tourists who’ve gone missing from wandering too far into our caves, and I’d hate to have that happen to such a nice looking family like yours” She grins, flashing her unusually sharp teeth.  The four of them stay quiet until they’re all packed into their tram car, and Darlene is waving sweetly at them from behind.

They each collectively sigh. “Woof, that was a close one” Stan says, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his wrist. In a sudden shift of mood, he reaches over next to him and pulls Dipper into a headlock. “How’s about it for this guy’s quick thinking, huh?” he grins, and the four of them laugh until they hear a horrifying screech that makes their tram car rumble. They turn, and see Darlene emerging from the cave, the bottom half of her body replaced by that of a giant spider.

“My food!” she screams, shaking her first at the tram cars. “You burned all my food! Mark my words, I may not have gotten your names but I don’t forget faces very easily, you hear? If you ever show your face here again you’re dead meat!” She screams, yanking on her hair to reveal the rest of her spider-like body under her human disguise.

Stan simply cackles. “Yeah, we’ll see about that!” he mocks, knowing well enough that she can’t hear them from inside the car. He turns his attention back to the rest of the family. “Maybe we should go and warn our past selves to bring bug spray!” He exclaims, laughing himself to near tears.

Ford only rolls his eyes, but can’t help the smile on his face.

If only he’d known what he’d be missing when he turned down Stan’s offer to take this road trip with him and the kids the first time around.

The tram ride back to the parking lot is even more relaxing than the ride up. The sun is setting this time around, and even if the wind can’t really reach inside the car the whole thing just feels cooler. Most of all, he finds that the sound of the Stan and the kids’ laughter is far more welcome than any old conversation he could have in his own head.

When everyone piles back into the RV, they do not drive away immediately like they had at all the other stops. Instead, Stan turns around to face the three of them. “Well, that’s the end of that. That’s all I had planned, and we still have…” he pauses to count on his finger. “Two more months ‘til the kids have to go back home, technically. I’m all out of ideas, and I’m sure the kids have seen enough of the Gravity Falls weirdness for one summer”

He smiles to the kids, who nod and in turn smile at Ford.

“So where do you want to go now, Grunkle Ford?” Mabel says, with stars shining in her eyes. The grin spreading on Dipper’s face matches hers like two peas in a pod.

“Any place in the world. Wherever you want to go…” He pulls the time tape out of his pocket. “…For however long you want”

[klaineaddictsfanficrecs]

Unmasked

By Gleeful Darren Criss Fan

Covid sucked. It had totally ruined 2020. First, he had landed his first major role in a Broadway production. Ok, it was an understudy role, and it was a revival of Wicked. He was Fiyero’s understudy, even though he was better than the guy cast to play the role, some cocky kid named Brody that slept his way to the top. Unfortunately for the promiscuous boy, he had pissed off the director and was fired during the pandemic, allowing Blaine to step in and fill his shiny, polished shoes.

Unfortunately, Covid had other plans. The governor called for the emergency closure of all nonessential businesses, which meant the show and the theater was mandated to stay closed to the public until further notice. Initially, he had been optimistic, thinking that they were only going to close down for a couple of weeks. Now, almost a year later, there was finally a date set for opening night. It was finally time for his debut. He had finally gotten to walk back through those doors and step back on stage. But that wasn’t the reason that he had been so elated.

This morning when he was told that everyone would be allowed to congregate and rehearse together, he had practically jumped for joy. Yes, it would be amazing to see his costars again. Rachel, although a diva at times, was fun to be around and immensely talented. And his friends in the ensemble, like Sam, Tina, and Mike were a blast to be around. And even Santana, Rachel’s understudy, was even becoming his friend, even though he did not want to get on her bad side. But the person he was most excited to be around wasn’t even on the stage. And because of that, he only had the opportunity to see him sporadically, only when the costume director needed to take measurements or do adjustments. Yep, that’s correct. His favorite person to see in the whole production was the lead designer for the show, Kurt Hummel.

When he was first told that Brody was out and he was in, he was ecstatic because that meant that he’d get his chance to shine. Unfortunately, it had caused Kurt to flip out because Brody and Blaine were very different, especially in the height department. Blaine was also told that he was not as defined in a few areas, like his arms, but he was much more defined in other areas, such as in the crotch area. Blaine had never blushed so much in his life as when Kurt had to take his measurements that day.

And since then, Blaine’s outlook for his day seemed to improve as soon as Kurt walked into the theater. It hadn’t happened much at first, because they staggered days that they worked at the theater so that they could socially distance themselves. Kurt had said that he could do much of the sewing at home, so he seldomly graced them with his presence until the virus finally started to get under control.

And when Kurt was there, he would always do the responsible thing and distance himself and wear an impeccably designed and completely original mask. Of course, all of them were encouraged to wear masks. Blaine had his on currently, although he was permitted to take his off when he was singing because it was hard to sing with them on. However, since Kurt was a costume designer that didn’t have to perform or sing, his mask stayed in place the entire time that he was there. And Blaine absolutely hated it.

Yep, he hated that little piece of fabric so much. Stupid covid. Because of you, Kurt’s face was concealed. His luscious lips, his adorable button nose, his strong jaw, his rosy cheeks, and that adorable cleft in his chin were being touched, caressed even by the fabric instead of his own fingers and lips. Now, Blaine had to imagine what Kurt’s face looked like when he laughed or when he got irritated and said something fiery and sarcastic. It was just so unfair. And what made it worse was that everyone had to bring attention to them.

Kurt never seemed to wear the same mask twice, unlike most of the rest of the crew. Some of them obviously only owned one and never bothered to wash it. Kurt, however, always walked in with the most stunning, unique masks that Blaine had ever seen, which became the immediate topic that everyone had to talk about. Sam, Mike, or even Santana would comment on how amazing the mask was. Blaine thought back to the first time that Kurt had walked in with the accessory that Blaine now detested most of all.

“Oh my God, Blaine,” Tina exclaimed as she embraced him. “Did you see Kurt’s mask yet?”

tin man mask

Blaine nodded. “Yeah. It’s neat.”

“Neat? Blaine, it’s the tinman’s face, in exact detail. It’s incredible. I’ve not seen anything like it, and I’ve searched like crazy for the coolest designs and fabrics when I was making mine. I bet he made it. He has the skill, obviously. I wonder if he’d make me one.”

“I’m sure he would,” Blaine said softly, though he was really trying not to roll his eyes.

“Don’t you like it? I thought you liked the wizard of Oz. If it wasn’t for the popularity of that story, Wicked wouldn’t have ever happened.”

“I love the wizard of Oz. You know that.”

“Then, what’s the reason for that face. When I brought up the mask, you looked almost as irritated as you were when Rachel tried to make “As long as You’re Mine” a solo because she had the strongest voice. Do you not like Kurt?”

Blaine bit his lip. “No, no. Of course, I like Kurt. I was just thinking of the show and everything. Sorry. It’s a great mask.”

“Cool. I’m going to ask him to make one for both of us then,” Tina said, ignoring the look of horror from Blaine as she frantically started waving the brunette over. “Hey Kurt! Come here for a minute!”

Kurt smiled as he stepped up to the two friends. “Hi, Tina. Hey Blaine. Did you need somethi-?”

“Yeah,” Tina interrupted, shaking Kurt’s hand, neglecting to let it go so that Blaine could do the same. “We were just talking about your mask, and how cool it is, and Blaine and I thought it would be neat to have one. Where did you get it?”

“Oh, I made it actually,” Kurt replied. “During the pandemic, I had to do something to earn money and keep my sanity, so I designed and sewed masks. It was also a way that I could do my part to help. My dad was at risk, since he’s a cancer survivor and all, so it started with me trying to convince him to wear a mask. He kept fussing that he couldn’t find any that were comfortable and fun to wear, so I started designing them for him to wear.”

“He’s a Wizard of Oz fan?” Tina asked.

Kurt shook his head. “Nah, not really. This one was completely my idea. No. I designed him some masks with his favorite car models or the Buckeyes.”

Blaine did a double-take. Could Kurt be more perfect? “You like the Buckeyes?”

Kurt laughed. “Oh Heck no. But my dad does. He loves football, and he’s all about supporting the local team, you know.”

“Oh ok,” Blaine chuckled. “I didn’t take you for the type that liked football.”

“Hey, now. Don’t put me inside a box, Blaine. I was on my high school football team.”

“For like two games, and you were the kicker,” Rachel interjected, popping up behind them as if from nowhere. “Hey, Blaine, Tammy.”

“Tina,” Tina said with an eye roll.

“So, are you ready to finally get to practice together? I bet it’ll be a total disaster since I highly doubt that the rest of the cast rehearsed daily as I did to stay in optimum shape both vocally and physically. Kurt, have you put on some weight.”

“Why, yes, Rachel, I have, or to phrase it more accurately, I’ve gained muscle mass, because unlike, what you suggested, I’ve kept up with my aerobics and exercise routine daily, and I’ve actually watched what I’ve eaten better. Have you?”

Rachel’s eyes flashed. “No, I have not. I’ve actually lost weight, thank you very much,” she said, stomping away angrily.

“Thank you,” Tina said graciously. “I can’t stand her sometimes. We’ve worked together for a while now, and she still calls me Tammy.”

Kurt shrugged his shoulders. “She just feels threatened because she’s not used to sharing the spotlight much. So, you want a mask like this?”

Tina nodded. “Yeah. It’s incredible. Actually, could you make two? Blaine wants one as well.”

“Is that right? I think that I still have enough fabric at home to whip one up for both of you. Or did you want a different character? I even have couples’ masks if you’re interested.

“No, no, uh uh. No couples masks. Blaine and I aren’t a couple. I’m seeing Mike. Blaine’s gay,” Tina corrected.

“Oh, is that right,” Kurt replied. Blaine wished that he could see the rest of Kurt’s face when he had said that because if he didn’t know better, Kurt seemed to be smiling, maybe even blushing, but Blaine couldn't be sure because of that damn mask covering his face.

“Uh yeah, totally gold star gay,” Blaine responded, feeling his own cheeks grow warm. Thank god he had on a mask to cover the bright red hue painted on his cheeks. “I thought it was obvious.”

Kurt laughed, his nose scrunching up under the fabric. “Nope. and I thought my gaydar had improved since I moved here. Good to know,” Kurt said with a wink.

A wink. What did Kurt mean by that? Was he blushing too? Smiling at him? Could Kurt be interested in him? Blaine was usually good at reading people’s expressions, but with that stupid mask, he wasn’t getting the full picture. And unfortunately, every conversation after that was just as cryptic.

“Hey Blaine,” Kurt said as he stepped into Blaine’s dressing room. “Do you have a minute?”

“Yeah sure. What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to see if you got your mask, and you obviously did because it’s right there. Does it fit right?”

“Oh, I haven’t tried it on yet since I haven’t left my dressing room yet. I wore a different one here today, but it looks good.” He fitted the elastic over his ears. He smiled, but then quickly realized that Kurt couldn’t see it anymore. “Yeah, it’s perfect. Yours is interesting today.”

Baby Yoda mask

“Thanks. I think baby Yoda is adorable,” Kurt replied.

I think you’re adorable, Blaine thought. “Yeah, he is. Did you need something else?”

“Um, yeah. Actually, I noticed yesterday that your costume is a little snug in a few areas, specifically around your arms and other areas and I didn’t want it to be uncomfortable so I thought I’d take your measurements so I could make the needed adjustments.”

This was mortifying. Kurt noticed that he had put on some weight during the pandemic. He tried to keep up a healthy diet, and he still exercised every day. He also indulged more in sweets though, especially since his favorite bakery started offering delivery. He and Steve, the Door Dash delivery guy, were now on a first-name basis. “Yeah, I guess that I started eating less healthy since this whole pandemic thing started and I discovered cronuts. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Kurt said as he started measuring Blaine’s triceps. “If anything, I just thought that you had increased your workout regime while you were stuck at home. Your sleeves have definitely gotten tighter, along with some other things,” Kurt remarked, his eyes shifting down his body. “I thought at first that you just started dressing up in tighter clothing until I saw you in the costume. Not that I mind.” Kurt said as he turned his head up and looked directly at Blaine, and were his pupils larger?

“Oh, um. Yeah. It wasn’t intentional. I can’t pull off the look as well as you do,” Blaine replied.

“Debatable,” Kurt answered back quickly, and was that a giggle? That stupid piece of fabric on his face muffled his voice a little, so Blaine couldn’t be sure. Was he flirting? “Anyway, I’ll adjust the shirt for you,” Kurt said as his fingers worked his way down to Blaine’s thighs, “although I think I need to take out the pants a little as well. You’ve clearly gained some definition in your thighs as well.”

Blaine was thankful for his mask at that moment because it hid how his mouth dropped open in shock. Was Kurt complimenting his legs? Or was he just doing his job and noticing that his pants had gotten tighter.

“Do I need to take them out in other areas? Turn around and let me get your measurements in the seat of your pants.”

Did Kurt just ask to measure his ass? “Are you trying to imply that my ass has gotten bigger?” Blaine laughed, again a blush rising on his cheeks.

“Not at all. It’s actually the opposite. You’ve obviously defined certain areas, and so your trousers are ill-fitted in some places and too tight in others. I just didn’t want you to have an unfortunate wardrobe malfunction on stage. Plus, I know how uncomfortable it is to squeeze into a pair of pants that are too tight.”

“Your pants are really tight. Why do you wear them that way if they’re uncomfortable?” Blaine questioned, thankful that Kurt was behind him and not able to see how embarrassed he was by the question.

“It’s fashionable. Plus, I have long legs. My skinny jeans accentuate my assets,” Kurt answered as he moved the measuring tape along Blaine’s butt.

“Yeah, they do,” Blaine blurted. “I mean, you obviously know what looks good on your body type,” he quickly added. Change the subject, before you pop a boner, Blaine. “So has my ass has gotten smaller.”

Kurt laughed heartily. “Are you trying to insinuate that I committed the size of your ass to memory, Blaine?” Kurt said, rising up, and resting the tape on his arm.

“Um, no, but you said my pants no longer fit right,” Blaine mumbled. “So it must’ve gotten smaller, right?”

Kurt chuckled again. “Not necessarily. Like I said, your thighs have gained definition and you have gained some muscles in your glutes as well. Therefore, it changed the fit of your already tight trousers. And since they’re white, they’re showing some things that may not be appropriate for the kiddos in the audience to see.

“Oh, um, then, by all means, let’s fix that.” Blaine laughed.

“Well, then, I’ll kinda need your pants.”

Blaine ran his hand through his curls as he turned his head from the brunette. “Wait, right now?”

“Not this exact second, Blaine. I’m not telling you to drop ‘em right this instant.” Kurt chuckled. “I’ll leave, and you can change. Then, I’ll tailor them as quickly as I can so that they are ready for the dress rehearsal Thursday.”

“Oh, ok. Thanks, Kurt.” Blaine smiled, even though he knew Kurt couldn’t see it with his mask covering his face.

“No, thank you, Blaine. It’s been my pleasure. Kurt said with a wink. Then, he turned and shut the door behind him.

What the hell? Was Kurt flirting or was he just doing his job? He had to be flirting. He had noticed that Blaine’s body had changed, and he had even commented that the changes were nice. Was Kurt trying to hint that he liked what he saw? Or was it really an issue of a wardrobe nightmare waiting to happen?

Damn that mask. Blaine had missed all the signs. The shy smiles, the blushing cheeks, the sly, confident smile he’d usually look for when he read another guy’s expressions. The signs that he had read on his former hookups or boyfriends before he felt confident to ask them out. Hell, some guys made it extremely easy, like Sebastian, who basically called him sex on a stick and gave him a room key to his dorm. Covid had already complicated his life on so many levels, and now it was messing with his love life. Not that he had a love life. Blaine sighed and unbuckled his pants. Yep. He hated those stupid masks.

The next encounter was even more confusing.

“Hey, Blaine. Are things inside your pants better now?” Kurt asked, making Blaine nearly spit out the water he had just taken a sip of. “Oh God. I meant, do they feel better.”

“Wanky,” Santana laughed. “You been lettin’ Hummel get into your pants, Anderson?”

“What? No. He had to make some adjustments yesterday.”

“Some adjustments? Is that what we’re calling it now? Santana laughed again, raising her eyebrows and perching her hand on her hip.

“I had to tailor his pants, Santana. Just like I had to make adjustments to your costume as well after you decided to get some adjustments of your own,” Kurt replied.

“Hey, just because Berry’s captain of the itty bitty titty committee doesn’t mean that I have to join too. Now, I’m ineligible, thanks to some silicone and a team of surgeons. Anyway, Blaine, you didn’t answer Ladyface’s question. How are things inside your pants? Growing uncomfortable, are we?”

“No, they actually are fine. Thanks for your concern. Don’t you have some lines to review, Santana?”

“Yeah, but they aren’t going to be as fun for me to study as the ones that Kurt studied on your ass.”

“Leave him alone, Santana. Blaine can’t help that his body changed during the pandemic, even though he looks great. Getting into better shape and taking care of your body is a positive thing, especially since Blaine didn’t have to get the help of a doctor and a scalpel to do it.”

Santana flipped her hair, “Whatever, lady face,” she sassed, stalking away.

“Thanks, Kurt.”

“For putting her in her place? She lived with me for a little while. You just have to call her out when she gets bitchy,” Kurt replied.

“No, I meant for the alterations. I don’t feel quite so obscene now.” Blaine laughed.

“No problem, Blaine. That’s my job. Although I kinda liked the view,” Kurt said quietly. “Besides, it reflects poorly on me as a costume designer if anything appears ill-fitting.”

Blaine smiled. “Well, still, thank you. I can actually breathe in my costume now. Did you make that mask as well?”

“Yeah. Do you like it?”

Chewbacca mask

Nope. Not at all, Blaine thought as he visualized how even more gorgeous Kurt would be without it. “Yeah. It’s fine.”

“Fine? Do you not like Chewbacca, Blaine?

“He’s fine, I guess. I’m more of a Han solo guy myself.”

“Oh, I like him too, but I didn’t know how to make a Harrison Ford face,” Kurt laughed. “I don’t think they sell that at Mood.”

Blaine chuckled. “No, I guess not. But does that mean that they do have Chewbacca Fabric?”

“No, I had to order it from a specialty shop online. They use a special program to put the design on fabric. My customers really seem to like them.”

“They really are unique,” although I wish you’d take yours off so that I could see your gorgeous smile again, Blaine thought. “I think that it’s great that you make them, even though I can’t wait for the day that they lift the mask mandates.”

“And why is that, Blaine? I really like seeing the different designs that people wear, and they’re fun to make.”

I really like seeing your whole face, and I haven’t gotten to see it since this stupid pandemic started, Blaine thought. “I just don’t like trying to breathe through the fabric, I guess, and I kinda miss seeing people’s facial expressions.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. Especially for an actor. I guess it’s hard to react to your scene partner’s expressions when you can’t see them. And I guess it’d be difficult trying to sing with one on,” Kurt replied. “But, safety first. I wouldn’t want anyone to get sick because of my negligence.”

“Yeah, you’re right. It is the responsible thing to do.”

“Being responsible sucks sometimes, though,” Kurt said. “I don’t particularly like them either.”

“You don’t?” Blaine asked in surprise.

Kurt shook his head. “I miss people’s smiles too, some more than others,” Kurt said as he turned and walked away.

What did he mean by that? Did Kurt mean him? Was he talking about someone else? He had never been so puzzled in his life.”

__________________________________________________________________________

The next few weeks continued to puzzle Blaine. The days that Kurt was at the theater were few and far between, and when he was there, he was bombarded with the task of fixing a burst seam or making alterations to the rest of the casts’ costumes. And since the CDC and the governor were still suggesting that every one social distance, Kurt seemed to take that to heart, barely speaking to him at all.

“Blaine, what did you think of Kurt’s mask today?” Sam asked as Sam exited the stage and Blaine prepared to enter.

“Oh, I haven’t even seen it yet. I wasn’t aware that he was here today.”

“Yeah, the CDC finally lifted some of the restrictions, although they are still recommending masks,” Mike commented. “You didn’t notice that everyone was here today?”

Blaine shook his head. “I’ve been running lines in my dressing room. With the opening night being just a week away, my nerves have been a mess,” Blaine admitted.

“Then you should definitely check out Kurt’s mask. It’s just your style,” Sam said, smiling.

“I’ll check it out,” Blaine said with a nod, stepping on the stage, and then spotting Kurt sitting front and center in the center of one of the front rows, and Sam was right. It was definitely his style.

Han Solo mask

Blaine flubbed several of his lines as his focus was pulled from Rachel and directed to Kurt countless times. It was Han Solo. Kurt was wearing a Han solo mask. What did that mean?

“Blaine? Cut? We need to try that again. That line isn’t even in this scene. Where’s your focus? We have opening night in a week, and you can’t just be dropping the wrong lines. It might throw me off. If you’re going star opposite of me, you have to match my level of talent and enthusiasm. I don’t want my opening night to be lackluster.”

“God, Rachel. It’s not just your opening night. You do realize that hundreds of people all have a hand in making this play come together. You aren’t the only person that people are coming to see. I need a break,” Blaine sighed, storming off the stage in frustration.

“Hey, Blaine, are you ok?” a sweet melodic voice asked behind him.

Blaine turned to see Kurt standing in front of him, his Han solo mask still in place. “Yeah, I just get a little flustered by her sometimes.”

Kurt nodded in understanding. “I get it. We used to be roommates. I couldn’t take it anymore. I moved in with Elliott during the pandemic.”

“Elliott?” Blaine had never heard Kurt mention that name before. Did Kurt have a boyfriend? Of course, he did. There was no way that a man as gorgeous and sweet as Kurt was single.

“Yeah, we met when he auditioned for my band shortly after I moved to New York.”

“Your band? You’re in a band?”

Kurt nodded. “Yeah, but we haven’t played anywhere with a lot of the venues we play not having shows this past year. I really miss it. We still practice sometimes, but I miss performing in front of an audience. We have a gig coming up, though. You should come.”

“Sure. When is it?”

“Friday at Callbacks. It starts at 8.”

“I have rehearsal, but I’ll try. By the way, your mask is great.”

“Thanks. It was inspired by you. You said that you liked Han. and I’ve already sold several on my Etsy page. But I saved one for you, if you want it.”

“Of course I want it. What makes you think that I wouldn’t.”

“You said that you don’t like masks,” Kurt answered matter of factly.

“It’s not that I don’t like them. I just miss seeing people’s faces.” Especially yours, Blaine thought. He had never been so jealous of a piece of fabric in his life. Those masks got to be right up close to Kurt’s smooth skin, his perfect, luscious lips, and it wasn’t fair. “I’ll try to be there Friday. I can’t wait to hear you sing.”

“I can’t wait to be back on stage again myself. I’ll see you then. And here. This is yours. Kurt placed something in his hand. It was a mask just like his own.

“Thank you,” Blaine said, squeezing Kurt’s hand as if to discourage him from moving it away from his.

“No problem. I made one for Sam and Elliott as well. They’re both Star Wars fans like you. And hang in there. Rachel does not use to sharing the spotlight, but one of these days, she’ll realize the importance of a team effort. See you Friday.”

“See you then.” Although Blaine was really tired of the fact that he still wouldn’t get to see Kurt’s beautiful smile. But then he realized that Kurt would be singing and it was hard to sing with a mask on. Kurt would have to take off the mask. There’s no way that Blaine would miss finally getting to see his face once again.

____________________________________________________________________________

Blaine was a nervous wreck, pacing back and forth in front of the little club. He debated going inside. On one hand, he’d get to hear his crush sing. On the other hand, Kurt would be there with the man he lived with, that probably got to kiss his lips and touch his face and strong jaw.

After about five minutes, he finally gathered the nerve to step inside the club, only to see the man of his dreams, maskless, and wrapped in the arms of a gorgeous, taller man with eyeliner and a leather jacket. He turned around and abruptly left the club without looking back.

_______________________________________________________________________

It was opening night, and Blaine’s nerves were on edge. He was excited. His parents and Cooper were both going to be in the audience tonight to watch him perform. His parents had already seen the special showing the night before, and then they took him out for dinner at a swanky place that Blaine could probably never afford. It was a nice evening, but it had been plagued by a feeling of frustration. Kurt hadn’t even tried to talk to him since that night that he stood him up at Callbacks. And Kurt would be at the show. He’d have to be, to make sure that everyone’s costumes were in perfect shape. In fact, he had seen Kurt running around and checking with everyone to make sure that they didn’t need anything. Except him.

Kurt hadn’t even turned around long enough for him to see his mask today. And suddenly, Blaine collided with someone hard, almost falling backward as a strong arm gripped his and prevented him from hitting the hardwood beneath him.

“Are you ok?”

“Kurt, hey, I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was goin-”

“Are you ok? Kurt asked again.

“Your mask. It’s me.”

Blaine Anderson Mask

Kurt nodded. “It is. I broke my rule to wear it tonight.”

“You have a rule? I mean other than to never take it off.”

Kurt nodded. I don’t usually wear the same mask twice. But I wore this one again.

Blaine shook his head. “I’ve never seen it before.”

“I wore it at Callbacks. I guess you couldn’t make it that night.”

“I was there, but I-I had to leave. I’m sorry.”

“Was there an emergency or something?”

“No, I just couldn’t handle it. I’m sorry.”

Kurt shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. You’re going to have to explain it to me.”

“How does Elliott feel about that mask?”

“He’s fine with it. He actually helped me find a picture of you to use so that I could draw it accurately.”

“And he wasn’t jealous?”

“No, why would he be. We’re just roommates and bandmates.”

“He was holding you quite tightly the other night. I didn’t want to intrude.”

“Oh, that? He needed a friend. His boyfriend of two years broke up with him the day before and we had just rehearsed a song that Elliott wrote for him. I was being supportive.”

“Wait, so Elliott isn’t your boyfriend?” Blaine asked.

“No. I just needed a place to stay when Rachel became an even bigger diva than she already is. Elliott and Danny offered to let me stay at their place. They never seemed to mind me. That is until Danny accused Elliott and me of sleeping together. Which would never happen because I respected their relationship too much, and I’m not really attracted to Elliott. I’ve been hopelessly head over heels for someone else for over a year now.”

“Wait, you have? Do I know him?”

Kurt smiled and pulled his mask off and handed it to Blaine. I thought I made it pretty obvious. I mean, I wouldn’t just put anyone on my face.” Kurt facepalmed. I mean, I wouldn’t just wear a mask with just anybody on it.”

“You had Han solo’s chest on one of them.” Blaine objected.

“Because he was your favorite,” Kurt countered.

“And you wore baby Yoda.”

“Because Sam said that you liked Star Wars a lot. He told me that you thought Yoda was adorable.”

“I think you’re adorable,” Blaine blurted, and then blushed profusely when he realized that he said that out loud. “I mean, especially now, since I can see your face.”

“Well then, if you like seeing it, then how about you make plans to see it again, tonight, after the show. Dinner. You and I.”

“My brother’s taking me out tonight. But we can do something afterward.”

“Will you show up this time,” Kurt pouted.

“I showed up last time. And I am truly sorry about that. I really did want to see you perform. I just was caught off guard when I saw you and Elliott holding one another so tightly. It just seemed like I’d be intruding.”

“You can’t intrude if I want you to be there. And he was comforting me because I thought that you weren’t coming.”

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions,” Blaine said dropping his head down in shame.

“Make it up to me?” Kurt asked with a timid smile.

“Anything.”

Kurt cupped Blaine’s jaw and closed the distance between them, their lips finally meeting in an electric kiss.

“God, I’ve wanted to do that for ages. But I couldn’t because of these things.” Blaine said, referencing the mask that was still in his hand.

“I knew you didn’t really like them.”

“I hated them at first, because I didn’t actually get to see you smile anymore. I didn’t get to see your nose crinkle when something irritated you, and I didn’t get to see your cheeks redden when Santana said something distasteful. But then, I realized that I got to see another part of you that I hadn’t got to see before. I think I fell head over heels for you when I saw you in a mask for the first time. That tin man mask. It just showed so much personality. And then, you made one for me too. I still have it. I wear it all the time.”

“I have mine in my keepsake box. It was the day I realized that I didn’t just have a crush on you anymore. It had grown into something much deeper.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Blaine asked, staring intensely at the gorgeous man in front of him.

“It depends. What is it that you think I’m saying?” Kurt smirked. Smirked, and it was adorable and so freakin’ hot.

“I think you’re saying, Mr. Hummel, that you want me to be your boyfriend,” Blaine smirked back.

“And I think that’s pretty accurate,” Kurt replied as he pressed his body into Blaine’s and kissed him firmly on the lips.

“It’s nice to finally get to do this,” Blaine whispered against his boyfriend’s lips.

“Do what?” Kurt prompted, lightly kissing Blaine’s lips once more.

“To get you unmasked,” Blaine replied before deepening the kiss.

[magicalforcesau]

Dancing With Ghosts in Your Garden~ Chapter 16 - Year 2: December

(ao3 links)

Sidious always enjoyed maintaining collections.

He always considered himself a keen eye for artwork- taking special care to decorate and surround his space with intricate and often overlooked pieces that a meager outsider would deem worthless. As usual, their ignorance served to his benefit, allowing him to broaden a priceless treasure trove just beneath their noses. In a sense, it was most enjoyable that way- to accrue artwork and artifacts fundamental to preserving and cultivating the future of the Sith and for them to be none the wiser.

Little did they understand that the best costumes were woven with truth.

So, they could have their foolish little jokes about the junk he chose to decorate his environment with. They would not be laughing so merrily when the abstract paintings of enemy bloodshed cease to be so foreign to them. The carefully hidden devices that could provide centuries of torment would be useful one day.

As well as contingency plans that they might never know, because Sidious was nothing if not pragmatic.

He ran a long finger along a small wooden prism that sat upon his mantle, lips twitching upwards when it glowed red at his touch. He rolled it around his hand, practically shaking at the pure heat that emanated through him. Like Sidious, its walls remained intact and its passion while brimming at the surface, secured by purpose.

He took a deep breath and returned it to its place beside a cube that he didn’t need to touch to know it would not respond to him with such fervor, let alone at all. To him alone, it had no meaning.

But he would not be alone forever and he never did anything without meaning.

Sidious walked to his desk, taking a seat behind it as he took in his collection of pictures, each from a different era with different allies. Tyranus, of course, stood beside him in one of them, though surrounded by other faculty to maintain plausible deniability. Still, he couldn’t help but grimace at his supposed partner. It was no secret to him that Tyranus was taking his own measures. He would be dealt with should his insolence become too much of a problem for Sidious.

His yellow eyes drifted yet again to a picture only he knew to be cropped, one where there was once a Dathmorian smiling ferociously. He had half a mind to return it to its natural form, but as it were, there was no room on his desk for failure.

Besides, as he pulled out a fresh frame, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of giddiness overtake him.

He would need the space for the newest piece of his collection.

***

“I was under the impression that we were forbidding any holiday soirees this year.” Qui-Gon frowned and looked to his fellow Head of Houses for support, knowing he would find no such assistance from Palpatine in this particular situation.

“It’s hardly even that.” Palpatine said kindly, “It’s an academic dinner! And a necessary one, if I must say so myself.”

“And I have a feeling you will.” Qui-Gon muttered, earning him a warning look from Yoda, who always tried to remain neutral on such matters. “Regardless of intent, do you not see the hypocrisy of staging any sort of gathered event on school grounds when everything else has been banned?”

Including Qui-Gon’s own party, which this was only partially about.

“I’d say there’s a stark difference between a quiet dinner for 12-14 people and what has essentially become a rave over the years.” Palpatine countered with the barest traces of a smile, “And no offense to your own event, Professor Jinn, but do you not recall what happened last year at your party?”

Qui-Gon gritted his teeth, but held his tongue as the other professors eyed him carefully. He didn’t need to garner a reputation for throwing a tantrum every time something didn’t go his way, especially when it was being framed that he merely wanted to have his own holiday party.

“I am not saying mine or any other such parties should occur this year on property,” He said, “But if we are battening down the hatches, I don’t see why your academic dinner is exempt from the rules.”

“It’s essentially a networking event, Professor Jinn,” Palpatine twiddled his long fingers, “It would seem incredibly unfair to deprive Hogwarts’ best from learning how to navigate their futures.”

“Not a single person in this room received any such favoritism and I would say we turned out just fine,” Qui-Gon said, because really, at the core this was what it was all about. Every year, Palpatine hosted a private dinner for who he felt were the most prestigious and skilled witches and wizards of their year. This did not necessarily mean their grades or academic place guaranteed them a spot. It all depended on who Palpatine saw potential in.

“If I could possibly invite the whole student body, you know that I would.” The older man said with sympathetic gray eyes.

“Understand, I do.” Yoda nodded sagely, “Danger or not, continue school must, but safety precautions, there must be.”

“We’ll ensure it’s monitored.” Windu said with a curt nod, but whether it was meant for Qui-Gon or Palpatine was up for debate, “10 people tops, that includes plus one’s, and it will need to be over by curfew.”

“Ah yes, because Maul won’t show up until 10 pm.” Qui-Gon snorted, which earned him a glare from Windu this time. Shaak Ti, to her credit, seemed to be withholding a quiet laugh of her own.

“And all of us will monitor the dinner.” She said calmly, “We can’t take any chances by leaving students vulnerable.”

Qui-Gon eased a bit at that, though he still bristled at the way Palpatine’s smile took full form and then shrugged at him as though he were helpless to the decision. He’d never had any contempt for the older man, but he never appreciated smugness in any form.

“I’ll have to shorten my list a tad, but that can be done.” He nodded slowly.

As they were dismissed, Qui-Gon wasn’t surprised when Yoda asked him to stay back. After the door shut behind Palpatine and he was left alone with the little green Headmaster, he couldn’t help but feel like a student ready to receive detention.

“Feel your frustration, I do.” He said, “Find anything, have you?”

“No necklace.” Qui-Gon only stuttered a little bit, surprised that he wasn’t being chastised, “Though it no doubt came from Dooku’s office. And I’d know it if I saw it.”

“Scoured over everything in there, the aurors have.” Yoda said grimly, “Missing, a necklace was.”

“That’s what Anakin said too.” Qui-Gon revealed and off the curious look Yoda was giving him, he sighed, “I promised him immunity from punishment should he be honest about anything he knew.”

“Hm,” Yoda tapped his fingers on his desk, “Blame him for curiosity, I do not. Many close calls last year, he had.”

“That seems to be a bit of an understatement, Headmaster.” Qui-Gon said and stroked his beard.

“Twice as vulnerable, the boy is.” Yoda said, “After him, Maul is.”

He did know this. The entire school did after the display Maul’s “delivery” made. Aurors through the Ministry were able to detect that not only did the blade belong to Maul, but that the markings on the dagger were strangely reminiscent of an ancient diatribe. Qui-Gon knew they were dancing around calling it like it was: a Sith artifact.

“For what reason?” Qui-Gon scowled, “Maul cares not for prophecy or rules. Anakin is a twelve year old boy and hardly a challenge for him.”

“Tasked with finding that out, I am leaving you.” Yoda pushed his chair out from beneath his desk and stood. When he did, only the very top of his head was visible from where Qui-Gon stood. Using his cane, he hobbled around to stand in front of Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows, “And why not Windu?”

He didn’t mean to sound like he didn’t accept the task. Quite the opposite, of course. He would have likely found himself involved anyway as it was in his nature. That being said, he certainly didn’t have the professional investigative experience that Mace had.

“Trust you, the boy does.” Yoda said matter-of-factly, “Because Shmi trusted you, the reason he goes here is.”

Qui-Gon was sure that was meant to be empowering motivation, but instead, his mind was taken back to the dark dreams Shmi told him of last winter holiday and how scarily they matched the ones Anakin had mentioned, not to mention the recurrence of snakes. He thought about how desperately Shmi did not want her son to be involved with the wizarding world and why now that seemed to not be so ridiculous on paper.

Still, he knew Anakin’s and the rest of the community’s best hope was to continue his training.

“That is true,” Qui-Gon said with a heavy sigh, “But Headmaster, we need to be able to ensure the boy’s safety for that trust to persist.”

“Agree, I do.” Yoda said, “Maul cannot get in, as long as here, I am.”

It was true. While small in stature and old in age, Headmaster Yoda was the most formidable foe to a loose cannon like Maul, who surely did not have enough hubris to believe he would be capable of taking down the ancient Headmaster. He was once a student at Hogwarts, after all, and had to know of the Headmaster’s abilities.

However, there was a far off look in Yoda’s eyes that did not bestow much confidence in Qui-Gon. There was something he wasn’t saying. Or perhaps, it was meant to be assumed.

“And you’re not going anywhere, are you?” He asked slowly.

His long ears tilted downwards and he sighed heavily, “On my own accord, I will not.”

Then, it dawned on Qui-Gon, “The Ministry?”

“A strong case of my failures, many lawyers are making.” He said, “Feel that prepared, I am not, to defend the school.”

“That’s preposterous, Headmaster!” Qui-Gon growled, “If anything, we’re sitting ducks without you!”

Yoda’s disposition steeled, “No! Strength, there are in numbers. Make this school, I do not. Protect it, you and the others will if you must.”

While there was nothing presently happening and no final words were said, Qui-Gon felt like his heart was racing beneath his chest. Did no one see what was transpiring all around them?

“There must be one of Dooku’s plants in the Ministry.” He said, “The Sith are rising and gathering numbers to try and weaken us.”

Yoda fiddled with the hilt of the sword that always stuck out of the large vase near his desk, twiddling it between his little fingers. It was designed as though meant to be wielded by Yoda, himself, though Qui-Gon never really came to such a realization until now.

“Many forms, evil takes,” He confirmed, “Are Sith, not all of them are. In the deliberately blind, bigoted, and silent, it lies. Fester, it will. Be vigilant, we must.”

***

“And remember class, your project on the fundamental purposes of gillyweed is due next Monday.” Palpatine smiled at the class, “I look forward to seeing what sort of creative functionalities you all come up with.”

Anakin hadn’t noticed that class dismissed and it seemed Rex wasn’t bothered much to let him know, leaving him staring into empty space as students filtered out of the room. He only blinked back into reality when his professor walked up and gently knocked on the desk in front of him, as though it were a door he was requesting admission through.

He flicked his head up, mind scrambling for an excuse to land on for being so lost in space, but found he had trouble lying to the older man.

“Oh, sorry, Professor!” He slid from his chair and stood up, “I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

“How are you doing, Anakin?” Palpatine placed a hand on his shoulder and appeared to be studying him. “Really doing; not just what you might tell your other professors.”

“Well, I’m sure you heard of the little note Maul sent me.” He said with a shrug, “They confirmed that the blood on it was that Adi Gallia that he murdered at the prison.”

It was impressive that he’d managed to say that without gagging as he had the many times his thoughts reverted back to the moment. He had to blink a few times to shake away the images his brain had conjured up in his sleep. He’d heard the reports on how Maul picked off each of the guards on duty that night and it hadn’t been pleasant.

“He’s a sick individual, Anakin. And it’s just awful how he treated those poor guards.” Palpatine said, “But rest assured, no harm can befall you so long as Headmaster Yoda is on the premises.”

Anakin perked up, “Really?”

“But of course!” He said and twisted his own lips into a smile, “I’m not sure where this school would be without him, but I can assure you, he is a force that Maul would not dare to cross.”

Anakin relaxed at that, “I suppose I should be learning from him then. You know, if I’m to be a hero one day.”

“In my opinion, Anakin,” Palpatine poked his chest, “You are already a hero. And it is for that reason amongst countless others that I am formally inviting you to my annual academic banquet.”

“That’s awesome!” Anakin scratched the back of his neck, “Only, uh… What is it?”

He chuckled, “Only an exclusive dinner party hosted by yours truly. It’s reserved for only the witches and wizards, usually older, that I deem exemplary amongst their peers. It’s a way to recognize their hard work.”

“And you think I’m worthy of that?” Anakin asked.

Palpatine chuckled, “I would be a fool not to invite such a brilliant and promising young lad such as yourself. You may be significantly younger than the rest of the attendees, but I assure you that your skills match their own.”

Pride swelled through Anakin so suddenly that he found it quite difficult not to appear shocked. Still, he figured no one else but Palpatine was around, so it was likely acceptable this time. Besides, his mother always taught him not to expect gifts or invitations from anyone, even if it seemed deserved.

“Wow, this is an honor, sir.” He said, “Thank you.”

“No need for thanking me.” He insisted, “It is my pleasure to host! Now, it is usually a more formal event, so be sure you and your guest are dressed appropriately. You ought to look the part of the chosen one.”

“My guest?” He asked.

“Ah yes, invite whoever you like, but remember, they are to represent you!” He wagged a finger at him, “Not everyone is cut from the same cloth, shame as that might be. So choose carefully!”

Despite having never heard of such an event, he knew this would be a meaningful night and wanted so terribly for Palpatine to be right. Clearly, the seasoned professor saw something in Anakin if he already belonged amongst the most elite brilliant wizards at a banquet in their honor. He did not want to mess this up.

***

“Looking good up there,” Miraj Scintel, a Slytherin fourth year who was almost alarmingly feline in nature and physicality, purred from a position on the bleachers. Anakin hadn’t even noticed her thanks to the howling wind and the freezing rain that decided to bestow itself upon them for practice.

“Oh, hey!” He hoped he was smiling, but his face was feeling pretty numb from the cold. He forgot his scarf again and was going to be annoyed if he caught a cold. His mum certainly wouldn’t let him hear the end of that, or worse: Obi-Wan wouldn’t let him hear the end of that.

“I always knew you were gifted, Skywalker,” She smiled, bearing sharp teeth that looked ready to sink into her prey. Anakin knew that wasn’t him, due to his own powers that couldn’t be stopped, so he didn’t fear her. He just hovered nearby on his broom. He preferred being off the ground anyway.

“Thanks! Cody says we stand a good chance of a comeback.”

“As a Slytherin, I’m pretty sure commenting on that would be treasonous.” She said smoothly.

He wondered if the smooth beige fur that lined her skin protected her from the cold in the winter or worse, if it made summers brutal. He knew it was rude to ask, but he’d have to ask Obi-Wan later. He certainly wasn’t going to waste time looking it up in a big book.

“You guys were lucky we weren’t in the right headspace.” Anakin challenged.

“I’m sure,” She laughed, “I don’t play so… I don’t have much stakes in the game aside from knowing true power and talent when I see it.”

“Really?”

“Indeed,” She nodded slowly, keeping her eyes fixated on his, “And my father has an in with the Bulgarian professional team.”

Anakin didn’t even know where Bulgar was located, but it sounded impressive. Not wanting to sound dumb, he nodded and made sure to give her the kind of awe that she obviously sought out with such a reveal.

“Maybe I could tell him about you.” She shrugged, “If you keep doing such amazing things.”

“I don’t know if you’ll need to,” He smirked, “I am the chosen one.”

“That you are,” She raised an eyebrow at him, “In more ways than one. I suppose the true question, is who are you going to choose?”

“For what?” Anakin frowned.

“To take to the moon with you, Anakin.” She said as though it were obvious, “That broom looks like it's built for two at maximum capacity.”

He looked behind him and thought about that. He knew it was a metaphor, but he really only ever pictured Padmé riding on the back of his broom. He’d never admit that out loud, because it sounded incredibly corny and also impossible for his present image.

“Oh, I’m not planning on falling in love or anything like that, sorry.” He said honestly. He didn’t want Miraj to get the wrong idea.

“Who said anything about love?” She scoffed. “Love is for the weak. No, what you need is a co-conspirator.”

***

Cody massaged his temples as he tried to will himself the strength to focus on the textbook in front of him. For what had to be the millionth time, he pondered why there weren’t any memory spells that could assist in studying. Even magic had its limitations, sure, but there were spells to erase one’s memory. Why not the opposite?

With a dejected sigh, he slammed his head down to the pages.

“I know I say do whatever works, but I’m not sure that’s an effective study method.” Satine commented as she sat down next to him. He didn’t have to look up to know that Kenobi slid in the seat across from her and likely had a smirk that matched her own.

“You could shove this book straight between my ears and I still wouldn’t get it.” Cody groaned.

One of them patted him on the shoulder- presumably Kenobi by the firmness of it, while the other poked him.

“Once again, I think you’re just being too hard on yourself,” Kenobi said, “Over-thinking has never served you well.”

“Yeah you’ve always thrived on instinct.” Satine said with a nudge, “It’s like remembering Quidditch plays.”

“This is nothing like Quidditch.” Cody tilted his head up enough to lean on his hands, “If it were, I’d be attending Palpatine’s precious pet banquet with the lot of you.”

“Not to worry, Cody, I’m also not attending.” Satine said as she flipped open her own book rather indignantly.

“And just what are you protesting this time?” Kenobi asked.

Had Cody not been too busy commiserating, he would have likely asked the same question, but he was glad he didn’t, because it was immediately apparent that it was the wrong question.

“First of all, I’m not sure I appreciate the underlying exasperation in your tone.” She said, “Just because I choose to stand against social injustice does not make me some annoying zealot. Secondly, I am not protesting anything, because I wasn’t invited.”

Cody’s head shot up completely this time in a mixture of shock and affront. Kenobi seemed just as surprised too, because he didn’t even offer a counter-argument to Satine’s earlier point. They shared a look of disbelief before turning to her for an explanation that never came.

After a moment of likely feeling their gazes burning through her skull, she finally looked up, perturbed that she was interrupted from whatever nonsense she’d gotten herself into reading.

“What?”

“That’s impossible!” Cody complained, “Surely, there’s some sort of mistake.”

“Seriously, you’re top of our class.” Kenobi said, before finishing, “Besides me.”

She rolled her eyes, “Believe it or not, Ben, Palpatine doesn’t exactly choose based on academic placement, alone. He’s chosen quite a few bimbos in the past, actually. Sure, academia helps, but you need status in order to catch his gaze. And conveniently enough, he never invites muggle borns.”

“Are you sure about that?” Cody asked, “He’s never struck me as the sort to think so… What’s the term?”

“Single-mindedly? Aristocratically? Bigoted? Subservient to an archaic belief of blood superiority? I could go on if you need more.” Satine listed them off with such ease that Cody realized she must have thought about them more often than either he or Kenobi could fathom. Such a realization both saddened and surprised him, and even more so when he realized he shouldn’t be all that surprised in the first place.

“That’s not right.” Kenobi pinched his chin thoughtfully, “Perhaps, he was limited in spaces.”

“Well, he had no problem inviting your mentee.” She said pointedly, “Who is twelve years old, need I remind you.”

“Anakin made the cut?” His eyes widened. “Usually, only sixth and seventh years are invited.”

“Did you even pay attention to the list? Or did you stop when you saw your name at the top?” She asked. “Of course he did. He’s the chosen one! While a half-blood raised in the muggle world, his prophetic background immediately moves him to the A-list.”

“Palpatine’s pals.” Cody whistled, “An elite breed for a young kid.”

Kenobi seemed to consider that for a long moment and by the end of his line of thoughts, it was unclear what his opinion on that matter ended up being. Like many times, he transitioned topics and kept his face neutral. If he wasn’t already set on being an auror, Cody would have suggested he become an actor.

“Well, it makes no difference in the end, I suppose.” He said, “I assumed you would be going with me anyway.”

“What do you mean?” Satine asked.

Cody couldn’t believe it. He looked back and forth between the two of them in amusement. Was this how it was going to happen? It was a lot less theatrical than he’d expected, seeing as the two of them seemed to always be quarreling when they weren’t “secretly” fawning over the other. He expected it to go a lot of ways, but never with Kenobi so casually putting it out on the table.

“We get plus one’s.” He shrugged, “Perhaps, that’s why Palpatine excluded you from the list. He figured I would automatically bring you because of our relationship.”

Satine raised an eyebrow, “Our relationship?”

“We’re friends.” He said slowly, as though he might have been reminding himself of that fact too.

Not the correct thing to say.

Satine clenched her jaw, “Yes, well, how was I to even know this little arrangement would be happening if you were never intending on mentioning it?”

“I’m mentioning it now.” Kenobi said. “It’s not like it’s a date or anything.”

Cody wondered how someone so smart could say the wrong thing so often.

“Yes, that would be ridiculous, wouldn’t it?” Satine said.

Kenobi seemed utterly dumbfounded, “Did you want it to be a-”

“-Why would I want that?” She cut him off immediately and Cody found himself bobbing his head back and forth between them. Sometimes, it felt like he was watching an exciting ping pong match.

“I don’t know.” Kenobi said, though he had the decency to look a bit offended by her immediate dismissal, “It’s hardly anything more than a networking event. You would likely hate the whole experience, anyway.”

“You are really selling this evening to me.” She frowned.

“You don’t have to come if you do not wish,” Kenobi said, though Cody could see his best friend stiffen, “It was just an offer.”

“And what an offer it is!” She flared, placing both hands on the table as though prepared to launch herself to her feet for a dramatic exit, “An offhand comment suggesting I essentially be your tag-a-along to an event that I was deliberately overlooked for. Sign me up! I should be so lucky to be your casual pick. You truly know how to make a girl feel special.”

“Satine-” He didn’t get very far, of course. When she was on a roll, she was on a roll.

“What were you going to do the night of the party if I had already found a date?” She steamrolled, now half-standing as she leaned forward towards him, “Or was that never an actual possibility in that head of yours? Answer wisely.”

Kenobi stammered, though Cody noticed he was obviously bothered by the implication, “Did you have someone you’d rather go with than your best friend?”

“Perhaps, I did!” She thundered.

Kenobi reverberated for a moment as though he suffered terrible whiplash before finally saying, “Well, it’s not a date anyway so-”

“Yes, you’ve made that abundantly clear, which works out quite nicely for me,” She said as she fully stood, “Seeing as it’s not a date and I’m a friend, which apparently means I’m unworthy of any notice, formal invitation, or courtesy. So, as a friend, I’ll feel no guilt in standing you up.”

“Well- fine!” Kenobi said back, “I’ll find someone else to go! Someone less mad!”

“Good luck with that!” She grinned sardonically as she turned to take her leave, “Because anyone who agrees to go with your passive arrogance would have to be bloody insane.”

Kenobi opened his mouth and shut it again, annoyed that she’d managed to get the last word in before she was fully gone- a tactic both have used in the past. Everyone in the library, including Jocasta Nu, was shooting unsure looks towards their table. He didn’t seem to notice from where he stewed, keeping his eyes trained on where she left.

“So, who are you going to ask?” Cody asked.

Kenobi groaned and flopped his head down towards his textbook with a thud.

“You wouldn’t happen to be interested in a free dinner, would you?” His voice was muffled from the book, but Cody always understood the language of food.

Despite how it might not resonate well with Satine, Cody couldn’t not agree to those terms. Unlike her, he would rather it not be a date.

***

“Rex, guess what?” Anakin came barreling into the Gryffindor common room with a burst of excitement that Rex had grown used to over the year and half of knowing his friend. Still, they hadn’t been hanging out nearly as much as they used to, so he found himself quite surprised to be the recipient of such grand news.

“What?” He asked, closing his History of Magic textbook for the night. He knew if Anakin got enthusiastic enough, that he would not be returning to his homework for tonight.

“I got invited to Palpatine’s Academic Bash!” He pressed his hands into the armrest of the couch, using it for stability as he bounced up and down.

“His… What?” Rex frowned. He distinctly recalled that unofficial school holiday events were banned per Headmaster Yoda’s call for safety. It was not lost on Rex that such safety measures were likely designed with Anakin in mind, specifically.

“It’s this end of the term banquet that he has with his most esteemed students where we all get dressed up and eat a bunch of fancy foods. It’s basically a big networking event where Palpatine helps set the older students up with connections to make them successful beyond Hogwarts.”

“And why are you invited, then?” Rex asked, much to Anakin’s incredulousness.

“Hello?” He gestured to himself, “Chosen One? Have you forgotten?”

“How could I? You scarcely let me do so.” He deadpanned, “I still don’t get why you would even want to go to that sort of thing. Sounds much more up Obi-Wan’s alley.”

“Well, he’s invited too, of course.” Anakin waved a hand, “It’s usually exclusive to sixth years and seventh years.”

All of the students that were amongst Palpatine’s “pals” as they were often referred to by outsiders, were all exceptionally gifted and intelligent witches and wizards. He didn’t see how Rex could be so confused by Anakin’s being lumped in with them. Sure, he was younger, but in terms of power and potential, he was right there.

“Still sounds stuffy.” Rex shrugged.

“Well,” Anakin couldn’t help but deflate a bit, annoyed that Rex wasn’t immediately leaping to his level of excitement, “Since it’s an academic event, the school is allowing it, so it’s better than sitting around doing nothing.”

“I suppose.” Rex said.

“I thought about asking Padmé to go with me, but I don’t want her to get the wrong impression,” Anakin said, “Can’t have her falling in love with me. That would make things far too complicated.”

“I’m sure.” Rex snorted, “Well, if you need someone to endure the bureaucratic dribble with I guess-”

“-Miraj Scintel would probably want to go.” Anakin tapped his chin.

“What?”

“Miraj Scintel.” Anakin said simply, “You know, my friend from Slytherin house. 4th year Miraj? Super pretty, but not my type? You know, the popular girl who I’ve been sitting with at Dueling Club-”

“-I know who she is.” Rex spat, “Why are you taking her?”

Anakin sat on the armrest, “I dunno, we’re friends. I think she’d like it.”

“And what about me?” He asked.

Anakin frowned, “You just said you didn’t want to go.”

“You didn’t invite me! I thought you were just bragging.”

“When do I do that?”

“All of the time!” Rex said, “Were you even going to ask me anyway?”

Anakin paused and Rex launched up from where he’d been sitting on the couch.

“You weren’t, were you?” He accused.

“I never said that!” Anakin said, “I would just rather bring someone who wants to go is all. Plus, Miraj fits in a bit better with that crowd of people.”

“And I don’t?”

“Not really.” Anakin shrugged, “You always choose to hang back or walk away whenever I’m with my new friends.”

“Is that how you see it?” He laughed sardonically, “Boy are you full of it, you know that?”

“What are you on about?” Anakin crossed his arms.

“What am I on about? I haven’t been walking away from you! You haven’t invited me once to hang with you and your new friends. You keep flaunting this Chosen One title around like it’s such a great thing when in reality, it sounds like it’s only going to get really scary from here on out. I mean, my family has gone to Hogwarts for years and the professors have never seen it fit to have a club where students basically learn to fight.”

Anakin frowned, “I’m not flaunting anything around. I am the Chosen One. That’s what I am. And Chosen Ones are heroes, who don’t cower down from the future or when things get bad. Neither do Gryffindors in general, actually.”

“I’m not cowering down. I’m just trying to be realistic!” Rex barked back.

“I don’t expect you to understand what it’s like having all eyes depending on you to be brave, but that is the reality.” Anakin shrugged, “And a real friend would support me on that.”

“Are you kidding me?” Rex all but shouted, throwing his books aside, “Ever since this whole thing started, you’ve been ditching me like I’m Flobberworm fodder to you.”

“No, you have taken every opportunity to either avoid me or lash out any time anyone else treats me nice!”

“That’s because they’re only being nice to you because you’re the Chosen One!”

“That’s not true!” Anakin said and pointed a firm finger at his seething friend, “You’re just jealous that everyone likes me now.”

“But I liked you before any of that!” Rex shouted, “It didn’t matter to me if you were famous or if you were powerful. When no one else in this blasted school believed you, not even Obi-Wan, I did. I stood by your side and stuck up for you. You were the last person I’d ever think would fall for this stupid fame rap, but I guess I was wrong.”

Anakin’s mouth felt dry, but it didn’t stop his stupid words from taking form anyway- coming from a place of hurt so bleak that he didn’t realize it still existed there from his loneliness of last year,

“Well, you don’t have to worry about me being your charity case anymore. I’d rather have friends that are happier for me instead of sulking all the time anyway.” He said.

“Sure, have fun with Miraj at Palpatine’s stupid party! I’m sure she’ll just love puckering up to your arse every time you so much as breathe. See if she still likes you next time you fall flat on your face and don’t ask me to come pick you back up.”

“And good luck on the bench this year!” It felt mean even as he said it, but Anakin decided he wasn’t wanted here anymore as he stormed back down the steps towards the exit, trying not to look anyone else in the face as tears began to spring from his eyes. He ran into Cody on his way down, who tried to grab him by the wrist, but Anakin slipped from his potential grasp and descended the stairs anyway.

On his way out, he heard Cody ask, “What the bloody hell just happened?”

It seemed Anakin was out a friend. It was no matter, he told himself. He had plenty of other friends now.

He would just have to keep telling himself that.

***

Obi-Wan was surprised to find Anakin sitting by himself in the courtyard. It was far from a safe position for him to be in, given the price that was likely out on his head by Maul, but the boy was so sullen that he couldn’t find it in him to admonish him. He wasn’t crying, but didn’t look far from it.

“I don’t care if you give me detention, Obi-Wan.” Anakin said and pressed his forehead into his knees as he brought them closer to him, likely in an effort to keep himself warm. “Just leave me alone.”

Obi-Wan sighed through his nose and carefully pulled his robe off of him before draping it around Anakin, followed by giving him his scarf. There wasn’t going to be much of a Chosen One left if he froze to death in the December chill. He dusted the stone bench free of drifting snow and ice before taking a seat beside him.

“What happened?” He finally asked, breaking the silence that bounded them. The whirl of the wind whistled through and around the many towers and seemed to battle with itself in the heart of the courtyard.

Anakin had been having a great year from the looks of it, contrary to his previous year. He made new friends, grew a lot of confidence (perhaps, a bit too much), and was behaving better in class. Another psychopathic dark wizard was after him, yes, but he seemed to take it in stride in comparison to how he reacted to his fear of Windu before. This behavior seemed very out of the blue to Obi-Wan.

He sighed heavily, causing a wreath of frosty air to circulate around him, “Rex doesn’t want to be my friend anymore.”

Now, that didn’t sound right at all. Rex had stuck with Anakin through the thickest of thick and didn’t seem keen on going anywhere. He’d been a loyal and true friend, one that Anakin was lucky to have. It simply did not add up.

Then, Obi-Wan counted back to the previous months, thinking about how Anakin hadn’t been seen with Rex nearly as much, how his mentee had grown popular with other and older students, or how Anakin seemed quite boastful as of late.

“Did he say why?”

“He’s upset I’m taking Miraj Scintel to Palpatine’s banquet.” He huffed, “Which is ridiculous, because he hates potions and was dogging the event in general until I told him I was inviting someone else.”

“Ah, I see.” Obi-Wan slumped against the wall a bit, but it was colder than anything he’d ever touched and he straightened his posture again, “I must admit, I’m not sure I’m the best candidate to be giving advice on this specific matter. I’m somewhat in a similar pickle.”

“You’re also bringing Miraj Scintel to Palpatine’s banquet?” Anakin wrinkled his nose, “She never struck me as your type.”

“She’s not!” Obi-Wan insisted, “I’m not taking her, but one of my friends is upset that I didn’t elect to ask them more formally.”

“Why didn’t you?” Anakin asked, loosening his grip on his legs and letting his feet touch the stone again.

Obi-Wan breathed out his own cloud of air, admiring for a moment how picturesque it looked in the reflective light from the torches that hung above them. He was grateful for them, of course, because they provided at least a little warmth to fight off the freezing December. He couldn’t explain it, but he always liked the smell of the cold- the freshness of it. He just never quite enjoyed feeling it.

He rubbed his hands along his arms in an effort to warm up, “I thought… It went without saying that we were to go together.”

Anakin frowned, “That’s awful dumb of you. How is someone supposed to know they’re invited if you never say anything?”

Obi-Wan snorted, always amused at the sheer lack of thought that went into Anakin���s words sometimes, “Yes, I know that now, thank you. It is for that reason that I am now bringing Cody to the banquet.”

“Cody?” Anakin squawked, “He’s not going to fit in at all!”

“That doesn’t matter,” Obi-Wan said, “It’s about who you want to bring, not about who you feel would make the best trophy to show off.”

Obi-Wan was quite glad that Satine wasn’t there to call him out on the sheer hypocrisy of that statement. Being a Kenobi and hosting many parties, meant that most of his life had been surrounded by various upscale wizards flashing their trophy husbands or wives or children.

“But why would I want to bring someone who’s been nothing but negative this entire term? It’s like he’s not even happy for me for being popular.”

“Popularity isn’t everything, Anakin.” Obi-Wan said, rubbing his hands together now, “It’s better to have fewer great friends than more fairweather friends.”

“What’s a fairweather friend?” Anakin asked.

“The kind who only wants to be around you when you’re on top.” He explained, “So maybe, it’s not that you’ve invited Miraj, but that you neglected to think of Rex. It could quite possibly just be a buildup of feelings.”

“Well, how am I supposed to know the difference between a fairweather friend and a real friend?” He asked, bright blue eyes looking troubled and concerned at the difference.

“You’ll know when things get tough again.” Obi-Wan said and draped an arm around Anakin’s shoulders, partially because he was starting to lose feeling in his limbs from being outside for as long as they were.

“You’re a real friend.” Anakin said quietly.

“I’d like to think so.” Obi-Wan really did, too. He knew Satine was rightfully quite upset with him at the moment, but he liked to think that he was there for his friends when they needed him. He wasn’t perfect, but he did intend to show Anakin the proper values for him to proceed. “And it is my humble opinion that you should try to make up with Rex.”

“But how? He basically told me to bugger off and not to come back.” Anakin said, “And I don’t really want to, right now.”

“Sometimes, you have to be the better person and put yourself out there.” Obi-Wan advised.

“Just like you did with Satine?” Anakin arched an eyebrow at him.

“I- I never said I was quarreling with Satine.”

“When aren’t you is the better question.” He said, “It’s just a date. What’s the big deal?”

“First of all, it’s not a date. It’s a social gathering amongst intellectual acquaintances that she and I would merely be attending together in formal attire. Second of all, it’s past curfew and you’re lucky I haven’t taken to removing points from Gryffindor by now.”

“Sure, sure.” Anakin rolled his eyes, “Still not sure what I’m going to do about Rex. I already asked Miraj.”

“Just be honest with him. Give him some time to cool off.” Obi-Wan said and stood up, “Speaking of cooling off, I think we’ve done enough of that, wouldn’t you say?”

***

Anakin knew Obi-Wan had to be right in his advice to make up with Rex, but the trouble was finding the timing for such a thing. However, he reasoned this would be much easier to do once this silly banquet that started the quarrel in the first place was over. It didn’t make the way Rex refused to meet his eyes any easier.

In fact, Anakin began to understand some of what Rex had been talking about, as though he’d just noticed his friend’s absence. Even with Jax, Tru, and Ferus chatting with him eagerly about the banquet at breakfast, he couldn’t help but revert his eyes down the table to where Rex ate quietly with his brothers. All but Cody were present, who was actually sitting with Obi-Wan and Satine. Anakin wondered if his mentor was taking his own advice on that front.

He was relieved when Qui-Gon got up from his seat at the front of the Great Hall and walked over to him, making everyone else look rather small in comparison.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Anakin, but may I have a word?” He asked kindly, nodding cordially to the other boys.

“Oh, sure!” Anakin slid out from his seat, “I’ll see you later, guys!”

As he followed the large Head of House out of the Great Hall, he met Obi-Wan’s nondescript stare from across the room, but didn’t think much of it. Whatever obvious disagreement was happening between Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan was their business. Anakin had enough trouble on his hands as it were.

They didn’t speak until they drifted down to his office, which was decorated aplomb with Christmas joy, even though his party wouldn’t be happening this year. He especially liked the charmed elf decoration that skated in endless crazy eights across the surface of his mantle. It was particularly interesting that Qui-Gon never seemed to stick exclusively to wizard-made decor. Instead, there were plenty of lights and trappings of garland that could be found in any muggle hardware store. It infused Anakin with the sort of merriment that felt akin to magic before he had a full grasp on his abilities.

“Is this about the necklace?” He asked.

“Yes and no.” Qui-Gon said as he leaned against his desk, “I heard you were invited to Sheev’s end of the year dinner party.”

Anakin scratched his head, briefly performing mental gymnastics to remember that Palpatine’s first name was certainly not “Professor” and that Qui-Gon likely didn’t call him by that when they were outside of professional settings. Still, he was also unsure what his invitation had to do with anything.

“Uh, and what of it?” He asked.

“Congratulations,” Though it sounded more of a formality than sincerity, “It’s unheard of that someone so young be invited.”

“Yeah, Professor Palpatine says he’s never met a wizard like me.” Anakin shrugged, trying not to boast lest he prove Rex correct.

“No one is the same as each other.” He said, “Everyone offers their own different strengths and weaknesses that deserve to be celebrated.”

“I think he just likes to do something nice for the gifted kids.” Anakin said.

“I’m sure Professor Palpatine means no malice in his little get-together, but segmenting chosen students with no official system for doing so can be… Misleading. All students at Hogwarts are gifted and regardless of grades, skills, or social standing, no one is overall better than the other.”

Anakin really didn’t see how that could be true, even if he weren’t the chosen one.

“So, you don’t want me to go?” Anakin asked.

“I did not say that.” He poured himself a cup of tea and sighed, “Quite the opposite, actually, I think it’s important you do attend the dinner.”

“No offense, but you’re not making much sense, Qui-Gon.”

He chuckled, “I’m not, am I?”

“No, sir. It doesn’t sound like you agree with Palpatine having a party at all. So, why encourage me to go?” Anakin decided to make himself comfortable and take a seat. Qui-Gon had a tendency to be long-winded, so he might as well prepare for a lecture.

“I have nothing negative to say about his having a party,” Qui-Gon said, “Do I wish he were a bit clearer in his system beyond picking favorites, perhaps? There are bigger issues at play, though, and it’s not my position or place anyway.”

“So, what is it?”

“As you know, Palpatine has a tendency to adopt people, so to speak, and not in a bad way, but with the hopes of passing down his own wisdom from past experiences.” He said, “And he’s included many interesting cases in this little club of his over the years. One of whom, many years ago, was a sixth year Slytherin boy who many considered to be… Troubled. Immensely talented? Yes, but it was how he used that power that was always concerning the professors.”

“How did he use it?” Anakin asked.

“You see, outside of the classroom he didn’t have many friends. He was aggressive and would occasionally perform some rather sinister tricks on those that crossed him. He was gifted at charms and transfiguration above all else and was even caught performing some rather… Disturbing spells on animals and leaving them in students’ beds.”

“Who was he?” Anakin asked.

He lifted a navy and silver leather bound book from his desk and flipped through some of the pages before finding what he’d been looking for. Wordlessly, Qui-Gon turned the book and pointed to a moving school portrait of Maul.

The rock that dropped in his stomach made Anakin question the company of this exclusive club that he was being invited into.

Anakin wrinkled his nose, “That’s terrible! Why would Palpatine want to take him under his wing?”

“I’m not sure,” Qui-Gon frowned, “I suspect he wanted to help him, but…”

“But what?”

He placed his teacup down delicately before folding his hands in front of him, “It would benefit us to learn whatever we can about Maul and his potential motives for seeking you out. As of right now, Palpatine is the only person I know who was close with him.”

“So, you want me to go to the banquet to get information from Palpatine?” Anakin clarified and for some reason, the task didn’t sit right with him. In fact, it felt an awful lot like spying.

“I warn you to act with discretion, of course,” Qui-Gon raised a hand, “Sheev has never mentioned Maul once in the years I’ve known him. The only reason I’m aware of his previous kinship with Maul was because I… Stumbled upon this information as a first year. I’d not thought much of it then, but now… It would certainly be wise to see what he knows.”

“Will it upset him?” Anakin couldn’t help but ask. After all, he was already out one friend right now. He really didn’t need to go cutting off all his ties.

“I think it would upset him more if anything bad were to happen to you as a result of his own silence.” Qui-Gon clarified, “The truth, while not always easy, must come out.”

***

Padmé was having a difficult time figuring out what she wanted to get her friends for Christmas. It was to no surprise that Hondo tried to weasel his way into her decision making process, armed with t-shirts, trinkets, and buttons with Anakin Skywalker’s face plastered all over it. She would have laughed if the exploitation of the younger student wasn’t a little sad. It was even worse that Anakin didn’t seem to have a grasp yet on why this wasn’t ideal.

She was in the process of knitting a scarf for Yané with a new spell she learned in charms, when she noticed him walk by looking quite out of place in an oversized suit. For once, he was alone and without his newfound posse of older students.

“Anakin?” He halted right in his tracks at her call, appearing uncharacteristically lost in thought.

“Oh, hey Padmé!” He chirped, but lacked some of the boyish excitement that usually emanated off of him. She was beginning to wonder if the stress of Maul’s looming presence was getting to him. She knew she would be afraid if there was not one, but two, bad guys on the hunt for her.

“What’s with the suit?” She gestured to his outfit.

“Oh, you know, gotta fit in with the big boys.” He did that thing where he was trying desperately to seem like he belonged. She wondered briefly where that stemmed from.

“Ah, I heard you were going to Palpatine’s dinner party.” She said.

“Yeah, I’m actually on my way to pick up my date.” He leaned against the doorframe, clearly trying to impress her with such information. For what reason, she didn’t understand, but didn’t doubt it had to do with this macho facade he had clearly been building for the other students.

“Date?” She played along.

“Miraj Scintel. Don’t take it personally.” He waved her off, “She really wanted to go.”

Padmé wasn’t shocked by that. She didn’t know Miraj too well, given she was a grade older and a Slytherin, which meant they essentially walked different circles here at Hogwarts. However, she knew enough to know that her crowd of people wasn’t exactly notorious for being warm and fuzzy. Her parents, like Padmé’s, were dignitaries, though not known as a very merciful and kind sort.

In fact, there were some dark rumors about how they ran their government.

“Why would I take it personally?” She snorted.

“Because you know…” He trailed off.

“No…” She said slowly.

“Oh,” Anakin ran a hand through his floppy blond hair and winced, “Well, sometimes girls get jealous when you ask someone else to go to dinners or parties or something. Pretty sure that’s the gist of what’s happening to Obi-Wan and Satine.”

Padmé straightened, “We’re not like them of course.”

Anakin floundered a bit at that, “No no, of course not! They’re… Weird and we’re…”

“Friends.” She finished with a smile.

“We are?” He asked, which made her laugh.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t we be?” She asked.

“I dunno, really,” He smiled shyly, “Age differences and all that.”

“Aren’t you taking an older woman as your date tonight?” She asked wryly.

“Obi-Wan says this isn’t a date.” He said, “I think he’s just saying that because he didn’t want Cody getting any ideas.”

“Why’s he taking Cody?” Padmé gaped.

“He mentioned something about being a fool, but he really does not like to talk about his feelings.” Anakin sighed, “Guess he’s got some growing up to do on that front.”

That got Padmé legitimately laughing. Maybe it was because the kid who lost Gryffindor 5 points for getting caught calling Windu a “doo-doo head” behind his back was doling out advice on maturity.

He glanced at the automatically moving knitting needles that worked next to her, “What are you making?”

“A scarf, probably,” She turned to resume with her hands, “I know it’s not as exciting as an elegant dinner party with the fellow elites, but if I want to get it ready by Christmas I’ve got to get a move on.”

“I’m sure you’ve had plenty of fancy dinners.” Anakin stuck his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah, they’re not all they’re cracked up to be.” She smirked, “So, if you get sick of the party life or the tiny little finger sandwiches, please feel free to lend a helping hand. I could use someone to untangle the yarn.”

“Surely, there are spells for that too.” He said.

“Maybe, but some things are better when you put a little earnest hard work into it.”

“You kinda sound like my mom.” Anakin smiled softly and after a moment of gazing somewhere in the distance he sighed, “Yeah, well, I better be off.”

“Have fun on your hot date.” She teased.

“I will.” He said, though he no longer seemed so sure of it.

***

“No flowers?” Cody teased as Obi-Wan met his friend outside of Gryffindor’s common room as previously agreed upon. Obi-Wan truly should have expected Cody to miss the memo about dressing formally (even though he, himself, reminded him), but he was still aghast when his friend emerged wearing his Quidditch sweater and dark jeans.

“What happened to black tie?” He answered instead.

“Oh, I don’t have one.” Cody shrugged.

“But you do have a collared shirt and dress pants seeing as you wear them every school day.” Obi-Wan countered and referred to his own attire of a black and white tuxedo set of dress robes. “Is that a stain on the collar of your sweater?”

“Could be.” Cody tugged on the hem of it and ducked his chin to inspect before allowing it to snap back into place, “Seems like ketchup, though. Luckily, it practically blends in with the red.”

“It doesn’t.” He said.

“Look, if you wanted someone who would have looked a little more to your fancy, you would have just sucked it up and apologized to Satine.” He said and smacked him on the back, “But since the both of you are more stubborn than two bulls in a stare down, this is what you get. Frankly, you’re quite lucky I showered beforehand. I did have practice today.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, “Let the record show that I have tried to apologize to Satine. She just never makes it quite easy.”

“She’ll come around,” Cody said, “Plus, I doubt she’s solely mad at you.”

“You’d be surprised how easy she finds it to be mad at me.”

“And likewise.” Cody said.

“The only difference is, I struggle with staying mad at her.” It was a bit too honest, it seemed, because Cody was regarding him with a smug look on his face that he didn’t quite appreciate. He’d rather be in on the joke, after all.

As they drew nearer to Palpatine’s office, they passed Ventress, who was dressed for the event in a black low-cut gown with a slit down the side. Her short-cropped hair was slicked back and her makeup was even harsher than usual, making her bone-white cheeks appear so sharp that they were almost hollow. She seemed to be waiting for someone, presumably whatever sad sack was to be her plus one, and was sure to glare at them as they passed.

“I see you’re slumming it, Kenobi.” She taunted, “Couldn’t get a date?”

“At least I didn’t likely have to bribe my guest, Ventress.” He responded swiftly and kept them moving.

“Or threaten.” Cody added offhandedly and when they got out of earshot said, “I won’t mention that I’m mostly here for the food.”

“Yes, thank you.” He muttered. “Let’s just get this thing over with.”

“Satine’s right, you really do know how to send the tones of a date.” Cody chuckled.

“This isn’t a- oh, nevermind.” He sighed, realizing that he wasn’t much in the mood to defend his case on that just now, “Who do you reckon she wanted to go with?”

“What do you mean?” He asked as they took their seats around the round clothed table. They were some of the first to arrive to the group that was unsurprisingly mostly composed of Slytherins. Palpatine was their Head of House, of course, so it made sense he spent the most time with them.

“Satine.” Obi-Wan unraveled the cloth napkin and smoothed it on his leg, “She was offended that I never considered if she’d want to go with someone else.”

“I don’t know if that’s the bit she was harping on.” Cody said carefully.

“Yes, I know, and she isn’t wrong about the company being a bit… Obvious.” Obi-Wan did see a downcast Anakin trailing behind who he presumed to be Miraj Scintel, whose Zygerrian feline features made her look much older and more sophisticated than 14 or 15. Her dress was long-sleeved and dark turquoise in fabric, but contained several plates of ornate gold to match the headband clasped at the front of her forehead.

“Anakin, dear, do fetch me some sparkling cider.” She said in a haughty voice that was meant to be heard. Her yellow eyes narrowed at him when he didn’t immediately leap at her request. “I have many words to exchange with the grownups.”

Anakin, who never leapt at anyone’s demands, shot her a sideways look and seemed ready to fire back his own opinions on that idea, but ended up just huffing and moving over to the concessions table.

“No,” Cody frowned as he noticed what was happening too, “She isn’t.”

***

Satine had far better uses of her time than sitting around a table, trading dull conversation with even duller people that were somehow measured as more impressive than she. Despite what she said to Cody and Obi-Wan, not being invited hadn’t really offended her all that much. That wasn’t to say she approved of Palpatine’s obvious biases. She wasn’t sure if the man even truly noticed he had them. He was never unkind to her or other muggle-borns explicitly, but there was certainly a bit of tokenism that came with their interactions. Truly, even if Obi-Wan had asked her in a more ideal manner, she wasn’t even sure if she’d go.

She sighed, because that was a lie and she knew it.

It certainly would have given her the opportunity to show just how flagrant Palpatine’s oversight had been. Beyond that, she wouldn’t have felt so utterly annoyed at her friend’s own obtusity.

How dare he just assume they’d go together without even asking? Even if they were to attend as friends, which she prided herself on questioning him about (if she weren’t so riled up, she was unsure she would have otherwise had the courage), it was only common decency to ask a person to go.

Really, she knew, it was the fact that he seemed dead-set on letting her know that it wasn’t a date that infuriated her beyond measure. Maybe that was a tad immature, since he certainly didn’t owe her dates or anything of the sort, but she couldn’t help but feel he was constantly sending her mixed signals these days. She should know, seeing as she couldn’t seem to stop hyper-analyzing every interaction they had together.

As she passed a bunch of fourth year girls that were gawking over Kit Fisto’s old Quidditch portrait, she rolled her eyes. She needed to ensure that she never got that boy crazy.

She decided on a trip to the library to return the books she’d borrowed on cursed objects. It was the simplest way to try and get Obi-Wan’s stupid incredulity off her mind. Besides, she never returned a book late before and she certainly wasn’t going to start now.

Professor Plo Koon had once again outdone himself with the decorations around the castle to commemorate the holiday season. It wasn’t the same without the promise of Qui-Gon’s party this year, but she could still take the time to appreciate the glittering icicles that hung along the ceiling. Only these, she noted, would have no risk of truly causing harm. She did have to reserve a chuckle at a startled first year, who leapt out of the way when an icicle “fell”, but they relaxed when it puffed into mist just above his head.

“Good evening, Ms. Nu.” Satine smiled at the older librarian, who never once looked like she was having an unpleasant day.

“How are you tonight, Miss Kryze?” She returned her mirth. Jocasta Nu always dressed for the holiday season and tonight was sporting a pair of earrings that looked like little red jingle bells adorned with holly.

“I’m well, thank you.” She nodded and handed over her stack of books to the bin, “Hoping to get a little light reading in.”

“Nothing new there!” She chuckled, “Though I was surprised to see you have a different studying partner for a change.”

Satine furrowed her brow, “Pardon? I haven’t got a new-”

She peered down the aisle to where she usually sat and noticed a set of legs from the seat opposite. She gave Jocasta Nu a sidelong glance before excusing herself to go investigate. It was silly, really, since it wasn’t like her name was inscribed in the wood finish. However, she spent more time in the library than most and everyone seemed to automatically know where she would be sitting.

Who she found was none other than Fenn Rau, who looked up immediately from his borrowed copy of Quidditch Through the Ages and offered her a small smile. He set down the book and placed a navy striped bookmark to save his spot.

“Forgive me if I’m intruding.” He said.

“It is a free library.” She joked, “You are free to sit wherever you choose.”

“This really is the best spot in the library.” He admired and looked around them. “No draft, away from the rubble, close to the most interesting books, and not too far from the entrance for comfort. You’ve chosen well!”

She followed his gaze around them and smiled, “I didn’t actually choose at all. Though I’m sure Ben took a lot of what you said into consideration. He’s a great deal more introspective than I am for such things.”

When his mouth twitched ever-so-slightly, Satine couldn’t help but think back to her conversation with Aayla and Stass. Still, when he made the friendly gesture for her to join him, she didn’t have much of a reason not to. She meant what she said to Jocasta Nu about getting some reading done and Fenn didn’t seem like the type to be noisy.

“Did you know Cody has the record for renting this book out the most?” Fenn laughed and showed her the inside of the book, where the library card had Cody’s signature embedded on several lines.

“When it comes to Quidditch, Cody doesn’t do anything in small doses.” Satine smiled, “I am surprised you chose to go out for the team. I don’t recall you ever having much interest in it before.”

“Things change.” He smiled, “People change.”

“Well, you’ve certainly proved yourself capable.” She said and moved to pull a book out from her bag.

“You know all about having to prove yourself, of course.” He said.

She raised an eyebrow at him and he quickly amended his statement, “I just meant being muggle-born and all. I get it. I mean, I’m not one. I’m a half blood, but it’s still strange, right? That there are different expectations for each of us based on something stupid like how we’re born. We’re all wizards, right?”

Satine felt a fire stoked within her and she straightened, “Exactly! And the fact that so many people don’t see that is beyond frustrating.”

“Well, some people don't know any better.” He said, “Look at the Kenobi’s. They’re one of the highest ranking families in the wizarding community. Do you think they could possibly understand what it’s like not to be born into wealth and status? I think they just assume they deserve it because they’ve had it for so long.”

She bit her tongue, because while she definitely agreed with some of his points, she wasn’t completely comfortable making them vocal right now.

Despite there not being any real cause for it, since Rau didn’t say anything explicitly, Satine still instinctively found herself saying, “Ben’s not like that, of course, so it’s got to be more than just a thing of nature.”

“Oh, of course! I never meant to insinuate otherwise.” He cleared his throat, “I know the two of you are quite close. I just… You’re just as good as him and yet you aren’t viewed as such. And between you and me, I don’t think I could ever go to some party where my friends aren’t wanted or welcome.”

She swallowed, unsure if he meant for that to sting the way that it did. He couldn’t possibly know he was uncovering one of her buried insecurities on the matter. She once again could not help dashing to his defense, which felt quite stupid given the circumstances.

“Well, originally he wanted to bring me.”

“I think.” She thought to herself. It wasn’t like he’d exactly seemed all that enthusiastic about the prospect of taking her.

“As a date?” Fenn perked up, even if he seemed to try and subdue any immediate reaction.

“No.” She rolled her eyes, “We’re just friends.”

“Ah, I see.” He nodded several times too many, but then shrugged, “He’s lucky to have a friend like you though.”

“Thank you. I know.” She chuckled, because perhaps Aayla and Stass were wrong about Rau’s intentions. It wasn’t like she ever saw him trailing along any friends. Maybe he was just a little awkward and in need of a friend. It was only a bonus that he seemed to have at least some critical understanding of the prejudice that still existed in their world.  

“I do hope he knows it too.” He teased.

“I think he does,” But she felt a biting indignance return to her, “Well, usually, anyway.”

Fenn frowned, “Usually?”

She shook her head. She wasn’t going to have this conversation right now and burden someone else with the stupid annoyance that plagued her. Oftentimes, her feelings confused her too much as it were. No need to dump all of it on someone else.

“I’m not at the party, am I?” She said and hoped she did so with the impression of wanting to leave it at that, “Besides, I don’t require validation from the potions professor to determine my value. I will be just fine on my own.”

“I’m sure of it.” Rau said, “He’s a fool for not choosing you in the first place.”

Whether he was talking about Obi-Wan or Palpatine had yet to be seen, but Satine couldn’t help but agree either way. Try as she might to argue otherwise, she did care that things were the way they were. She did care that she had to try twice as hard to be considered half as much. Even though Obi-Wan was her best friend, she knew there were opportunities he would always receive despite being on essentially the same playing field.

“Yes,�� She said ardently, “He was.”

***

Anakin was beginning to understand why Palpatine’s annual dinner party was rarely occupied by younger students. He was having an impossibly difficult time staying awake. Miraj, as beautifully alluring and sophisticated as she was, wasn’t exactly the most loyal type, and sat between Ventress and Tarkin, the latter of whom she was obviously flirting with.

He was actually a bit relieved in a sense. It became despicably clear that the two didn’t have much in common beyond their intrigue in the darkness that hung over the horizon. She couldn’t seem to stop fixating on the dementors or the numerous near-death experiences. Anakin was wondering why he was tired of talking about them all the time now.

Classical Christmas music from a harp that played itself enveloped the room in a sleepy spirit and to Anakin felt a bit like a lullaby. Most of the chatter cycled around what each wizard’s prospects were for the future or what their parents did. It seemed mostly everyone already knew, so Anakin wasn’t quite sure why it bore repeating.

“So, mummy and daddy told the prime minister just where to shove his chilled water.” Scoffed Miraj, “Where I come from, presenting anything less than room temperature is enough for banishment.”

He didn’t quite get where she was from, but he made the mental note not to visit. Obi-Wan and Cody seemed to be making the same notation for themselves, because they both exchanged a surprised glance. Anakin was suddenly very glad that he was sitting with them instead.

“Truly, very few know how to behave around noblemen and women.” Tarkin, whose face always looked stretched stiff across his bones, showed the barest of smiles, “I’d have liked to see how you would have handled such an incident.”

“I’m merciful at the core, of course,” Miraj said, “But it does make one think about the divides in society, doesn’t it?”

Obi-Wan shifted in his seat beside Anakin and when he took a better look at his mentor, he couldn’t help but notice his jaw looked set with tension. His posture was perfectly straight and he’d hardly touched the sweet-soup that was in front of him. Anakin, on the other hand, couldn’t stop doing so as a distraction from this nonsense.

“That’s for your fingers,” Obi-Wan whispered and stretched out a napkin for Anakin.

“What?”

“That’s a finger bowl.” He nodded his head towards the little bowl, “For cleaning.”

Anakin looked down to the glass bowl to scrutinize it. He bent down, smelling the soft scent of lemon that was barely much more than a spritz for ambiance. When he shot back up, he glared at Obi-Wan.

“Why would I do that?” He asked.

“It’s meant to be cleansing before dessert.” He added gently, “Just go with it.”

“This is stupid.” He muttered and proceeded to dip his fingers in the bowl as instructed.

“I think it’s time our resident chosen one spoke of his impressive background.” Ventress practically hissed from across the table. Only difference was that Anakin would trust any snake before her, no matter how poisonous.

“Go on, Anakin.” Professor Palpatine smiled encouragingly, “I, too, am quite curious, actually.”

Had he really never mentioned his mum in detail to Palpatine before? He supposed it was possible. He was often so preoccupied when around the professor.

For some reason, he didn’t feel like he belonged anymore as he looked around the table. Even Miraj, who was supposed to be his plus one to the event, was looking at him in scrutiny.

“Well, I’m a half-blood.” Admitting this felt like lead on the tongue and he didn’t know why. He realized then that it was the first time he’d openly said such a thing. Sure, most knew that his mum is a witch and his dad was a muggle, but he’d never used the vocabulary to describe it in plain speech.

“I’ve no connection to my father.” He added, “But my mum is a witch and went to Hogwarts.”

“Why?” Ventress asked, her eyes narrowed and looking at him scathingly, though unlike Sebulba, who he at least returned some retaliation to, Anakin couldn’t quite figure out what he’d done for Ventress to hate him.

“Now, now, Ventress,” Palpatine said firmly, “That’s quite personal. If Anakin does not wish to share, that’s his-”

“-I never knew him.” Anakin bit harshly and looked at every single person at the table in the eyes, if only to make them a little uncomfortable by the truth, “He left before I was born and I was raised with the knowledge of being a wizard in an all-muggle world.”

“You poor thing.” Miraj said sadly, “That must have been dreadful.”

“Agreed,” Tarkin leaned back with crossed arms, “To not only bring a child into this world as a natural… Misfit, so to speak, but to bail out on one’s duties as a father.”

“Anakin is not a misfit, Tarkin.” Obi-Wan warned.

“Oh, I never meant it that way.” He held up white gloved hands and smiled a bit, “Just that it must be confusing to be raised that way, right Skywalker?”

Anakin shrugged, “Yeah, I was always getting into trouble.”

“Exactly! Like a square peg trying to fit into a circle.” He clapped a bit and then raised an eyebrow, “You know nothing of struggling to fit in, do you, Kenobi?”

Anakin didn’t understand the daring nature of Tarkin’s tone, but it did bring a decent amount of tension to Obi-Wan’s already stiff posture. He didn’t see how this would be much of a low-blow. Obi-Wan’s family was one of the most affluent in the wizarding community and surely never wanted for anything. Still, there was something about his mentor that reflected differently, like he never really wanted to be a part of all that.

“Everyone must struggle to find themselves.” Palpatine said as he swirled what must have been wine around his glass, raising it to inspect it in the emerald low-light, “I’ve helped many a student find their way.”

Was one of those students Maul?

“If only the muggles had your assistance, Professor.” Miraj said dutifully.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat, “Well, muggle-borns would probably be a decent start.”

Everyone stopped eating and looked at Obi-Wan in surprise. Even Cody seemed shocked by the candor of his friend. Anakin, on the other hand, was just realizing that he was the only person in the room that wasn’t a pureblood. Surely, that couldn’t have been intentional. Professor Palpatine was nothing but kind to every student he had. Maybe, this year he didn’t see any other students worthy of invitation.

Then again, there was the glaring omission of Satine that seemed to hang over everyone’s heads.

“Professor Palpatine can invite whomever he chooses fit, Kenobi.” Tarkin said stiffly.

Palpatine didn’t appear the least bit affected by the comment and instead raised his glass in Obi-Wan’s steely direction, “A good point, my dear boy. We, as a community, are moving forward in a diverse direction. I just do not wish to invite someone based on tokenism, but of their truest merit.”

“And what defines such a thing, Professor?” Obi-Wan asked, keeping his voice cordial. “Clearly, it cannot be solely academic prowess or athleticism.”

“Why, I simply like to invite students I’m closest with! Those who I’ve seen grow and become brilliant young witches and wizards over the years and who I believe I’ve had a hand in molding.” Palpatine shrugged with a small smile, “I truly wish some of the muggle-borns and half-bloods would follow Anakin’s example and allow themselves to accel in my potions classroom.”

Anakin nodded at this. It was true that he had been gravitating towards Palpatine since the beginning of his time at Hogwarts. While he never fancied himself a teacher’s pet in the past, he didn’t understand why people were so afraid to talk to their professors.

“Good enough for you and your sudden zest for socio-political justice?” Ventress asked and the condescending tone she was giving Obi-Wan was what made Anakin angrier than anything else.

“It will have to be.” Obi-Wan said with a sip of sparkling cider.

Cody grinned as he ate more lambchop.

“Do tell us about your mother, Anakin.” Palpatine said with a smile, “Contrary to popular belief, I am quite curious what your life in the muggle world was like.”

“Oh, I lived a pretty regular life.” Though Anakin realized not a single wizard at this table really knew what that entailed for him, “My mum is a waitress and serves food to people.”

“We’re not stone aged, we know what waitresses are.” Ventress sneered.

“They don’t use magic to deliver food.” Anakin said, “So it’s a lot harder and they have to balance everything on this big tray. She works for this creep named Watto, who never gives her any holidays off or anything like that.”

“That’s awful.” Bail Organa, the sole representative from Hufflepuff house, said.

“Sounds like slavery to me.” Cody murmured.

“But she makes decent money.” He said, “Keeps a roof over our head and food in our stomach.”

“Who would have thought the bar was so low?” Miraj sighed.

Anakin ignored that and went on, “One thing muggles definitely have over wizards is television, because I’ve grown up watching a good deal of that. There’s all these fictional programs both animated and live-action and they act out stories.”

“Like in a play.” Obi-Wan said, utterly transfixed, “I’ve heard of it before, but I’ve never actually watched. Is it occurring live or is it pre-recorded?”

“Both!” Anakin chirped, “Reality TV is crazy and super weird. My mum says that’s staged too, but I don’t know if you can make some of that stuff up. I used to think the TV could hear me, but there are writers that make up the plots and stuff before they film.”

“And how does one operate such a device?” Tarkin asked.

“Oh, by electricity and stuff!”

“Electricity.” Cody said reverently, “We’ve actually got some of that in my house now.”

“No kidding?” Obi-Wan turned to Cody.

“For light bulbs and stuff. Ninety-Nine managed to figure out.”

“Well, he’s got not much else to do.” Snickered Faro Argyus, who had accompanied Ventress as her date.

“What did you say?” Gritted Cody as he placed firm hands to the table.

“Oh, nothing, just that he isn’t in school is all.” Faro’s smile feigned innocence, but had a shit-eating quality that made Anakin’s skin crawl. The fact that he chose now to join the discourse was a very poor decision on his end. Cody, meanwhile, looked like a blood vessel might burst in his head.

“If you’ve got something to say, spit it out. Just a warning that you might be spitting out some teeth too, if you say the wrong thing, mate.” Cody said tightly.

Everyone looked to Faro, who just snapped his trap shut like the coward he was and leaned back in his chair. Palpatine gave him a disapproving look before sighing.

“Please maintain decorum. This is meant to be a celebration, not a brawl.”

“Tell that to pretty boy.” Cody argued.

“I do not want to have to remove any points this evening, especially not from two guests.” Palpatine said it like he was reminding them that they didn’t need to be there. They were merely courtesies to Obi-Wan and Ventress.

“Don’t be a fool, Faro.” Ventress said, “We all know everyone’s capable in their own way.”

“Right you are, Ventress.” Palpatine smiled.

“For instance, Skywalker’s mum can screw more than just a lightbulb.” She fluttered her icy glare to Anakin, “Obviously.”

Anakin only remembered grabbing a fistful of bean dip before seeing nothing but white.

***  

After finally calming the calamity of flying food that ensued shortly after Anakin had made the first decisive throw, Professor Palpatine had deemed that the night was to be put to an abrupt end since it seemed most of them could not behave like civilized adults. This was fine with Obi-Wan, who hadn’t bothered to remove points from Anakin for starting the whole fight. After all, Ventress truly had something coming to her for speaking so far out of turn for no reason other than to be cruel.

Palpatine dismissed each of them except for Anakin, presumably to receive a firm talking to based on how impulsively he’d acted. Obi-Wan hoped he wasn’t too hard on him. It wasn’t like it hadn’t been deserved.

But that wasn’t how things worked at Hogwarts or in the real world, as his parents had been sure to teach him. Life wasn’t always fair and sometimes the wrong person got blamed simply for not being able to control themselves. It was why the aspect of controlling his emotions was always so important to them.

And for the most part, he thought he was quite good at it.

He still hadn’t been able to resist countering Palpatine’s charitable view of himself when it came to his invitees- not when there was a glaring omission. It wasn’t like Obi-Wan was particularly close with Palpatine. His parents might have been in their day, so he supposed there was a favor to be had there (one that likely would not be handed to him next year).

Guilt nagged at him as he considered the lack of empathy that dripped in Tarkin, Miraj, and Faro’s voices as they talked about the muggles or even Anakin’s situation. Even more so was it disturbing that Obi-Wan had clearly shielded himself from seeing just how clearly people were opposed to the other side of living. He didn’t get it, truly. Why did it matter? It wasn’t like muggles were exactly hunting them out. They would have a clear disadvantage if they were.

But maybe that was his own biases talking. Satine had gone on to tell him in excessive detail over the years about the various enhancements in modern technology that placed muggles far ahead of wizards. Maybe that’s what scared so many at the Ministry.

Still, Obi-Wan knew it wasn’t right. He saw the way Anakin looked so small under their questioning and he cringed at being unable to protect him completely from the scrutiny that would surely follow the boy. It certainly didn’t help his case that his father wasn’t involved. Wizards would grasp onto that for something to point to for certain, as if there weren’t plenty of wizard or witch deadbeats in their era.

His dress shoes clicked across the stone floor towards the library almost mindlessly. He knew he wouldn’t rest well if he didn’t express a true sentiment of apology. In a way, he was glad Satine wasn’t there. She didn’t deserve to be exposed to that sort of thinking. She could handle herself, of course, and while he was often beguiled by her, it had been obvious that she was upset by his manner of asking.

It wasn’t very proper of him, thinking back. His parents would have been very disappointed in how he’d gone about it if it were someone else.

So, he smiled at Jocasta Nu as he stuck his hands in his pockets and prepared himself to approach Satine with his tail between his legs. He couldn’t help but smile to himself about the fact that she was so often ahead of him and was likely expecting an appearance any second from now.

“Oh, Mr. Kenobi?” Jocasta Nu’s kind voice cut him off before he could get too far.

“Yes, Madame Nu?” He asked.

“You’re… Er, you’ve got some potatoes in your hair, dear.”

Obi-Wan frowned and turned his eyes up, noticing that his hair, while in disarray, was also coated in a white fluffy substance. He groaned as he reached up and grabbed a sample of it.

“That explains why Zeb asked me if I’m saving food for later, now doesn’t it?” He laughed half-heartedly. He glanced down towards his usual aisle and sighed. It seemed he would not only be giving Satine an apology, but something to tease him about for a very long time. At least that would make it a lot easier to accept his apology.

He tried to pick what he could from his hair and frowned even deeper at the realization that his clothes were covered in random splotches of food substance as well. He would certainly need to perform some cleaning and ironing spells on these later to get the stains out.

He was just about to vocalize a pun about wearing his dinner when he stopped dead in his tracks at the familiar sound of Satine’s laugh. Unless she was reading a particularly humorous tome, which he doubted, she wasn’t alone. As he slowly crept down the aisle and remained careful to be eclipsed by the bookcases around him, he peered around the corner to see none other than Fenn Rau sitting across from her.

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure why it suddenly felt like he’d eaten something bad at the dinner party, but it certainly wasn’t settling well. Rau was sitting in Obi-Wan’s usual seat, which bore a greater sense of unease in his chest as they chatted excitedly about what appeared to be the ridiculousness of wizarding politics.

It seemed Rau had found his in.

If Satine didn’t seem to appreciate the present company, Obi-Wan surely would have made his presence known and a small part of him- the part that made his teeth bite down on his tongue incredibly hard- still wanted to. For what? It felt strangely similar to the analogy of a pissing contest at the core and he didn’t know why he would be so eager to butt his way into their conversation.

It certainly wasn’t the way Satine’s laugh lit up the room or how Rau seemed to relish in just being in her mere presence. It absolutely was not that he’d beat him here or sat in his seat. It wasn’t like the guilt that once pooled in his sternum was now slipping into regret, as it so often easily could.

No, not at all.

As Rau talked about how passionate his wizard-father was about activism and his mother was practically an environmentalist, Obi-Wan suddenly felt like he didn’t belong here at all. It was as though he’d fallen so far behind on a race he never intended on running and to his perspective, could not catch up.

Did he want to?

He shook his head. Since she was happy and clearly not sulking over not attending Palpatine’s disastrous dinner party, he supposed he would just catch her at a different time.

***

Anakin didn’t quite remember lashing out at Asajj Ventress, but everyone, including Miraj, looked at him with a decent dose of apprehension. It was a stark reminder of what it felt like to be the freak last year. He didn’t like it, but it was sobering.

What worried him most was how Palpatine would react to his reaction. He wasn’t sure how anyone in their right mind could possibly allow Ventress off the hook for what she’d said. Even Obi-Wan hadn’t provided some lecture about how he could control his own actions and not the words of others. Instead, his mentor tried to quietly guide him out of the room to cool off. Instead, Palpatine had stopped him to have a chat.

The music had abruptly stopped, though Anakin had been so busy trying to garner some form of revenge on Ventress for what she said to notice. Everyone else had completely wrecked the place with scraps of food. Those finger bowls had truly been terribly placed and more of a mess in the end. Anakin, like everything else around the room, was covered in the five course meal.

It was at least a little good to know that wizards couldn’t resist a good food fight either.

He wondered when Palpatine was going to speak. He looked around the room in disappointment before raising his wand just above his head.

“Tersus Sursum!” He dashed his wand in an arched movement and before Anakin’s eyes, a mop and broom came flying out of the cupboard and got to work. A rag wiped down the walls where stray splatter had gathered. Even the ceiling was being tended to, which neither of them could have possibly reached if they wanted. Dishes raised themselves in the air and started to move to an already running sink. Palpatine didn’t even have to focus on them to continue their routine.

Anakin, despite likely being in massive trouble, couldn’t help but yearn for such a trick when he had to do chores at home. Still, if he wasn’t going to make Anakin clean the place, he wondered what punishment would seem fit.

“I apologize for the mess, Professor.” Anakin said quietly.

The only thing Palpatine took the time to clean for himself was a strange contraption that sat across his mantle. It was a little wooden prism that had to be a paperweight, that Palpatine touched only with the washcloth in hand before setting it back down.

“What Ventress said upset you.” He said instead.

Anakin frowned, “Well, yeah. Where I’m from, you don’t disrespect someone’s mum like that.”

“Indeed, mothers are often a soft spot,” He folded his hands behind his back, facing the darkness of his room as the cleaning tools worked on their own accord, “You do not need to apologize, Anakin.”

This surprised Anakin even more, “Really?”

If Windu had it his way, Anakin likely would have been writing a 5000 word essay on why throwing potatoes at a girl was worthy of the death penalty… Or something along those lines.

“Something was done wrong by you and you evened the score.” He said and finally turned back to face the light, a small smile on his lips, “You really should not fear your anger, my boy. It is only healthy to explore it, to understand it, to become the kind of powerful wizard you wish to be one day.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Anakin said.

“But of course, my dear boy.” Palpatine smiled, “If I could make a recommendation, it’s that next time you wish to get back at Ventress, please ruin your own drapes.”

He chuckled, “Yes sir.”

Through the fog of relief and surprise that was overcoming his senses, Anakin finally remembered his purpose for truly attending the banquet. It had been hard in the midst of the chaos that he’d brought and was even more difficult to fathom when Palpatine was being so understanding.

He stopped in his tracks, which had obviously caught Palpatine’s attention.

“Is everything alright, Anakin?”

“Yeah, I just… I wanted to say I’m glad you’ve chosen to take me under your wing…” Anakin lingered in the doorway. “Any student would be lucky. Pureblood or half-blood or not.”

“It matters not to me what you are, Anakin.” Palpatine said, “I believe you will go on to do great things. I’ve believed that before we discovered your prophecy, have I not?”

Anakin nodded, “You have… But what was it about me that made you believe I was special?”

“I’m older than you can imagine, I’m sure.” He laughed a bit to himself, “One develops a knack for it after all these years.”

“Did you see something in Maul?” It wasn’t as discrete as he’d hoped to be, especially based on the way the smile flickered on Palpatine’s face before he shook his head numerous times in curious denial.

“Maul was a very troubled boy.” He shivered, “Quite troubled, indeed. A very different situation than you. I wanted to help him, whereas I believe one day, you will help me and the rest of the wizarding community.”

Anakin swallowed, “So, you weren’t close?”

“I mentored him as best I could,” He said sympathetically, “He used to live in that Shrieking Shack during the summers. He had nowhere else to go. I only wanted to help him. Opened up my office to him at any time, because I did see power in him. It was a dangerous sort, of course, so I knew I had to limit him in what he could learn. There were certain spells and paths to darkness that while someone like myself could merely study from an objective perspective, Maul could use for real damage.”

“What happened to him?” He asked.

“He…” Palpatine sighed, “He lost control one day. A young Twi’lek girl named Eldra Kaitis was found impaled by none other than Maul’s dagger.”

Could it have been the same dagger found in the parcel Maul sent him?

Anakin gasped, “But… Why?”

“I asked myself that very question.” He said as he walked over to the window to look outside, “And the only answer that allows me to properly sleep at night is knowing that there was no helping him. There are people who choose darkness, Anakin. Those people can grow to be strong and wise in their own right. Look at Dooku, for instance. While evil, of course, he still maintains his sanity and decorum. Maul, on the other hand, was born of it. And there is no use trying to sustain it.”

He swallowed, “You must have taken that quite hard.”

“Oh, I did.” He said, “It was my greatest failure to date.”

Anakin shook his head, “I’m sorry to bring this up, Professor. I’m sure it upsets you talking about it. I’ve just been trying to find out why Maul would ever want to come for me. It’s not like I’ve ever done anything to him.”

“Well, we are turning up on the anniversary of his first kill.” Palpatine said, “And in many ways, I believe Maul fancies himself set up.”

“By who?” Anakin frowned, “He did it himself.”

“And admitted to it.” He said gravely, “We can’t really trust the tongue of a mad-man, though, can we?”

“No,” Anakin said, “We can’t.”

After he’d turned to leave and bid Palpatine goodnight, the old man waited a long moment, choosing to retain the sullen and sympathetic mask he wore so well, before curling his wrinkled lips into a devious smile.

“Sending the boy to spy… Well played, Professor Qui-Gon.”

***

“You were right…” The apprentice said to the flames that crackled softly in Slytherin house. Not a single soul dared to be awake after the embarrassment they’d just been through. The luminescence of the green fire felt like a reflection of her soul.

“Good…” A hushed voice responded. “You know what you need to do.”

“Yes.” They said, eyes practically glowing in anticipation for what was to come next. “So, long as that monster Maul doesn’t get in our way.”

“I’m sure he’ll be taken care of.” Dooku’s sly grin could send chills even so close to the hot flames.

“How can you be so sure?” They asked.

“He has a bone to pick with my master,” Dooku said, “The inadequate brute is never wise enough to know his limits. He believes he has none.”

“I see,” They said, “And what of me?”

“Do you have the sword?” His deep voice rumbled in his throat.

“I do.”

“Oh, there will be plenty more where that comes from,” He said. “Plenty more indeed. I will see you over break so we can reconvene.”

***

Satine yawned as she finally made her way up the spiral staircase and into the Ravenclaw common room. She’d been intent on going straight to bed, but was stopped immediately by a very disheveled-looking Obi-Wan as he practically launched up from his spot on the couch, where he’d obviously been waiting for her.

“You’re back.” He said and it was immediately apparent that something was off with him.

For one thing, he looked like he’d just paced back and forth enough times to accumulate the steps for a full marathon. His face was red and he looked quite anxious over seeing her. It was clear he had been waiting for her though.

Another, was that he was covered in food.

She’d almost forgotten how cross she was with him when she saw how silly he truly looked. She moved to pick a piece of lettuce that was stuck to the collar of his shirt. “Did you happen to get into a fight with a blender this evening?”

“I won’t even start with you on asking what that is,” He said, “I just wanted to have a word with you regarding this evening.”

She closed her eyes and sighed, “And here I wanted to go to bed without an argument beforehand.”

“I’ll keep it brief, I swear.” He was so earnest, even with what looked to be potatoes that coated his hair to droop into his face.

“Alright,” She crossed her arms like she wasn’t about to listen to him anyway. She still wanted some clarification on why he looked like such a mess.

“You deserved to be asked out tonight on a proper date.” Obi-Wan said and Satine suddenly felt like the air in her lungs had been replaced with jelly by some cruel spell and he didn’t stop there, “In a way that made you feel like the beautiful person that you are… With the person you fancy.”

“I- Er- Uh”

“Anything intelligent would be good right now, thank you, Kryze.”

Luckily, he showed no signs of noticing the way her brain stopped producing normal and coherent thoughts.

��And more than anything, I want you to be happy.” He insisted, almost like he was convincing himself and he took her hands in his, “Trust me when I say you weren’t missing much tonight, aside from possibly seeing me get my face dunked in a pie…”

She felt laughter bubble up at that and was relieved for it, because she thought she might pass out soon if she didn’t have the excuse for a dramatic inhale of breath. Her cheeks might pop by how hard she must have been smiling.

His smile was radiant and nervous as he said, “But I promise you… This person you fancy… Feels the same way back.”

It was quite possible the angels were singing and a warm glow of sunshine prematurely hung over them in that moment. Her eyes flickered to his mouth as she stepped closer to him. She’d never seen someone look handsome while covered in casserole, but Obi-Wan Kenobi was an enigma in and of itself.

“Oh, does he?” She was finally able to say and could have patted herself on the back right then and there for not making it sound like a little chipmunk squeak. It definitely ran the risk of doing so by how little oxygen her brain was getting right now.

“He does.” His mouth twitched and if she wasn’t so busy buzzing off the shock that rattled through her from how unexpected this confession was, she would have thought he looked a bit green. Then again, he was never great with handling his feelings.

“Is he going to do anything about it?” She asked after a long beat of Obi-Wan searching her face with his calculating eyes.

“I don’t know, why don’t you ask him?” He said, “I think he’s probably a bit intimidated.”

“There’s absolutely no reason for that.” She said, “He can tell me anything.”

“Yes, well, I’m glad for that.” Obi-Wan said, “You should tell him.”

“Alright then,” She took a deep breath and squeezed his hands in an attempt to both center her courage and tamper down the butterflies in her stomach, “Ben, I-”

“Oh, Satine, you forgot your quill in the library!” Fenn Rau trotted up the stairs behind her and she swore, pacifism be damned, that she almost shoved him backwards. They shared a laugh or two this evening, but had drawled on and on to the point where her eyes felt they might droop shut earlier. On top of that, he did have the awful tendency to pop up at the worst of times.

“Ah, Rau, brilliant.” Obi-Wan didn’t seem as enthusiastic as his words tried to make him out to be, “Satine wanted to talk to you about something.”

Satine shot back around to Obi-Wan, eyes wide in shock, “I what?”

“You know, what we were just discussing.” He said, “Literally three seconds-”

“-I wasn’t- You weren’t- He is not-” And just like that, Satine’s brain stuttered back into the present and realized what had unfortunately been going on.

“Are you alright?” Poor Rau, who never asked for any of this, was looking at Satine like she was having a stroke. Then again, she very well might be.

“She was fine a moment ago.” Obi-Wan placed a warm hand on Satine’s arm, which would normally be a very comforting gesture. Except right now, it felt sweltering under the circumstances.

Where there had once been the sweet and soft sensation of what she’d hoped to be verbalized mutual affection, there was now the fervid storm that was just how stupid they both were at the same time.

Him, for failing to use that brilliant mind of his for anything outside of reading a book and her for ever believing that it would be that easy.

“What is it?” Fenn asked.

She knew that because of Obi-Wan’s idiocy, she had to say something, but she was having a difficult time wrapping her head around anything except for the fact that after all of this time, Obi-Wan was under the impression that she fancied Fenn Rau somehow.

“I’d like to switch patrol times.” She spat, “I fear if I have to look at him in the morning I might just turn him sunny-side up.”

“Er… Alright.” Fenn said slowly, but likely more because he was a bit nervous to say anything else. Because one boy in this room had to have a little bit of sense, he slithered away from them to finish whatever was obviously going on. She only wished Obi-Wan exercised that sort of intuition every once in a while.

After the door shut behind him, Obi-Wan turned to her with a frown.

“What was that?”

She pointed a finger at him, anger spewing out every which way, “That was you being an absolute moron!”

“Satine!” He called after her as she shoved past him towards the staircase, “I was only trying to help you get a bloody date!”

“I didn’t want a bloody date!” She fired back, venom pumping heavily through her veins. Oh, if only softer words came as easily, “I wanted you to stop being a fool and it seems that is a lost cause of a wish, now isn’t it?”

“I resent that!” He countered, “You’re the one who’s been snapping off at me like I’m supposed to be a mind-reader! I saw the two of you together and I know he likes you. What else was I to think?”

“That if I were ever given the choice between you and anyone else in the entire cosmic universe, I would always always choose you. Even when you’re being positively ridiculous and have unsavory food in your hair and on your clothes. There’s not even a competition as far as I’m concerned. I just want you to know that.”

“That I shouldn’t have to spell everything out for you!” She argued, “That he’s not my type, I don’t know! You’re just supposed to know! Not pawn me off to the first person that expresses interest.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He said with a lot less fire than before, “I’m sorry.”

She sighed through her nose, finding it difficult to be mad at him when he was looking up at her with sad eyes like that. “It’s alright.”

He slowly traversed up the steps to meet her and then stand over her in height, “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“I know.” She said quietly. “Did you want it to be him?”

“Heavens, no.” He blurted out and then coughed, “I’m not sure who I would have liked it to be, though.”

She almost wanted to shake him to get him to process that thought just a little more and he reached out and hesitantly took her hand, “But whoever he is, he’s quite lucky.”

“You’re still an idiot.” She said, meaning it quite thoroughly.

“I know.” He said just as gently, “But I’d like to think I’m your idiot.”

Yes, indeed. And Satine was too for her treasonous heart’s increase in pace at his quiet words. They hadn’t been the ones she’d wanted, but they would do.

***

Cody shoved his things into his duffle bag. He never necessitated bringing that much home for Christmas break. He didn’t see why he would need to. He had some winter clothes at home and most of what he would be doing consisted of playing outside anyway. Underwear, socks, toiletries, and his winter outerwear would more than do.

And of course, all of his Quidditch stuff, which admittedly tended to provide a bit of weight, much to the prefects’ verbal complaints when they got stuck with luggage duty. Another large part of his exit duties was to ensure his brothers were ready to go. His father would have his head if he didn’t make sure the other boys were well-prepared.

The twins were mostly attune to this routine by now and despite their tendencies of playing around, knew better than to test the formidable stoicism of Jango Fett. It wasn’t like Rex was keen on being a bugger, but he was still a little guy and often unprepared for leaving, no matter how many times Cody asked him if he’d started packing.

“Why do you get to pack last minute and I don’t?” He complained.

“Because I’ve got it down to a science and you forgot to bring socks home last year,” Cody said plainly, “You’re lucky we all had hand-me-downs ready to go.”

In all fairness, growing up the youngest of seven likely resulted in Rex never being short on hand-me-downs.

“We’re wizards, I could have just washed them.” He said.

“Muggles can wash their clothes too, mate.”

“Don’t act like you know how.” He complained as he dejectedly sat back on his bunk. Cody had already inspected his littlest brother’s bag and approved that he’d packed everything necessary, but his forlorn expression was towards the already made up bunk across from him.

Rex was still quite cross about his falling out with Skywalker, of which the boy absolutely refused to budge on speaking about. He claimed he was fine and better off without him, but Cody caught him more than once pulling out the issues of comic books that Anakin had given him the previous year.

A couple weeks off would do the boy some good, clear his head and all that. Cody, meanwhile, was just looking forward to having time outside of classes to scramble up a strategy for the back half of the year. So, their team hadn't gotten off on the show stopping start that he’d wished for them. A little bit of stakes was good for any team. They were very much still in the game and so long as Maul or any creepy possessions didn’t cancel the season, they had nothing to fear.

“Alright, well, I’m heading down to the train. Are you coming?” He asked.

“Yeah, I’m coming. I’ll wait for the twins.”

“Right, well don’t wait up,” Cody snorted as he looked over to Echo and Fives as they were debating which pranks from Zonko’s to bring home and more importantly, which to unleash on their older brothers first.

“I’ll keep an eye on them,” Rex puffed out his chest.

“Good man,” Cody smiled.

The boy needed some more confidence and Cody learned by now that it was no good in taking him down right now, even in a joking matter.

He clapped the shoulders of a few of his teammates on his way down and out the Gryffindor common room, his trunks floating aimlessly behind him as he went. Many other students did the same as he entered the chaos that was the hallway outside of Gryffindor’s entrance. Prefects led and escorted younger students, reminding them to also bring the necessities home.

He perked up when he caught a glimpse of Kenobi’s pristine head, who was just finishing a side conversation with Bail Organa. It seemed the two were trading notes of some kind.

“What’d you get stuck with this time?” He asked.

Kenobi sighed and looked down to his clipboard, “I’m to count heads once aboard the train.”

“Right on, you’ll be along soon then.” He said.

“Hopefully,” He shrugged, “Everyone’s running around like it’s a madhouse today. Not sure why everything feels different.” He leaned in, “Between you and me, I awoke with a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach.”

Cody snorted, “Probably lingering food poisoning from that rich food from the banquet.”

“I mean it, Cody,” He said seriously, “Bail said no one in his house slept very well last night.”

Cody scratched the back of his neck, “Well, that’s pretty unusual for the Hufflepuffs. What do they have to worry about? Not like they’re concerned about winning the House Cup.”

“It’s just uneasy that all of the students will be free from Hogwarts protective barriers for the first time since Maul released himself.” He sighed heavily, clearly trying to convince himself, “That’s all.”

“Yeah, well, I reckon Maul is trying to hide deep in the mountains or something, away from people that are going to catch him,” Cody waved him off, “You just need some fresh air.”

“You look green,” Fenn Rau approached them unannounced and while Cody didn’t have nearly the same level of beef with the fifth year, he also didn’t appreciate his unprecedented arrivals in the middle of private conversations.

“Thanks,” Kenobi frowned.

“Satine must have really let you have it last night, huh?” He smirked, which made Kenobi look like he would take great pleasure in smacking the smugness from his face. Kenobi was a great deal more cordial than Cody, though.

Unfortunately, Cody was merely just flabbergasted at what he could possibly be talking about.

“What happened last night?” Cody asked Kenobi, whose face went a shade pink.

“Just a bit of a misunderstanding,” He shrugged and Cody knew by now not to take his casual aplomb so literally.

“Oh, you should have seen it!” Rau laughed, “Satine looked like she wanted to mess him up! If she wasn’t so committed to her stance against any form of violence, I’d say she would have! Prefect status be damned!”

Wow, that must have been quite the fight for them to be so caught up that they didn’t stop on Rau’s behalf. Cody would need details later.

“I’ll have you know, everything is perfectly fine. Don’t you worry,” Kenobi said tightly and looked back down to his clipboard, “Don’t you have guard duty with Zeb?”

Rau blew a breath out through his nose, “Yeah, I just hope he doesn’t still have such awful gas. I don’t know who thought it fit to give him leftovers, but it was cruel.”

When Kenobi smiled a bit at the fifth year Ravenclaw’s departure, Cody nearly fell over in a fit of laughter.

“Maybe you should have been a Slytherin!” He smacked his arm.

Kenobi fully broke his pristine facade for a moment, offering him a grin, “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

***

“Need help with that?” Professor Fisto asked as Anakin struggled to drag his suitcase behind him. Normally, his stuff wouldn’t be so heavy, but Cody had insisted they practice over break and that meant bringing equipment home. His mother was going to kill him when this weighed down the trunk of her car.

“Yes sir,” He nodded eagerly as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor easily plucked the bag up and carried it by the handle. They walked in tandem down the winding path that led them towards the Hogsmeade station. A few giggling girls were not far behind them, likely not in awe of Anakin.

He looked up at the aquatic professor in scrutinization. He was, no doubt, a great professor and taught them more dueling tactics than Anakin could count, but he really didn’t see why they all drooled over him.

“Where do you live?” He asked.

“I’m from the coast.” Professor Fisto smiled, “I do look forward to dipping my toes in some real water.”

“Do you live underwater?” He supposed a lake didn’t count, but then again, Anakin did prefer swimming in the ocean.

“People like me kind of have to,” He smiled, “Aside from wizarding settlements, muggles might have some questions when looking at me unless I’m in disguise.”

“Living in disguise would be pretty hard,” Anakin nodded, “I don’t get why everything needs to be so divided.”

“Blood-torn history,” When he shook his head, his long green tentacles wiggled and shifted on their own accord, “I hope that someday we can find mutual peace. I don’t think I’m alone in that hope either.”

“You want peace?” He raised an eyebrow, “But you’re the one who started the dueling club!”

“To teach you to protect yourself,” Kit Fisto said, “I’d prefer diplomatic negotiations towards a fight any day, but that isn’t how the world works right now. They say you’re going to be the one to set it right.”

“I don’t see how,” Anakin admitted. Talking to Kit Fisto was surprisingly easy, considering they didn’t know each other that well outside of class. Anakin had a good grade in DADA and was top of his tier in the dueling club and up until now, that seemed more than enough.

“You’ll have help,” Fisto nodded, “Everyone needs it.”

“Even bad guys?” He asked.

“Bad guys think they don’t need help, which is part of their weaknesses that can be exploited.”

“Some people think Maul had help back in the day, but I don’t know much about that,” Anakin shrugged and glanced towards the Shrieking Shack. It had a different connotation now that he understood it was Maul who committed that awful murder there that Rex had referenced previously.

“Maybe he did, but he’s on his own now,” Fisto shrugged, “Evil, like the Sith, don’t flourish with teamwork. They always get too big for their britches in my experience. That’s why grouping together to fight is the best laid plan we could have. To combat an evil like Maul, for instance, it’s going to take an army.”

Anakin hoped that’s all it took.

***

Winter break had crept up on her this year. With the dementors still lurking on the premises and the threat of Maul and Dooku looming over them, the holidays just didn’t feel the same. Satine had been tasked with roll call of every fourth year and Obi-Wan, who was working beside her, was in charge of the fifth years. They worked steadily beside one another until every single student had been boarded onto the Hogwarts express.

“I’m only missing Rau,” He tilted his head, scrutinizing his list, “He should still be with Zeb guarding the first car.”

“I’m missing someone...” Satine was running through her list again, double, triple checking before she raised her hand waving over Professor Qui-Gon who looked at her very concerned to have been needed, “Bultar Swan’s not here,” She handed her list to their professor who frowned.

“Obi-Wan?” He asked, tucking her list under his arm, “Are you finished?” He nodded and handed over his as well, “Alright, the two of you need to get on the train, I’ll check this out.”

He waved them off. Obi-Wan watched him walk away with a glimmer of sadness in his eyes, but when Satine touched his shoulder, he shook her off with a smile.

“After you,” He bowed at her gesturing for her to get on the train which she did happily.

“Such a gentleman,” She joked, leading them towards their usual cabin.

Things were much more strict this year, that much she could tell as she settled into her seat across from Cody. The train wouldn’t leave until everyone was accounted for, which perhaps made more sense than just making everyone who missed the train stay at school for the holidays. They weren’t allowing many students to stay this year, only those who made a case to the Headmaster himself, which were few and far between. She supposed the threat was just too big.

“You’re going to Qui-Gon’s ‘unofficial’ holiday party aren’t you?” Obi-Wan’s voice shook her out of her thoughts and she turned to look at him. Why was he asking her that? Did that mean he wanted to see her? She mentally chastised herself. Of course he’d want to see her, and Cody. Anything was likely better than spending more time in that house of his, though the thought did make her heart hurt.

“I am,” She confirmed, “Are you?”

He nodded, “I’ll find a way.”

“Cody?” She broke away from staring into Obi-Wan’s grey-blue eyes that always looked just a little melancholic when they sat together on the train.

“Of course!” He perked up, “Free food and a party! The Fett boys love a good time.”

They were interrupted by Professor Kit Fisto, who popped his head into his compartment, marked them down on his list and then with an apologetic smile closed their door. He needn’t explain, Yoda had warned them that morning that there was to be no moving about the train, their doors were magically locked and would only open in an emergency. In little time at all, the train whistle blew and she felt the lurch as it pulled out of the station. Her thoughts felt lighter as she realized they must have found the elusive Bultar Swan. She had likely just slipped through Satine’s fingers.

***

“Send the train,” Windu had instructed even over Qui-Gon’s rather loud objection.

“Mace we’re still missing a fourth year-” He had called, but once the train started there was really no stopping it.

“We’ll find her,” Windu nodded towards the castle, “We can take her home through the Floo Network, but there’s no use halting the train any longer for one student,” Qui-Gon didn’t look like he much agreed, but he could do nothing else to protest so instead he just looked down at Satine’s careful handwriting.

“Well, let’s get a move on then,” Qui-Gon turned towards Hogsmeade, they had a bit of a walk back to the castle gates. A walk that Windu spent searching for any traces of a possible kidnapping. He doubted Ms. Swan was valuable to the likes of Dooku or Maul, but then again, he was hardly sure what they wanted with Mr. Skywalker. Prophecy or not they chose quite a handful of a student to go after.

He found nothing amiss, not even a broken stick, by the time they entered into the castle, the large doors slamming shut behind them. Wordlessly both he and Qui-Gon took out their wands and latched the door shut. There would be no need to open them again any time soon.

“Headmaster Yoda,” Qui-Gon greeted and sure enough when Mace turned around he was greeted with the sight of his old friend. Yoda hadn’t been standing there before and never moved very quickly, yet always seemed to appear places where Mace felt he should have heard him coming. If apparition wasn’t forbidden in the school, he would have blamed such a feat on that.

“Back so soon, you are?” He questioned and Qui-Gon frowned.

“We’re missing a student,” Qui-Gon seemed not to know when such things should be kept on the down low. Mace crossed his arms already looking to see if anyone had overheard. Yoda frowned, a grave sort of expression crossing his face.

“Find this student, we will.”

Mace knew that Yoda was under immense outside pressure. The Kenobi’s had of course let their anger with the Headmaster show at the conferences, but they weren’t the only family to express several grievances and concerns.

“We will,” Mace repeated as he nodded to both the Headmaster and Qui-Gon before turning and heading off to check the dungeons.

Qui-Gon would check the Ravenclaw common room and the Headmaster would likely check amongst the students. Mace had to frown when he remembered that because of the tunnels, there was much more ground to cover and she could even be in another common room with her friends. With that thought in mind he paused in front of a rather unassuming wall.

Pressing his hand to the wall he muttered a quiet, “Sneezewort,” before the wall practically sucked him inside. It was an unwelcome feeling and he wasn’t sure how the Slytherin’s had become immune to the way the stones scraped against their skin as they phased through. Perhaps they hadn’t.

The inside of the common room glowed green from the light filtering down through the lake's surface. He was greeted with a couple very confused looking Slytherins. A third year boy who had been watching a few of the aquatic residents swim around and a 7th year girl with a few books spread out before her. Both stared up at him as if they were waiting to get in trouble. When he did nothing, but march to check the boys dormitory, the girl stood up.

“What mysterious thing are you looking for now?” She huffed. Mace turned back towards her. She had her arms crossed and was looking up at him in annoyance, “You think we have Maul locked up down here or something?”

He shouldn’t be so surprised, of course the students were on edge, especially the older students. School hadn’t been as chaotic and dangerous before last year, certainly the extra stress was getting to the older students, especially the seventh years trying to take their NEWT exams.

“I’m looking for a student,” Mace decided not to give her the full details, lest Ms. Swan was trying to hide from them, “Would you check the girls' dormitories for me?” The seventh year straightened, she looked appreciative to have been given such a task. With a nod she hurried up the stairs.

Neither of them ended up finding anyone else and Mace left their common room without another word. The rest of the dungeons were just as boring as they usually were. He barely even looked in Palpatine’s office, there certainly seemed no where for anyone to hide in there unless they curled up under the desk or managed to fit in the chest in the corner.

As he ascended the stairs, of course he nearly ran right into a first year Ravenclaw girl who looked particularly upset. She looked surprised to see him, looking up at him with the wide eyes of a child before she stuck a finger out, pointing towards the far end of the school.

“The Headmaster and Professor Qui-Gon are looking for you,” She let him know with a head nod, “No one can enter Ravenclaw tower.”

***

The train hissed into the station and students piled out chatting amicably with one another. Despite the rather dangerous nature that the year had begun with, the holidays seemed to have lifted spirits well enough. Or perhaps, Anakin considered, it was once again being with your family.

Anakin felt a little out of place just standing in a sea of students trying to stand on his tippy toes to see over their heads. He managed to pick out Hevy in the crowd, and his heart panged. Rex was still rather angry with him, Anakin hadn’t sat with him on the train. He’d actually ended up stuck between Miraj Scintel and Asajj Ventress in a compartment full of Slytherins. It hadn’t been his favorite company to keep. Especially since none of them seemed particularly interested in the Christmas cartoons he was hoping to catch on TV.

He tripped and nearly fell into what seemed to be the eye of the storm. Students still pushed and shoved all around them, but all were avoiding this particular space.

“Oh Anakin,” He recognized the voice and sure enough when he looked up he was looking into the eyes of Obi-Wan’s mother. She was smiling down at him as if pleased he’d landed in her presence. Obi-Wan was standing a little behind her and although he was standing at attention his eyes seemed to hold a lecture that Anakin was grateful he couldn’t deliver at the moment, “How wonderful it is to see you.”

“It’s nice to see you again too, ma’am,” He nodded at her, but tried to look behind her for a hint of the woman he really wanted to see.

“Lost?” Obi-Wan’s mum looked concerned and even Obi-Wan opened his mouth to ask him, but Anakin shook his head.

“Nope! I’m just looking for my mum,” He assured them, “She said she’d pick me up at the station, but I wouldn’t put it past that sleazebag Watto to make her late.”

“Late for picking up her own son though,” Obi-Wan’s mother tsked as she looked at him, “Perhaps we could accompany you home?”

“Mother-” Obi-Wan didn’t seem to agree, but a glance from his mother was enough to get him to stand down it seemed.

“No that’s ok,” Anakin shook his head, “She’ll be here, I just have to be patient,” He grinned, “I’m sure Obi-Wan knows that’s not my best skill, but as the Chosen One, I’m sure I can handle it.”

His mentor seemed to disapprove of his joke, but it made Mrs. Kenobi laugh so he guessed it wasn’t too bad, “If you’re sure. We could always take you back to our place.”

“No thanks,” Anakin had to admit, the offer was tempting. He was curious to where Obi-Wan lived especially since his family had quite a bit of money, but he was far too eager to get back to his own abode, “Thanks for the broomstick by the way, it flies great!” He’d sent a thank you note already, but his mum always said doing things in person looked better.

“Glad to hear it-” She was likely going to continue their conversation, but Anakin caught a glimpse of wispy brown hair.

“I think I see her!” He pointed over the crowd, “Got to go, bye!”

He dipped and dodged through the crowd again before finally reaching her.

“Mum!” But the women who turned had a rounder face and deep green eyes. Anakin nearly tripped over his feet, as to not run into her, “Oh.”

That certainly wasn’t his mother.

***

Qui-Gon was pondering.

A difficult feat as the raven door knocker was spewing riddles faster than anyone could answer them. Such noise made it hard to think at all. Headmaster Yoda was doing little to help reign in control, he simply answered riddles that had been asked nearly 5 minutes prior. It wasn’t getting them anywhere.

“Mace,” Qui-Gon heard the other man’s footsteps before he saw him. Gryffindor’s Head of House seemed just as confused as he was.

“What’s all this?” Mace questioned inspecting the brass knocker before raising an eyebrow at Qui-Gon.

“I was hoping you would know,” He answered with a sigh, “It was like this when I got here. Must have been some kind of spell.”

Mace frowned, “Not one I know. It would have to be fairly powerful to break such an artifact,” That much Qui-Gon had already known.

“Do away with the door, we could,” Yoda suggested, but Qui-Gon jumped between the Headmaster’s wand and the door.

“There must be another way,” Qui-Gon grimaced, he really didn’t want to have to find a fair replacement for his house. Such lines of thinking reminded him of the tunnels. There weren’t any leading to Ravenclaw house of course, but tunnels were not the only way for wizards to get around, “The fireplace!” He shouted suddenly enough to scare off a stray Hufflepuff from the area.

“Are our fireplaces within the Floo network?” Mace questioned looking towards the Headmaster who shook his head.

“Officially, they are not,” He put a small hand to his chin, “However locally, hmmmm.”

“My office is closest,” Qui-Gon recommended and hurried off with Mace and the Headmaster following behind.

***

Mace had to admit, this was a rather clever idea. Qui-Gon was consistently proving himself as both a Ravenclaw and the best choice for their Head of House. Still the man was notoriously messy and Mace nearly tripped over a stack of philosophy books piled just high enough to not be noticeable at first. It was a far cry from Mace’s rather organized and clean office. Despite these barriers, Qui-Gon never seemed to lose anything. In fact he pulled his pot of Floo powder out from under a pillow as if it had always been there. Mace quite doubted that was the case.

Qui-Gon was about to thrust his hand into the powder when Mace held out his hand to stop him.

“Wait,” Mace gestured for the man to pass him the jar which he did with a rather skeptical look, “We don’t know if we’re going to be trapped on the inside and the school certainly can’t be down 3 caretakers,” Both Qui-Gon and Yoda exchanged hesitant looks. Mace was glad that he had been with them, if he hadn’t the other two may have gotten themselves trapped within the common room for hours before someone would have noticed.

“I’ll go,” Qui-Gon suggested, “It is my house after all.”

“Admirable,” Mace nodded, but refused to hand back the jar to Qui-Gon, “I have more experience however,” Qui-Gon gave him a foul look, Mace paid him no mind, “I’ll go, if the girl is there I’ll find her.”

“Wait on the other side of the door, I shall,” Headmaster Yoda decided with a nod, “Meet Professor Windu when he is done searching I will.”

“So what? I’m just supposed to wait here?” Qui-Gon frowned at Mace’s nod of affirmation, “And what is the point in that?”

“You never know,” Mace frowned, “Opening up a Floo network, even within the school could make us vulnerable for attack, someone should monitor it,” He wasn’t really sure if it would or not, but he felt they couldn’t be too safe. They’d already found a fatal flaw when Skywalker had been able to previously use Dooku’s fireplace to attempt traversing to Hogsmeade.

“Alright fine,” Qui-Gon relented, stepping aside, “We’ll do it your way, but do be swift, Ms. Swan may not even be up there.”

“I’m not the type to doddle, Jinn,” Mace reminded him as he stepped into the fireplace.

“Ravenclaw Common Room.”

The world bended and stretched. Qui-Gon’s office was replaced with bricks and entryways of several different choices, but thankfully the common room was a relatively short trip. If there hadn’t been for such odd circumstances, this would be considered a rather lazy move even by wizarding standards.

He stepped out of the fireplace and the blue and silver of the common room came into focus past the green of the fire and he looked around for anything out of place or odd. He fingered his wand, not eager to draw it, lest a student would be at the other end, but he certainly didn’t want to leave himself unguarded from attack. It was the sort of thinking one didn’t unlearn even after leaving the aurors.

Nothing so much as swayed in the breeze however so he let himself relax just a touch. He wasn’t in Ravenclaw’s common room much, but he knew which book to look for on the shelf to reveal the girl’s dormitory. He’d check there first as it was more likely that she had simply run up to grab something and gotten locked inside.

The bookshelf creaked softly as it bowed to the side to admit him. There was no one on the stairs and no one made an appearance even as he tried stepping loudly enough to give away his presence.

“Hello?” He called, his students should easily recognize his voice, they heard it at least twice a week.

There was no response. It felt almost too silent and his fingers brushed against his wand once more. Well if no one was around, it wouldn’t hurt to draw it. Pointing his wand low in case he did encounter a rogue student, he pushed the door open to the 4th year girl’s dorm slowly.

At the far side of the room, facing away from him was Bultar Swan, but she didn’t make any movements at his entry.

“Ms. Swan,” Mace called, stepping carefully across the room. Still she didn’t move so he put a gentle hand on her shoulder before rapidly pulling away.

It was a cool sensation rather than a warm one that had him ripping his hand away from the lost girl. Now that he was close enough he could see an unnatural sheen across her skin. As he walked around her his heart seemed to freeze just like the expression of shock and terror engraved on the girl’s face. Her eyes were wide and her mouth open like she was going to scream. Her hands were going for her wand, but she hadn’t made it in time. It seemed that neither had he.

***

The streets of London were rather busy as the sun lowered in the sky. It was likely rush hour and Anakin was just trying to get home. He’d let Artoo out to fly on his own, it was one less thing to carry and he already had his massive trunk he was dragging behind him.

He’d waited at the station until even the train had disappeared and he was starting to wish he’d taken the Kenobi’s up on their offer, even if Obi-Wan hadn’t seemed to like the idea. It would certainly beat carrying everything. He bet that a family like the Kenobi’s had a big broom or a lot of Floo powder. Or maybe they could have even apparated him there. He knew Obi-Wan was in a special class for it and he assumed nearly every witch or wizard got their license out of convenience.

If he hadn’t been in a fight with Rex he supposed the clones would have helped him out. They had lingered at the station for an awfully long time before finally departing. He thought he’d felt eyes on him, but every time he looked over they were busy wrestling with each other or talking too loudly. Anakin felt quite a lot of envy towards their antics. He missed Rex more than he’d admit.

At least he’d finally made it to his street. He could see the sign for Watto’s seedy pub and he would have made a run for it to show that greedy bastard where he could shove it the next time he made his mum work a shift when she had other, more important plans, but his luggage was holding him back. He pushed the door open and was greeted by the smell of stale booze and grease. It would have been pretty disgusting if it wasn’t a little nostalgic. As much as he despised the likes of Watto and the way his mum had to break her back just to afford the rent for their apartment, it was still home.

“Oh if it isn’t little Ani!” Watto crowed nearly knocking over one of his waitresses, “Tell your mum rent’s due.”

“When is it not due,” Anakin muttered under his breath before speaking loud enough for the owner to hear him over the din of patrons, “Have you seen her? She was supposed to come pick me up,” He made sure to say it in an accusatory tone even if such things were lost on the man.

“Eh, not today, grab the spare and go on up,” He shrugged, “Maybe she forgot.”

“Not likely,” Anakin whispered as he pushed past him. It was much more likely that she’d fallen asleep, Watto never had her working consistent hours and often she worked more than she was home. It wouldn’t be completely out of the question for her to have slept through an alarm. Still it was the first time she hadn’t shown up for him and he did feel a twinge of sadness at the thought.

Anakin snatched the spare key to their apartment off the pegboard in Watto’s smelly office before dragging his suitcase up the stairs. He had to use two hands since he couldn’t use magic and had no one else to help him. He was certain that if he had asked the owner he would have just gotten laughed at. He didn’t want his stupid help anyways.

He knocked on the door first, “Hello? Mum? It’s me! Anakin!” When there wasn’t any response, Anakin fumbled with the key until he felt the tumblers in the lock click. He pushed the door open and hesitated.

The air felt… stale.

Not eager to step inside, he called out again.

“Mum! You forgot to come to the train station! It’s okay though, I’m not mad!”

There was no response.

Anakin felt his throat tighten and his heart pick up. He pulled his wand out of his pocket, he wasn’t really supposed to use magic except for studying, but he doubted such rules would really stop him.

He took a deep breath before stepping inside. The door creaked shut behind him.

The first thing he noticed was their dining room chairs strewn across the floor. That was pretty weird because Anakin always got in trouble for not pushing them in when he was done. He rationalized that sometimes his mother got to do things he wasn’t allowed too, maybe she didn’t always have to replace the chairs. He stepped into the kitchen, nothing else seemed out of place, but when he opened the fridge he nearly vomited at the smell.

Sour milk.

His mother was always really good at getting fresh groceries, but maybe she’d just forgotten, it had happened once before.

“Mum! The milk’s gone bad!” He called again and strained his ears for an answer.

Silence.

He swallowed past a lump steadily growing in his throat. Was this some sort of joke? He hoped not, because it really wasn’t very funny.

There was nothing amiss in the living room, but also, no sign of his mum. He didn’t bother checking in his own room, as she was rarely in there. She always said she wasn’t very interested in his comics, but she was a good mum and listened to him talk about them anyways. He felt his eyes water, it must be a little dusty.

He knocked on his mother’s bedroom door, certainly not wanting to enter without notifying her; she always said it was always good to be polite. With no answer though he had no choice but to push the door open.

Feathers.

There were feathers everywhere. It was like the pillows had exploded and it coated the room. He stepped on inside and nearly tripped over a fallen book. That book only fell off the shelf when he opened the door too quickly. His mother knew that and he knew that, so why had it fallen?

Unless someone else was there. Had been there.

“If someone’s in here! Come out!” He managed to shout, clutching his wand like a lifeline and trying to think of a few dueling spells Professor Fisto had drilled into them. He supposed a good stupify would work. He’d have to explain it to the school, but it would save him and his mother.

Not so much as a feather moved and Anakin tried to calm his racing heart enough that he could hear something beyond the rushing of blood through his ears. He picked his way across the floor. What if his mother was here, but hurt? He certainly didn’t want to see that, but if she was, he would have to help her. Maybe he should have tried to learn some healing spells. He’d ask Madame Nema after this all got sorted out.

He peaked quickly over the side of her bed and was almost relieved when he saw nothing. He checked under the bed in case anyone was hiding under there, but saw nothing, but dust and feathers.

He walked over to check the bathroom and something crunched underfoot. Kneeling down he brushed aside a feather and gasped. A shattered frame, glass scattered across the floor. It was a picture of Anakin, standing proudly in his wizard’s robes. The picture didn’t move, but Anakin sure did- running out the door of his Mum’s bedroom and back into the living room.

She wasn’t here. There was no sign of her and the house didn’t look very lived in. All but the chairs and the bedroom with all the feathers. He felt like he was being watched and kept looking over his shoulder as he nearly shattered another picture frame reaching for the pot holding their small emergency Floo powder. He wanted to leave, but what if his mum did come home? She could walk in at any minute and they could be scared together about the possible house burglary. Still, that didn’t mean he wanted to be here alone.

Another thought came to him, he could call using the fireplace. Qui-Gon had taught him and he knew the offices at the castle were connected to the network. He just had to hope the Professor was in his office.

“Coniunctionem,” Anakin’s voice shook as he said the spell, sprinkling the powder into the fireplace. Flames sprung up where there hadn’t been any and Anakin blurted out, “Professor Qui-Gon Jinn's Office!” Before shoving his head into the fireplace.

Anakin nearly jumped when he saw Qui-Gon immediately, already staring into the fire in surprise.

“Anakin!” Words sounded weird through the fire, the tones of Qui-Gon’s voice being translated into crackles and pops of the fire.

“Qui-Gon!” He practically cried, “I need help!” He was the Chosen One, he’d been reminding himself of that all year and he shouldn’t need help. Here, however, he felt helpless, scared, and alone.

And Professor Fisto had just said that everyone needed help sometimes.

“What’s wrong?” The lecture likely on the tip of the Professor’s tongue disappeared instantly and concern took its place.

“It’s my mum! She’s-” He suddenly felt like he couldn’t speak, tears welling up in his eyes and threatening to pour over. He tried to hold them back not wanting to accidentally extinguish the fire, but it was hard. He hadn’t really even acknowledged the truth in the situation and trying to say it out loud felt horrible, “She’s-” He couldn’t say it, even needing Qui-Gon’s help, it was all too sudden.

“Hang on I’ll be right there!” Qui-Gon was already ripping the lid off the jar that held his own Floo powder.

“Go you must,” Anakin hadn’t even noticed Headmaster Yoda, who was standing just in the doorway, “Handle everything else, we will,” Anakin didn’t really care whether or not he’d interrupted something important.

Hogwarts could burn to the ground for all he cared. His mother was missing and that was the only thing he cared about.

***

Qui-Gon held onto the boy’s shoulder as he sobbed uncontrollably while the police, both magical and muggle swarmed the apartment. He’d called the auror’s first of course, but he couldn’t deny that Shmi’s disappearance could be because of muggle means.

The owner of the dirty pub had shrugged and said Shmi hadn’t shown up for her shifts for awhile, but it hadn’t yet caused him financial trouble so he hadn’t worried about it. Anakin had said some less than kind things to the man and Qui-Gon made a note to talk to him about it later, but he supposed it was hard to fault a twelve year old when his whole world had just gotten uprooted.

“Why,” The word was spoken so softly Qui-Gon thought for a moment he may have imagined it.

“Pardon?” He leaned down to be able to hear better.

“Why’d they take her away?” He managed to speak louder, though his voice wobbled and the threat of more tears was not far off, “She never did anything wrong, why her?”

Qui-Gon let out a long breath, that was not an easy question to answer. Not like such questions about where the boy would live. He would stay with Qui-Gon of course. And as for what they should do next, it was a waiting game unfortunately.

It was certainly not the time to mention his earlier suspicions. However, Qui-Gon never would have guessed that this ominous danger would befall Shmi, who was practically disconnected to the wizarding world in total.

“I’m not sure,” Qui-Gon admitted, he always found it was best not to lie, not at a time like this, “Sometimes bad things happen to good people-”

“It’s not FAIR!” Anakin stomped his foot on the ground.

“Life isn’t always as fair as it should be,” Qui-Gon knelt down so he could be at eye level with the boy.

“I want her,” He sniffed, tears already falling once more, “I want my mum.”

“I know, I know,” Qui-Gon said solemnly, “But I’ll promise you this,” Anakin looked up through the droplets on his lashes to meet Qui-Gon’s steady stare, “I’ll do everything I can to help find her, ok?” It was a weighty promise, but one that Qui-Gon was willing to make. He didn’t want anything bad to happen to Shmi and he certainly wanted her found for Anakin’s sake.

Anakin managed to give him a nod even as he cried harder at the thought and Qui-Gon pulled him into a hug so he could have a shoulder to cry on, quite literally. No longer looking into the face of a child he felt his face fall into a dejected frown. What was the point of all this? Was it the prophecy? Was it simply an act of villainy? All concerns for his own safety at the hands of the missing necklace went out the window. Anakin’s safety was really his only concern. He had the Chosen One, a young boy, in his care and he would do everything necessary to keep him safe.

***

Despite the bustling holiday cheer that warmed the walls and everything between at Professor Qui-Gon Jinn’s humble abode, Obi-Wan found himself occupying the kitchen more often than not. He knew from experience and constant nagging from his mother that hosting was a complicated and exhausting duty and grew up shouldering part of that burden in order to keep up critical appearances. Of course, the parties his family hosted were nothing like this.

It was more than just the homemade decorations and the physical vibrancy of the room. Yes, the many streams of garland and tapestry were lovely. The lighting was soft, but colorful as it had been donned with twinkling Christmas lights and scented candles that were transfixed to never burn out. Stockings lined the mantle of the fireplace, which was situated right beside a beautiful Christmas tree.

Even from here, he admired Anakin’s work on the tree. He wondered if it was how his mother had done it every year. Judging by how methodical the whole process had been, he would assume so.

It all felt like home in a way his house never did.

The smiles, for one thing, never met their eyes at his parents’ famous shin-digs and there certainly weren’t quite as many children. The only other person his age was usually Asajj Ventress, who was far from his first choice in company. Buoyant holiday music didn’t play from an enchanted piano nor were the eating arrangements as casual as simply helping yourself. His house was usually filled with an eerie classical music that his mother worshipped and had nothing short of a five course meal consisting of exotic foods he’d never heard of.

He couldn’t cook to save his life, but knew many efficient spells at assisting the task. Qui-Gon had it partially covered, of course, because all of the appliances were working at full and seamless speed without an error along the way. Obi-Wan would hastily run stuff out, ensure that everyone was still having a grand time, and then disappear again to continue helping.

It was important for this Christmas to go well. Anakin had just lost his mother and was rightfully very maudlin as of late. Qui-Gon had taken him in and sought to give him a good home, which was wonderful. It was truly fantastic. Obi-Wan, himself, hadn’t seen much of his former mentor at all this term, let alone this evening, but it was more than understandable. He was included just enough to be invited early for his annual Christmas party to help setup.

It was a good idea for Qui-Gon to throw together the last minute-affair and wise all the same to be able to skirt around Headmaster Yoda’s rules in such a way. It didn’t seem most of the professors minded much or maybe they also terribly needed a distraction from current events, because many were in attendance. Of course, the stiffer ones, like Professor Windu, had opted to skip.

It was also a decent distraction from how horribly his Winter Holiday had been going, not that it was anything new. He wasn’t much for lying and knew the repercussions of getting caught, but he’d told his parents he was meeting with Ventress for the evening. They were absolutely ecstatic to hear that and sent him on his way with flowers and all. Technically, Ventress was at the party, so any scrutiny could simply be met with that.

He’d awkwardly given the flowers to Anakin instead, who’d rightfully responded with a weird look.

His parents had been especially cross with him lately when they discovered he was taking the advanced class of Defense Against the Dark Arts against their wishes. They’d nearly elected to lock him in his room for the remainder of break when it came out. Luckily, he was able to save some face by mentioning seeing Ventress at some point.

His family was also surprisingly concerned over Anakin’s home situation as of now. They expressed great distaste for his mother being so cavalier in her choice of guardian for him. Apparently, Obi-Wan’s mother had gone to school with Shmi and felt she was gullible to fall for a silver-tongued cad in the muggle world. They claimed she should have been more careful with the boy, since he was precious beyond measurable worth. It was interesting that Obi-Wan’s alignment with Anakin, which was initially viewed as a foolish errand, was now being heralded by his parents and grandparents.

He released a heavy sigh and picked up another plate.

As he exited the kitchen to bring out another serving of deviled eggs, he took in the sight of the party. Joy and laughter filled the air much to Obi-Wan’s relief. Even Anakin seemed as though he was having a good time. He’d found a good friend in Padmé Amidala and knew it was wise of Qui-Gon to see that she was invited.

The Fett’s were all rough-housing in the living room, displaying some wrestling moves they’d recently learned over break. It was their newest and most recent obsession. He did note that Rex kept glancing towards Anakin every now and then. While Anakin certainly had larger issues at hand, it was apparent that the boys, who no longer seemed to be outwardly fighting, were still not quite on the same level that they once were.

Anakin was practicing catching gumdrops in his mouth, which was likely an ill-advised attempt to impress Padmé in some way. She seemed partially invested and partially concerned he would choke, which was the right amount of attention for the boy.

Professor Plo Koon slow-danced with an inebriated Professor Shaak Ti, who was being photographed by Professor Yaddle, likely for a later laugh or a reminder of the events of the evening. Professor Depa Billaba was chatting with Caleb Dume, but he seemed to be distracted by the gentle snowfall from outside.

All was well.

In his search, he caught Satine’s passing stare. She was currently perched on the couch with a mug of warm butterbeer in her hands and was chatting with Bail Organa and Fenn Rau. Her hair was down in flowing waves that cascaded down to her shoulders. She was trying to grow out her bangs and had them clipped back with a little green barrette that matched the long sleeve dress she wore. Her eyes were warm with mirth and inviting for him to come over. Despite the bubble that seemed to grow in his chest, threatening to pop, his feet remained still. He simply nodded at her with what he hoped was a friendly smile and turned to go back to work.

He was just about to wonder where Qui-Gon had disappeared off to when a large hand was splayed firmly on his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Qui-Gon’s deep voice asked.

He was startled, even if he had no real reason to be. It wasn’t as though he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar or anything.

“I’m setting out the food.”

“You’ve been doing that all night.” He said. “You’re working like a servant except nobody asked you to do so.”

“You know how important it is that this party goes well, Professor.” Obi-Wan said and nodded over to Anakin.

“As a matter of fact, I do, actually. I’d say he’s having a nice time too.” Qui-Gon said sagely. “Doesn’t explain why you would think spending your entire night in the kitchen is going to improve his spirits.”

Obi-Wan bit his tongue from remarking how this was the first real conversation they’d had in weeks and that somehow it was layered in criticism. Obi-Wan was used to appraisal and scathing speeches of failure and the tightening noose of expectation, but not from his former mentor.

“Like you said, he’s enjoying himself. That’s what matters.” He said shortly.

“I’d like you to enjoy yourself too every now and then, you know.” Qui-Gon leaned against the counter, but Obi-Wan still had to crane his head to look the larger man in the eyes. “So, what is it you’re actually avoiding?”

Obi-Wan straightened. “I’m not avoiding anything! I’m just-”

“-Distracting yourself from what’s bothering you. I know it when I see it, Obi-Wan. You’ve been one of my pupils for six years now and despite how you may try, even you have tells.” He smirked, “Every time you come out of the kitchen, you do a perimeter scan of the room. Some may take it as a neurotic need for everyone to be safe and accounted for, but I know better.”

“You don’t exactly become Head of Ravenclaw House without knowing better.” Obi-Wan said, though his mind briefly sifted back to the previous Head of Ravenclaw and debated that statement.

“Good, so hear me when I say that you need to live your life.”

He furrowed his brow. “What does that mean?”

“I’ve watched you leap through hoop after hoop to please everyone, Obi-Wan and it simply cannot be done. You’re even doing it tonight! The sooner you make your peace with that, the happier you’ll be.”

Obi-Wan inspected the long-haired professor to see if he’d perhaps engaged in too much eggnog this evening.

“I know I can’t please everyone.” He said sharply but maintained his tone so as not to disturb the other guests. “I’ve learned that the hard way, thank you.”

Qui-Gon’s eyes softened. “I never meant to insinuate that it was easy. I know I’ve been busy with Anakin recently and it would be normal for you to feel neglected-”

“-I don’t.” Obi-Wan lied and perhaps the swiftness of his response made that more obvious. He wondered if it really counted as a lie if he didn’t want it to be true. He felt selfish and guilty for feeling the inklings of that. Anakin’s mother was missing! He had no reason to feel like he was the one going through the hard time right now simply because he wasn’t receiving as much attention as before. What bothered him more, was that he somehow made this transparent enough to be seen. He desperately hoped Anakin didn’t notice.

Qui-Gon nodded. “Look at Hondo.”

“I’d really rather not.”

“Humor me, please.” He sighed and Obi-Wan obeyed.

Hondo Ohnaka was planted firmly beneath the mistletoe as he had been all night. He called over to just about every living and breathing body at the party to come over and share “the Christmas cheer” with him. Even his bright and sparkly sweater implored people to “meet him at the naughty list”, which blended in with the many counts of jewelry that always draped around his neck and wrists. Some of it, Obi-Wan had to admit, looked quite expensive.

As far as Obi-Wan had seen, Hondo hadn’t had any takers. He could try to have more tact in his approach. Simply going for every single person at the party just didn’t feel in line with the spirit of the holiday. He kept glancing around, looking quite intently at him and Qui-Gon for a long moment before turning rather suddenly to face the other way.  

“Hey, baby! I’ve got something sweet for you to taste… And some cookies!” He laughed as he held up a plate of Christmas cookies to Stass Allie as she passed by without giving him any thought.

“I think he needs to call it quits.” Obi-Wan mused.

“Hondo is eccentric and uninhibited… He needs to brush up on his manners and probably shower a bit more… Also, I’m fairly certain he was the one who stole Headmaster Yoda’s quill set.”

“What’s your point?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Hondo lives his life shamelessly. He is who he is. When he sees something he wants, he does everything in his power to make it happen. His execution probably needs a little refinement, but the point is, he takes chances and he’s happier for it.”

“Yeah and he’s doing so well tonight.”

“Maybe not.” Qui-Gon said. “But you can’t win the games you refuse to play.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes seemed to naturally return to Satine, who was now quite heatedly making some point with Tarkin and was being backed by Fenn Rau on some injustice. He doubted she needed the help by how she was reaming into Tarkin. However, Rau seemed eager to assist, much to Obi-Wan’s chagrin.

Even with the knowledge that Satine supposedly wasn’t interested, it still bugged him to some end.

He cleared his throat and turned back to his amused Professor. “That’s why I’m taking DADA this year again. I want to be an auror.”

“And you’ll make a mighty fine one. You came to that conclusion all on your own, eh?”

He hadn’t and they both knew it. There was no use denying it.

“I… Had some help.” Obi-Wan said.

Qui-Gon smiled and looked out at the party. “So, what are you going to do about that?”

“I’m going to be an auror.” He said with renewed strength.

He tapped the watch on Obi-Wan’s wrist, “I’m talking about tonight.”

He felt his cheeks go red and was irritated when Qui-Gon tilted back his head and laughed so loud that the entire room was drawn to their conversation Eventually, when it subsided, they all turned back to their respective conversations.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! We’re friends!” He hissed.

“She’s not going to wait around forever, my young apprentice. Even if she isn’t sure she’s waiting. Take it from an old fool who knows what it’s like to miss out.”

And with that, he left a very bashful and embarrassed Obi-Wan to his own thoughts again. Hondo tried to call Obi-Wan over, but it was easy to ignore as he was trying desperately to sink into the floor and away from everyone else. He couldn’t believe Qui-Gon thought his friendship with Satine was the equivalent of Hondo trying to kiss practically every person in the room.

They were friends. That was all. He didn’t understand why that had to make their relationship less meaningful.

So, occasionally he felt a little light-headed when she touched his arm or laughed at his jokes. Maybe his gaze lingered on her when she stretched or crinkled her brow in contemplation while they studied together. Sometimes, his hands grew sweaty if hers accidentally brushed against his while they walked. She always smelled wonderful, but he’d only noticed because they were always together!

And just because they were always sitting together or took the same classes and always worked together on projects, did not mean there was anything else going on.

Yes, he trusted her with his life and would surely give his for her in a heartbeat. He might have been slightly miffed whenever Fenn Rau or Tarkin or any of the other boys commented that she was beautiful. She was beautiful, but anyone with eyes could objectively make that conclusion.

And that she was charming and self-reliant. She was utterly brilliant with a wit that crushed his into dust. She was above all else caring to the extent of wishing no harm even to her enemies and wanted peace before anything. She was stubborn and defiant, but also incredibly altruistic and fair. Her humor was the exact same as his and was never afraid to go for the jugular.

Of course he cared for her and noticed how she ran her hands through her hair when she was nervous or how she bit her bottom lip when she was confused. It wasn’t like he fixated on such things… All the time.

He’d be a liar to say there wasn’t tension, but a great deal of that had to do with how often they disagreed! He was getting riled up just thinking of how different his conversation would have been with Qui-Gon if Satine had been there with her disapproval of his family’s ways.

Yet he missed her when she wasn’t around. Her honesty was so rooted in a deep sense of caring that he couldn’t entirely fault her for it. She would never steer him wrong and wanted what was best for him. He knew that in his bones even when they wanted to pounce on each other.

She knew him through and through and cared for him even if he came from a family that would despise her if they knew just how important she was to Obi-Wan.

And, if he was honest, he looked for her at every Quidditch match, every meeting, every get-together, because…

She was his best friend!

Just that.

***

Satine blew softly to ease the steam that permeated from the mug in her hands. She’d unexpectedly traded her butterbeer for hot chocolate when Fenn Rau slid the mug in her hands after she mentioned she wasn’t a big butterbeer fan. The little gingerbread man shaped marshmallows that floated on the surface were enchanted to dance until they melted away into frothy foam.

“You do have an eye for detail.” She commented as she watched one of them disappear into nothing. To Satine’s chagrin, when she looked back up to Fenn, he was standing much closer than he had before. He must have been participating in the ugly sweater contest, because the little cotton balls that were supposed to be snowballs on his blue and red sweater were atrocious.

It had become impossible to ignore the cold truth that was Fenn Rau’s sudden romantic interest in her. In the beginning, she thought he was just looking for a new friend or someone to show him around as a prefect, but then he started to appear everywhere and seemingly intent on impressing her in every way possible. She could have sworn he had recently gotten more competitive with Obi-Wan, which just felt plain silly at the core.

Especially since he basically tried to pawn Satine off to Rau- a reality that she tried not to groan at- the moment he had the opportunity to do so.

She didn’t love having Aayla and Stass’s incessant “I told you so” voices ringing in her ears on repeat, but pretending to be ignorant now was doing far more harm than good. For instance, she didn’t want Rau to be under the impression that she was leading him on. That was something Satine did not want to do.

“I notice everything,” Fenn said with a smile and took another step closer. Soon, if he kept moving as he was, that wouldn’t be possible anymore, and Satine really didn’t want to consider what possibilities lurked after that.

Clearly, not everything.

“Is that so?” She asked innocently, though she had a lurking suspicion that she wasn’t going to be too fond of where this conversation was going.

“Yes,” He nodded and shifted in his stance, clearly trying to keep his cool and appear taller than he was, “Like… How you always carry your books in the order of when you have class or how you aren’t fond of your food touching or how you never wear your hair the same way two days in a row.”

That last one sounded made up to Satine, if only because it was unintentional, but it seemed Fenn couldn’t be stopped even though she desperately wanted him to. In her opinion, this wasn’t the time for this sort of confession. Cody was glancing at her from the piano as though silently asking her if she needed help. Aayla and Stass, who were giggling amongst themselves by the staircase, clearly could also tell what was going on.

“Or how you absolutely despise morning rounds,” Fenn kept going, “Or… Or how there’s no one presently standing under the mistletoe and I couldn’t help but notice that you can’t seem to stop glancing in that direction.”

The last bit came out frantically, like he’d been so nervous that he forgot how to properly speak and breathe at the same time. Because of this, it took a beat for Satine to comprehend what he was insinuating, until it finally felt like a bubble popped between them.

Well, there was no more denying it after that jumbled suggestion.

“Oh! Um, with you?” She glanced back in the direction towards the mistletoe and it seemed Hondo had taken a bathroom break, because it was presently a vacant spot. Had Rau known her like he believed he did, he would have realized that she wasn’t deviating towards the mistletoe, but the array of dishes that lay beyond it and more importantly, who set out those dishes at a dizzying pace and seemed to refuse engaging with the masses.  

She’d taken too long to answer, because quickly, Fenn shook his head aggressively, “Not that you have to go under there with me… I mean, it would be nice, but you don’t have to. I haven’t been- It’s not like I’ve been thinking about it all night. It just came to me, as an idea, maybe. If you wanted- I’ve been told I’m a decent snogger. Not that I’ve snogged a lot of girls. Or boys! I’ve never actually snogged a boy, but if I had, I’m sure they would say I’m-”

“-No, no, I’m sure you are decent!” Satine waved her hands out in front of her as though trying to physically stop him from the painful stilted tangent he was trying to constantly start and stop, “But it wouldn’t be right as I would never want to give you the wrong impression.”

“And what would that be?”

Did all boys require such deliberate specifications? Or just the ones in her life?

She sighed, “You’re brilliant, you really are, and I’m sure there’s a girl out there for you, but unfortunately, I don’t believe she’s me.”

Smooth, clean, and to the point. For someone who had spent the better part of this term denying that Rau had these sorts of feelings for her, she sure was relieved to have cleared the air. It was what was best for the both of them.

He blinked, “Is it someone else?”

“I’m sure.” She said kindly, “Frankly, there are lots of girls who-”

“-No, I mean, do you fancy someone else?” He corrected.

“Well,” She had to tamper down the indignant side of her that wanted to explain that there didn’t need to be anyone else for her not to return his affections, but she was momentarily distracted by Obi-Wan walking from the kitchen with far too many plates balanced in his hands. They wobbled back and forth in tandem with how he moved before meeting an unseemly and cacophonous end as they shattered against the hardwood floor.

Fenn, like everyone else, turned towards the commotion, but looked back at her with a sort of sad understanding that she hadn’t noticed at first, seeing as she was a bit caught up in how quickly Obi-Wan had whipped out his wand and gathered all the missing pieces and reassembled the plates.

“I see,” He cleared his throat and she gave him a curious look after Obi-Wan disappeared into the kitchen.

“I’m sorry?” She frowned.

“It’s alright,” He said, “I won’t stand in the way.”

“What are you-”

“-I think it’s a little less insulting to not further deny it.” He said tartly, but not completely absent of compassion, “He’s a lucky bloke, even if he doesn’t know it yet.”

Satine had to swallow the rising bitterness that was definitely her pride for being seen so thoroughly, “Truly an eye for detail.”

He quirked a small smile at that, “I don’t know if it takes an eagle eye to notice that.”

“Still,” She shrugged weakly, “I’m sorry.”

He raised a hand, “You’ve nothing to apologize for. Trust me when I say I hope it works out for you two. Though if you ever change your mind…”

“You’ll be someone’s first choice someday, Fenn.” She gave his hand a squeeze, “I’m sure of it.”

Despite it not working out how Fenn Rau thought, Satine couldn’t help but internally thank him for what transpired. She learned that maybe, she needed to take more risks.

***

One thing about being a wizard was that it wasn’t completely necessary to learn musical instruments, much to Anakin’s amusement. Some people still did, as Qui-Gon demonstrated for everyone, but others just merely enchanted the piano to play whatever they pleased.

His mum would quite enjoy that. She always loved classical Christmas music.

As another wave of sadness rose through his senses and nearly gave way of seeping out of every pore, he stamped it down in determination not to cry in front of everyone at the party. It was bad enough that it felt like every person that came up to him was trying to perform some sort of circus act to distract him, but he didn’t want to deal with the explanation.

It was a party and while he felt like the center of it, it was designed to be fun for everyone. It wouldn’t bring his mum back to him, but the thought had to count for something. Padmé had been sweet enough to check on him a good bit, especially when she could have been spending time with her friends or with Satine, who looked like she’d rather be anywhere but with Fenn Rau.

Anakin might have been more excited about it a mere two weeks ago, but despite the beautiful colors, everything seemed to be painted in gray.

Even Hondo seemed to lack some of his luster when he returned from the loo, wearing a stern sort of melancholy that reminded Anakin of Watto when he suffered severe indigestion after an awful meal. Anakin had at least been expecting him to try and pawn off some more merchandise opportunities on him, but it seemed even he got the holiday blues every now and then.

“Not making enough sales this year?” Anakin couldn’t help but ask, because really, if anyone had the right to be upset this Christmas, it was him.

Hondo, as if realizing he was still at the party at all, shook his head, “Oh, er- never! Hondo knows how to push his product beyond anything. I assure you, you will see that 15% very soon and it will be chunky!”

Anakin narrowed his eyes, “My mum just went missing and you’re trying to slate me 5% of my profits?”

It wasn’t about the money, but it was worth mentioning.

Hondo’s big brown eyes widened beneath his goggles, which were beyond unnecessary in their current setting, even if it did snow an ample amount the night before. “Did I say 15%? I meant 20%! Silly me! I forgot to mention your holiday bonus.”

“It’s not like I’ll be able to spend that money on anyone.” He sighed and crossed his arms, “I was going to get my mum a new history book so she could catch up on everything she missed in the wizarding world. Word on the street is I’m actually in it.”

“I’m sure you are! What were they paying you?” Hondo asked and he was seeming a bit more like himself by the moment.

“Not everything is about galleons, you know.” Anakin said pointedly.

“That is what the rich people want you to think, Skywalker.” Hondo showcased the array of shiny necklaces that strung around his neck and jangled the bracelets on either wrist, “Do you know what makes these priceless?”

Anakin frowned, “They’re pretty ugly, which I suppose rich people tend to think gives it charm.”

“Exactly,” He smacked him on the back, “But I was going to say that they’re all stolen. Surely, you know that a pirate’s stolen treasure gives it a great deal more oomf. Nobody can resist that sort of quest. Stolen goods are absolutely the most valuable trinkets on the market.”

“That’s what my mother essentially is to her kidnapper.”

“Then you need to steal her back.” Hondo winked.

Anakin stood taller at that and looked over to Qui-Gon as Hondo did the same, seeming to have the same thought in his eyes (though Hondo might have been planning on lifting some of the expensive china that Obi-Wan had just dropped everywhere).

He was going to get her back. No matter what it took.

***

“You need to talk to him.” Cody said as he crossed his arms and looked at a rather shy and sullen Rex.

“I’m not sure how.” He said quietly, “I’ve been trying to wrap my head around all of this and I can’t figure out what would even be the proper thing to say.”

“Sometimes, it’s not saying anything at all.” Cody said.

“Was that supposed to be deep?” Fives complained, “You’re not exactly a philosopher, I’m sorry to say.”

“Yeah, don’t quit your day job.” Echo shook his head, “Just tell him you’re there for him, Rexy.”

“But I haven’t been.” Rex said.

“Yeah, and no one else is right now either.” Cody referred to Anakin’s “friends” who had been spending the whole term surrounding him like the leeches that they were. Now that the kid was dangerous to be around again, they weren’t nearly as keen on spending one-on-one time with him anymore. Ferus, Jax, and Tru all had their backs pointedly turned to the boy by the concessions table, literally boxing him out.

“I know.” Rex frowned, “I said some pretty awful things. And so did he.”

“And are you still mad at him?” Fives asked.

“No! I just… I don’t know. I don’t want to make him feel any worse than he likely already does.” Rex said, “I just want him to feel better.”

“I understand.” Cody said with a firm nod, “Remember the winter that mum left? What we did to get all of our aggression and sadness out in a good, healthy way that also exhausted us into the best sleeps we ever had?”

“Don’t say Quidditch right now, Cody.” Echo groaned.

“Shut it, I’m talking about-”

“-SNOWBALL FIGHT!” Rex shouted.

***

As everyone else tugged on their coats and jumpers to protect themselves from the blistering cold and to better support themselves in the brawl that would surely ensue on Qui-Gon’s vast snow-covered lawn, Hondo lingered behind, nodding at a passing Ventress before looking towards the dining room, where Qui-Gon Jinn sat.

Alone in the shadows, this command shall ring,

An undeniable voice will repeatedly sing.

With this necklace you will slay,

The protector who lies in the way.

Unless completed, the task will burn,

Or removed for another person’s turn.

It should have frightened him that it felt like a swan song, but it danced through his ears with the allure of a temptress guiding him under the sheets, swimming in them, bathing in golden glory. His mind’s eye was eclipsed and he knew no other than the clarity that was brought before him without a moment’s notice.

A smile stretched across his face as he envisioned succeeding in destroying his prey, in pleasing his master. Doing so would rid these chains from around his neck, would give him freedom. He would be a hero of the new age and paid handsomely.

The witch’s voice whispered seductively in his ear.

“Now’s the time… Do it.”

He couldn’t think of anything he wanted more or before this moment, except snuffing the light out of the putrid Muggle Studies professor. It would not bring about freedom to his people, but it would be a start. He had waited so long, missed so many opportunities. Every time it felt he nearly had his hands around the large professor’s neck, the spell was gone.

But not tonight.

Tonight he would-

He blinked awake when Kit Fisto emerged through the back door with a large cake in his hands.

“I don’t suppose you could show me a thing or two about muggle weapons, Qui-Gon? I was always curious if there were some properties that could resist magic.” The charming DADA professor grinned.

Hondo rubbed his eyes. He really didn’t know what was going on with him lately. It was as though he was blacking out while standing on his own two feet. Afterwards, he felt as though he was locked inside a dark room without any light. Or worse, a piggy bank without any galleons.

Qui-Gon smiled at him from his place at the kitchen table. “Everything alright, Hondo?”

He stammered, “Uh, yes! My apologies, just tired is all.”

Or so he hoped.

***

Anakin thought that regular snowball fights were fun, but with magic, anything was possible. The Fett’s had constructed a catapult of sorts, clearly experienced in their endeavors of war, and developed an entire war-based strategy on snuffing out the enemy. Anakin was surprised when Cody had dragged him over to their base, seeing as he’d been such a jerk to Rex. However, he was glad for it, because Ferus and Jax made it incredibly clear by their sudden shunning of him that he was not to be a part of their squad.

He would be more peeved by their sudden change in tune if he already didn’t have larger worries at hand. He almost didn’t agree to playing in the snow right now, but Cody had been so insistent that he couldn’t deny, which was a point that Obi-Wan had made when even he took a break from playing maid and pulled on his winter coat and gloves. Anakin knew at that point that there was no going back.

The fluffy snow that pillowed across the rolling landscape of Qui-Gon’s homestead was something found in Christmas cards, topped off with the soft beacon of light that the rainbow strings of lights around his house offered. Snowflakes still trickled around them, albeit at a slower and more manageable pace, decorating their hair and hats with a sparkling white texture.

The cold air was rejuvenating as it was sobering and Anakin felt for the first time all week like it was possible to romanticize anything ever again.

Well, until a ball of snow hit him right in the face.

“Skywalker, you can’t just leave yourself exposed like that!” Cody hollered at him.

“Yeah, you’re wide open to the enemy!” Fives added.

Anakin shook his head, blond bangs now damp with ice, and crouched down beside the boys as they planned their onslaught. “Who threw it?”

“That coward, Olin.” Rex, who’d materialized beside him, pounded and shaped an ice ball in his hands and extended it out to Anakin. Anakin looked at him curiously. Why would Rex want to help him get even with the people that Anakin had quite literally ditched him for all term? Maybe he hadn’t meant to, but that was certainly how it played out.

“Rex, I’m-” He began, but Rex more insistently put the snowball in Anakin’s hand.

“-Don’t mention it, mate.” He said with a coy smile, “Let’s go kick some arse.”

Anakin swallowed the ball of emotion that once again rose in his throat- an easy thing to do when Cody shouted “CHARGE” and they all went sprinting forward. He and Rex remained back-to-back, through it all, never once abandoning the other.

He knew for sure now what made for a true friend.

***

Obi-Wan managed to force himself into the festivities, despite Qui-Gon’s words biting at him. They’d all engaged in a big snowball fight in the backyard, spearheaded by Cody and Anakin. It ended up being a competition divided by houses, but Satine still managed to get Obi-Wan in the face with a ball of ice.

She’d claimed it was an accident, but laughed when he retaliated in kind.

Hondo continued his excursions under the mistletoe with consistently negative results. It was for the best, in a way, because none of the couples felt the desire to show off and put themselves under the mistletoe if Hondo was there.

Eventually, like all good times, the party had to end and he found himself feeling a little lighter afterwards. His parents didn’t expect him back until morning, which meant he had at least the remainder of the evening to retain levity before it was back to studies and silence.

Anakin had tuckered himself out and fell asleep in front of the fireplace not too long after everyone began to depart. The Fett’s offered to stick around and help, but Qui-Gon dismissed them as Obi-Wan and Satine already had a good handle on most of it.

He picked the unconscious Anakin off the floor like he was a bag of grapes and smiled at Obi-Wan and Satine.

“Thank you two for sticking around and helping.” He said in a hushed tone.

“Of course. ‘Can’t let Ben get all the credit.” She smirked, but her eyes were bright and merry. Obi-Wan realized how close they’d been standing and carefully leaned back to grab another dirty dish to put in the sink.

“If you don’t mind, I’m going to put this one to bed. He’s had a long day.”

More like a long year, but neither teenager commented on it.

After he ascended up the stairs, Satine sighed, “He sure knows how to throw a good time, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Obi-Wan said lightly. “He does.”

“I noticed you were gone for most of it.” She said carefully.

“Qui-Gon did too.” He muttered.

“Is everything alright?” She knew it wasn’t, of course, but he guessed she was asking to see if anything else had managed to go wrong in the past 24 hours. “You haven’t written all break.”

“My parents found out that I’m pursuing DADA this year. I think they’ve connected the dots about my hopes of becoming an auror.”

She frowned. “You hadn’t told them.”

He shook his head and turned away, busying himself with washing a plate. He knew the spell for that but preferred to have something to do with his hands. Besides, he already knew the look that was blooming on her face without seeing it. She likely already had her hands on her hips and steel in her eyes.

“Well, you had to know they’d find out eventually.” She said. “When the grades for the semester came back.”

“Yes, well, it went about as I’d expected. They’re quite cross with me.”

Where he expected a rant of “I told you so” or something else that he really didn’t need to hear, Satine once again, managed to surprise him. She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Is that what you and Qui-Gon were talking about?”

“Kind of.” He was glad he wasn’t facing her so she couldn’t see how red his cheeks had gotten. “He’s been a little busy as of late. Expectedly so. I mean, Anakin is young and requires guidance. Now that this chosen one stuff is going around, everyone’s apparently going to be gunning for the boy… Plus, I’m practically done at Hogwarts. Just over a year and-”

“-He’s not replacing you.” She cut in.

Silence. All Obi-Wan could hear was the ticking of the clock as it echoed through the old house. He stilled his movements and turned to find she was standing very close to him. So close that if he just leaned forward a tiny bit…

“Ben, you know that, right?” Satine was firm in her position and did not want to let the topic drop. Nothing new about that.

He let his shoulders drop. “I’m not trying to say that he is. I don’t own him. He’s not my father and he doesn’t owe me anything. I have no business being hurt over that when there’s a child that requires care and he’s absolutely the right person for it.”

“You know that from experience.” She said in a quiet voice.

“Yeah,” He nodded. “I do.”

“Well,” She moved the plate from Obi-Wan’s hands and set it on the counter. “You need care too sometimes.”

“Have you two been conspiring this evening?” He questioned. “Because that’s what he was saying.”

“No, but I’ve known you for the better part of six years and would like to think that I have at least become a little well-versed in your mannerisms. We care about you.”

He wondered if this meant she saw what Qui-Gon had apparently taken notice of when it came to how he acted around Satine… How she was the same as pursuing being an auror somehow.

“I know.” He smiled. “I care about you too… Both of you.”

Standing in the ambient low-lighting of the dining room, only illuminated by the last vestiges of Christmas lighting, he could still make out every detail of her lovely face. Her eyes had drifted above them in confusion and eventual bashfulness and he followed her gaze to see a small sprig of mistletoe precariously hanging where it hadn’t been before.

“I thought… I thought it was near the closet.” He said, but when he looked past Satine to where Hondo had been standing all evening, there was no longer any mistletoe.

It glittered with the remnants of enchantment and seemed to grow from the very ceiling. While he knew someone was definitely behind this, he didn’t have the presence of thought to think of anyone in particular.

Instead he looked quickly back to Satine, who was staring at him in a curious way. Her eyes were practically sparkling and seemed to rove over his entire face, settling ever so briefly on his mouth. He hadn’t missed it though, because he’d done the same thing.

“Hondo didn’t have much luck with that this evening.” She said gently.

“No,” He chuckled. “I don’t suppose he did. He’d certainly paid his dues. I wonder if he rigged it with a love potion of sorts.”

She smiled softly and he couldn’t bring himself to steer his eyes away from hers, like they were locked in a trance.

“I don’t think he did.” She said. He’d argue he was spellbound, if that didn’t sound so absurd, but he wasn’t sure which one of them moved first as it felt more like gravitational pull that they were both leaning into. His heart was in his throat and every thought that troubled him so deeply the entire evening washed away in a single second’s time. He’d closed his eyes, completely wrapped in warmth as their noses brushed together.

Just as he felt her soft breath hitch against his, a loud clang from up the stairs jolted them apart. As soon as the moment started, it had been shattered and both were the color of rubies.

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan called.

“Just… Uh, just brushing my teeth. Dental hygiene.” The small boy called and the patter of hasty footsteps followed before the bathroom door closed.

Oh, how he wanted to melt away right there.

Satine cleared her throat, avoiding his gaze. “Yes, well, I should get going.”

“I’ll walk you out.” He said, also unable to look her in the eyes for fear of what he’d find.

“No, no that’s alright. I’m just using a portkey anyway.” She shrugged and then began to walk away. However, he thought she might have forgotten something, as she paused for a long moment at the door, one hand on the knob. Then, faster than he could comprehend, she quickly turned around, marched over to him, leaned up and pressed a firm kiss on his cheek, just barely catching the corner of his mouth too.

He caught her flushed gaze for a second as she’d lingered a moment longer than anticipated, which was fine because he also felt like his brain had melted to his shoes.

“Happy Christmas, Ben.” She said before steering herself back towards the door.

He gently raised his hand to where she’d kissed him. “Happy Christmas, Satine.”

[thiswasinevitableid]

#7 with Sternclay, for the prompts?

Here you go!  I went NSFW

#7: I’m assigned to write a piece rounding up all the bad press that you, a famous celebrity, have been getting and you show up in my office and demand me to write a retraction and get the ‘real’ story”

Barclay is so excited; he’s going to be spending two weeks on the Dual Mesa set, writing an exclusive behind the scenes story that’s sure to give the magazine a big sales boost. 

“Ah, Barclay, come in.” Ned Chicane, the show’s director, ushers him into his office, “I assume they told you we will be leaving to shoot on location tomorrow?”

“Yes, I, uh, I’m really honored that you chose Q to run your story; your cast is so diverse, it really resonates with our readers.”

Ned waves a hand in faux-humility, “Why create a show with paranormal elements that simply recreates homogeneity? However, my dear boy, you were not chosen by me.”

“I requested it.” Barclay turns as a tall man with dark hair enters the office, and has the sudden urge to hide under the nearest table. The man currently staring him down with bright blue eyes and a mild-yet-clearly displeased expression is Joseph Stern, star of Dual Mesa and subject of a very unflattering article Barclay published a week ago.

“Look, Mr. Stern, I-”

“Quiet.” Stern holds up his hand, “I asked Ned to give Q a boost by granting access to the shoot because I think the magazine does excellent work. I asked for you to give you a chance to prove yourself.”

“Excuse me?” 

“Your writing is quite good, but clearly your research and fact checking needs some work.”

“Just because you don’t like it-”

“I don’t, but that’s not the issue. You published things that are patently false and easily provable as such. For instance, the claim that I got this role by sleeping with the director has two major flaws; one, Ned is not my type.”

“There’s no accounting for poor taste.” Ned says, clearly unbothered, 

“And two, Mr. Mosche would break my fingers if I tried to fuck his husband.” He points to the corner of the room where a large, tattooed man sits reading.

“Right you are.” He looks up long enough to reply. 

“And anyone on set could have told you that. Whatever your sources were, you didn’t do due diligence. So you’ll be trying again.”

“Look, buddy, where do you get off giving me orders?”

“By being the star they’d have the hardest time killing off.”

“And by raising good points.” Ned stands, “asking for a flat retraction would reflect poorly on the show, as it would look as if we were trying to hide the truth. This allows you to correct misconceptions as well as get exclusive looks at next season.”

“You’re literally a paid actor, how the hell do I know you aren’t faking these two weeks?” 

“You won’t be spending all your time with him; you’ll be interviewing others as well and have opportunities to observe him without him knowing.” Ned pats Barclays shoulder, “but he will be responsible for introducing you to the rest of the cast” 

Barclay glances at Stern, who lifts an eyebrow with a smirk.

“So. Have fun with that!” 

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

The introduction the next day goes as well as trying to light a match in a hurricane. Stern is polite and professional when Barclay arrives, introduces him to the cast and the main crew without mentioning the article. But it’s clear Barclay’s reputation precedes him.

“You really got Joe figured all wrong.” Duck Newton, who plays good-hearted Sheriff Frank Roosevelt on the show, pulls Barclay aside as Stern and co-star Aubrey Little (who plays Lucille, a plucky young woman with a dark past) get ready to shoot. 

“So everyone keeps saying, but I didn’t make that stuff up. It turned up when I researching him.”

“Don’t mean someone else didn’t just pull it out of their ass.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Barclay sighs, rubbing his forehead. 

“Look, all I know is Joe’s been nothin but kind a professional to me. I’d even call him a friend. Know he can come off as intimidatin and rigid sometimes, but he’s a good guy.”

Barclay hears variations of this sentiment over and over during the next two days. It’s part of why he’s currently sitting inside his motel room not far from the main set, eating dinner alone. Indrid, the costume designer had actually invited him to eat with a few members of the crew.  Barclay demurred. If the bulk of the people on set think he’s a jerk, he doubts they’ll be that open to getting to know him. Plus, he’s kind of humiliated at how little actual evidence he can find for the claims against Stern, and doesn’t want to give the other man a chance to gloat. 

There’s a knock on the door, and he opens it to find the last person he expects, or wants, to see. 

“Good evening, Barclay.” Out of costume, Stern almost looks ordinary. There’s still the unfair symmetry of his face, the way he makes jeans and t-shirt look somehow sophisticated. 

“Uh, something you need from me?”

Stern looks past him to his cobbled together dinner; Barclay’s a good cook, but the damn room doesn’t have anything more than a microwave. 

“The chance to buy you an actual dinner.”

Barclay’s about to point out that he’s not eating in the commissary tent because of Stern when the actor adds, “please?”

He grabs his wallet and joins Stern in the still-warm evening air, following him into the few blocks that make up downtown Sagebrush, the former mining town that makes up much of Dual Mesa’s background. He expects them to stop at the Mizpah, the sole fancy hotel and restaurant, but Stern guides him past it and into a kitschy diner. 

They study their menus in silence, the pleather booths squeaking awkwardly whenever one of them moves. 

Barclay orders the burger plate that comes with a slice of pie and Stern, surprisingly goes for an omelette off the all-day breakfast menu.

“Barclay I, well, it’s obvious we got off on the wrong foot. I want you to know that as much as the article upset me, I don’t want you to be miserable while you’re here. No ones going to shun you for what you wrote.”

“Pretty clear they’re all on your side.” Barclay sips his water, meeting Stern’s gaze.

“There don’t need to be sides; you want to write an accurate profile of what it’s like on set, and I want to not have my name dragged through the mud anymore. Those come out to be the same thing.”

“You seem real fucking confident.” Barclay narrows his eyes. 

Stern’s hackles go up, but then he sets his hands on the table with a measured breath, “I don’t pretend to be perfect, Barclay. I’m aware, well aware, of my flaws. But none of those flaws match what you wrote about me. I’m not asking to look untouchable in your piece, I’m asking to look like myself.”

Barclay looks down, spots him nervously shredding his napkin. As he’s thinking, a teenager in a tricolor tank-top approaches the table. 

“Um, sorry, but are you Joseph Stern? The guy who plays agent Hooper?”

Stern smiles, genuine and reassuring, “I am.”

“Could I, uh, get a picture? Like a selfie?” 

“Of course.”

Barclay watches Stern pose with the kid and compliment his pride shirt, before waving goodbye as he scurries back to his table to show his friends the photo.

“That doesn’t bother you?”

Stern shakes his head, “It happens pretty often, especially in town where most people know what I look like in my street clothes, so I’m used to it. Besides, for a lot of these kids there’s more than just the celebrity angle. I can count the number of gay, trans, Asian-american actors on T.V when I was kid with one hand,” He holds up a fist to indicate a zero, “if the price of being that person for kids now is posing for some pictures, I’ll pay it any day.”

Warmth blooms in his chest, the sincerity making him want to trade a truth in return, “Yeah, I remember looking for guys like me and not seeing them. I’d just pick a character I liked and kinda projected. Except the X-Files; then I just had a huge fucking crush on Mulder. Oh, thanks.” He smiles at the waitress as she sets his food down.

“I know that feeling. Somewhere there are pictures of me dressed as him for a Halloween party.”

“Heh, I haven’t dressed up for Halloween in ages.” Barclay munches on a fry, “Last three times I went as Bigfoot. It was an easy costume and kept my face hidden.”

“That’s a shame for the other party-goers.”

Barclay coughs, choking on his fry, as Stern blushes, shoves a piece of toast into his mouth, and changes the topic to books. 

The next day, when Barclay arrives on location and everyone is milling about getting ready to shoot, Stern pats the chair near his own and talks with him until he’s needed on camera. Over the next week, Barclay finds himself next to Stern more often than not, comparing notes on the mystery novels they’ve been passing back and forth, or explaining his job moonlighting as a cookbook editor, or listening to the actor describe his travels to the locations of famous cryptid sightings. What surprises him most is how charming he finds Stern when he’s nowhere near a camera. On set, in character as Special Agent Alex Hooper, he radiates the quiet charm that makes his character so beloved. When they’re alone it’s different, a little less polished and little nerdier, and rather than captivating him it makes Barclay want to protect him.

It turns out that slips of the tongue happen to Stern a lot, at least when he’s around Barclay. “Sec” routinely becomes “sex” and comments about Barclay’s size and strength come often, Stern always sheepish afterwards. As if his attention is something Barclay may not want rather than something he craves like a four-course meal. 

When he starts daydreaming about asking Stern back to his motel room after one of their now-regular dinners together (that Stern always pays for), he knows he’s in trouble. 

“Helllloo?” 

He jumps, chuckles in surprise as Aubrey finishes waving her hand in front of his face, “Sorry, was thinking about dinner.’

“I was saying thanks for coming out while we shoot this. I know how hard it can be to pull away from your ‘muse’.” She wiggles her eyebrows and Barclay feels the blush overrun him. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll let him figure it out on his own.” Aubrey winks, the groans, “aw fuck here he comes.”

Robert Hayes, who plays the recurring role of Hooper’s supervisor, appears in the grove where they’re shooting a scene with just him and Aubrey. Barclay steps out of frame, Aubrey hissing “don’t leave me” as he does.

“I can’t believe Ned is letting Indrid do more alternative looks for you.”

“It works for Lucille.”

“It would work better if she was more conventionally attractive.”

Barclay growls under his breath; how dare this guy talk to his friend that way?

“Well, obviously not, because the audience likes me like this. And they have opinions worth listening too.”

The tension remains throughout the shoot, Barclay tensing every time Hayes opens his mouth. He pretends to be busy when the actor comes over to join him. 

“I’m glad you’re planning on expanding your take-down of Stern.”

“I never said that. I’m writing about the new season of the show.”

“If you want more information about what he’s really like, I’ll be happy to chat with you in private.” The older man pats his shoulder and heads off to his trailer. 

Barclay waits until he’s gone, then goes to look for Ned. He has a hunch the director might like to know about Haye’s offer. 

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

“...guess Ned put him in his place.” Stern finishes adjusting his tie as the scene sets up, “Sounds like he wanted his character to become the eventual lead, and thought shit-talking me would be the way to go.”

“I’m glad it’s sorted out.” Barclay pretends to be studying his notes so he doesn’t stare too noticeably at Stern’s ass.

“Me too. Thanks, Barclay.” Stern steps onto set, and as Ned begins running through the scene with Stern and the actor playing his (unbeknownst to him) alien lover, Bee, Barclay wishes he’d chosen to be elsewhere. Because this is a sex scene. With Stern. That he will be watching. 

No, damn it, he’s a professional. His butt is staying in this chair.

He makes it through the several takes of the dialogue just fine, starts sweating a little when he kissing begins. Stern’s kisses strike a balance between tender and passionate, perfectly in character, and Barclay would give his right arm to trade places with Bee. 

The action moves to the bed, Stern caressing his lover as they unbutton his shirt.

Okay, now he’d give his right arm and leg to be the one beneath him. 

He reminds himself this airs on TNT, not HBO, so it can’t get much more explicit.

Sterns whole body drips with soft dominance as he pins Bee to the bed, cooing that he’s never seen a finer sight.

Fine, his right arm, leg, and any non-vital organs, he’ll trade them all in a second to hear Stern say that to him, even if it’s only pretend. 

He doesn’t make it through the second take of the bed scene, hurries away as quietly as unobtrusively as he can. There’s no way he can make it to his motel like this, cock pressing so hard against his jeans he’s afraid he’ll end up with a zipper mark. And the bathrooms aren’t exactly private. He does have the key to Stern’s trailer, the actor having given it to him in case he needed somewhere air conditioned to rest from the heat. The trailer that is very nearby.

Does he dare?

The question hardly registers before he’s at the door, unlocking it and ducking inside before anyone sees. He leans against the counter with a groan, unzipping his pants and praying the pre-cum that immediately streaks his hand hasn’t made a noticeable spot in the denim. 

He fumbles around to find some tissues, not wanting to face the humiliation of Stern walking in to find him cleaning cum off of his cabinets (he does actually want that humiliation, and badly, but not without Stern’s consent).

The strokes are hard and fast, his eyes shut so tight he sees static as he imagines Stern behind him, saying how much he wants him, how needy he is, how he’ll take care of him. He grits his teeth, breath leaving him in faint hisses and stifled moans until the temptation to say Stern’s name overwhelms him. 

“Joe, Joe, fuck, Joe.”

“Yes, big guy?” A voice purrs in his ear as hands bracket him against the counter. 

“Fuck” He tries to freeze, finds he’s shaking too much from want and worry to do so. 

“You forgot to lock the door, silly boy. I, however, did not.”

“I’m, I’m sorry, I just needed to, fuck, I didn’t mean for you-”

One hand leaves the counter, strokes the base of his neck and toys with his hair, “what about this suggests I’m angry with this, um, development?”

Barclay whimpers, feet unwilling to turn and look Stern in the eye.

“Should I stop?” The tease goes from his voice.

All he can do is whimper again and shake his head.

The hand leaves his neck, slides down Barclay’s arm to rest atop his hand on the counter. The other takes it’s time snaking down his stomach and hips.

“Poor Barclay, no wonder you had to leave.” His hand nudges Barclay’s aside, takes it’s place around his cock, “you can probably see this thing from space. I’m taking this as a testament to my acting skills.” A laugh as he kisses Barclay’s neck, stroking him slowly. 

“Please don’t say this is acting too.” 

“It’s not.” A kiss to his cheek, a twist along his cock, both making him weak-kneed, “do you know what I was thinking about during that scene? I was thinking about you, what you’d look like if I fucked you. It’s only a quirk of anatomy” he grinds against Barclay’s ass,  “that means I didn’t have a noticeable reaction on camera.”

“Fuck, Joe, more, please I need more of you, all of you, I’m so fucking close.”

The hand on his cock pulls away, “not just yet, big guy. Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Uhuh.” He whines, pushing his hips forward to bump his cock along Stern’s hand. 

A light smack on the ass, “behave. Take everything off and wait for me on the bed.”

“Uh huh.” He turns, only for a hand to firmly grasp his chin and force him to stay eye to eye with Stern.

“Try that response again, big guy, with better manners.”

“Y-yes, s-sir, I, I understand.” 

He’s yanked into a demanding, possessive kiss, Stern stroking his cheek approvingly when he releases him, “Good boy. Is this alright?”

“Yes, yesyes, Joe, please, I love it, don’t stop.”

“I won’t, unless you say so. Promise you will if you need to?”

“I swear, cross my heart, babe, please.”

A loving laugh, coupled with a peck on the lips, “bed.”

Barclay strips so quickly he loses his balance, landing on the bed as he fights to pull off his pants. He tries to calm himself by folding his clothes and setting them aside, certain that if he gets more excited he’ll become the first confirmed case of human combustion.

“Hands and knees, please.” 

“Oh fuck me.” 

Stern is standing by the bed, naked from the waist down save for a strap-on, but still in his special agent clothes from the waist up. 

“Do you like the suit, big guy?”

“Yessir.”

“Good to know. Maybe next time I’ll wear the whole thing while I fuck you. Now” he climbs onto the bed, “try to relax for me.”

A condom-covered finger presses against his ass as soon as he’s on his hands and knees, Stern working him open efficiently yet gently until he’s begging for more. Stern ruffles his hair, and then the toy is pushing into him. It’s narrow, so the stretch isn’t too bad, and for a moment he wonders if it will even do much for him. 

“Let me see, if I just-”

“FUCKfuck”  The curve of the toy finds his prostate.

“That’s part of why this is a favorite of mine, it’s so effective” he thrusts harder, “at finding the right spots.”

“Mhhhmmmmm” Barclay bites the pillow to muffle his moans and growls, wiggles his hips as Stern finds his pace. 

“The other reason I like it…”

“SHIT, babe, baby, ohfuck that’s good.” The toy vibrates, sending heat all through him, “fuck, I’m gonna come in like th-thirty seconds from that.”

“Thirty seconds? Let’s see if you’re right, big guy.”

“GaaAAHfuck, Joe, yeah, yeahyesbabeyes.” He gives up on being quiet as the actor rams into him, drops to his elbows when the intensity makes it impossible to anything other than moan and and grunt and take it. 

“That’s it, good boy, let’s see just how hard you are for me” Stern pants as he reaches around, teasing the head of Barclay’s cock, “perfect, you’re doing wonderfully, fuck” a groan of gratification as Barclay spurts across the bed, “messy, god I love making you come apart, even I might make you clean that with you tongue later.”

“Oh god.” Barclay moans, drool staining the pillow, as Stern loops an arm tightly around his waist and grinds, the toy still bumping and rumbling inside his ass.

“Nnn, Barclay, yes, hold out just a little longer, let me get off on this perfect ass.”

Barclay whines, sensitivity overloading his circuits and driving him wild.

“Just a little more big guy, fuck, fuck, lord almighty I’m close, c’mon, you can handle it, you can be good and take me as long as I need.”

“Yes, yes, wanna take you, wanna be yours, wanna serve you.”

“Fuck” Stern doubles over, hips working frantically, “that’s it, good boy, if you’re in this bed you, fuck, your only job is to please me.”

“Yes” Barclay sobs just as Stern moans into his shoulder. When he pulls out, Barclay flops, limp, onto his side. 

“You with me, baby?” Stern wiggles out of the harness, lays so they’re face to face and cups Barclay’s cheek.

“Mmhmm. Fuck” he pulls Stern into a hug, “I can’t believe we just did that. That was fucking amazing.”

“Didn’t take you for the sub type.”

“Everyone always wants me to be big ‘n dommy. Don’t wanna. Wanna be someone’s good boy.” He’s slurring, mind still a bit foggy. 

“You can be mine. In, um in not just a sex way, although it can be just a sex thing if you want it to.”

“Nope” He cuddles him closer, then it hits him, “you’re asking me to be your boyfriend?”

“Please?”

“Yes. Yes. Yes” He kisses him after each answer, making them both laugh. 

“It won’t fuck up your work?”

“I’ll ask Mama what she thinks, we might need to transfer the rest of the article to Thacker. Uh, maybe this is silly but, uh, can I take you to dinner? My treat?”

Stern kisses him, stars in his eyes and a hundred watt smile on his face, “that sounds perfect, big guy.”

[natsubeatsrock]

The Hagakure Paradox

So, I’ve been going through My Hero Academia and... I figured I’d spend this last week talking about it.

A lot of my posts come from a place where I'm annoyed by the things people are saying. If I've had any reason to make posts like these at all, it's because people don't agree with me over things and I don't want to be seen as crazy for disagreeing with so many people. If I didn't think I was going against the mainstream with so many of my ideas, I wouldn't have started a series called "Opinions I'll Probably get Stoned For".

However, it's not often that I feel the need to make a post like this about something I don't particularly care deeply about. Toru Hagakure is nowhere near one of my favorite characters, either in Class 1-A or in the series as a whole. Last year, I called her de-facto worst girl of Class 1-A. A lot of what I could talk about regarding Hagakure could more easily be used to talk about Momo Yaoyorozu, a character I have much more personal interest in.

Though, I feel like the discourse surrounding Momo has been done to death. At this point, the trenches are in and you're on one side or another. And, while that's probably also the case here, I can at least empathize with the people I disagree with regarding Momo. I don't feel the same way about this.

I will be talking about stuff that happens in the manga in this post, so you...

You know the thing.

As I'm sure we're aware, this debate has to do with Toru’s hero costume. As it stands, her quirk makes her invisible. Unfortunately, she's not able to make other things invisible. When she wears normal clothes, she's not able to make them invisible. Her current hero costume is nothing more than a pair of boots and gloves, and often she's willing to take those off and work naked.

For much of the series, the problem was obvious. Horikoshi created a female character that has to run around naked to use her quirk properly. Even being invisible isn't enough to stop her from being involved in some awkward fan service moments. One had to wonder if he were to write a male character with a similar quirk if he'd handle them the same.

And then Lemillion came on the scene.

Miro Togata's quirk involves him being able to phase through objects. On the one hand, the use of his quirk also affects most of the clothes he uses. When he demonstrates his quirk, he passes through his gym uniform. So, that means things are equal, right?

Sure, if you don't count his hero costume.

His hero costume was made with his hair. He grew it out purposely to be able to create a costume that he'd be able to use his quirk in and not have to worry about doing his work naked. And, theoretically, all he'd have to do to fix it when it rips or is too small is send it in with more of his hair to account for what needs to be adjusted. Need I say more?

In my honest opinion, I don't think it's unfair to wonder why Toru's outfit isn't similar. I generally want to say he came up with the idea for Mirio's quirk and outfit long after Toru's were locked in his mind. And, considering she never sees him in his costume and/or doesn't know how it works, it makes sense she doesn't get the idea to make a similar outfit. Still, I do get the problem with her running around naked and wish that she was constructed differently.

Of course, that's a really important thing to keep in mind. This isn't just an issue of a character that runs around naked. This is an issue of how Kohei Horikoshi decided to construct a character. When I see a lot of people's redesigns for Invisible Girl's outfit, it seems like their only focus is addressing the "she's not wearing clothes" issue. If that were all that this was about then I'd probably talk about the general issues I have with the redesigns. I might have gone in on some of the more famous redesigns as flawed, though well intentioned.

But a lot of people who complain about this seem to be forgetting a really important fact in this: we don't know the full extent of Toru Hagakure's quirk. As it stands, we haven't been formally introduced to her quirk. We don't know exactly why her invisibility works the way it does or if turning things invisible is part of her abilities. 

As it stands, we know that there has to be something else to her abilities than being invisible. As of the Provisional License Exam arc, we've seen her use abilities that involve light refraction which she’s working towards using more. That feels like something that will be important later on when we find out about her quirk. I'd be shocked if that isn't at least part of why he quirk is constantly active.

So, let's (actually) talk about why Horikoshi might have written Toru Hagakure the way he did.

Hagakure represents a special type of character arc among the students. With a lot of characters, we have a decent idea of what a quirk is and how they can improve their skills with it. For others, we're unclear how they can become better heroes because we know what their quirks are. But Hagakure's is about the only one where we have a path of growth for her despite not knowing what her quirk was.

Up to the Joint Training arc, Hagakure's strength was that she was invisible. That's not particularly helpful in a situation where physical ability is measured, such as the quirk evaluations or the sports festival. However, the stealth hero was able to avoid trouble when the USJ was attacked and her invisibility was crucial to her and Shoji passing their exam. It’s the thing that she works to improve during the summer training and light refaction doesn’t come into play until after that ordeal is over.

However, something happens in the Joint Training Exam. She ended up being caught in the joint training exam despite being invisible. To be clear, she was at a state of visibility because she was covered by mushrooms. They were removed and she became invisible. And she still lost despite not being visible.

If there's anything to be learned from this it's that Toru has to learn to be a good hero without relying on being invisible. How that will work stands to be seen. However, that will be dependent on finding out what her quirk is. Nothing I've seen in preparing to write this tells me that Horikoshi doesn't know what Hagakure's quirk is and isn't saving this up for just the right time. However, I'll definitely be interested to see what he has planned.

I think the best next step would be practicing control of this quirk. Not necessarily in the sense that she's able to stop becoming invisible. Rather, learning to turn other things she's directly touching invisible. I would like to see light refraction become a skill she uses to make things around her invisible, not unlike Marvel’s Invisible Woman whose hero name she pays homage to.

It's worth waiting to see how this will play out. My Hero Academia is a series that's in it for the long haul and it's not likely we'll get answers to these questions any time soon. As someone who's been through his fair share of long-running series, if and when Horikoshi actually gives us an explanation, it will make sense of the things we've been complaining about. Of course, if he doesn’t then you can complain about how much of a hack he is then. (Why does this sound familiar?)

For now, I do want to talk about the idea that she should have a similar outfit to Togata's. I get the idea behind it, but there are issues with it. On the one hand, we're not terribly sure if Hagakure has hair that can grow to the kind of lengths that could justify making an outfit, or if the technology of the universe is at the level it could synthetically replicate her DNA into a synthetic material. (inb4 “but Lemillion’s visor!”)

On the other hand, assuming either wasn't an issue, at this point in the series, the end result would be the exact same as being naked. Which is what she's already doing. Obviously the decency issue is fixed, but should Hagakure need help, it will be harder to find her if she’s invisible. When the League attacked the summer camp, remember that she was wearing normal clothes. They couldn’t find her during the USJ attack.

Personally, I hope that she learns to make other objects invisible and that we get something similar to Violet's outfit from The Incredibles. That feels like a good in-between of what people want and it's certainly better than "her outfit, made with her DNA, has better control of her quirk than she currently has". At this point, I just want an end this stupid debate forever.

In Conclusion:

Despite literally making the exact opposite claim multiple times in this post, I’m totally fine with Toru running around naked. The people who complain otherwise are needlessly prudish and there is no possible need for nuance regarding this topic. Anyone that disagrees with me ought to jump into a vat of toxic sludge and pray for a quirk in the next life.

[mashitandsmashit]

America’s Got Talent: Season 15 - Quarter-Finals 2

Kenan Thompson was likable...I mean, of course, he's likable on SNL, I thought he was a good judge on “Bring the Funny” last year (yes, I watched that...I enjoyed it! I'm hoping for a second season, but it IS looking very uncertain...) Tonight, he seemed pretty quiet, but he still peppered in some jokes here and there to make Howie look like a straight man (COMEDIC straight man, not...ya know...) So I guess tonight, Howie was the Simon Cowell...

Also, major props to Heidi for her bravery in showing up even after her shirt got caught in the elevator door and torn all over, not even bothering to go to her dressing room to change it...That takes some real guts and an odd fashion sense, let me tell ya! (Or just the latter, I guess...)

Also, also, we got quite a few basic social distancing violations tonight...I guess people are less cautious now, but I still suggest we all tread carefully...

Okay, onto the acts...

11: Kameron Ross. That Lady Gaga song can make for a good belt, but Kameron isn't much of a belter, so it just came off as awkward and stiff...

10: Vincent Marcus. When I talked about his odds last week, there was another factor that I considered not long after I posted it, but didn't bother talking about then...That factor is that his audition was going to be a tough act to follow! His choices on what to do next looked very limited...And it REALLY showed tonight! I'm sorry, but repeating the premise of his audition just wasn't going to work! Now he's pigeonholed himself as that guy who impersonates rappers doing nursery rhymes...It worked great for his audition because he knew which rappers he was best at and what nursery rhymes he could cleverly incorporate their rap styles with...Here, he just seemed to throw everything at the wall to see what sticks, his impressions weren't as solid, and I couldn't even hear which nursery rhyme he was doing a lot of the time! The one thing he still has going for him though is his likable personality and enjoyable sense of humor...Plus he cut that silly pompadour!

9: Voices of Our City Choir. A good song choice for them, having the backing choir appear as a hologram was interesting, and that guy from the package sure knew how to William Shatner it up! Otherwise, this did little for me...I preferred their jazzy, Sade-sounding original song...Also, I miss that slam poet old lady, she was cool!

8: The Shape. The mysterious, previously unseen act with the equally mysterious name has finally revealed themselves! And they were...fun, I guess...Overall, it was another standard dance group, though they do get some points for the costumes (and the clever use of face masks).

7: Jonathan Goodwin. You know, I'm not usually the most keen observer, but even I could tell that he was basically fidgeting with the key to stall for maximum suspense...I guess turning himself into the Human Torch was an interesting spectacle, but this escape doesn't measure up to, say, Spencer Horsman...I give him props for the very real danger, but this just wasn't at the level of his JC performance...

6: Kelvin Dukes. I'd say going for upbeat and fun was the right decision for Kelvin...His singing isn't the greatest I've heard, but he does have a very likable personality that greatly benefits from the Bruno Mars approach. (I mean, he had a patch on his jacket that said “Mars”, so that should tell you plenty...) Also, I guess it serves as a nice tribute to that chick from “Glee” who was recently killed...

5: BONAVEGA. So that's what happens when Billy Idol has a lovechild with Dee Snider! He really didn't need to cover The Weeknd...Sure, that song is one of the most delightfully 80s throwbacks I've heard, but nothing beats his original songs and mad guitar skills! All said, who does he think he's kidding when he says he's bringing back the 80s!? I'd say works like “Ready Player One” and everything Finn Wolfhard stars in have been doing that just fine...While he may be a guaranteed out tomorrow, I would still love to see one last set from him as a wildcard!

4: Daneliya Tuleshova. I gotta hand it to this girl, she seems to know what she's doing! I've been feeling since the beginning that she was holding back in her audition, so that she could keep getting better with each round...She has some articulation issues, but otherwise her range is amazing! While I haven't quite joined the hundreds on the Daneliya hype train yet, I am looking forward to seeing how she does as the game progresses...She might even outlast Roberta!

3: Alexis Brownley & The Puppy Pals. There's just something I love about these precious youngsters having a fun time with their dogs set to upbeat music with these fun, colorful sets! I loved the film studio themed set and props, and we saw a few new and/or impressive tricks as well! I'm tellin' ya, little girls seem to make the best dog trainers!

2: BAD Salsa. Ever since V.Unbeatable, I have been acquiring a taste for some good ol’ Bollywood dance music! And THESE TWO need to star in a Bollywood movie together! I don't really have much to add...America may have talent, but India's Got Moves!

1: Spyros Bros. If I was an actual judge on the show right now, I would be bragging on and on about picking a good Golden Buzzer! They stepped up the tricks big time, and picked the most amazing set ever! (All that was missing was if they turned into Itchy and Scratchy and brutally assaulted each other with their giant yo-yos!) I just hope the whole pre-recorded aspect doesn't hurt their chances, because I really do think they should be in the finals!

I still had mixed opinions for quite a few acts, but I would say it was overall a step up from last week...

My Votes: Unfortunately, due to the hour-long DNC interruption (at least where I live), and my tendency to wait until the end of the show to vote, I missed my chance to vote on my TV...But I still used both my AGT app and the NBC website to throw some votes toward BAD, Spyros and Jonathan (yes, I was a bit disappointed with his performance, but I would still love to see what he does next time...)

Result Predictions: I think Daneliya and VoOCC are pretty much guaranteed for the Top 3...As for the other one, we COULD continue the tendency of all the singers making it through (as I know that even with being placed early in the line-up, getting a lukewarm reception and having an hour-long break to help voters forget about him, Kameron won't go that easily...But maybe it will at least compromise his votes...) Otherwise, I would LIKE to believe that it will go to BAD or Spyros...The latter is who I primarily hope gets it, but I'm still not entirely sure if enough was done (namely by the judges and producers) to assure that...This game can be very unfair with who gets to be the most popular...

I guess I'll do something I don't normally do, and make a ranking prediction like FrankDoc does...It will be a fair bit wishful...

11: BONAVEGA

10: Vincent Marcus

9: The Shape

8: Jonathan Goodwin

7: Kelvin Dukes

6: Kameron Ross

5: Alexis Brownley & The Puppy Pals

4: BAD Salsa

3: Spyros Bros

2: Voices of Our City Choir

1: Daneliya Tuleshova

See you tomorrow when the REAL Michael Myers dance group takes the stage, along with our favorite ventriloquism prodigy...

[thegreatgrahamellingham]

Post-Performance Pleasures

Another week, another performance.

For having spent so many years under pseudonym, earning his breakfast and dinner by penning words beneath other people’s names -- not to mention the years before that as but a tool for other’s personal pleasures or political leanings -- Graham took a deserved pride in himself.

While perhaps his pet project, ‘The Mask of Thornbridge’, in truth years in the making and longer than was performed, did not achieve such attention as he may have desired -- he was honored to perform as he did. And by the, unironic, ‘grace’ of the Lady Maymont he was pleased to have penned another play. In earnest, he had considered it rather saccharine from the first draft, but it appeared to have been taken well. Not only by they who had commissioned it and, to be plain, bought and paid for it -- but to those gracious and sagacious men and women of the Grand Alliance who were kind enough to serve as audience.

He felt pride in that.

Perhaps that was his justification for spending so much gold on himself at the festivities that followed.

Now in his defense, he spent most of the profitable purse of the Entourage on its more outwardly prominent members. Sarah Hadley, she who was the star, of course. Her work and earned patronage from the Lord Cartwell of Redridge had allowed the Entourage to have ever begun to begin with. More and more of late, as he had taken a greater role in the stage productions, he had grant gift and coin to Ignacio as well. Despite the impish, saboteur nature of the illusionist -- he was beginning to be an earnest friend. Although his penchant for the limelight and wanton search for pleasures both after and before performances was challenging.

And, of course, sweet Merrick. Their combined foreman and in some ways, troupe Mom. Although that would imply that Graham himself was to be the communal Father and that was not a role he felt particularly inclined toward -- for a variety of reasons.

He shuddered.

But it was quite plain to say that coin and gift, payment and pleasure were not withheld from those hard-working members of their fair, little company. And while he held no sense of personal distaste or resentment, Graham didn’t often spend upon himself. His own portion, fairly divided, of their profits often went to the maintenance of his estate -- wherein they all lived, without charge -- and toward marketing, travel and other necessities of his own profession as manager.

So he found it not unkind or unfair to spend a healthy purse of gold on his own pleasantries in the festival following their performance.

After joining the audience himself to observe, enjoy and to an extent take notes, on the following performers of the Tournament, he absconded alone to visit the various merchant stalls. One of which gathered his attention easily, as the proprietor was not only ‘in costume’, so to speak, but also possessed a rather voluminous lung capacity. Graham had heard the masked and cloth be-decked ‘man’ from all the way across from the rather loud Tourney grounds.

Even over the din of an unseated Duke and cries for gambling compensation, Graham had heard the Merchant.

A strange creature, that much was to be true. The Merchant -- and such was the only name he offered for himself, ‘merchant’ in the pronoun -- looked a bit like something out of a child’s fable. Some enigmatic, scarcely visible riddle-speaker or fortune teller. An interesting character, perhaps one to adapt for a novel later.

But beyond his unending eccentricity of thought, Graham found the Merchant quite charming. Polite in that manner than men and women of his own kin were so often remiss to give in earnest. Usually the demeanour of genuine cordiality came only from assessment of wealth, status, or might above their own. But the Merchant was simply fair, spoken with a conspiratorial humor, and positively flush with interesting items of enchantment.

Now, Graham was not often one to spend quite so much on himself. But, after spying so glorious and perfectly tailored a cloak as to bedazzle the eye, he had to inquire. And, as it turned out, the cloak was enchanted almost as if bespoke for his needs. Pliable, luscious to the touch, and fashionable -- able to alter to any pattern or color or combination of both that the user desired. It would flatten the whole swath of his wardrobe at home dedicated to cloaks and capes for formal events.

-- And not only such, it was capable of hardening to match even the stoutest plate-mail at will.

Now while it was the effort of the aging director to avoid conflict, he did still carry his estoc for a reason. Sometimes things simply escalated and force was the only measurement to be understood. Certainly so in Stormwind City as of late. So plated armor on demand, in a fashionable manner? Oh yes, it was worth the fifty golden coins.

After a young, ragamuffin of a man complimented the Troupe’s performance -- to which Graham, of course, offered his showman’s smile and earnest thanks -- he meandered away from the Merchant. In truth he had meant to simply observe the melee for a minor portion of the hour, then retreat to the Entourage’s private pavillion to indulge in a hot bath. It was cold outside, after all.

But the scent of plumeria took his senses and drew him into a rather unique booth.

Now it was not terribly common for a scent -- let alone one floral! -- to surprise his senses. Whatever could be told of Graham Ellingham, he was a man of sensual acumen. Most took that kind of assumption to mean something untoward, but in truth it was really just an appreciation for the fineries of the world. He enjoyed minutiae, especially those which were so riddled down with sub-community as to be nearly inoperable in regular conversation.

And so he followed his nose, quite literally, to the uncommon booth nearby the Merchant.

A tremendous and really quite unique woman helmed the affair. Her baubles and trinkets were of an inalienable quality, that much was obvious from the immediate venture. But it was her more exact stock of goods that acquired his attention -- that and her genial demeanour.

Indeed, it was not often he could find a mercantile entity of any kind who could appreciate his desire for a dwarf succulent aloe polyphylla, let alone actually have one in stock, in terrarium, ready to be purchased. Favor, fortune, Lady Luck, he thanked the blessing of them all. The terrarium would look gorgeous on the balcony overlooking his rhododendron bushes.

But such was not all that the woman held -- a lady named Maisha he later learned after some communal inquiry. Her friendly stature and her rather precise wares seemed tailor made for the good director. Well, good being relative but he considered himself such. -- Two large, thick-bottomed candles of a perfect gardenia. Blossoms were even embedded in the bottoms! He could have swooned.

Although the sting of some financial guilt did stall him before politely departing the lovely woman’s stall. He really ought to get at least something for the rest of the Entourage. Indeed, he had almost purchased a pair of goggles from the Merchant that seemed quite suited to Ignacio’s unique talent for illusory magic. A little ‘tell-all’ set of spectacles that could, perhaps, pierce even the Illustrious Ignacio Mordrey’s shadow play.

But they were twenty-five gold, and he had already spent fifty. Ignacio could buy them himself.

However, there were a few pairs of the most gorgeous golden cartilage cuffs at the lady Maisha’s booth. And while he had already spent quite the settling of coin, what was a little more? Besides, he could tell from the moment he spotted them that they would work in divine consort with Sarah’s wardrobe -- on or off the stage.

So, into the bundle they went as well.

With a few parting words, he left the lady’s stall and carried onward -- with some difficulty -- back to the Entourage’s private pavilion. Outside the greater noise of the Tournament grounds, it was a homely and soft-seated affair. Great, thick canvas makings on the exterior and a plethora of rugs and carpets run along the snow-cleared earth to provide comfort. Merrick had even set up a proper, claw-footed bathtub in a separate ‘room’, as well as a cast-iron stove with a flute affixed safely through the canvas roof.

He really did need to give their foreman a raise of some kind. Although recalling recent events, perhaps he already assisted in the improvisation of one, after a fashion.

“If you’re here, don’t look!”

He called out into the -- as he came to realize quickly -- empty pavilion.

A little ‘hum’ left his lips, still balancing terrarium and candles in one arm as he used his cane to walk further into the rug-laden ‘living room’. Merrick had got quite good at keeping a consistent floor plan to their excursions of entertainment enclosure. Yet where was everyone?

Sarah and Ignacio both had left quite quickly after the performance had concluded to go change. That was no surprise, as Sarah was wearing little more than a Westfallian woman’s blouse and skirt with a shawl, and Iggy was bare-chested but for a wet, stage-blooded bandage. Doubtless the cold would influence both of their mammaries to a warm comfort and change of ‘costume’ for the rest of the festival.

Yet he did not see them, nor had he heard any call of their voices throughout the Tournament grounds. Perhaps they were off on their own excursion, or perusing another half of the booths. There was little requirement for concern, especially if Merrick was missing from the pavilion as well. Doubtless he’d had both eyes on them.

… He really was the Troupe’s Mom.

Maternal care did deserve a raise, did it not? Graham huffed once as he set down his purchases in his own ‘room’, consigning the thought to memory. Next time he balanced the Entourage’s books and performed finance, he would adjust the scales for a special savings fund for Merrick. The man was a master of all things physical, constructive or otherwise -- but he was not great with money. Thankfully Graham was savvy to the use of coin.

At least while sober.

A-front of the standing mirror in his own curtained off ‘room’ of the pavilion, Graham took the leisure, alone as he was in the greater tent, to pose. He wrapped his new cloak around himself, willing it to different colors and patterns one after another. At first, having handled the item in front of the Merchant, he hadn’t believed it to work. So, thinking of a random pattern as he touched it, the entire cloak had metaphorically ‘exploded’ into hot pink polka dots in front of everyone nearby.

He ran taut his lips to stifle his laugh, recalling it. Embarrassment had run its course already.

From within his jacket pocket, he plucked the setting of golden cuffs. Perfect adornments for Sarah’s ears. Hopefully she would enjoy them -- a small gesture, he could quietly admit, in comparison to the extravagance of his enchanted cloak. But he had made his sense toward the woman known already, and he already had plans in mind for a more appropriate gift for her.

And besides …

He looked to himself in the mirror, standing with cane in hand, statured to showmanship as if he were holding court upon the stage, his cloak laid over one shoulder gracefully -- all colored in a subtle, charcoal pattern to match his suit.

… He was the Great Graham Ellingham.

Mentioned!

@tirasiantrouper​

@card-slinger​

Does ‘the Merchant’ have a tumblr?

[marsupials-of-mars]

Graying

Synopsis: From the initial split at childhood all the way through present day, a collection of days in the life of Remus as we get to know why he is how he is now, and how he got his white streak.

Warnings: gore, blood, sexual reference, poison, angst

7/8/94

Creativity woke up in a cold sweat. Creativity also woke up in a cold sweat. They looked at one another. That wasn't right. Wrong. bad. The mindscape felt conflicted, and everyone was looking at him. At them. One thought rang in Creativity's mind, something that had been there before he woke up. He smiled and shouted:

"Poopyhead!"

"No!" Virgil squealed and covered his ears.

Creativity's face fell. It came back to him. He'd been just one person, moments before. Five year old Thomas was arguing with his mom and needed something to call her, because she was being very unfair. No dessert, she'd said, and that wasn't fair. Deceit had said so. So Creativity had made up the perfect name.

"Poopyhead!"

"NO!" Everyone had yelled at him at once, and it hurt his ears, and his head.

"We'll get in trouble!"

"That's really mean!"

"We definitely won't get dessert!"

Virgil, then Patton, then Logan, all hated his idea, and it hurt, and it hurt more, until he felt his brain tear apart. And he woke up in two pieces. The sides all grouped around Creativity, but not him. The other one. The one with the name. The name that Creativity himself didn't feel like he had anymore. Around Roman. Roman was bright red again, not the icky pukey color he'd been fading into recently. The gross color that happened when you color a green marker over a red marker. He must have gotten the green marker out of him. With that thought, Creativity looked down at himself. He felt his heart fall into his stomach. He was the green marker. The ruiner. His bangs fell into his face, and a flash of silver caught his eye. One grey hair. And Thomas didn't say "poopyhead". Instead he said;

"I'll make you a drawing for it!"

9/20/97

Remus hung his head off the edge of the top bunk, playing with his costume's few new baubles and frills, watching Roman scribble furiously. Thomas had been assigned a Young Author's book, a story he had to write all by himself. It was very exciting, but Roman had insisted he would do it himself. From what Remus could tell he was basing it off of The Little Mermaid. Remus usually stayed quiet at this point, whispers or nothing, his pinch of silver hair a constant reminder of the pain of daring to contribute. But he had such a good idea, and Thomas wouldn't be the best writer in the class without it!

"Flounder gets eaten by an eel! And he dies!"

Roman spun to look up at him in horror and disgust. "NO! It's my story and that's not what happens!"

And Remus heard shouts around the mind as Thomas experienced the thought, and though distant, he heard them all clear as day.

"That's so sad, nooo!"

"We'd get in trouble with the teacher!"

"We definitely wont win if we get disqualified!"

Again, sharp pain, stabbing into his head, pressure, squeezing, piercing. He gripped his head and whined.

"Fine! Do it your way! Fartface!" He pouted as another sandy hair drained of color. He decided it was best to just stay quiet no matter what.

4/5/01

Remus played with his hair, again trying to pluck the greys only to have another immediately grow back in their place. Still, he'd developed an enjoyment of the zap of pain at each pluck, escalating to tearing out larger chunks of hair and scratching tick tac toes into his thighs, watching the white marks fade to dark pink. It was something to do when nobody liked him, nobody wanted to talk to him, when a part of the mind wasn't allowed to do his job. He giggled and turned his attention to his new outfit, now a bit more glittery, frilly, crazy. He felt it was missing something. Before he could determine what, he was called to attention. Thomas was upset. He joined the others down in the common area to view what the body was doing. Thomas stood in front of one of his friends, Hannah maybe. Remus didn't care to keep track, why would he if he wasnt allowed to interact with them? But she wasn't being very friendly. She was yelling, something not true that she thought Thomas did, that he hit her maybe. She was saying she would tell the teacher. Patton was trying to reason and pacify, Deceit was ranting about how unfair it all was, Virgil was on the verge of tears. Roman was trying to find a way out of it, but to no avail. Remus growled. Thomas was upset, and he had an idea to help him. And he would say it, no matter the pain he knew would come with it, because nobody else was helping. He cleared his throat, almost rusty from lack of use after committing to being selectively mute for nearly four years now, squeaky and grating and unfamiliar. He pushed to the middle of the group and yelled, the group all startling at the new voice;

"KICK HER TEETH OUT!"

And the room went silent a moment. And Remus felt something. acknowledgment. Thomas winced. Thomas had heard him. Thomas had thought his thought. And that euphoria carried Remus through the onslaught of reprimanding by the others, the headache and the pain, and the three grey hairs that sprouted at once. He was all but shoved back into his room, in a blur. Rather than laying down (in his bed now fully across the room from Roman's), he conjured a little eleven year old girl, with a very kickable face. And he kicked her teeth out. And there was blood, and it felt good. He took the handful of teeth, thinking over his recent dissatisfaction with his outfit. He took some superglue, and bedazzled his uniform with the bloodied, bony gems. He felt better. This felt better. If merely kicking a stranger felt that cathartic... He conjured a Patton, then a Logan, a Virgil, a Roman and a Deceit for good measure. And finally a knife. And he used it. And he felt so, so much better, his vocal cords aching from sudden use as he laughed, and hollered his battle cries. Blood, so much blood of all colors of the rainbow. And he was loud, because he wanted to be, because he wasn't ever allowed to be this loud before, and because he wasn't ever allowed, he wanted to be. He wanted to be LOUD. He was so loud that he couldn't hear the footsteps approaching his door, that he couldn't hear the click of the latch, that he could barely hear his brother's scream of horror upon entering the room. Barely.

10/20/04

Remus ran circles around Deceit, trying to annoy him into submission, his tassels and sequins and beads jingling against his oufit as he danced about. He grabbed his friend's shoulders, shaking him, wrapping him in mucus laden tentacles and threatening disgusting and/or violent methods of persuasion. Deceit just calmly shook his head through it all.

"I can't allow that, and I'll continue to say it, your whining isn't as tough on my resolve as you think it is. I live with you. You're forgetting that most of these aren't really threats as much as typical weekday activities."

"Come OOON! He wants it, you want it, Roman and Patton wont admit it but OH how they want it-"

"NO. You don't think high school is hard enough already without that on his plate? He'd get torn to shreds! Chewed up and spit out! But clearly you dont care about his wellbeing..."

Remus felt as if a sword had been plunged through his chest. "I DON'T CA-?! Is that what you think of me?! I want him to be happy, and what would make him REAL happy is getting himself some dick!"

Deceit winced. "REMUS ENOUGH. Not the time, Not the place! End of conversation!"

Remus scoffed in disbelief. "LOOK at me! Look at Roman! You can't look at us with a straight face and think 'yep, straight, end of conversation'!"

"I'm not SAYING he's straight, I'm saying he doesn't need to know otherwise right now!"

"And wrapping it all up in some pussy with a little gift bow on top for when he's old enough to regret never being raw and honest with himself is better for him?!"

"He's in high school, he has a lot on his plate, we don't have the time or emotional stability for 'raw and honest!!!'"

Remus's face was hot and red, he sputtered out what could have been words if he wasn't so infuriated.

"FINE. That IS what you would want wouldn't it be DECEIT?!" He turned on his heel.

"Don't you 'Deceit' me! You know my name!"

"You're right! Maybe if you ever try a tactic other than repression and lies I'll try it out! As it stands, I'm taking this into my own hands! Oh! That rhymed!" Remus giggled.

Deceit threw up his hands. "Try! I dare you! You know what happens!"

"Oh of course I know! You all gang up and torture me for every suggestion I make! But that doesn't keep me from making them! Watch me! I like the pain! I'll jerk it to that shit if it means I get my ideas out! You can watch, I won't mind, but if you'd rather finally stay out of my way and let me do my job I'd take that too!"

It was Deceit's turn to flush with rage. But Remus didn't stick around to watch. He sprinted up to the main area and looked out the eyes of the body. And there he was. A boy, tall and tan and gorgeous, one lunch table away. Thomas was staring. Remus had one shot to bust through. He took a breath and spoke softly;

"It's just you and me Thomas. Nobody else knows what you need right now. But I do. And I want you to be happy. I always have." He cleared his throat, thinking suave, thinking tact. He paused. The others could block out tact couldn't they? He needed something loud and awful. He needed Thomas to start thinking, just to consider. He was better at loud and awful anyway.

The boy stretched, arms behind his head, his shirt lifting just enough to show a glimpse of his abs. Remus drooled. Perfect.

"BEND HIM OVER THAT TABLE AND FUCK HIM HERE AND NOW!"

Thomas choked, the bite of sandwich he'd just taken suddenly tasting sour and mushy in his mouth.

Remus felt the onslaught of reprimands coming at him from all directions.

"That's not right!"

"What would our parents say?!"

"We can't afford to think about this right now!"

His brain ached, his stomach turned, he felt as if needles were plunging into his skull from all angles. A folicle drained of pigment. But he was beaming. Thomas was thinking. And Deceit was useless to stop him. He felt arms grab him from behind, restraining his legs, his arms, keeping him from whipping his head back to dislocate a jaw. Six arms.

"How fun! My bestest friend came to watch after all! How's the repression going hm? Why arent you cutting him off? Why is he THINKING?" Remus teased as the pounding in his head only got louder and heavier, and two more hairs lost color. He suddenly felt fangs in his neck, piercing deep, venom seeping into his bloodstream. Remus moaned. "Deceit! I forgot you were into-" The effort of speaking became too much, his jaw exhausting with the rest of him.

The venom, which Remus had so lovingly taken to calling "dreamkiller", had a tendency to put him to sleep, killing his suggested train of thought almost instantly.

Remus watched Thomas start to hum to distract himself as he drifted off. Thomas's train of thought could die. That was fine. Because it would not be forgotten. He could be shut down, hurt, repressed, all they wanted to repress him. But now he could be heard. He could get through when he wanted. He could intrude. And that was all he needed.

4/3/09

Remus leapt like a trained ballerina about his pigsty of a room, twirling with ax in hand, gleefully slaughtering actual pigs. He was in a good mood, because Thomas was in a good mood. Thomas was eating lunch outside, leaned up against a cement campus building warmed by sun, his boyfriend by his side. They were chatting about majors, clearly a Logan-centric conversation, but Roman and Patton were also apparently hard at work with the amount of puppy love and flirting going on between the lines. Remus delighted in knowing he had a part in it, no matter how small it really was. The flint to the fire maybe.

The happy mood suddenly shifted into something less nice. Remus huffed. What went wrong? He made his way up to the main area, dripping with blood. Thomas was saying his goodbyes. He had a class to go to. Remus pouted. They were having such a good time! He pushed between Logan, Patton, and Roman.

"Remus? What could you possibly want to do?!" Roman grabbed for Remus's sash but he shook him off.

"We're merely parting for class, leaving this conversation to be resumed at a later time. I pose the same question." Logan didn't bother to try to stop Remus but looked at him quizzically.

"Fuck school. Just getting something out of my system." Remus readied himself. The others braced, Patton and Roman attempting to pull him back.

"DISEMBOWEL THE PROFESSOR! GOUGE HIS EYES OUT WITH YOUR PENCILS AND CRUSH HIS SKULL WITH YOUR OVERPRICED TEXTBOOKS! BATHE IN HIS BLOOD!"

"Jesus christ!" Roman tackled him to the ground. "Where did that come from?!" Patton held his hands over his mouth in shock. Even Logan seemed queasy.

Once again as usual, pressure in his brain, stabbing, burning, gut-twisting as they scolded. Two hairs lost pigment. Nearly all of his bangs were white at this point. He barely noticed the stress on his body anymore, he was used to it. Not that it didnt hurt.

"I HATE class. It's no fun!"

Roman lifted him over his shoulder and began marching him down to his room, the others following.

"Everybody hates class!" Logan began to speak but Roman cut him off. "Everyone but Logan. But that was WAY too extreme! You need to chill! You've been getting worse and worse, especially since classes started! what is UP with you?!"

Remus would have spoken if he'd known the answer. He thought back. His contributions HAD been more explicit and exciting recently. Maybe Thomas was just maturing and taking his thoughts with him. But he had been doing it more and more, suggesting bigger and bigger things. Everything about him was more extreme, had been getting more extreme over all of Thomas's years. His oufit, his ideas, his casual day to day actions... his gray streak. He brought his hand to his bangs. Buildup. That was what. Roman dumped him into his room.

"Whatever it is, figure it out. Thomas is stressed out already, he doesnt need your wicked suggestions."

"He doesn't need them, but arent they exciting?!" Remus grinned before the door was slammed in his face.

He sighed and got up, with a bit of difficulty considering the slick pig guts across his carpet, and flopped onto his bed. He played with his attempted facial hair for a moment, the few hairs he insisted would one day form a magnificent moustache to be jealous of, no matter all of Logan's insistence that Thomas didnt have the hair-growing capacity. It was coming along well enough. He considered his life. Thomas's resolve to be family friendly, to be a "good person" inside and out, every thought he had. But he was twenty, Remus should have some say over his creativity. But every suggestion was either too violent, too gross, too X-rated, according to the others. But he couldn't help it. He had to be loud and awful, it was the only way he got through. He would have loved if the others let him be the half of creativity he could be, but as it stood to this point, he had to intrude. He was conditioned to intrude. It was what he knew. And thinking about it, he wasn't sure he would be able to just be "bad creativity" anymore. He was retitled, the way Logan referred to him. Intrusive thoughts. And he liked that, he was his own entity, not just Roman's brother, not just the twin as his name entailed. He could do something that made a difference, that made Thomas stop in his tracks, and sweat, and panic, and question. An override. Everything stopped for his ideas. He liked that. But he couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if it didn't hurt so bad. What he would have become.

But he liked what he did. He loved it. Maybe if he kept telling himself that, he'd believe it. That always seemed to work for Thomas, didn't it?

6/26/19

Remus could hardly breathe. He must have heard wrong.

"I can what?"

"I'm letting you out, you get to join the group with Thomas tomorrow. They're meeting for a video. I need you to do your worst, prove to Thomas that there are things worth hiding from himself. He wants to be more honest with himself and more 'direct' in dealing with his issues. I'm stepping back. I won't deceive him about the ugliness within him if he doesn't want me to. He's on his own."

Ouch. Not the best mission for his ego. But if he agreed he got revealed. Thomas would see him. Thomas would know him.

"DEAL!" He hopped from foot to foot. "I need to prepare! I'll be on my worst behavior, you can count on me!"

"I always know i can."

Bullshit. A clear lie, but Remus felt it was best not to antagonize Deceit while he was prone to changing his mind.

"They sing right?! I'm gonna write a song!" He immediatly started brainstorming, an introduction, everything he wanted Thomas to know about him.

Deceit sighed. "You dont have to write-"

"I will! I'm writing a song and it'll be better than anything Roman has ever sang! Anything anyone has ever sang! Watch me! If I can get Thomas sleep deprived, I could probably force them all into nightmare mode! Choreographed! It's going to be CHOREOGRAPHED!" He twirled excitedly, squealing with delight, his frills flying up in a tornado of sparkles.

"Don't lose sight of why you're there. Convince him that you need to be hidden, don't let yourself or anyone else distract you."

"Yeah yeah, I get it- OH I get to stand in Roman's spot don't I?! And I can GET RID of him from said spot?!"

"Yes, but don't get distracted!"

"I won't OKAY?! I'll do my disgusting, smelly, loud, ugly thing okay?! But let me have fun! That's where I thrive!"

Deceit paused before nodding. "I can not argue with that. You'll need to set up the conversation. I promise-" Deceit held his hands up to prove his fingers weren't crossed. "-that I won't work to repress you tonight. Say whatever you'd like, don't let anyone stop you. Wear them down."

Easy for him to say, he'd never had to continue a train of thought while being attacked from all sides, feeling like his brain was about to explode. But Remus could take it. It sounded like a lot of fun, an opportunity to have Thomas think his thoughts for a whole night rather than a minute or two. He had some ideas and opinions to share anyway.

"That whole wedding situation is pretty fucked up isn't it?"

Deceit groaned. "Tell me about it."

"What if instead of worrying about their feelings..." He twisted his moustache in consideration. "We stab both Lee and Mary-Lee twenty-three times each in the chest and leave them to bleed out in the bathtub?"

Deceit cringed. "That would do it. Talk their ears off about that. Remember, the point is that I won't be involved. Traumatize to your little blackened heart's content."

Remus nodded. "Got it." He thought a moment. "Holy shit, I get THEME MUSIC don't I?!"

Deceit pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just... go do your thing."

"Aye-Aye!"

Remus spent the rest of the night up until Thomas went to bed writing his song, practicing his social skills, warming up his voice, making sure he was as entertainingly unlikable as possible. Sure he had to do Deceit's dirty work, but he wanted Thomas to understand him, in whatever way he could be understood. And he would be loud.

Loud for Thomas to hear.

6/28/19

Deceit pounded on the door. "Remus come on! Tell me what happened up there!"

Remus curled in his crumb and stain-ridden bed, exhausted. He groaned and unlocked the door with a flip of his wrist. Deceit slithered in, artfully dodging all the slimy and sharp things strewn across the floor; bear traps, the occasional boar dropping, etcetera.

"So? It clearly didn't go well."

"I dunno scales-for-sale, didn't it? I wasn't paying attention, you can have the honor of telling me cause I'm unsure."

"Well it didn't go my way."

"Nothing ever does, huh?" Remus smirked. He took some solace in someone other than himself having so much trouble with the others. He smacked his lips loudly. "My mouth tastes like deodorant..."

Deceit rolled his eyes. "Good for you. I'm so jealous."

"I know right?!"

"So what did you do wrong?" He squinted accusingly. Remus gasped, offended.

"Who's to say I did anything wrong?!"

"It was a pretty damn simple task! Be yourself, annoy and horrify everyone in your general vicinity!"

"Maybe they're all just amazingly difficult! You can vouch for that cant you?"

Deceit huffed. "I suppose that's believable... who threw it off then?"

Remus rolled his eyes. "Logan. Dull one with the star fetish?"

"I'm aware who Logan is."

Remus layed his head back and threw his hands up. "He convinced Thomas that I'm irrelevant! That my contributions are nothing, that they don't mean anything to him! To IGNORE me!"

Deceit considered. "So how did that fail me in my efforts?"

"He convinced Thomas that repression doesn't work, that intrusive thoughts don't mean anything and that if he let them pass on without beating himself up about them, or without Patton and Virgil beating him up, that he'd be healthier! Just ignore me is what he said!"

Deceit growled, only succeeding in pacifying himself by taking a long breath in through his nose. "Okay then. Plan C."

"Easy for you to just move right along! My life is ruined! Thomas will never consider anything I say again! If I try to say anything he'll just brush me off! Without stopping, without sweating, without panicking, without trying to-" Remus stopped. He'd forgotten to consider. "...Without trying to... REPRESS me..." He felt his spirits rise, felt his hopes shoot up like fireworks, crackling warm and explosive in his chest. He bolted upright.

"Okay, you go do your Plan C, I have an experiment to conduct!"

Deceit left the room deep in thought. "Mhm just don't set anything on fire this time..."

Remus grinned and jumped out of bed. He sprinted up to the main area. Patton and Virgil were already there, assisting Thomas in helping a friend clean some gutters. His friend was on a ladder, a tippy, terrifying ladder. Patton was praising Thomas for holding the ladder steady while Virgil was passionately explaining the repercussions of failing to do so. Being jailed for manslaughter and the like.

Remus popped up between them, startling them both to momentary screams before they recognized him.

"Remus!" Patton crossed his arms. "Give a little warning at least!

"Hey! Mind if I sneak a few words in? Good! Me neither!" He ducked under Patton and Virgil's attempts to keep him back. "We're all friends here now, right? No need for all that! Just saying my piece. my worthless piece as Mr. Peabuddy would call it!"

Virgil was staring daggers at him but backed off. Patton was a bit more hesitant, but complied.

"See? We're getting along like nobody's business!" Remus beamed at the lack of force needed to find a good spot. He cleared his throat.

"SHAKE HIM OFF THE LADDER AND DELIGHT IN THE CRUNCH OF HIS SHATTERING BONES!"

Remus braced himself. He looked from Virgil to Patton, both their faces drawn taut and restrained and their hands balled into white-knuckled fists. They weren't scolding him. And it didn't hurt. No headache, no stomach turning, no sharp stabbing pains. He reached for his bangs. His unchanged, just as grey as before bangs. His breath caught in his throat. Just when he thought it couldn't get any better:

"Remus, bud, could you calm down?" Thomas mumbled under his breath. Remus froze. His name. That was his name. Thomas knew him. Thomas heard him, and Thomas let him speak. "You don't have to yell, you know. I'm not doing that anyway so save your voice. I can hear you just fine."

Remus blinked. Should he respond?

"But if I don't yell... how will I KNOW you can hear me?"

"Nobody's talking over you now are they?"

Remus fell silent. He looked back at Virgil and Patton, neither of whom were trying to drown him out. Thomas seemed to take that as his cue to stop talking to himself. Remus took a few hesitant steps backward and let the other two take back their places. Thomas hadn't done what he suggested. He hadn't stopped, or panicked, or begun to sweat. By all means this was the last thing Remus had told himself that he'd want. But he'd been heard. He'd been HEARD. And he hadn't been punished for it. He was part of Thomas, according to Thomas. Maybe not how he'd pictured it, but it felt so wonderful. It was a wonderful thing to be. With his experiment concluded, he stumbled absentmindedly back down the hall, lost in thought. He bumped into Roman halfway down, throwing him off gaurd. He conjured an array of weapons as reflex upon identifying his obstacle. Roman drew his sword.

"Wicked twin of mine, we meet again!"

"Aw, I love this little back and forth we've got! We're such a cute pair." Remus sharpened back into normality. With a snap he arranged his weapons onto a colorful lottery wheel. "Take a spin, pick me a winner, I'm not partial to any one of these goodies!"

Roman grabbed Remus's shoulder instead, an unsettlingly familial gesture that Remus wasn't quite accustomed too. The wheel vanished, leaving the weapons to clatter to the ground before they too vanished one by one. Roman sheathed his sword. He sighed.

"Wait, while I've got you here, I've been meaning to talk to you... well it wasn't my choice really, but Joan and Thomas have been planning this new song, about a gay Disney prince?"

Remus clapped his fingertips, responding in a cheery tone: "Oh how exciting! Fuck you! I thought we agreed that you don't get to let me in on these things if you don't ever plan on letting me help! What a fun fun example of something I'd theoretically adore! I'll kill you! Not even going to hesitate!" He summoned a dagger into his hand.

"I know, I know, calm down a sec Trashley Olsen! That's the point."

"Hm?" Remus lowered his weapon.

"Thomas wanted me to..." Roman groaned. "This project, there are bits where he wants to go a bit less family friendly. Since yesterday he's been considering being more... ADULT in his content. To 'challenge his viewership' as you put it. So..." Roman avoided eye contact.

Remus let the dagger fall to the floor, unconsciously leaning forward in anticipation. This had to be a joke. He couldn't possibly mean... "So...?"

Roman took a deep, frustrated breath. "So we're working on a project. Together. For the channel."

Remus nearly blacked out. He was suddenly on his knees without any memory of falling, his face was suddenly wet and salty without memory of how. He was shaking, and crying, and so, SO incredibly happy.

"Woah, woah, woah!" He felt Roman grab his shoulders, knelt in front of him though Remus could hardly see through the watery euphoria. "What's going on?"

"Twist my arm why dontcha?!" Remus broke into a fit of giggles, slumping against Roman. Roman rubbed the back of his shoulder awkwardly, unsure of how to react, which only made Remus laugh harder.

"So you're in? Or..." Roman tried to discreetly pull away, only to be restrained in a bundle of tentacles.

"I AM, TO INFINITE AND UNIMAGINABLE EXTENTS, IN!" He lifted Roman off the ground and twirled him about before tossing him back off in the direction of his room. He sprinted, twirled and danced merrily back to his own room, passing Deceit on the way, nearly barreling into him.

"What's gotten into you?!"

Remus gripped his bangs and called back to him: "LIFE!"

He cannonballed onto his bed, unfurling into an exhausted starfish. Life. New life. Creativity. Not Intrusive Thoughts, not Bad Creativity, but CREATIVITY. He finally had a job, a purpose, an outlet. And he could be as loud as he wanted. But maybe the best part was that he didn't NEED to be loud anymore. Whether or not he would ever be quiet again remained to be seen, but right then, just to know the fact that he could speak, converse, WHISPER, and be HEARD... it was a wonderful thought to think.

[kuvvydraws]

Gabriel (Good Omens) x Reader

The Chicken That Finally Crossed The Fucking Road

Chapter 2

*     

*

     Having someone move in with you within a day was an adventure, and one you wouldn’t want to partake in ever again.

     The easy part was the talk with your landlady, and the woman was happy that you were no longer living on your own with how dangerous London was for young people like you, gullible and vulnerable; her words, not yours. Her husband, on the other hand, found heavily immoral that your roommate was a man and that you both were single, and he made sure his opinion was listened by the whole neighbourhood.

      One would say that dealing with the people responsible of your housing was the difficult part. It was a difficult part indeed, just not the only one.

     Dealing with Gabriel was a Whole Thing on its own.

     You know those old people that have a hard time coping with technology and new stuff and just complain when nothing goes their way? That was Gabriel. While eager to learn, he behaved like every object was invented yesterday and everyone in the world got together in a secret meeting to learn how to handle it just so hey could spite him. You were sure he believed all the blenders from all the kitchens in the world were out there to get him. At least he was polite about it.

     Having him moving in was a poltergeist experience. He had no problem with the flat’s layout, and you, expecting some snide comment from his rich ass about your minuscule place of residence, felt much more at ease. The issue with his wardrobe was a bit more pressing. He had nothing but the clothing he was wearing the day you two had met, and that was more like a Trojan costume for a thematic party than anything else. It did match his old fashioned aura, and reinforced that feeling you had about him not belonging to any era in history, but that was about it.

      “Oh, the wardrobe shall be no problem at all” he said pleasantly. The very next day, when you came from work, he had his closet filled with the most expensive, most comfortable outfits you had seen in your whole life. Bitch clearly had in his possession a money tree.

      He wanted, he had told you just after settling in, the whole commoner experience. If you translate that into poor dialect, it meant that you had to accompany him to get every piece of the top notch technology available at the market. He was slightly familiar with cell phones and tablets, but computers turned out to be far trickier for him.

      He said he desired to start from point zero and you had no idea, at first, about what that implied. After seeing him fumble with the keyboard of his shiny new smartphone, you concluded that the guy didn’t even know what YouTube was. You wished you’d had a camera at hand when you had showed him, because his expression was priceless.

     A puppy with a new squeaky toy wouldn’t had been more excited.

      He also had the tendency to call you ‘human’ or ‘mortal’ instead of your name. You found this to be hilarious. He would add some dumb adjectives in front of it and seriously, it was like watching a pair of too sweet teens figuring out nicknames fused in one big, clueless businessman. His favourite so far was calling you ‘tiny’. Kind of unfair, yet very fair at the same time, since the top of your head barely brushed his shoulder.

     Cohabitating with Gabriel was easy, unsurprisingly. The moment he had learnt how the vacuum and the mop worked, your stress about the house being indecent midweek flew out of the window. Gabriel found great pleasure in organizing things. You had agreed on a common budget for food too, instead of separating the shelves inside the fridge and he had classified all the groceries by alphabetical and nutritional order. Of course, to be functional, you two now had to cook together.

      Gabriel had obvious issues with food. It was clear that he did not enjoy eating. The cooking process was another talk altogether though. It implied following established steps, times and measurements, and he had even bought a colourful apron for, what he said, was the proper attitude and mind set for cooking.

      That sentence, coming from the mouth of a man that hadn’t known what a whisk was three minutes prior,  made you cry in laughter. *

     You were incredibly useful, Gabriel discovered. Not only willing to provide with all the bothersome necessities his body now had, but with living quarters and explanations about what happened around him.

      It had been a long time since Gabriel had had to stay on Earth for more than a few hours, and the world had evolved in ways he couldn’t always comprehend. Things were faster, noisier or more silent, everywhere he went was crowded with people and the air smelled weird, congested his nose and, in some occasions, when he was too close to the back of a car of bus, it irritated his eyes.

     He was still getting used to the body, to the sensations and nerves and strange inner reactions and noises it would make. Being so far from divinity had also taken a toll on him, and due the forced tiredness he had to lay down on a bed -his bed now- and sleep. He wasn’t sure he liked sleeping. He didn’t dislike it per se, but he was aware that his surrounding were not part the real world, and that time was a mockery. He would remember moments of his angelic existence, mostly, but also dreamed with new, made up, things. He wasn’t sure he was comfortable with that.

     He didn’t sleep every night, and would spent his time reading or watching videos. You had books all over the flat, as if a library had exploded in the centre of the room. Some were in English, some were not. Those fascinated Gabriel. He could guess the general intentions when in a conversation with someone no matter the language, but reading was another matter. You also had no preference about topics, and the novels, encyclopaedias, dictionaries and collections of poems would mixt with the astronomy, art and engineering books right under the pot of that thick leaved  plant you had growing near the windows. After thoroughly dusting the area, Gabriel found the mess didn’t bother him that much.

     The nights he did sleep were not always good. He would wake up covered in cold sweat, a scream choked inside his throat and his body painfully taut or trembling uncontrollably. He tried to be silent. As an Archangel, he feared nothing, and no stupid machination the human world would make him stutter. The pictures of Hell affected him differently though. So he kept quiet. He took a shower every time, scrubbing hard, and by the time he was done and on his way to rest on the ugly couch at the living room, the light of the kitchen would already be lit.

     You sat with him every time, at his left so you wouldn’t obstruct the view from the window, and handed him a mug with tea. He never looked at you, and you never spoke a word.

     Gabriel tried to keep his body strong, now more than ever. His lack of celestial influence was no excuse to grow soft, and he had created an exercise routine. He woke up at sunrise everyday and went for a run, and then followed some exercises before showering. You usually emerged from your room at that time, clad in pyjamas, shoved you feet in some ugly and ragged trainers Gabriel refused to even look at, put on a jacket and went to the coffee shop on the opposite side of the street to fetch some coffee. You always brought the same tea for yourself, claiming you had a delicate stomach at such an early time, but Gabriel’s beverage changed everyday. He was starting to pick some favourites.

     You went to work daily, too, and returned very late in the evening. Your shifts were scheduled oddly, and you spent the majority of the day out. Gabriel was social by nature, and, while his purpose on Earth was to learn, he had to do it from real experience, not only books. So he took his tablet -you had bought him a protector for it decorated with a pair of what humans thought were angel wings, and Gabriel didn’t now if to laugh or to cringe, although he thanked you nonetheless-, a notebook, some far too expensive pen and a book, and went outside to read or take annotations on particular behaviours.

     He was always home by the time you arrived, exhausted, from work. *

     You groaned, every step of the stair high as a mountain. You lived on the last floor, the fifth, in the building. You just climbed up to the first one. Life was a terrible thing. By the time you reached upstairs, you were panting like a congested fifteen-year old bulldog, and you bag-pack weighted a ton of bricks.

      You crossed the doorway, kicked your shoes to one side -Gabriel would had your head for it-, the bag to the other, and face planted on the couch, the armrest digging sharply in your stomach. Gabriel, sitting straight as a broomstick on the other side of the cushions yet looking incredibly comfortable at the same time, gave you a sideways glance before returning to his book briefly to dogear it. On his lap rested his faithful notebook.

      “I see you have returned. How was work today?”

      He was like a therapist at his hour. He let you ramble while going to close the door. It’s not like he could understand you, your face buried in the fabric as it was, you socked feet on the air. This time, you just grunted. It’s been a lot like that recently.

     “I’m in severe pain at this very moment” you whined, not daring to move a muscle “. And I’m hungry too.”

      Your arms were heavy, and so were your legs, like you had attached weights to them and then went to win a marathon. Existing was a bit too much right now; for some reason, the restaurant you worked at had gotten surprisingly popular in a very short time, and the clients wouldn’t top coming. You were stressed every second of it, now not having time to even joke or chat with your co-workers between servings. Everyone but the manager was jumpy, and grumpy and the bad mood in the atmosphere increased with each passing day. The cooks at the back would bark at you waiters for being two seconds too late, and today you had slipped with something -you swore it had been that damned child from table seven throwing a spoon full of ice-cream at your feet- and landed heavily on your wrist. You hadn’t twisted it by pure luck, but it still ached, and an ugly, throbbing, purplish mark had found its home in the area.

      You saw Gabriel’s white crocs pass in front of your face -the best fucking purchase you had convinced someone to make- and he handed you a kitchen towel with ice. He was a businessman in his own house too, dressed sharp and elegantly. A month after becoming roomies and you hadn’t seen him in pyjamas yet. You drew the line at some point though, and it was located at the exact time you had noticed he would wear formal shoes even inside. Getting him to discard his scarf and coat hadn’t been that hard.

      Gabriel claimed the crocs were the ugliest thing he had the disgrace to glaze upon. You had agreed wholeheartedly. They were too white and the creator had decided to sprinkle holographic glitter on them too.  They were positively horrid. And you had been dying to see Gabriel wear them.

      Poor Gabriel, bless his soul, had obliged. He had forced you to buy what he considered the most atrocious thing in the store besides his new shoes. It was socks. Fluffy, sprinkled with pancakes and the face of the Grinch -of all things to put with pancakes- all over and you had fell in love. You only put them inside the house, and Gabriel cringed every time he would mistakenly look at your feet now. For someone with Gabriel’s sense of style, your mere existence was abhorrent. It was not that your fashion inclinations were all over the place, it was that you had sold them for a chewed corn chip at the flea market on a Sunday afternoon. He had seen you in pyjamas, in teared pants, in shirts with corny messages and in those puke inducing socks, among other atrocities.

      Right now, bent over the sofa, you were wearing what Gabriel believed to be your best clothes. You had an oversized hoodie -you had thousands of those, Gabriel believed- from which neck protruded the white collar of a dress shirt, your previously pleaded pants, now wrinkled, still maintained the ironed fold somehow, but your socks showed now two holes, one each, at the front part. You would have to throw them out again. You destroyed a pair every two weeks and Gabriel was sure half of your income was sorely designated to acquire socks.

     He cleared his throat and you sent him your deadliest glare. Gabriel stood there, unaffected, hands comfortably resting in the pockets of his pants. On the crook of his elbow hung his apron. “It’s dinner time” he said “. Go change, we have soup tonight. I’ve bought onions, and eggs and bread.”

     You had told him about your mom’s recipe a week ago. Gabriel, a big hater of anything more solid that jelly, had discovered the metaphorical Garden of Wonders in soup. He loved soup. He locked eyes with you and made a show of putting his apron on. You grunted again and stood, heading tiredly to your room to change. You would shower after dinner.

     Cooking was methodical -Gabriel wasn’t very fond of physical contact and you always kept enough distance as not to make him uncomfortable- and an actual approach at conversation. You did get some commentary on anecdotes that happened today while Gabriel chopped veggies with a surgeon’s accuracy. He always pointed that he wanted to listen, learn about what people did with their dull lives and whatnot.

      Gabriel made sure to have time to listen to you. He never, ever, made you feel dumb for mispronouncing  a word and would always give you helpful tips with grammar. You appreciated it immensely. You would be reading, wouldn’t understand a term and he gladly explained it to you, or spelled a word you didn’t catch right from TV and, in short, let you ramble and corrected your grammar whenever you had a question about anything.

      You were so fucking grateful for having him.

      You weren’t anxious or self-conscious about your language skills around him. You didn’t have to be on guard 24/7 because of judgement and you didn’t have to worry about him laughing at you behind your back. He was far too good for that. Had he not been a snarky, rich bitch, you would’ve thought him an angel of sorts.

     Angel or not, you thought looking at him, he’s dumb as fuck.

     The aforementioned angel had just taken a huge bite out of a red onion and now his eyes were, quote-unquote, ‘leaking’. His face was getting very red.

     You ran to get him a glass of water. *

     Gabriel thought he would feel lonely here on Earth, or bored. He had a lot of labours up in Heaven, very important duties. He was sure Michael was now taking care of them, but he felt kind of bad for relying so much on her. Upstairs decision or not, Michael had her own duties too. He hoped Sandalphon was helping her.

     As an Archangel, he was basically the representative for the Higher Powers among the other, lesser angels. He was to assign protocols, check the security and make sure that everything in Heaven, from the upper spheres to the organization and distribution of newly arrived souls ran smoothly. He was very good at his job and took pride in its effectiveness.

     He had had to find new people to be around daily now, during your absence. Coffee shops and little restaurants were his usual spots to find a loner human willing to share a conversation, no matter the age or gender or whatever -Gabriel wasn’t very sure what gender was, but many humans seemed to believe it was a huge thing or something, and after some well aged people screamed at him for indecency and tried to call him out for his sins, which he did not have, he had decided that it was better to leave some topics untouched.

     He had not felt that necessity with you yet. You relied on him when you had doubts and random things to ask about anything and it made him feel so fucking appreciated it was unbelievable. From the simplest of questions regarding his day -you always made a point to ask him about his day, even if his routine was always the same- to you screaming his name so he would come ad watch a cool thing on a video or a show you thought he could be interested in.

     Half of the time, Gabriel didn’t know what you were talking about, and you would pause the video and explain the general context to him, which would cause a new landside  of questions and, maybe, three hours later, you would return to the original topic. That didn’t happen most of the time but it didn’t seem to bother either of you.

     Existence on Earth wasn’t as shabby as he would have thought it to be. 

     It was kind of... tolerable.

-----------

Chapter 1

[prairiesongserial]

8.4

Friday rolled out of bed only when her bladder absolutely insisted it was time to wake up. The sun was high in the sky, now, and the little hotel room was swelteringly hot - her fault for not closing the blinds properly.

Friday stumbled into her dirty travelling clothes, carrying an only slightly cleaner outfit under her arm with her out into the hall. The guests of the hotel all shared a bathroom, and it was blessedly empty at present. Friday locked the door and set to work.

The shower was pure heaven. The water was cold, and she was shivering by the end of it, but sitting in the tub, watching the layers of dirt run down her legs as she attacked every inch of herself with a washcloth, that was more satisfying than an ice cold Moscow Mule on the back patio of the Ace in the middle of June.

Once she was clean, Friday dragged her travelling clothes into the tub with her, decorum be damned, and wrung the dirt and sweat out of them under the water. Her only other outfit could have used a wash, too, but it would have to suffice. The thought crossed her mind that maybe she should wash Val’s things, while she was at it. She’d rather do his laundry than follow up on whatever hare-brained small town apple thief adventure she had set him to. Did she feel a little bad about that? Maybe. Doing his laundry might make up for it. Making him blush when she told him she’d washed his underthings was a definite plus, too.

Friday recovered her straight razor from her bundle of clothes and set to work on her face, going over it three times before she was satisfied. Then she put on her makeup. She’d had to make what she had, after the Macomber debacle, and the materials to be found on the road had not been ideal. When they had stopped to buy new bedrolls and fuel up the bike, she may have diverted a small portion of the Macomber money toward oil and pigment. What Val didn’t know wouldn’t kill him.

Friday made faces at herself in the mirror, scrutinizing the rouge on her cheeks and the maroon gloss on her lips. Good enough. She attacked her hair, next. It was at such an awkward stage, and she missed having her powder blue wig. Like the rouge and the lip pigment, the wig put another layer of distance between the world and herself. Not having it was like walking around without a shirt on.

Fortunately, Friday had some experience.

She finally dressed, in a sensible yellow button-down shirt and skin-hugging denim. She straightened her back and gave herself one last look in the mirror. She looked the same. She had expected herself to look changed, somehow, as the ache of what she had been through these past few days began to creep up on her. Leaving her home behind. The mutie blood on her hands, her arms and legs and heart buckling under the strain of throwing bodies into a truck - performing that morbid burlesque for her and Val’s lives. Being chased through the Colorado woods under threat of being torn apart.

Friday gave herself a little smile in the mirror, almost hesitant, almost like she expected a gaunt and ghoulish version of herself to smile back at her. But it was just her own face. She sighed and gathered up her wet clothes. There was sure to be a clothesline she could put to use.

She found one, sure enough, and after she had thrown her own clothes over the line, she went back for Val’s. The black shirt and slacks brightened under the water - they’d been nearly gray with dirt. She washed off his white priest collar for good measure, a little surprised he wasn’t wearing it today.

In no time, his clothes were waving like flags in the wind, side by side her own. She spared a moment to admire the sight, not really sure why it gave her such satisfaction. She let herself back inside the Grand Hotel via the back door, eyes adjusting to the dim hallway. Friday paused outside the door to her room. She was running out of excuses. She should really catch up to Val.

Friday sauntered past the bar, toward the front door - but paused. Miss Ueno was sitting in one of the chairs by the bookshelf, her feet propped up on the little coffee table. She was reading a newspaper, drinking from a steaming mug. Friday could smell it from across the room - rich coffee.

Ueno looked up at her as she approached, politely folding her newspaper. Friday gave her a crooked smile.

“You have to tell me where you found a cup of coffee,” Friday said, taking the seat across from her.

“I’m afraid it’s your turn to buy me a drink, so you’re out of luck.” Ueno raised her eyebrows, a bright red-painted lip quirking up in amusement. She paused for a moment, looking Friday up and down. Friday hoped her rouge hid the natural flush creeping onto her cheeks. “You aren’t as much of a mess as I thought you were.”

That surprised a laugh out of Friday.

“Does that mean I have another chance?”

“I’m thinking about being capricious,” Ueno said mysteriously. “After I finish my coffee.”

She disappeared behind her newspaper again. Weird. Friday got up from her seat and slowly paced the foyer, taking it in, considering her options. Andy was nowhere to be seen; she probably had more important things to do than man the front desk all morning. Hopefully she wouldn’t mind if Friday and Val were a little free with their interpretation of “one night.”

Friday glanced back to Ueno. She couldn’t tell if she was meant to wait on her, which was probably Ueno’s intention. But the guilt of leaving Val to do all the unpleasant work was beginning to mount, even though she’d done his laundry. How unfair was that?

“If you’re still feeling capricious, I’ll be out finding apple thieves,” Friday called over to Ueno.

“Fun,” Ueno muttered into her paper.

Friday strolled down main street, taking in the town. It was a lot bigger than it had first appeared, last night. There were more people out of the house, so many of them that the wide street was packed tight. A market had sprung up while Friday was sleeping, and the town bustled with buyers and sellers, as well as craftsmen working in the open air, close enough to the action to gossip while they wove baskets out of prairie grass or whittled apple wood into bowls and cups and knife handles.

They were all mutants. Every person in the crowd had something not quite typical about them, from extra eyes to extra fingers to starburst pupils set in alarming, lime rind green eyes. It was a shock, like a cold bucket of water poured over Friday’s head. No, cold showers she was used to - this was something she had never seen before. She’d had no idea she and Val were stopped in a mutant colony. Friday got out of the way of a donkey cart, squeezing between a stall selling corn and a stall offering to grill the corn you bought right in front of you for only an extra three pennies.

Andy hadn’t been mutated, though, Friday argued to herself - but, then again, would she have known? She hadn’t known about Val. She sometimes forgot he was mutated at all - well, not that she forgot, exactly, but just twenty minutes ago she had done his laundry without even thinking that the bandages he used to bind his stomach were missing. They must be filthy.

Mutants back home weren’t like this. They… well, they didn’t walk with such confidence. They were used to being drops of oil in the bowl of vinegar that was Vegas. Just passing through, rarely finding a place to belong, unless they could play off their mutation as exotic, or they could hide it when they knew people like Fig would be at a party.

A mother with a baby strapped to her chest stopped at the corn stall, then had the stall next door roast up a few cobs for an early lunch. The street smelled like food, as lunchtime vendors started up their grills. Sizzling wild hen and syrupy grilled apple, charred soupy tomatoes… Friday’s mouth was watering.

“Good morning,” Friday said to the mother, politely. The mother nodded. The baby turned to look at her with big eyes that drank Friday’s face in like dry soil drinks in rain. Its eyes had two black pupils each, floating in pale pink irises. It put its whole fist in its mouth and sucked it intently, still staring at Friday.

Friday’s stomach growled again, and she gave the mother an embarrassed smile, before ducking past her and rejoining the busy street. Food. She needed money, if she was going to have food.

Well.

She knew how to get money.

Making money and getting money were two different things, in Friday’s book. What Val was doing off in some apple orchard was making money. What Friday was doing, that was getting money. Lunch was the perfect time for this one, though it had been a lot less heartbreaking to pull off in her street days, when the only clothes she’d had to spoil were costumes swiped from the nightclubs and theaters too cheap to have good locks. Goodbye, yellow shirt.

Friday flipped through her map as she walked, keeping one eye peeled for a good mark. It had to be a man who didn’t know the value of women’s clothes, who was a little older, or less attractive than average, who wouldn’t be used to getting much female attention. And he had to have money.

Friday cocked her hip cutely to one side, biting her lip as she pretended to study her map. She didn’t have to wait too long before she found her mark. He looked about fifty, and she watched him get out his wallet to pay for some sort of saucy partridge and apple tart, wrapped up in paper. He ate as he walked, and he walked quickly, like he had somewhere to be. Perfect. Friday looked down at her map and stepped into his path.

She hissed as steaming hot syrup and chicken juices soaked through her shirt, and the tears in the corners of her eyes were real as she swore and ripped open her buttons, struggling to get the burning hot fabric away from her skin.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow,” she wailed, loud enough to attract attention from other onlookers. Her shirt clung to her by the last few buttons, her brassiere and stinging red chest on full view.

The man looked horrified.

“My dear, I’m terribly sorry - ” he began, eyes searching for a sign of what he should do.

Friday covered her chest with her hands in pretend modesty, lower lip wobbling.

“It’s my fault, it’s my fault,” she said. “Oh, my mother’s going to kill me. I don’t know what I’ll tell her,” she said, becoming more hysterical with every word. “I come up north looking for honest work, and my first day - my family saved for a month so I’d have something respectable to wear - It’ll be soiled for good, now, and I won’t be fit to be seen, and I’ll have to till fields - ”

“W...well, that’s respectable work, young lady.”

“- And my hands will grow calloused, and my marriage prospects back home will turn their backs on me as sure as my prospects of lady-like employ, and I - and I was the last hope of my mother, and all, to make some money for the family, before my five younger sisters starve.”

The man swished his long cow-like tail anxiously. He cleared his throat and lowered his voice.

“Now, are you from one of them, ah, them somewhat backwards thinking towns, as far as a woman’s place is concerned?”

Friday looked up at him with tear-filled eyes, letting one run down her cheek.

“Well - well, let’s not make a scene in the public square, dear. It should be cool, now, and you can cover yourself…” The man held his hands unhelpfully in front of her chest, as if to guard her from public view. Friday very slowly shrugged her shirt back on, buttoning it wrong, and sniffling.

“How much was your shirt, dear?” the man asked, hesitantly.

“Fifty Texas silver,” Friday chirped.

“Fifty - ”

“But I suppose I could find something just to cover myself for… for twenty.” Friday let out a shuddering sob. “Anything would be better than the flour sacks mother would dress us in, even far past the time when it’s appropriate for a woman…”

The man was caving, flushed up to his ears at the thought of an attractive girl wearing nothing but a scandalously short flour-sack dress.

“Here, dear, I have fifteen, but it’s really all I can spare for you, at least without talking to my wife.” The man pressed fifteen silver into Friday’s palm, giving her hand a tight squeeze. “If you don’t find work soon, come down to the mill, we’re a touch far from the town proper, but it’s the north road, there. My wife always has mending…”

He trailed off and gave her a weak smile before hurrying away.

Friday smiled down at the coins in her hand.

“I saw that,” came a voice from behind.

Friday whirled around. Ueno was smirking at her. As soon as Friday acknowledged her, Ueno abandoned the wall she was leaning against and came over.

“Your shirt is buttoned wrong,” she said.

“Oh, look at that, so it is,” Friday said, quickly pocketing the money. Before she knew what was happening, Ueno was inches away, unbuttoning and re-buttoning her shirt.

“There. All better.” Ueno’s eyes twinkled at her in amusement. “Lunch?”

8.3 || 8.5

[catch22inareddress]

Halloween Confessions

You have yearned to meet Sebastian from afar for years. When the stars aline and you are hired to do a contemporary dance routine at a Halloween Party that he will attend, will you have the courage to follow through and finally meet him? Tonight is all about Halloween and Confessions....now, where is the bar because your gonna need a stiff drink?

 Words:3600+

Your body throbbed and your nerves were tattered at every end. Weeks you had trained with your partner and friend, Travis, for tonight's event. Although it was a friendly and "casual" party of sorts, every detail was designed to the tiniest measure.

Robert spared no expense in his endeavor to entertain his guests and was always generous to everyone associated. You were a contemporary dancer and met Robert years ago through your boss and close friend Travis. Robert's wife was a fan of So You Think You Can Dance and followed Travis' career and was thrilled when a performance was orchestrated for this evening. Tonight he had arranged a number for you and while you were no stranger to dancing, doing so in front of your crush was going to push you over the metaphorical edge.

Travis came up next to you with a smile. "So a little birdie told me that Sebastian came alone tonight. He and Sadie broke up months ago." He wiggled his eyebrows at you while you resisted the urge to hide under Robert's ridiculously overpriced armoire. "Fuck me. Please, shut the hell up. I know he's dress to kill as a Priest and my libido can't handle images of him right now." Travis let out a chuckle while adjusting your dress and applying the sinfully Red lipstick.

"Please, after he sees you doing the number he will undoubtedly pull you in the closest closet and have you confess your transgressions." The blush that rose up your bosom was enough the tint the heavens themselves it was so extensive. "Leave me, Travis! I will cut you... and not with affection!" He laughed as he held his hands up in surrender and walked out of the room. "I am going mingle and do some groundwork. You'll see, darling." After that, you waved him off while you and Jeremy did stretches and final touches.

Sebs Point of view

He sat in the living room with legs spread in his typical fashion, welcoming. Even if that was the last emotion, he felt at that instant. If anything he wanted every person of the female persuasion to leave him the fuck alone. Save the one woman who walked in and then instantly disappeared. Messy hair, sweet face, casual clothes. She was with Robert's dancer friend Travis, and there was something so natural and alluring about her that he couldn't quite pin, and pin he wanted to do indeed. He had an instant hard on that he couldn’t suppress when his eyes laid on her.

He felt his phone vibrate again from his pocket and growled in acknowledgment. Chris smirked from the seat across him and welcomed Travis as he sat down next to Sebastian, a mixed drink in hand. "Sadie callin' again?" Seb nodded wordlessly. "Yea, she won't take no for an answer, and it's been driving me insane." Seb turned to see Travis sitting there and smiled kindly at him. "Hey man. Nice to see you again." Travis agreed and shook his hand.

"Flying solo, Sebastian?" He nodded and thought this was the perfect time to ask about the girl he saw the blonde man with earlier. "Yea. Actually, I noticed you with a stunning woman earlier, not to sound like a creep. Where did she go off to?" Travis smirked deviously, and Sebastian caught it, unsure of what it implied. "Oh, Y/N. She had to ...work." Seb's face instantly frowned at the thought of missing the elusive beauty but hoping that if he stayed close to Travis tonight, he might be able to talk the man in arranging a meet with her.  He was sure that he came off as an ass, talking about Sadie then his friend. He had to make it up and make sure Travis knew he wasn't a prick.

Robert came out into the cleared area and clanked a utensil on his glass. "So my better half has introduced me to the art of dance and her lovely and remarkably talented friend Travis has a treat for us tonight." He beamed as he waved Travis up in front of everyone. "So I have a special treat for everyone here. She is one of my best friends, and I've had the privilege to dance with her on several occasions. I choreographed this routine special for tonight, so I hope that you enjoy it!"

You came out and met Travis when the lights were low. "Easy, darling. Just pretend I'm him." You smirked at his jest, but you knew that having him in the room with this song was already sending adrenaline through your body at accelerated speeds.  "Shut up and dance with me, Trav." He kissed your cheek playfully as the music started and the lights came up.

Link to Dance

While there was plenty of room, you felt Travis throw you exceptionally close to Sebastian on one move and made eye contact with him. His blue eyes were leaving marks over your skin wherever his orbs kissed your flesh.

Sebastian took a sharp intake of air, and you wanted to smother the gremlins in your stomach. The dance was a narcotic, and when the line hit of “Give Me all your love”, and your body was slung over Travis' muscular one, Seb's hands fisted at his sides in sheer possessiveness.

You were hoisted in the air, and then you spun down and around his body. Travis was facing Sebastian with a cold yet theatrical face as he slammed his hands around your body. Seb's body took a step towards you of its own volition, but Chris grabbed his arm holding him back. Sebastian snapped out of the lust infused haze he was drugged under and looked to his feet as both you and Travis ended the routine on the floor, amidst cheers and applause.

Both of you bowed and smiled as you thanked everyone and while you were talking to the Downeys you felt your body pulling you towards Sebastian, like a gravitational pull. It was all-consuming, and as soon as you could politely excuse yourself, you did, finding the bar and ordering a whiskey sour to assemble your thoughts... hopefully.

When you turned around to start walking you ran into the very person that made your body shutter and squirm with delight and unrestrained anxiety. Your drink spilling down his sinfully snug suit. He gasped at the cold liquid running down his pant legs while you cringed at the entire exchange. 

"Oh fuckity fuck!" You recoiled at your first meeting going so very well. All of the shameful times you had rehearsed it going straight out the window and shattering on the sidewalk. You caught Chris and Travis laughing and giving you an obnoxious thumbs-up behind Sebastian's head, while he was laughing at your outburst unbeknownst to the audience.

"I am so sorry, S-seb. Sir?" His eyes shot up to you, losing his laugh and garnering a smirk instead. His shoulders straightened and you pulled at your dress and tried to compose yourself under his scrutiny. You cleared your throat.

"That's ok. These things happen. Although, I would've thought you were far more graceful by your performance earlier." The sex appeal this man exuded was positively unfair, how he was so put together was just plain wrong. You were damn near ready to pull him into the closest closet and beg for forgiveness in varying forms while he was in this priest costume. He, however, was unaffected by you. You needed to pull your shit together if you wanted to get this man and make him yours 

"I-um. I'm not used to all of this--" You waved around to all of the drunken actors and actresses and noticed a few women cutting eyes at you and paused a moment, trying to will the intimidation away. "What? Bullshit?" He laughed, and it brought you back to the moment and the fact that your arms were still soaked and so were his pants.

He nodded towards the other side of the house. "C'mon, let's go get cleaned up." You swallowed hard as you followed this magnificent specimen of a man through the crowds. You started to lose him, but he took your small hand in his and closed your eyes for a moment. He leaned into your ear, over the music, "After I get you clean up, tell me I can have a dance?" His voice was low and gritty, and you didn't trust your voice, so you only nodded.

Sebastian meanwhile, didn't know what came over him, but as he saw you in that little red number standing so small and timid, he knew this was his chance. As you stood in front of him, he almost lost his words but when you said "sir" in a fit of pure anxiety, a switch was flipped, and he loved seeing how you unraveled in front of him.

He put on his best act to get you to follow him to someplace quiet to get cleaned up, trying to get his nerves to calm down long enough to form a plan after that. When you agreed to a dance he was fucking thrilled, just a few more minutes longer with you would be enough...for now. Hell, he would take every damn second he could press out of this scenario, every thrilling moment you would give him. Because that what this was, you were an adrenaline rush for him since seeing you dance. You were a drug for him since he saw you walk into the party.

He found the secluded bathroom and entered it, locking it behind you two.

You washed your hands and arms under the sink as he watched from the side, such a mundane task seeming so intense under his blue eyes. "So I'm

Y/N." He finally threw you that gorgeous smile you had seen before in the movies. "I'm Sebastian, but you can call me Seb, or sir ..if you like." He was smirking like the devil in a midnight mass now, and you dried your arms hiding the crimson shade and biting your lips.

"Sir? Is that because you want me to confess my sins to you?" His breathing had picked up as you took a small step closer to him, taking the damp, clean towel and drying off his hands. "What confessions would you like to make, darlin’?"

You shrugged innocently thinking to yourself. While you wanted to have a relationship with this man earnestly, you knew that the chance of that was slim. However, there was a chance of having a naughty time with him that you would never forget, so what the hell. Let go and throw some caution to the wind.

"Wouldn't you like to know, sir?" Your towel-clad hand traveled down to his wet pants and attempted to dry them, but he ripped the piece of fabric out of your hands and lifted you onto the expansive counter. 

"I do. Tell me your confession." He held your hands as your chest heaved against his, blue eyes begging you to ask for something, anything.

"I've thought about you. I’ve cum saying your name before." Your eyes dropped at the statement, but when he moaned at your words, you looked up and saw his jaw twitching. "Fuck me. How long?" You smirked just now truly realizing how turned on he was becoming from this revelation and the fact that he was most certainly a word man.

"Years, please. Sir. Can I have you tonight?" The only description of the sound that he emitted was a whine as his lips crashed on to yours with a force that was almost painful. He bit your lower lip as your legs wrapped around his torso and pulled his flush with your body. You felt the rigid and impressive length of his cock against your thigh and moaned as he rutted against you. "Fuck, doll. You're so responsive to me. I knew as soon as you walked in tonight, I needed you to be mine."

The words edged you on as you ran your slender fingers into his long mussed hair, tugging on it. "I'm all your, Seba." He growled at the new name you picked for him as you suckled on his sweet spot earning a delightful moan and securing a love bite. If you only had one fuck with him, you were going to make it memorable.

You slid down the counter and started unbuttoning his shirt taking off the collar and tossing it across the room while he watched you with lust blow eyes. "You are so fucking breathtaking; I could cum right now. Watching you undress me. Got me so hard, woman." You smirked as you roughly tugged the shirt off the expansive and broad shoulders then nipping and kissing down his chest and abs to his belt.

You made swift and impressive work with his pants, and as he stood in front of you in all his naked wonder, you wished you had time to work out all of your favorite fantasies on this work of art. Those thighs had many filled dreams alone for you. You licked your lips and focused on the intimidating but luscious cock dripping with precum in front of your face, begging for attention. "You don't have to, doll." As soon as he said those words you were all in. You yearned for more sweet nothings to fall from your intended lovers' lips.

You licked up the underside of his shaft while he let out a deep moan that bellowed from deep within him, vibrating out and making your pussy wet without even touching you. "You mouth is fucking divine. I can only imagine how the rest of you feels against me, underneath me." You hummed in response as you took as much of his length and girth in your mouth, allowing your hand to encompass the rest of him, leaving no part unloved.

Your head bobbed back and forth as you hollowed your cheeks out and forced your gag reflex to back the fuck down. He braced himself against the counter, and you pulled back.

He looked down at you with a lip in protest. "Don't be gentle with me, Seba." You went to take him back in your mouth, but he had other intentions and pulled you up against the broad naked chest. So roughly that the air was taken from you. His eyes looked wildly betwixt your own.

"Tell me you want me, Y/N." His voice was ragged, and his breath was strained with desire. "I-I want you. I need you." He bit his lip so hard you thought it would bleed in objection. "And you want it rough? My girl wants my cock hard?" You shook your head. "I'll take whatever you'll give me, sir. I'm yours."

He claimed your lips then, savagely and took your leotard and dress off your frame roughly. He dropped to his knees before you and without warning dove into your wet folds causing you to weep out. He looked up at you with a smirk you could feel and the quirked brow that only aroused you further. Your hands went to his hair as his hands dug into your thighs, guaranteeing bruises. "Ah-Sebastian. Your mouth feels so good on my cunt. Your lips are so sinful." He moved his head from side to side and your legs closed around his head and right before you came, you grabbed his hair pulling him up. "What is it, doll?" He seemed concerned that he had injured you and gently caressed your thighs causing you to smile because that was not the case. 

"I want to cum around your thick cock, please." He smiled salaciously. "That can be aranged, princess. I'm gonna wreck you." He lined up his cock and thrust into without warning, and you surrendered your head back, one hand on the counter and one hand on his rippled shoulder.

When you finally had enough senses to look back at your lover his eyes were on you, taking every bead of sweet and bare flesh in for his memory. You bit your lip, and when his eyes found yours, he gave you a particularly hard thrust and called out his name with praise.

"Your pussy is so tight just like it was made for me, baby. So sweet and snug. I can't wait to taste it again." His massive hand wrapped around you and pulled you close to his sweat-slicked torso. The grunts and moans alone only brought you that much closer to release. As if he knew, his fingers found your clit and flicked it just right causing you to bite his shoulder and he growled at the pain mixed with pleasure.

"Ah-Fuck, doll. Where have you been all my life?" His thrusts were getting sloppy as he drilled into you. "Cum inside me, Seba. I want to feel you. Give it to me. Now."

He grabbed your face. "Look at me! I want to see your face when you cum, and I want to see you when I make you mine. Understand me?" You tried to nod, but he held your face so firm you were unable to. "Yes, sir." He smiled and kissed you, his lips are what sent you over the edge of reason into the stars.

He pulled back, and his eyes were deep enough to swim in and lose yourself for all eternity. He let out a moan and said your name as he came inside, painting your velvet walls with his seed. As he finished, he lent in for a soft kiss and then laid his head against yours.

"I-I've....you are lovely, and that was extraordinary." He was out of breath and absolutely exhausted but took the time to take a washcloth to clean you up.

"Are you blushing? Even after all of that." You snickered at his observation. "Yes, well. This was a first for me. I mean one night stand?" He stopped what he was doing with a frown on his face and then silently nodded. "I see." He threw the washcloth in the hamper and handed you your dress while he began putting his clothes on.

There was an awkward silence, and you felt as though you had done something wrong but didn't know what to say or do to make it right.  "So... " You stood before him all dressed and went to open the door, and he was silent. You would be lying if you said that you didn't want to cry, you assumed that he wanted to just get this over with, so you would only do it for him instead.

"I guess, I'll let you get back to your friends then?" You walked out of the bathroom, leaving him there.

Sebastian watched you walk out and cursed to himself. He wanted you to stay with him; he wanted to talk to you. Fuck! Why did he have to sleep with you? You were just so fucking lovely and sexy and...

At that moment he knew he would be damned if he let you slip through his fingers with a handful of what-ifs. He ran down the hall and found you talking to Travis who had a concerned look on his face but a smile when he saw him approaching you.

"Y/N?" You turned around, and he could've sworn that there were unshed tears. "I-I think you promised me a dance?" You stood there a moment with confusion on your face, but as you took in Sebastian's face, you only saw a timid man asking a woman to dance, hoping that she would say yes. Gone was the alpha male who just dominated you in the loo.

"...ok." He gave you a genuine smile with a fleeting look to his feet then back to you, taking you to the dance floor.

Link to Song (If you like contemporary dance I love the choreography for this song) 

While you didn't like John Mayer, you were always a fan of the acoustic version of Slow Dancing in a Burning Room and as he pulled you close you were silently praying that this wasn't your song. The way his body held you to him and swayed to the rhythm felt hypnotic, but the words brought the tears back up.

"Hey, hey. You ok?" You frowned. "Oh, yea. Just this song. I fuckin hate Mayer but this song and you and ...dancing like this..." The words just flowed out of your mouth, and you covered it for a moment. He pulled your hand gently from your face and kept dancing but somehow pulled you closer.

"Confession?" You just looked at him, then nodded. "At the risk of scaring you off, I have a desire to know you. I know we started off unconventionally and for that, I can't say that I'm sorry because the moments that I spent with you in there, out here, they are burned into my memory. I need to know you and I am at your mercy." Your brow furrowed as you took in his words.

"What-What if I'm not who you think I am. I mean you seem to have some idea of me?" He put his forehead against yours. "Damn straight, darlin', I want you, and I don't care. Hell, I'm scared shitless too. You have me on a pedestal, and I don't deserve to be in your arms. Will you take me though? Take me as I am?" You smiled as he laid it all out before you.

"And how is that, sir?"  He stopped dancing. "As a shitty actor who only wants to make this lovely beautiful woman smile as often as I can?" You wrapped your arms around him. "Shitty actor? Never. And yes but only if you stop stepping on my toes and let me teach you how to dance properly."

"Fuck...seriously? I am so sorry, doll." You smirked as he looked down at your feet before pulling you in for a delicate and chaste kiss. "Also, you do know you're comin' home with me tonight?" Your hands threaded through his hair at his admission. "Oh thank goodness. I have like a dozen fantasies that I want to play out with your thighs alone." His eyes widened before he grabbed your hand and started walking to the front door with you laughing behind him. 

“Fucking hell, woman. I love your confessions.”

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[minaminokyoko]

Captain Marvel: A Spoilertastic Review

Well, here we are. Our first female-led Marvel movie (unless you count Ant Man and the Wasp, which I kind of do because Scott was basically useless and Hope ran the whole movie like a boss, but too bad she ran the show on a dull, rushed movie). How does it measure up?

It's fine.

I'd coin Captain Marvel as good, not great. It's definitely a popcorn flick, in the same vein of Ant Man for sure in terms of where it fits in our giant pantheon of MCU movies. I'd rank it dead center, so slightly underneath Cap 1 and Thor 2, but above Doctor Strange. I think Ant Man is a good comparison for the tone and the enjoyment of this movie, although it does do more to characterize the main lead than Ant Man did for Scott Lang. To be fair, though, somehow they end up in the same spot for my personal rankings.

So let's dive in and see why.

Overall Grade: B-

Pros:

-Plenty of action. No shortage on that whatsoever.

-Lots of off-world adventures, for those fans who sometimes are annoyed that too many MCU movies are earth-based. We don't hit earth until about the halfway point and there are still some shenanigans then.

-The dynamic between Carol and Fury is a lot of fun. Larson and Jackson work off each other's energy very well and the banter feels fun and familiar without ever veering into any weird territory. Fury is just as effective as ever at her side, and it's before he becomes full on grumpy Dad Fury, so he's a lot less cold and it's fun to see.

-It was also delightful getting to see Coulson one more time, although it's a cameo, not a whole role as some of the trailers sort of imply.

-The female relationships are probably the strongest in the Marvel lineup, aside from Black Panther. Particularly Carol, her best friend Maria, and Maria's daughter. We don't see a ton of it, but it's just enough to put a huge grin on your face. It's very warm and endearing. I also like that Maria was not only a supportive best friend struggling to get over her loss, but she got to join the action as well, and it was badass. I really am happy with Marvel pushing forward to give black women more representation in the superhero genre. Too many folks think black women in film are only sassy best friends or baby mamas or Tyler Perry stereotypes. We love sci-fi/fantasy just as much as everyone else, and so I loved seeing two beautiful black actresses shining next to Brie Larson and Samuel L. Jackson. It lends the film a lot of heart.

-Brie Larson is relatively decent in the role. She has some moments better than others, but overall, she did a good job. It never felt like she couldn't handle the work of beating some ass, and she sold me far more than Gal Gadot did as Wonder Woman. Which, yes, I know, it's unfair and kind of tasteless to compare them, but I have to note it since I didn't care for the WW movie that this is what I was talking about with film presence. Gal Gadot, to me, looks like a supermodel wearing a Wonder Woman costume. To me, she never embodied the poise, agility, and strength that Diana has in the comics or in the animated series. I believed Gadot more during the softer parts of the WW movie, but she couldn't pull off the action because she just doesn't have the presence. Larson does, imo. She carries herself in a manner that makes me feel like she can kick your ass. She has a stance and a stature that allows me to feel her strength, and it's in line with other Marvel women like Widow, Okoye, or Scarlet Witch.

-My favorite part of the movie is hands down the "I'm Just a Girl" by No Doubt scene. Oh my God. I was internally squeeing and singing along with the lyrics while she kicked ass. I was so delighted to see them perfectly use that song that I already liked in high school anyway, and it just worked so well.

-I also liked the montages of Carol getting back up. That is a really, really important image for the girls growing up to see. It's not about how many times you fall. It's about how many times you still get back up. That's great. We fall and get dirty and scuffed and mocked and hated. But we still get up and try again every time. Love it. It's very empowering.

-The de-aging looked pretty good. Jackson is tougher since he's gained weight since the size he was back in the 90's but they filled in his wrinkles well enough. Coulson's looked better, although I did notice just it a tad bit during the stairwell scene, but overall, I thought it was well done.

-Gosh, her costume looks amazing. I want it. I want to wear it for Halloween. It's gorgeous.

-The sequence of the Skrulls acquiring her memories was very neat and uniquely done. Kudos.

-THE MOTHERFUCKING FIRST END CREDITS SCENE. Y'ALL. I SCREAMED. I SCREAMED AND CLAPPED MY HANDS SO HARD I HURT THEM. OH MY GOD. SHE'S ON EARTH. THE QUEEN IS ON EARTH AND WE SHALL ALL BE SAVED. SHE IS GOING TO TURN FUCKING THANOS INTO FUCKING PURPLE CLAM CHOWDER WITH HER BARE HANDS FOR KILLING FURY AWWWWWW YEEEEEEEEEEAH BOIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII. Ahem. Sorry. I am really goddamn excited about that tiny piece of Avengers: Endgame because Marvel and the Russos have been so fucking stingy with details. We still don't know the plot. We only have that 30-second Superbowl spot and the Sad Stark trailer. I was livid they didn't give us a final trailer in front of this movie, but I guess with it a month and change away, they're just banking on us frothing at the mouth wanting more. Jerks. But anyway, yes, this fucking scene is mint and I wish I could rewind it.

-Nick naming the Avenger Initiative after her was a great cherry on top moment.

-I fucking lost it when Nick started singing “Mr. Postman.” Deadass, I just started listening to that song about a month ago thanks to that one famous Vine where those dudes sung it acapella. I was dying. You go, Nick. 

Cons:

-This movie overall has a bit of a bland taste to it. It's most revolving around Carol. The problem is that I think they were too chicken to dive deeply into who she is and her personality and her desires because they were afraid the feminists would complain that they made her too soft, so they replaced it all with action. Which is fine, some people just want a girl kicking ass, but I think it did Carol and Larson a disservice by rushing everything and doing drive-by characterization. The dialogue doesn't stick as well due to the bland flavoring, for example. If you ask me who Carol Danvers is, I can't really tell you. I can tell you what she does, but not who she is. I regret that probably the most out of everything. This movie is a bit of a vehicle than a movie where we discover who she is. We discover what she is, but not who she is. She's kind of just every tough, stubborn, smartass female lead you could see in maybe an Avengers OC fic on AO3. She really needed more distinct quirks and likes and dislikes, and I really fault them for cutting out her life on the Kree planet. It would have shown us so much more about her if we knew what her Kree life was like juxtaposed against her original human life, and it could up the stakes and help them sink it, and give more immediacy and concern to the dangers she faced.

-The villains were telegraphed. Again, people ding Marvel for this all the time. It's because they seem to struggle with balance. Often, the villains are thin to cut down the running time by not developing them at all. It's a shame. I've always found Jude Law very entertaining and I think they should have given him something to work with other than Obvious Bad Guy Pretending To Be Good. It was so transparent, much like the bitchy sister villain from Incredibles II. He might as well have been twirling a mustache. I mean, any dude who tells you your emotions are bad is probably not on the up-and-up. And it would have been better to see him and Carol square off at the end in an emotional battle than for it to just be a cheap shot and a joke. But I digress.

-While there was a lot of action, aside from the "Just a Girl" sequence, I will forget it all by morning. I think they wanted the movie to have mass appeal, so a lot of it comes across as generic. The stuff that stands out more are bits like finally seeing what alien Goose actually was or some of Fury's quips and the bits with Maria's daughter and Carol. The action itself is serviceable, but I'd have liked it to have more flavor if possible.

-Not outlining the limit to Carol's powers. This is going to be tough lining up with Endgame because she's so god-like we're gonna wonder if she just bitchslaps Thanos and that's the end. She feels overpowered without the chip limiting her, so I would have liked them to give us some kind of idea as to how she won't just wipe the floor with him in retribution in Endgame.

-Nitpick: Nick losing his eye to Goose annoyed me. People called it. I didn't want them to be right, but ugh, they were. It was a bit too silly for me.

-Nitpick: They really didn't need to waste our time with the second end credits being Goose puking up the Tesseract. We knew he did. You didn't have to show it, dummies.

-Nitpick: Was hoping for some 90's era cameos from at least one other Avenger, but no such luck. Damn. What a letdown.

I had fun, and I am eager to see her fit into the rest of the MCU. And I am also selfishly even more interested in Kamala Khan someday popping in as the new generation of heroes. Please, God, give me Kamala Khan. I want her and my son Peter Parker to team up and be the cutest superhero dorks ever. But until then...God help us all. Endgame is coming.

Enjoy the sunlight coming off of Ms. Danvers.

Because it's finna get dark up in here, my children.

See you in Endgame.

Kyo out.

[my-fanfic-soul]

Harry-- Boo

The sound of his daughter laughing was Harry’s favorite sound in the world.  He had recordings of her giggling on his phone so he could listen to them when he was away on tour or doing promo.  It was infectious and filled him with a warmth he couldn’t describe and that he had never experienced before she came into his world and turned everything upside down in the best way possible.

These days she was a vivacious two, nearly three, year old who grown into the sweetest little girl who had strong opinions about everything from what she ate to the books that she read. ��Right now, her favorite movie, and what currently had her belly laughing, was Monsters Inc.  She knew every character, every line, and so did Harry and his wife after watching it with her twenty-five thousand times a week.

“Mike Wazowski!” she yelled from her spot in front of the TV while Harry and his wife got lunch ready.  Harry could see her through the opening in the door, cuddled in the middle of a pile of pillows, thoroughly entranced even though she had seen it so many times before.

Harry looked over at his wife, the reason he was home, and the reason his daughter had been watching more movies than usual.  They had spent the morning at the doctor’s having a scan done on her very swollen, 7 month pregnant belly.  Baby and mama were both healthy, but she had been so tired this pregnancy that she was struggling to keep up with the house and their daugher.  “Have you thought of a Halloween costume yet?” Harry asked gently.

She sighed and shook her head, glancing over at the calendar that already read September.  “Not even for a moment,” she confessed.  “I’m just trying to get through the day, every day.” 

“I think I have an idea,” he told her, looking back at the TV and Boo’s shenanigans.

Her frown deepened.  “I just don’t think I have the energy for it this year, Harry.  I’ve got so much to do still before this one makes their grand entry and I barely have the energy to put my socks on in the morning.”  Sound logic or not, he knew it hurt her to say that.  Halloween was her favorite time of year.  She loved dressing up their entire little family in matching costumes.  She always handmade their costumes and everything.

Harry was quiet for a few minutes as he moved over to start unloading the dishwasher.  He stayed quiet as they managed to draw their daughter away from the TV long enough for a quick lunch and then she was back in the living room in front of the TV.  While they cleaned up after the meal, he said, “Would you be willing to go out with us if I took care of the costumes?”  She gave him a doubtful look but he rushed to assure her, “I’ll take care of all of it.  It’s even something that if you feel like you can’t go, it’ll still make sense if it’s just me and her.”

Her eyes drifted to their daughter as she thought it over.  She’d been dealing with a lot of Mommy Guilt over not being able to be to do as much with their daughter as she normally did.  Halloween was normally her thing, but it seemed unfair to just not do it this year because she was tired, especially since pretty soon they would start talking about Trunk or Treat at church, an event where people handed out candy from the back of their cars.  She was sure to get just as excited as the other kids in her nursery class.

“Yeah, that would be great,” she finally told her husband with a grateful smile.

He got to work immediately buying supplies.  It had occurred to him that it would be easier to just buy the costumes from a store or online, but his wife prided herself on their homemade costumes and he was determined to not let the tradition die, even for a single year.

“Hey, sweet pea!” Harry called from his office and he heard little feet move into the hallway.  “Can you come back here and see Daddy, please?”

Little feet pattered down the hall until her little face appeared in his doorway, looking at him curiously.  “Yes, Daddy?” she asked sweetly, gazing around at all of the cloth littering his normally very neat office.  Her little eyebrows knit together, suddenly looking very much like Harry.  “Daddy it’s messy in here.  You need to clean your room.”

Definitely her mum’s kid, though.  “I know, but Daddy’s using them all, still.  Is it alright if I measure you?”

“Why?” she asked skeptically, but walked over to him anyway.

Harry showed her the tape measure and explained, “Daddy has to take your measurements for your Halloween costume, so it’ll fit right.”

“What’s a Halvo… queen costume?” she asked, struggling over the foreign word and making Harry chuckle.

“Halloween is when you get to play dress up as a character and go collect candy by saying Trick or Treat to people.  We celebrate by going to the church and doing it, instead of going door to door,” Harry explained as he waited.  They were working hard to teach her bodily autonomy; he wouldn’t start measuring her until she said it was ok.

She thought it over for a minute, rolling the idea around in her head.  This was another area where she was very much like her father.  She never said anything until she was ready and she didn’t have any qualms about taking her time.  “What character will I be?”

Harry pointed to shiny purple material on one of the work tables near him.  It normally held sheets of music, but currently it held fabric and patterns.  “Yours is a surprise this year, but this is the fabric Daddy will be using to make it.”

She studied it, touched it with her fingers, and looked around the room at the rest of the fabric.  Finally, she nodded.  “Ok, Daddy.  You can measure me.”

It took twice as long as it was supposed to because Harry was following the step by step instructions on a YouTube video and had to keep pausing it, but his daughter stood still through the entire process and didn’t kick up a fuss.  She did run rather quickly back to her toys once he said she could go, though.  He hadn’t told her what her costume would be because he wanted to surprise his wife and seeing both of their faces the day of would make it all worth it.

Trunk or treat was on Saturday the 28th this year and his little girl was beyond excited.  It was all she had talked about for a month.  Her excitement had been one of the fueling factors in Harry finishing his project even when he was overwhelmed and felt like he’d bitten off more than he could chew.  He had worked a little bit every chance he could since the middle of September and it was finally coming to fruition.

His wife could see how proud he was as he gazed at the finished product in front of him.  She did raise an eyebrow when he handed her lime green leggings and a lime green shirt.  “You’ll see,” he told her confidently, his hand brushing against her nearly nine month pregnant belly.  She was feeling pretty good today, the first time in weeks, so they’d be going together as a family to the event.

Their daughter was bouncing up and down in excitement when her mom walked into her bedroom.  “What is it, what is it?!” she asked enthusiastically as she ran over to pull it from her mother’s arms.

“Hold on, be patient,” she said, lifting it up out of the range of little fingers.  “Mommy doesn’t even know what it is yet, Sweet Pea.  You have to be careful so you don’t mess it up.”

She did her best to hold still while her mom put it on, but she was full of energy and kept bouncing on her toes and twisting to try and see herself in the mirror.  The moment her mom told her it was on, she raced to the mirror on her wall, letting out a squeal of excitement.  She twirled back around to her mother, exclaiming, “Mommy, I’m Boo!  Mommy, I’m Boo!”  Indeed, she was, Harry had spent the past month and a half making Boo’s monster costume for his own little monster and she had never been happier in her entire little life.

“Yes, you are,” her mommy told her with a smile, fighting to hold back tears from her own ramped up hormones.  Harry had really come through and while it wasn’t professional grade costumes, it was perfect for their little girl.  “It looks like Mommy is going to be Mike Wazowski, as well.”  The little girl was jumping with excitement now.  “Settle down, Mama’s going to put on her costume and then she’ll do your hair, alright?”

Ten minutes later, they were walking hand in hand to the living room when the little girl saw what costume, blue pants and shirt with purple spots sewn on, plus a furry hat with horns, her Daddy had chosen.  “Kitty!” she yelled, racing across the floor and throwing herself into Harry’s arms.  “You’re Sully, Daddy!”

Harry laughed and twirled her around in his arms, her giggles complete music to his ears.  “That’s right, Sweet Pea, I am. Do you like your costume?”  Her yes was enthusiastic as she flung herself around her daddy’s neck, making Harry laugh as her mommy nearly started crying again.  “Do you like your costume?” Harry asked his wife, looking at her completely green outfit with an elaborately large green eye and mouth on her belly.

She chuckled as she picked up her camera.  “I couldn’t have chosen better if I tried.  You did a great job, Harry.”

They spent a good twenty minutes take pictures, Harry humoring his little girl and posing with her in every way from holding her to acting like he was afraid of her.  Her innocent adoration of her costume was enough to have him nearly weepy eyed.  Once they were done, she marched towards the car, proudly announcing, “I can’t wait to show everyone my costume!”  Harry knew that of all of the compliments he had received in his life, that one was by far his favorite.

Master List

[secret-diary-of-an-fa]

Crash Bandicoot 4: Better Than You’d Expect (a Review)

Right, you horrible lot. I promised you a review of Crash Bandicoot 4 and, as I appear to be the last stable person and/or thing in the chaos of modern Britain, I suppose I had better deliver. I would say something about Xmas, but what with this being International Year of the COVID Virus, there sort of wasn’t one. With that in mind: Crash 4- what, why and is it any good?

As a kid, I used to really like the Crash Bandicoot games on the old PS1: the levels were beautiful and imaginative (although, to this day, the ‘Road To Nowhere’ level and its sequel in Crash 1 can fuck right off), the characters were funny and compelling and the move-set was entertainingly bonkers. Naturally, Crash Bandicoot 4: It’s About Time (and yes, that is the real title) pushed my Nostalgia Button even faster and harder than I’d push Boris Johnson down and endless flight of stairs, given half a chance. It helps that it’s superbly well-made by a developer that clearly cares deeply about the games and not just the selling power of their brand name.

The game is a direct sequel to the original three Crash games and sweeps the intervening efforts from lesser developers under the great rug of history. For the most part, this is probably wise considering that their quality usually hovered somewhere between ‘sewage’ and ‘being trapped at a Beyonce concert without a cyanide pill’ (yes, Internet, I still hate Beyonce. Just because I haven’t mentioned it in awhile, doesn’t mean I’ve warmed to the catawalling bint or her irritating ubiquity on otherwise-acceptable supermarket mix tapes. That would require a frontal lobotomy and the removal of my ears, but I digress). I do think it’s a bit unfair on Crash: Twinsanity, which at least had an interesting core gameplay concept and some funny dialogue, even if it wasn’t very well-realised on the mechanical level. But ho-hum: I can nit-pick later during the loose ‘what I didn’t like’ section- these early paragraphs are meant to be mainly praise.

The actual plot concerns an escape attempt by Neo Cortex and N. Tropy, who were apparently trapped at the beginning of time after the events of Crash 3. News to me: I guess you had to collect all the hidden extras to see that ending and, while the 90s were a much slower decade, I still didn’t have time for that shit, even back then. Anyway, they break back into the timeline, in the process shattering reality itself and forcing Crash to make his way across the multiverse and different worlds at different points in history in order to stop them. There’s not a lot of complexity there, but as a justification for having the levels all be radically aesthetically different and providing a jumping-in premise for fan favourite characters, it’s a plot that does its job. Despite it’s simplicity, it’s also offered up with a surprising number of twists, fun cut-scene asides and surprising little narrative flourishes. The re-introduction of Tawna (Crash’s girlfriend from the first game who was tastefully removed after the original developers fired Kevin The Furry from their team) is kind of sweet and handled pretty neatly. And I mean that in the sense of ‘aww, that’s sweet’ not ‘Ah, sweet, bro’, just to be clear. She’s obviously not the same character from the original games, but the developers have taken care to give her enough quirks and entertaining lines that she’s not just the standard ‘Badass Action Girl’ trope made flesh. The levels that where you get to play as Cortex and get into the head of a cartoon evil genius are fun, too, even if they don’t tell us anything about the character we couldn’t have figured out for ourselves.

As with the original games, the worlds and levels have a really idiosyncratic and stylish look. Just looking at the scenery is a blast. My personal favourites are a level clearly based on New Orleans in the middle of Mardi Gras, the planet Bermagula and basically all of the levels set in a Crash-ised version of Feudal Japan.

As nice as the levels are to look at, they’re mostly pleasant to play through, too, with a staggering variety of different gameplay elements coming together to create intricate challenges. That said, I should stress that the phrase ‘mostly pleasant’ comes with a massive, throbbing caveat, which brings us neatly to the designated gripes and nitpicks section of this review.

You see, while the levels are mostly well-designed, there are individual platforming challenges that just lump too much together for any normal person to keep track of and then demand that you solve them at speed and they break the delicate, wafer-thin boundary between ‘fair challenge’ and ‘taking the piss’. Actually, the incidents of this phenomena towards the start of the game take the piss. By the later levels, they’ve graduated to demanding other bodily fluids, too, such as tears and blood. I feel like the developers were a bit too in love with the original games’ reputation for punishing difficulty and got into a bad habit of opting for design choices that emulated it over design choices that were fun.

I also feel that, considering the game takes place across a time-shattered multiverse, the levels might have been a bit more varied. Don’t get me wrong, there are some gorgeous and brilliantly creative worlds on offer in Crash 4, and every level is a visual blast. However, with the single, solitary exception of Bermagula, every alternate universe you visit is ultimately a reflection of something familiar from our own world or culture. N. Sanity Beach is… well, it’s just a tropical beach with generically tribal ruins a bit further inland. The Hazardous Wastes are just an off-brand post-disaster planet Earth that owes more than a little to the Mad Max franchise and where you’ve definitely seen every individual component before (even if they’ve never been assembled in such a Crash-y way until now). Then there’s the made-entirely-of-pirate-tropes world, the Japan-but-not-really world, the Inevitable Fucking Ice World (which keeps getting included in games despite the fact that uncontrollable sliding is even less fun in precision platformers than it is in real life) and the Generically Futuristic City world, because the old Crash games had them so this one has to as well. None of these worlds are bad- like I said, I enjoyed all of them, and the others that didn’t quite merit an honourable mention besides. It’s just that I feel like greater flights of fancy could have been taken: we could have seen some truly alien geography and architecture; viewed whole of evolutionary timelines, all through the lens of Crash’s brilliantly slick, cartoony art-style. The only truly ‘out there’ world we visit is Bermagula, which takes up precisely one fucking level, then that’s your lot: it’s back to Crash-y versions of Earth locales.

I’m also not a big fan of the ‘gems’ system. Yes, it’s great that developers chose to use the gems that were such a big part of previous games to unlock funky little cosmetic bonus costumes for the playable characters. On the other hand, the outfits you unlock should be tied to the number of gems you have overall, not your ability to collect certain numbers from specific levels. That way, your wardrobe would be a measure of your general skill at the game, not of which levels’ platforming challenges you were most willing to put up with for multiple play-throughs.

I’m tempted to compare all this to the superlative one-two punch that was Rayman: Origins and Rayman: Legends- two of the best platforming games ever made. With the exception of a couple of fuck-off unreasonable boss fights, the platforming challenges in those games were perfectly, legitimately fair. Insanely tough sometimes, but fair. Their level and world design also nailed the ‘weird-as-fuck flight of fancy’ vibe as well. Even the Inevitable Fucking Ice World in those games had the decency to throw in some giant cocktail umbrellas and slices of lemon to make you feel like you were ice-skating your way through the world’s biggest Martini while a fucking dragon in a chef’s hat tried to bit a mountain in the background. They also tied cosmetic unlocks to overall performance.

None of this is to say that Crash 4 isn’t good, it’s just that it doesn’t quite measure up to the gold standard set by the Rayman: Origins and its sequel. If it helps, think of it like comparing The Talos Principle to Portal. Yes, the former is good, but it’s never going to outshine the latter’s star. I recommend Crash 4, but if the last platformer you played was the undeniable high water mark of either of the Raymans, just remember to adjust your filters going in.

Before I go, does anyone else find it funny that these games have such colourful, kiddy-friendly aesthetics and characters yet demand a level of competence and coordination that’s usually only achieved by more seasoned, grown-up gamers? I mean, there are challenges in Crash 4- admittedly optional ones- that might one day be completed only if a being comes into existence that has the reflexes of a supercomputer crossed with a surprised feline and is made entirely out of thumbs.

And on that horrifying mental image, I must say goodnight. Tune in next time for my usual end-of-year roundup.