#Fold Wizard Out of Fold: Please Remain On The Line

[ariadne-mouse]

For the serious poll, go here.

[sailtomarina]

Why are you naked?

There had to be a wizarding law against indecent exposure, just like there were for muggles, right? There was no way it was legal for Malfoy to strut around as naked as the day he was born from the showers to the sauna to the pools.

Forget the fact that the other witches and wizards were also naked, or that they were in Japan on a diplomatic trip, or that Hermione was clutching her towel around herself as if parting with it meant death.

Draco Malfoy was naked, and he was painfully, gloriously, beautiful.

Think white marble, a pensieve David, all toned muscle, broad shoulders, and narrow hips. The v at his waist pointed straight towards a treasure she absolutely refused to consider. All the gold in the Malfoy vaults and this man, her coworker, carried around the most priceless inheritance of them all in his pants.

“Hermione, aren’t you going to soak?” Emily Richards’ voice startled her from her panic. The older woman’s expression was equal parts concerned and amused.

“I…yes. I was just…absorbing.” Good Godric.

“It’s quite different from home, isn’t it?”

Taking a deep breath and steeling herself, Hermione nodded with far more confidence than she felt. “That’s why we’re here—bridging cultures, opening lines of communication.”

Emily moved towards the closest pool, towel held modestly flat against her front, leaving her backside completely bare. If she could do it, why couldn’t Hermione? 

Each step forward felt like a walk to the gallows, one with distinctly white-blonde hair whose magnetic gaze zeroed in on her and maintained eye contact. She stood at the edge, false bravado bleeding away as she gripped the terry cloth even tighter than before, and he raised a single brow.

The prat was goading her.

Two could play that game. She let the towel fall, stepping gingerly into the scalding water. Her curls were twisted up into a bun so they wouldn’t touch the water. Hermione might not feel comfortable walking naked around others, but she wasn’t ashamed of her body. Despite her long work hours and propensity towards sedentary hobbies, she maintained a daily regime of diet and exercise. 

The diet wasn’t anything dissatisfying, but rather a balancing of nutrients and flavors to maximize her pleasure for foods of all cultures. She was an unabashed foodie with a natural curiosity for the unknown. This appetite required a partner in physical activity. Hermione chose once more to indulge in a variety of options, including running, yoga, and bouldering.

She was strong and fit and now Draco Malfoy knew it if the way his eyes widened was any indication.

In the short moment it took her to fold her towel neatly, place it on the ledge behind her, and settle in next to Emily, she felt the first inklings of a brush against her consciousness. Hermione recognized the magical signature at once and relaxed her barrier.

“Why are you naked, Granger?”

“For the same reason that you’re naked, Malfoy. This is a co-ed public bathhouse, is it not?” 

“Can you at least try to stay submerged?”

That earned him a snorting laugh, and his brow furrowed even more when she disregarded his request and stood to wave over an attendant. 

“Bloody, hell, Granger, at least—”

“We’d like some sake to share between the two of us, and would you please also send a bottle to the gentlemen with my coworker over there?” The young woman taking her order startled at the sight of Draco’s reddening face. She bowed and hurried off.

“Did you know this is one of the few remaining bathhouses of its kind in all of Japan? They’ve been phasing out these co-ed style baths ever since WWII,” Emily said, as she sunk down to her chin in the water.

“I can’t imagine why they’d bring us here, then.” Despite the distance, Hermione knew Malfoy was listening in on their conversation.

“You know Draco—he always wants to experience what most others cannot. Once he heard about this place, he insisted they include it in the itinerary.”

“Is that so?” Now he definitely wasn’t looking at her, eyes glued on the, no doubt, fascinating conversation next to him.

“You have no one but yourself to blame, so thank you for this rare opportunity.”

Only a tightening around his mouth betrayed her legilimency hit the mark. The longer she soaked in the heat of the onsen, the more relaxed and confident Hermione felt. These baths were brilliant. Maybe she’d insist on finding some back home to go to with the girls.

“Do you think Pansy and Blaise might be willing to share their hot tub?”

She had to stifle a laugh at the horrified look he turned on her.

“Don’t you even think about it, Granger. If you even dare—”

“Dare to bare my very naked arse and boobies?”

“Granger!”

“What do you do to stay fit, Malfoy?”

Hermione let her eyes roam his bare chest. Would it turn as red as his face currently was? Her giggle caught Emily’s attention, and the woman cocked her head at her.

“Everything alright, dear?”

“I’m just remembering the red-arse monkeys that they told us like to use the northern pools in the winter.”

“Ah, the snow monkeys.”

Red arses, white fur. Maybe Malfoy was a monkey, not a ferret like everyone liked to joke.

The sake arrived, floating on a basket between the two ladies, and Hermione nodded over at the men who cheered at her gift. Her first sip of the clear beverage was clean and sharp, a delightful burn in her throat.

“Why don’t you meet with me tonight and find out?”

She choked on her second sip at Malfoy’s words.

“Hermione! Are you okay?”

Hermione’s eyes flickered over to him as she assured Emily that she had just gulped too quickly, and her throat seized at the way his lips curled behind the rim of his glass. A pulse between her legs reminded her that it had been far too long since mutual satisfaction. They were two consulting adults. Coworkers, yes, but there wasn’t any rule against that. Once she felt calm enough to continue to another glass she reached out once more.

“Dress code?”

“Nothing more or less than what you’ve got on right now.”

WC 1042 I realized partway through that I really didn’t like the direction I had taken this prompt, but I figured I might as well finish what I started. The whole Japan setting felt too forced and the onsen idea too farfetched given that konyoku (co-ed) onsen are a rarity these days. I had another idea come ‘too late’ of something like a mess and cleanup gone wrong…next time!

[beautiful-raging-attorney-at-law]

In Which Howl Searches for Prince Justin But Discovers Something Else

Howl strolled up the flower-lined path to the large, homely looking house at the end of the valley. Howl had been lately making calls to the resident witches and wizards around Ingary, covertly searching for any evidence of where the prince might have disappeared to.

He had arrived in Upper Folding to call on one Mrs. Fairfax, a kindly woman who had tutored under Mrs. Pentstemmon years before him. He doubted Mrs. Fairfax would remember their one meeting, and he planned to give her a false name, as he had been doing all along.

He reached the end of the lane and knocked on the front door. He heard footsteps behind, and a young kitchen maid answered the door.

"May I help you?" she said, large brown eyes looking up to meet Howl's, several feet above. "Yes, my name is Sylvester Oak and I was hoping to speak to the witch, Mrs. Fairfax."

The maid bobbed into a small curtsy and said, "Mistress and her apprentice are out in the garden. If you go around leftwise, you'll find them."

Howl smiled at the young girl. A pretty little thing likely in her twelfth year. He thanked her graciously and stepped into the grass, rounding the house.

If Howl thought the front of the house was full of flowers and plants, the back was absolutely covered with them. He peered around as he came to the back of the house. Underneath a row of apple trees, a woman who must be Mrs. Fairfax and a young dark-haired girl, likely the apprentice.

As he approached they both looked up from what they were doing--which was tending the garden.

"Good afternoon," he said amiably. "My name is Sylvester Oak, I was hoping to speak with Mrs. Fairfax." He pretended not to recognize the woman.

The kindly woman wiped her hands on her apron and approached. The young girl followed.

"How may I help you, Mr. Oak?" she asked.

"I'm searching for a friend, he's been missing, you see. I've been trying to track him all over Ingary and I'm always a few steps behind. He wears a green soldier's uniform, and he's about this high," he said, indicating a man of great stature."

Mrs. Fairfax smiled.

"You needn't be coy, young man. I know you seek the prince. As a matter of fact, he passed through here several weeks back. He spoke with my apprentice, here, who prepared him a finding spell. Lettie, would you tell Mr. Oak what happened?"

The young girl, Lettie, came a bit nearer. Her dark hair curled in a wonderfully marvelous way, and he found her eyes quite captivating. He tried to remain focused as she spoke.

"Yes, he came one evening while Mrs. Fairfax was away. He wanted a finding spell, though he was unspecific about the object of his search. He was obviously pretending to not be Prince Justin, but his manner was so courtly and he was so well-spoken that the ruse was rather weak. I think he was rather distracted, he seemed to want to know about me and my family. He kept asking questions as I made a finding spell. Well, I tried.

"The first one didn't work at all. The Prince wasn't pleased about that. I told him that Mrs. Fairfax could do it better, if he called again in the morning, but he insisted I try again. So I did, and this one possibly worked. Once he whispered the object of his search into the spell, it worked right away, leading him away to the hills between here and Market Chipping.

"He was rather unhappy about that, as he told me he'd already been that way. But, I didn't know what else to tell him. He rather grumpily decided to follow the spell anyway.

"I was most concerned at his nosiness. Why he needed to know my family name or what kind of work we did seemed pointless. I answered, though, because the chatter seemed to make him less angry. And that's what happened." she finished.

Howl watched the girl with interest.

"And you didn't find him charming?" he asked, slyly?

"Certainly not, he was far too conceited, and too old for me as well." He could tell from her eyes that she could be rather fierce when she wanted. He thought he might like that.

"Thank you for the information, Ms. . . . " He trailed off.

"Hatter," Lettie supplied.

"Thank you for your information, Ms. Hatter. I hope you wouldn't mind if I called on you again?" He put on his most winning smile, holding two hands out to her.

Mrs. Fairfax broke in, "Oh, Lettie! Wouldn't that be nice. Yes, Mr. Oak, please come again. I often think Lettie needs to socialize more with people closer to her in age. I think spending time with you would do her good!"

She looked pleased, but Lettie looked dubious.

"I thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Fairfax, but I must be on my way," said Howl, "though I do hope to return soon," he said, smiling at Lettie again.

She raised an eyebrow but merely said, "Until we meet again, Mr. Oak."

Howl nodded, smiled, and walked back around the house.

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

Mrs. Fairfax watched the young man leave. As soon as he was out of sight around the house, she turned to Lettie.

"Now, you see, all of those rumors floating about are absolutely rediculous. He's still quite charming." Lettie looked at her in confusion.

"Ah, I assume you've never met the lad. That was Wizard Howl."

Lettie gasped. "Him?!"

"Yes, he is fond of games. I think he was trying to not draw attention to himself, but rather unfortunately for him we have met before. Alas, let's allow him to think we don't see past it. We will refer to him as Mr. Oak, as he wishes."

[dingusfreakhxrrington]

Icarus

pairing: remus lupin x sirius black

summary: in a world without wizards, remus moves to london in search of something more. it’s there, in a dimly lit bar in 1979, where he meets a troubled singer with a tendency to fly too close to the sun. can he pull sirius back down to earth before he gets burnt or will he learn to let loose and rise through the flames?

warnings: muggle au, band au, gay!remus, bi!sirius,

chapter word count: 798

chapters: 01, more coming soon…

read on ao3 here | masterlist

London was a spectacle. Completely unlike anywhere else. Not one person was the same, each passerby in the street living entirely separate lives while still somehow all remaining connected. It was simply the way of the capital, Remus supposed.

He had grown up moving from place to place as it was what his father’s job had demanded of them. All in all, he had a decent childhood. He made friends where he could and eventually got used to the many final goodbyes as they packed up and moved to a new town. He had parents who loved him and, for a time, that was enough.

By the time he turned eighteen, he knew he needed something more. He couldn’t live in his father’s shadow forever and he had no intentions of following in his footsteps. No, he needed to find his own path.

Against his parent’s wishes, he packed his things and left. Well, it was his father who was angered at his leaving, disappointed that his son would not be joining his company after all.

His mother was sad to see him go but knew it was what he wanted. She had always encouraged him to do what made him happy, even if that advice was now to drive a rift between him and his father. She packed him a sandwich, leaned up onto her toes as she cupped each side of his face, pulled him down toward her, and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead as she bid him goodbye.

That was how he found himself here, moving into a cosy flat in central London. He was lucky to find a place so soon. Lucky to have had enough cash saved up to assure his new roommate that he would have enough money for rent until he found some source of income. His father gave him nothing, of course. He had said: ‘If you want to make a life for yourself then do it. You will get no handouts from me.’ Or something along those lines. So there was no familial support but that was what he wanted. Remus just wanted to prove himself — to find himself.

“Remus? Have you seen my heels? The black ones with the straps?”

The boy, who was curled up in one corner of the sofa with a thick blanket and a book in hand, reluctantly looked up from the page and shook his head. “No. ‘ave you checked under your bed?”

The red-haired girl sighed and turned back to her bedroom and Remus waited for the few seconds that passed before she was calling back saying that she had found them.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” she asked as she put on her heels, fastening the straps around her ankles.

He folded the corner of the page and put his book down, knowing he wasn’t going to be able to read until she was gone.

“Nah, I’ve got work in the morning.”

The girl huffed and checked her makeup in the small, circular mirror that hung on the hallway wall. “You’re no fun. Come next time? Please? Marlene has been dying to see you again.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “Lils, you know I don’t swing that way.”

Lily sighed. “I know but she won’t stop nagging me. You’ll come out with us next week though won’t you? You have to party a little on your birthday.”

Remus had been in London for just under two months. He met Lily, his new roommate, the day he arrived. That very day, when she laid down the ground rules, she found out his deepest, darkest secret. Remus Lupin was gay. Her reaction to this, however, was much better than he had anticipated. In fact, she was overjoyed that she wouldn’t have to worry about kicking out another roommate for coming on to her.

“No clubbing.”

“Fine, no clubbing. But you will come out, right? I know a good bar we can go to. Live music, lots of eye candy. Might even find you a bit of fun,” she chuckled and ruffled his hair.

Remus was quick to swat her away and combed a hand through his hair. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there.”

“Great! Well, I’m off. See you later!”

With a hasty kiss to the cheek, she was gone.

Lily Evans was almost more than he’d signed up for. She was a whirlwind, a total force of nature. A complete and utter party animal. Then again, so were most people their age. There was little else to do to pass the time. Unlike Remus, however, Lily always managed to find time to both party until the sun came up and work her arse off for a meagre paycheck.

Relishing in his newfound peace and quiet, Remus resumed his book.

next chapter (coming soon)

feel free to let me know if you want to be added to or removed from my taglist!

[hrhbella]

Are You?

Pairing: Tom Riddle x OC [Isabella Rosier]

Word Count: 1.2k words

Summary: Someone(s) from Isabella's past appear in their future.

Warnings: N/A; [While other characters I have little to no grasp on (I.e. her brother, Evan Rosier, etc.), Isabella's existence in the Harry Potter Universe is entirely my own creation. I can show you the forethought of her, if you wish.

Author’s Note: This multi chapter work started its planning back in late 2019. Since I have sporadically wrote chapters in no particular order, but because of this I am thinking through changing a large aspect of my plot, which renders this posted edition (found here) of the work useless. Please enjoy, but reach out if you have time to help brainstorm and/or proof reader on an ongoing basis. Desperately want to put this idea onto paper in an orderly fashion. -B

------

December 1996

Isabella had been researching in the Rosier library for most of the morning when the yew doors swing open with poise, something that the patriarch of the family was not possessing as he storms into the Victorian-accented room,

“When in Godric’s name did you think it would be fitting to mention you were being shagged by my old schoolmate?" Mr. Rosier’s grip on the back of the settee opposite his daughter was stiff, the wood within creaking under the pressure.

“What?” Isabella murmurs, deep in concentration with the pages in front of her.

“Or was it you who persuaded him into being intimate?" Louis Rosier waves his own words away, pushing a hand through his greying hair, "Oh, of course not.” He watches impatiently as her slim finger follows a line in the tome.

“Rosier, I must ins-“ The young man whose gaze hadn't left Louis Rosier's daughter starts, though this only seems to animate the poorly veiled distressed look on the older man.

Paying no mind to her father, Isabella stumbles upon a most interesting passage: An underrated and forgotten hex is the Knee-Reversal hex. Developed prior to the year 1000, the Knee-Reversal hex has proved to be withstanding of the tests of time, though the same cannot be said of those on the receiving end. The incantation, Genu Transuerso, can be translated to-

Without looking up, Isabella reaches for her tea, “Have you been nursing that decanter of yours again? My, it’s only Tuesday, Papa.”

“Isabella Catherine Rosier!” Louis breathes deeply, “Are you or are you not copulating with the Dark Lord?"

His face flames a deep shade of scarlet and his left hand is itching to grab hold of his wand. He was slowly losing his patience, something that had become increasingly difficult over time, and now he was having a difficult time keeping his voice in check.

The remaining two young men, who have their eyes glued to the scene folding out in front of them, both attempt to swallow their anxiety. The thought of looking to the young man, the one they have just started to call the Dark Lord, between them seems to ping between them but both keep obedient eyes on the two Rosier's.

Isabella stills the tea with her other hand as the cup hovers over the book, though she is tracing the wand movements on the page with her eyes. “Papa, I only was allowed at a meeting just last-“

Louis wallops a vase and its plate off the hall table, gripping the settee’s edge with a new force. “Were you bumping uglies with Tom Riddle? Or are you still?”

The volume of his voice fills the vaulted room. Two of the young men flinch, though unnoticeable to anyone but their companion between them, and Isabella jerks her teacup causing a fair amount to slosh onto the diagram below.

“Shite! It simply is-“ Isabella started, though she still hasn't truly registered the words he's verbally hurling at her.

“It simply, what? You simply fell onto him? I know he is a fit young man, believe me, I am aware, but what possessed you to- to do it?” Louis rounds the back of the settee, putting a heavy hand onto its arm.

"Scourgify!" she harshly murmurs, waving her hand flippantly over the page while setting the cup away far from the various tomes stacked in front of her. “Really, Papa? I was under the impression you had more decorum than that.” Bumping uglies? Do it? Seriously, was he a second year?

“Did Malfoy put you up to this? We both know how low they have fallen but you mustn’t think that jumping onto Tom Riddle and-“

“Draco wouldn’t ever ask me to remedy a situation for him, do you even know the Malfoy’s, Papa? I can’t even believe you wou-" She slams one hand onto the tome, rattling everything on the cocktail table. The other shoots up to feel for the necklace hiding beneath her top. "Tom?”

Isabella’s head snaps towards her father, who seems to be physically forcing himself to take a breath in and push the air back out. Her cerulean eyes quickly fall onto the young men standing just within the threshold of the room. It takes reminding herself of all the years of formality her father and brother ingrained into her very soul to keep her mouth from meeting the carpet.

“Oh, Merlin’s beard,” Isabella breathes out.

“Yes. Merlin’s beard," Louis grinds out, forehead scrunching up, "You see, I was going to approve the monthly expenditures from Twilfitt and Tattings, Flourish and Blott’s, the likes.” He shoves a finger towards Isabella “I do have to discuss the ungodly amount spent at Cobb and Webb’s with you. But instead of an unoccupied office, I found myself digging through my desk. You must understand how this might have me bothered as not only I was already in my office, but as was Theodoros Nott and, as I am now aware you have been more than acquainted with, Tom Riddle.”

The pregnant pause that fills the library is heavier than a troll.

“Papa, this is not the best time to delve into this. It is quite a complicated circumstance.”

She steadily said, but her eyes kept darting from each of the men in front of her, not knowing where it was worse to look. She was starting to trace the outline of the metal beneath her top, letting the fibers rub into the pad of her finger.

“Oh, is it tea time?” Another vase shatters onto the floor, “Forgive me but I seem to be presenting more pressing matters." Louis locks his gaze with Isabella, willing her to show an ounce of remorse for him having to push through with this conversation. "Now, Bella darling. My only daughter. Are you having sex with Tom Riddle?”

Isabella can feel her mind starting to throb as she searches for something appropriate to say,

”Are you intimate with the Dark Lord?” Louis rasps out.

The rooms, walls, and chests inside of Isabella’s wits begin to crumble on themselves, leading to, by far, one of the most embarrassing responses she could think to give to her dear Papa.

“Evidently, yes.”

Louis Rosier could no longer hold himself up, collapsing onto the settee with a hand to his chest. His next words came out close to a whisper, “Merlin’s beard, Isabella.” He shoots a quick glance over his shoulder, “Do you know who he is?”

She stares into Tom Riddle’s deep chocolate eyes, “Yes, Papa.”

The two Rosiers seem to find anything but the other pulling their gaze until a voice sound from just in front of the door,

“Blimey, have I always been like this?” Sixteen-year-old Louis Rosier speaks up, glancing disapprovingly towards the aged wizard in front of them.

“Quite.” Theodoros Nott quips, eyes zipping towards Tom. One could never be too sure of what might prompt the young Dark Lord.

“And you most definitely have not gotten better with time, Rosier.” Tom watched the older Rosier pulling at his hair but turns his attention back towards Isabella with a charming smirk. "I apologize, Rosier. I am afraid I did not have time to owl ahead."

------

> If you wish to write a formal letter to Her Royal Highness, please do so here.

> If you wish to see Her Royal Highness’ completed list of works, please do so here.

> If you wish to see some of Her Royal Highness’ most frequently asked questions, please do so here.

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch 8: Old Friends, Not So New Tricks

Summary: When a familiar face turns up asking for Katie’s expertise, she finds herself confronted by another familiar face, this one being one she would rather never have had to see again.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Warnings: Language! Blood and SPOILERS if you haven’t seen Agents Of SHIELD….

A/N: Once again huge thanks to @angrybirdcr​ for her edit here, and the new banner for the next couple of sections of the story as we head forward through the next few parts of SSB...

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 7

O/S: Phobias

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

November 2013

There’s a fine line  between success and failure. And that last mission had well and truly teetered its way along the edge. The team had been split up after a catastrophic coms failure leaving Katie and Evans badly compromised.  They had just about got the situation under control after some quick thinking from Katie and very sharp shooting from Evans, when Steve had broken every protocol in place and run head first into a gun fire to get them out, putting himself in danger.

And Katie was livid at him.

“We had it under control!” she said, her voice raised as she stormed through the corridor away from the hangar, people turning to look. They’d been arguing about it all the way home.

“Yeah, well, it didn’t look like it from where I was standing!”

“Damned it Steve!” She spun to face him. “You weren’t standing anywhere, you were running, head first into the crossfire without even thinking about what was going on!”

“The last thing I heard was that you were surrounded-”

“This is EXACTLY what I don’t want you to do!” Katie groaned as she ran her hands over her face “Run in there without a second thought for your own damned safety or anyone else’s.”

“What do you mean anyone else?” Steve’s nostrils flared.

“You left Rumlow and Rollins completely uncovered,” Katie shook her head, “to come and save me. I’m not a fucking princess that needs rescuing Steve!”

“Don’t talk to me like that!” Steve’s voice was loud, displaying the anger he was feeling inside at her attitude. 

“I’ll talk to you how I want!” She snapped back. “You know everyone gossips enough about us as it is and we’re almost seven months down the fucking line…”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“…and yet you STILL give them fuel!” She threw her hands out to the side, bringing them back down to her combat outfit clad sides with a slap. “Oh look at Nova, needs her Super Soldier Boyfriend to bail her out!”

“For the last time…” Steve hissed between his teeth, but Katie completely ignored him.

“If you can’t remain objective when we work together then maybe we shouldn’t be on the same team.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t if that’s how you feel!” He practically snarled, as he took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders back as his hands dropped to his belt buckle, eyes blazing. 

“Glad we understand one another.” Katie spat back, before turning on her heel and heading towards the armoury to change, ignoring his shouts.

****

After debrief, for the first time in ages Steve left work alone. He was in a foul mood, and practically wrenched his apartment door off its hinges. In part he was pissed at Katie’s attitude, but in others his anger was directed at himself because deep down he knew she was right. He’d utterly lost it when he’d heard she was in trouble and hadn’t been able to do anything else but rush in there to help get them out. It was ridiculous, she was a trained agent with a shot on her like you wouldn’t believe, and the amount of times they’d been in bad situations before…but something today, something about the way she’d sounded on the radio had gotten to him and he’d abandoned all thoughts of professionalism and gone after his girl.

Sighing he threw his keys down on the kitchen side and grabbed a beer from the fridge before making his way into the living room, toeing off his boots as he want. He dropped onto the sofa and let out a loud moan of frustration, his head lolling back against the cushions. He hated that they’d rowed, this was the first big argument they’d actually had. Sure they quibbled about small things, the fact he made her sleep on the right hand side of the bed at his because it was furthest away from the door (just in case anyone got in), the way he was a bit of a neat freak and when she did stay for more than a night his apartment looked like a whirlwind had been through it (Ok, he didn’t actually mind that so much in truth), the way she tried on every fucking outfit she owned before they went out (maybe not every outfit, but close enough…), the way he often went for a run first thing in the morning and she’d get pissed he wasn’t there when she woke up because…well, because….but all that was stuff he adored. The normal part of being with someone you were comfortable sharing your life with.

As he took a pull from his bottle his eyes rolled to the right and fell on the large photo frame on his wall. It was one she had made him for his birthday.

“Open the big one first…” She instructed, nodding to the gifts that were piled on his sofa.

He did as he was told without saying a word, picking it up and resting it on his lap. It felt like a photo frame. As he peeled back the wrapping paper he realised that’s exactly what it was. It was large with glossy pine edges to match the furniture in his apartment and filled with photos of him all from his life before the ice and his eyes grew large as he took in the faces that looked back up at him. There was a photo of him and Bucky as kids, another as teenagers, then one of them in the army- the one of them laughing that Katie had said she loved. His eyes began to mist over as he saw a few shots of his parents at their wedding in Ireland, on the steps of their tenement building at Brooklyn, one of him and his mom when he was a small boy, then he spotted one of him and Howard along with various shots of him with the Howling Commandos and finally one of him, Colonel Chester Phillips and Peggy. And at the bottom of the frame, on a silver plaque was engraved a quote from the Wizard of Oz- ”A heart is not judged by how much you love, but by how much you are loved by others.”

“I thought it was a shame to just keep them in a box.” Katie said gently as she sat next to him. “I wanted you to see them every day and remember you meant as much to them as they did or do to you.”

His fingers trailed over the various faces in the frame as the memories flooded his brain and he felt a lump in his throat at the wave of nostalgia crossing over him, and also at the utter thoughtfulness that had gone into her gift.

 “I picked what I thought were the nicest ones.” She continued and he was aware her tone was growing nervous. “But we can swap them if…”

“Katie,” his voice was croaky as he cut her off and looked up at her. He was right, she was biting her lip, worried that she had upset him but nothing could be further from the truth. He moved to take her face in his hands and he kissed her, hard. He pulled away and looked at her speaking with utter honesty and sincerity “This is amazing, Darlin’. Thank you so much.”

Letting out a sigh, Steve’s eyes dropped from the wall to a smaller frame on the sideboard, this one contained a photo of him and Katie a ‘selfie’ of the two of them at the Top of the Rock, taken when they had gone back to New York to visit Tony one weekend in October. He loved it, the pair of them grinning like idiots, Katie wearing a baby blue sparkly beany and matching scarf, her smile genuine and him looking like a loves-struck idiot, pressing a kiss to her cheek as he glanced at the camera. She had the same photo in her living room too.

No, he couldn’t go to bed without sorting this out. Abandoning his half-drunk bottle of Sam Adams, he shoved his shoes back on, grabbed his keys and headed out.

****

Katie didn’t even stay for debrief, more to piss Steve off than anything. It was petty, yes but she was absolutely raging at him. Their relationship had been the talk of the Triskelion for months, and for that reason, they had behaved nothing but professionally on missions, wanting to prove to not only everyone they worked with, but to themselves, that they could remain objective in their work and that them being together wouldn’t compromise the way they behaved in the field. 

And now he had fucked that.

She ignored his call which came just as she got home and throwing her phone onto the sofa she grabbed a glass of wine and ran herself a bath, turning her music up loud. She lay back under the bubbles, gently humming along to the music. Music was her thing to calm down to. She’d always played piano, right from the age of four when her mom had taught her, and she wasn’t bad at it either.

The mellow sounds of John Legend’s ‘Ordinary People’ faded into the opening notes of ‘Only One In Color’ by Trapt, and Katie paused, smiling. This song took her years back, to nights in London with colleagues in bars, and then a concert in Orlando in 2009…and Steve, it took her back to Steve and one rainy afternoon in August.

Katie shimmied around, folding laundry and dropping it into the basket as she sang, loudly. It had been ages since she’d done this, just danced around her apartment like an idiot. She turned round to grab the final load out of the machine and screamed as Steve was stood in the doorway, arms folded, leaning against the frame, that annoyingly cute smirk on his face.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“Jesus, how long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough” He grinned, crossing the room and wrapping his arms around her. He nuzzled into her neck and the two of them stood there, still, listening to the song that was playing.

“What is it?” Steve asked, pressing a kiss to the spot just below her ear..

“It’s called Only One In Color, by a band called Trapt.” Katie replied, turning her head to look at him. “It kinda reminds me of you actually.”

Steve smiled as they listened for another second before he moved back, his hand taking hers as he raised it above their heads and spun her round, playfully as she laughed, before he pulled him to her.

“Dance with me.”

“What, here? In my apartment?”

“Our own private ballroom.”

“You’ve never danced before.” Katie looked up at him. “You told me.”

“I know, Peggy was right.” He took a deep breath and looked at her. “I was waiting for the right partner. So, what do you say? Teach me?”

“You know I don’t really know a lot of steps.” Katie felt a smile spread across her face as Steve placed his free hand on the curve of her waist and she began to lead them around on the spot, her right hand held in his left, her left curling up and over his right shoulder. She watched Steve, who was concentrating so hard that his brows pinched together slightly, a look that was incredibly endearing.

“Stop over thinking it.” She said gently, looking up at him. “Listen to the music and just let go.”

So he did. He let go, listening to the melody and the words, smiling a little as the lyrics hit home, really making him think about the woman in his arms. She had brought colour to his life, given him a reason to keep going in this world he had found so strange and, well, daunting. As he found his rhythm, he felt the smile pull even broader on his lips. He raised his head from where his eyes had been focussing on his feet and his girl beamed up at him, squeezing the hand that she held.

“See, it’s not that hard is it?” She giggled. Steve returned the grin and shook his head.

“Surprisingly not.” He admitted. They continued to revolve around the space in the doorway between her kitchen and laundry room and Katie lay her head on his chest, Steve’s face automatically turning down slightly so his cheek was resting against her hair. After a minute or so Katie felt him move and instinctively she looked up and could do nothing but smile as they stopped dancing and their mouths drifted closer together. Her hand slipped up, fingers stretching themselves into the short hair at the nape of his neck as his lips met hers, his hand creeping across her back, large palm pressed firmly against her spine. 

They never made it to the bedroom, they made it as far as the couch before they were both naked and going at it like a couple of horny fucking teenagers. And since then it had been ‘their’ song.

Katie sighed and drained her wine glass before she set about washing her hair and climbed out of the bath. She dressed in a pair of shorts and a hoodie before pulling her damp hair back into a French braid and had just settled on the sofa to watch TV when the buzzer to her apartment went. Picking up her phone to look at the security camera she took a deep breath and realised it was Steve.

“Sweetheart let me in. My key card is at home.”

She gave no response.

“I’m not going till you do, you know I could do this all day. Or all night.”

Still no response.

“I mean it’s a pretty interesting buzzer.”

With a groan, knowing full well the stubborn little shit in him would do just that, she pressed the button to let him in. Half a minute or so later the alert went again to signal he had requested access to her floor. Once more she tapped to accept and turned her attention back to the TV. She didn’t look up as the elevator door in the panel in her wall slid open, keeping her eyes focussed on the television as he strode into the room, heading straight for her once he’d hung his jacket up on the hooks to the right of the elevator.

“You were gonna watch this without me?” Hesaid gently, nodding to the episode of ‘Brooklyn Nine-Nine’ that was playing as he dropped down next to her.

“Yes.” She replied simply, her arms folded.

Steve fought the smile spreading across his face at her childishness. He knew if she was mad the worst thing he could do was laugh at her and make her think he wasn’t taking her seriously. So, he took a deep breath and turned so he was facing her on the couch, arm resting along the back.”

“I know you’re pissed at me.” He sighed. “But come on Doll, I hate fighting with you.”

“Then stop being a dick.” She snarked back. Steve took another deep breath and looked at her as she continued. “You know what it’s like at work, everyone has constantly analysed everything I do because, hello, Howard Stark’s daughter, and today…”

She trailed off and Steve looked down at his hands and shook his head. “I know. I didn’t mean to make it look like you couldn’t handle yourself.”

They fell into silence and Katie exhaled sharply, deciding to meet him half way. She knew he hadn’t meant to make her feel like he had but, there was also a part of her that had been scared. Not just for her and Evans, but seeing Steve rush in, headfirst with no regard for his own safety just to get to her had really frightened her. Despite his enhanced nature, he wasn’t invincible.

“You need to trust me when I’m out there.” She spoke, her voice was softe.

“I do trust you, you know that.” He looked at her. “But I’m not gonna apologize for looking out for you, Sweetheart. It’s my job. Both as your Captain and your man.”

“I get that, I do.” Katie sighed. “But you put yourself in danger today, running straight into the middle of a fire fight…can you imagine what I’d have done if you’d have been…”

She trailed off, swallowing and took a deep breath before she continued and her words hit Steve. He hadn’t considered she had felt as worried about him as he had her.  

“We have to remain objective, and if that means you can’t just abandon the team for me.”

“I know, you’re right, I’m sorry.” He said finally.

She looked at him and took a deep breath, the anger dissipating at his apology and moved to give him a hug, her arms round his shoulders as he wrapped his around her back and pulled her clumsily into his lap.

 “I’m sorry for reacting the way I did.” She sighed as she lay her head against his.

“Forgiven?” He asked and she looked down at him, he was giving her his puppy dog eyes. She rolled her own, she couldn’t stay mad at him, especially when there was a small part of her that couldn’t help but adore the fact he cared so deeply for her that he’d rush in, head first with no regard for anything else.

“Captain Dumbass.” She grumbled, before giving him a soft kiss.

“Guess so.” He chuckled. And when she didn’t protest he gently tapped her thigh, and knowing what he wanted she shifted off his lap so he could lay down flat on the sofa, allowing her to drape herself over him like  blanket, head on his chest as his arms wrapped around her back, legs tangling together as they settled in to watch their programme.

*****

Katie hadn’t been in the office for five minutes the next morning when she got a message to say Fury wanted to see her. In the years she had known the director, she still found it hard to get a read on him and this time was no exception. She stepped into his office and he nodded to her, and without a word got straight to business, leading her over to the screen on the wall by the sofas.

“I was wondering what you made of this.” He said nodding to the large screen on the wall. The photo displayed was of a tree trunk, cut in half and running down the middle was a long, tube like shape, with some markings on it. The photo zoomed in and Katie frowned.

“These look like the markings on Thor’s hammer.” She looked at the Director.

“Funny you should say that.” Fury nodded. “Because the Spectrographic signatures match the readings from Thor’s hammer too.”

“So whatever was in that tree was Asgardian?”

Fury nodded. “It looks that way, Nova, yes.”

“Where was it found?”

“That’s a trunk from a Norwegian spruce in Trillmarka National Park, Norway.”

“Figures.” Katie bit her lip.

“How do you mean?” Fury looked at her.

“The legends of Thor, they all have origins in Norway. When I asked him about it, Thor explained that Asgardians visited Earth thousands of years ago.” She explained. “They roamed Norway, mingling with the old Norse people, but back then, because humans couldn’t understand the concept of people from another planet, these, well, these aliens were revered as Gods.”

Fury gave a noise of understanding.  

“So who took it?” She asked. “Has Thor been back since the whole incident in Greenwich or…”

“I wish he had, then I wouldn’t really give a shit.” Fury sighed. “This thing has gone AWOL. According to my team on the ground, it was taken by a woman and a man, very much of Earth”

“Great.”  Katie rolled her eyes, before she continued, her tone laced with sarcasm. “Because every time something alien lands in human hands that ends well.”  

Fury gave a snort and pressed a button on a remote and she turned her attention to the TV on the wall of the office. It was screening a news broadcast, footage of a riot. The runner on the bottom of the screen identified the location as Oslo.

“The rioting has left twenty injured and three in a critical condition. Reports indicate that the group of about a dozen was led by this man and woman.”

A picture of the culprits filled the screen. The man was tall, dark haired, dark eyed and had a short beard. The woman, in contrast was slight, blonde and with icy blue eyes.

“And although their motive was unclear, the message was spelled out on the streets of Oslo, for all to see”

“It looks like the item has given them powers beyond those of normal humans.” Fury spoke as the newscast panned over to a fire on the street, this time an aerial view. The fire spelt out the words “We are Gods”.

“So what do you need me to do?” Katie asked, looking at him.

“I’m gonna need you to work with one of my field teams.” Fury continued, looking at her. “My best field team, actually. I want you to help them track these guys down. You have a decent knowledge on Asgardian and Mythological history and the team could do with someone with a little background on the subject.”

“Sir, if these people are as powerful as this report is saying, shouldn’t we consider at least trying to contact Thor, possibly the rest of the Avengers?” Katie looked at him.

 “No.” Fury’s response was instantaneous. “I don’t want the Avengers involving. It would attract too much attention.”

“With all due respect, they just set a street on fire. I dare say it’s already attracting a fair amount of attention so whats-“ She trailed off as Fury looked at her, an expression on his face that Katie knew extremely well having seen it several times before. The expression he wore when he was about to drop a bombshell. “Oh, what are you hiding Nick?” She frowned.

“I want you to understand that you’ve been kept in the dark about this so far for a reason. And I know you’re going to get emotional, but if you could refrain from throwing that coffee you’re holding, Nova, I’d appreciate it.”

“Dark about what?” She pressed, her tone irritated. She didn’t have time for this bullshit.

Agent Fury pressed a button on his phone on his desk. “Alright, you’re up.” And with that the TV snapped onto a different channel and she turned to see a familiar man sat in a chair on the screen.

Katie didn’t throw the coffee, instead it slipped from her hands as her mouth dropped open and the entire room swam in front of her eyes.

“Sorry, boss. The God rabbited” 

“Just stay awake. EYES ON ME!” 

“No. I’m clocked out here.” 

“Not an option!” 

The room came back into focus again and she looked from the screen to Fury, then back. “This…this is impossible.” She stammered.

“I’d have said the same thing myself not long ago.” Phil Coulson gave a shy little smile.

Katie found herself floundering for words before the anger at the lies and deceit bubbled up.

“No, you…you died! I was there, I saw it!”

“Excellent medics.” Fury concluded.

“They took you away, in a body bag!” Katie’s voice rose to a yell as she ran her hands over her face, unable to believe what she was seeing. She’d cried, mourned the loss of one of her friends, a man who had been her mentor. She looked at Coulson on the screen, and then away again, her eyes misting up slightly.

“No one knew I’d pulled through until after New York.“ Coulson spoke softly “I spent months recovering in Tahiti. It’s a magical place.”

“I want your word that you will not reveal Agent Coulson is alive to anyone.” Fury spoke and Katie turned to look at him, her face curling up in an angry sneer. “I debated long and hard about pulling you into this but we need you.”

Katie eyed the director, chin jutting upwards as she glared at him. “Don’t you ever get tired of the lies?”

“I have no option.” Fury’s face was stern. “I can’t risk the Avengers falling apart.”

“I’m not lying to them for you.” She shook her head “No way. A team is built on trust. Without that you have nohing.”

Fury looked at her for a moment, before he sighed. “That wasn’t a request, Agent Stark. If you tell anyone I’ll remove you from service.”

“So now you’re blackmailing me?”

“I’m merely pointing out your options.” Fury replied simply.

“You are unbelievable.” She shook her head. “Fuck you. Fuck this.”

She turned to walk out of the door before Coulson’s voice rang across the room.

“Katie, please. We wouldn’t be asking this of you if it wasn’t urgent, but we really do need your help

The use of her first name, not her code name, made Katie stop in her tracks. Taking a deep breath she spun back, fire in her eyes as she glared at Coulson’s image on the screen. “Why should I?”

“Because, ” Coulson continued, “you’re the only one I trust enough with this.”

Katie ran her hands over her face, torn between wanting to leave and her desire, sorry, duty to help. In the end her duty won out and she felt her shoulders slump as she looked back towards the two men, giving them both a curt nod.

“Fine, but that does not mean that I’m happy about this. Any of it.”

“You’ll rendezvous with the Bus in Oslow.” Fury instructed, ignoring her emotion completely. “There’s a Jet being prepped to take the new shift of mobile STRIKE team members out as we speak. You can go with them.”

“Whatever.” She shrugged. With a final roll of her eyes she made to leave the room before Fury called after her.

“Agent Stark.”

“What?” she demanded as she spun round, fixing her eyes on his.

“I’m sorry.” He sighed, shaking his head. “But I had to do it.”

She swallowed, before she turned and left, not trusting herself to respond.  

*****

Steve was looking for Katie, he knew she’d been to see Fury and was eager to find out what it was about. After asking a few agents if they’d seen her he finally tracked her to one of the kitchens where she was sat, hugging a cup of coffee like her life depended on it, staring down at the table. He frowned, she looked absolutely beat.

“Sweetheart?” He asked tentatively as she looked up at him. His frown deepened when he saw her face. She looked distraught. “Honey, what is it?”

One look in his eyes and Katie knew she couldn’t lie to him, she didn’t want to lie to him. Fuck Fury, fuck all of this.

“Coulson…he…” She stammered, looking up at Steve, her eyes wet.

“What about him?” Steve frowned.

She took a deep breath, tears now rolling down her face. “He’s alive, Steve, he’s fucking alive.”

And then the dam broke and she began to sob. Steve instantly went into autopilot, pulling out a spare chair and moving it close to her so he could wrap his arms around her as she cried into his tevlar clad chest, his own mind whirling at the news.

Eventually she calmed down to tell him everything. And Steve listened, not saying a word, simply holding her hand, his thumb skating over her knuckles as she spoke. He did, however, make an angry noise that was half way between a snort and a growl when she told him Fury had threatened to sack her if she told anyone.

“I honestly thought I’d seen it all, that nothing life threw up would ever surprise me again.” She sighed looking at Steve as she finished explaining.

“Ten bucks says you’re wrong.” He smiled softly and she spluttered a watery laugh through her tears, remembering what she’d said to him the first time they had met. “There’s my girl.” Steve reached over to gently brush her cheek with his hand. “I like it better when you smile.”

“Sorry, but I’m so angry. Fury is lying, again! Has he learnt nothing from everything that’s happened over the past few years?”

Steve didn’t say anything, merely studied her face for a moment and then both of them turned their attention to the door when one of the Junior Agents appeared.

“Agent Stark, Director Fury asked me to tell you we’re wheels up in an hour.”

“Thanks.” She nodded, sniffing before she looked at Steve. “I don’t even have time to pack.”

“You got some stuff in your locker, right?”

She nodded. She always had a few days’ worth of clothes in her locker and toiletries to hand, just in case. She ran her hands over her face and stood up. “You know, I don’t even know who I’m meeting!” She shook her head. “Other than Fitz and Simmons, I’ve no idea who Coulson has on The Bus.”

“Whoever it is I’m sure you’ll be fine.” Steve assured her. “And I know it’s shitty but they asked for you for a reason.”

“Suppose I best make the most of it, seeing as it will be my last mission, you know, on account of me telling you.”

“It won’t come to that.” Steve shook his head “I’m not gonna tell anyone I know.”

“Fury always finds out.” Katie sighed. “Tony is right about him. His spies have spies.”

Thirty minutes later she was walking to the hangar, suited in her SHIELD cat suit, Steve carrying her holdall for her as they walked. The Captain didn’t like this, he hated that she was effectively being manipulated and he would have loved nothing more than to give Fury a piece of his mind but he couldn’t, because he wasn’t supposed to know. They reached the bottom of the jet and Katie turned to him as he handed her bag to one of the agents who nodded to them both.

“I’ll call you as soon as I can.” She promised as Steve looked down at her and nodded

“Make sure you do.” He raised an eyebrow. “Not sure how I’m gonna cope without my best girl.”

“Your best girl?” She teased. “How many others do you have?”

“One or two.” He shrugged. “But they’re in different states, so, they don’t count, right?”

She gave a laugh as she shook her head. “Jerk.”

Steve chuckled and tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. “You know you’re the only one for me, Doll.” He dropped a soft kiss to her lips. “Just go do what you gotta do. I’ll be here when you get back.”

He kissed her again, this time a little longer, although both still well aware that they were in the middle of a very busy hangar, surrounded by a lot of people. Sighing, Katie pulled back and allowed herself to melt into his arms for a quick hug before she stepped back.

“I love you.” She said gently.

“You too. Be careful.” He looked at her, his features verging on stern with his warning.

“I’m always careful.” She grinned, walking backwards up the ramp, wanting to look at him for as long as possible.

“Well that’s just an out and out lie.” He raised an eyebrow, hands dropping to the buckle of his belt.

She grinned, blew him a kiss and then disappeared into the main part of the jet. Steve watched for a second as the ramp shut before he turned and left the hangar.

*****

The flight over to Oslow wasn’t too long. Katie used the time to do as much reading up on the item they were tracking as possible, going through all the files that Coulson had sent her. Eventually they docked with The Bus and her and the other agents made their way to the Air Lock. The doors shut and the capsule took them down a level before the frosted glass doors opened and there, stood in front of her, was Phil Coulson. The other agents pushed past, clearly fine at the sight of a dead-not-dead man in front of them.

There was a moment’s hesitation, where Coulson and Katie simply looked at each other, and then Katie’s anger boiled over and she stepped forwards, slapping him, hard across the face. The agents who were milling around all paused as Coulson’s head snapped to the side.

“Guess I deserved that…” He said, turning his head back to look at her as everyone hastily carried on with their jobs.

As Katie stared at her old mentor, her anger melted away and with a little sigh she threw her arms around him.  Coulson squeezed her back, before Katie moved a little to look at him, before she spoke for the first time.

“Good to see you again. Not dead, I mean.”

Phil gave a chuckle. “You too Nova. Come on, the rest of the team are waiting in the lab.”

He led her down the hall, Katie following, her eyes taking in her surroundings before Coulson stopped at the end of a corridor, near a door to a room that she could see had a glass wall.

“Now, before you go in, there’s something else you should know.” Coulson turned to face her and she looked at him, letting out an angry groan.

“What now?”

“I want you to know, Fury didn’t want me to tell you as he didn’t think you would come, it wasn’t my decision to keep it from you.”

“Keep what from me?” Her temper was flaring again. “I swear to God AC I am this close…”she held her fingers an inch apart, “to losing my shit!”

Coulson hesitated for a moment and then opened the door to the lab. As they walked in six people all looked up from what they’d been watching and turned to face them. One of them was a dark haired girl she didn’t know and next to her were Jemma Simmons and Leo Fitz who Katie knew from the labs when they had worked with Lawson. Then she spotted Melinda May, an agent only rivalled in fighting skills by Natasha.

And then a pair of familiar dark eyes met hers as another familiar face looked up from a tablet.

“Oh for fucks sake!” Katie muttered and she turned to Coulson who shrugged apologetically.

“Good to see you too.” Ward grinned as Katie folded her arms and glared at him.

There was a moment’s pause as the two simply stared at one another, Katie’s teeth grinding together in irritation, before the girl with the dark hair spoke. “Okay, so this is awkward…”

“And this is Skye.” Coulson spoke, breaking up the tension. “She’s a…”

“Hacker.” May supplied, at the same time Skye replied, “consultant”

Katie was really struggling to keep her temper under control now, so missed the irritated glare Skye shot at May. First Coulson, now this. Fury was going to absolutely get the full Stark-slash-Supernova explosion when she got back.

“So, shall we get down to business?” Coulson asked, spotting the look on Katie’s face, realising she needed to focus on something else. “What have you got?”

“We’ve managed to identify our thieves.” May spoke as Sky pressed something on the tablet she was holding. A close up of the woman’s face appeared on the holo-projector in the middle of the room.  “Her name is Petra Larson”

“And this is Jakob Nystrom, her boyfriend. Both thirty.  Leaders of a Norse Paganist hate group”

 “And their numbers are growing thanks to what happened in London and the internet” Sky scoffed. “Yay internet,”

“Norse Paganist?” Simmons questioned

“Obsessed with anything derived from Norse mythology, stories of Asgard, yada yada.” Skye explained. 

“And now a weapon.” Ward gestured to a long object on the table which Katie hadn’t noticed until that point.

“Is that a 3-d print?” She asked, instantly captivated by the item, looking at Fitz who nodded. “May I?”

“Of course…” He said. Katie picked it up and turned it over in her hands, testing the weight as she scanned it up and down. The detailing was exquisite.

“The scan accounted for only one side.” Fitz explained. “There was too much damage to the tree for a complete reproduction”.

“But, see here, it’s clearly broken on both ends.” Katie held it up. “So there are more pieces.”

“Yeah, two at least” Fitz responded, nodding.

“Which means Sid and Nancy may be looking for a complete set.” Ward spoke as Coulson turned to Katie.

“The markings. Just as you said on the call they’re Asgardian symbolism.”

She looked at the item in her hand and nodded. “Similar to Thor’s hammer.”

“Yeah, hard to translate with our limited knowledge.” Couslon shrugged.

“You should give your buddy the God of Thunder a shout.” Sky spoke “He gets his powers from his hammer, right? What if this is his nail to the hammer?”

“He’s off grid.” Coulson looked at her. “And if he has a cell-phone, we don’t have the number.

“I told to get him a pager.” Katie muttered as she peered at the rod and then something stirred in her mind, and she began racking her brains. There was something similar about this, something that she’d seen or read before, if she could only remember what.

“So,” May looked at Katie, “SHIELD’s investigations are on the trail of Nystrom and his followers.”

“We’re charged with identifying the object and finding any other pieces before they do.” Coulson finished.

Katie nodded, still thinking. “If this acts in the same way as Thor’s hammer then that’s a sensible task.”

And then she trailed off as it suddenly hit her exactly what it was she’d been trying to remember.

“No, it can’t be.” She muttered as Coulson looked at her questioningly. She nodded to the item in her hand and then looked back at him. “I could be wrong but this…this could be a piece of the Beserker Staff.”

“The what?”  Ward frowned.

“It’s from an old legend that a great warrior, from another world came to Earth” Katie spoke, recalling the research she’d done once upon a time. “He had in his possession a magical staff but he loved Earth so much he never left, and he broke the staff into pieces and hid them.”

“Any idea on where?” Coulson asked.  Katie shook her head.

 “Well our Pagan friends certainly seem to have some advantage on that front.” Ward sighed. “They found this thing in a hundred and fifty square kilometres of Norwegian forest.”

“Guys, what if it called to them with magic?” Sky asked, her eyes going large and excited.

“Called to them?” May shot her a ‘be real’ look in response.

“We know it’s Asgardian, so the rules are a little bendy here.” Skye pressed.

“Just because we don’t understand something yet doesn’t mean we should regress back to the dark ages, talking of magic and fairy tales” Simmons shook her head and Fitz scoffed his agreement.

“Actually, that’s exactly what we need to do.” Katie looked around as the idea came to her.

“Excuse me?” Simmons asked.

Ignoring him, Katie turned to Agent Coulson. “Remember when we first found the hammer in New Mexico, and I told Fury to consult with an expert on Norse Mythology to fill the gaps.”

“Elliot Randolph,” Phil nodded.

“We should speak to him, he’ll know more about it than me.”

“Alright.” Coulson nodded, looking at May. “He’s a professor at the University of Seville. Set the course, let’s pay him a visit.”

“Shouldn’t take us too long.” May shrugged “But it is getting kinda late. By the time we get there it will be past eight in the evening local time. Can I suggest we head out first thing tomorrow morning?”

Coulson nodded. “Alright. Sounds like a plan. Okay team, lets wrap it up here and get something to eat. Think we’ve earned it.” He then turned to Katie, gesturing with his head for her to follow him out of the room.

He led her down a few more corridors and to a flight of steps which led up to the upper deck of the large airship.

“The Accommodation is probably a bit smaller than you’re used to, but…”

 “If it’s that bad imma find a hotel.” She shrugged as she followed Coulson down the corridor.

“What and miss all the fun?” Phil looked over his shoulder. “I’ve had the gin bar stocked specially.”

“Yeah, for the record that isn’t going to take away from the fact that I’m utterly pissed at you and Fury”

“I know you well enough Nova to not even hope that would be the case” Coulson snorted as they turned right. Eventually they reached the living area and Coulson led her to one of the spare rooms.

It wasn’t as bad as Coulson made it out to be, a bed that was slightly bigger than a single but not a full double, with a small wardrobe and a small basin to the side.

“This isn’t so bad.” She turned to Phil who was watching her a little cautiously.

“Glad it meets your approval.” He nodded, leaning in the door way before he took a deep breath. “Look, I really am sorry about all of this. I wouldn’t have-“

“Let’s just find that thing and then I can go home.” Katie cut him off, not in the mood for anymore apologies or explanations. She had a job to do, and the sooner she did it, the sooner she could get back.

“That’s the plan.” Coulson nodded. “I’ll be in the bar in an hour or so, got a few things to sort out before but, well, it would be nice if we could catch up.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Katie replied. There was a pause before Coulson gave her another curt nod.

“I’ll leave you to it.”

With that he turned and left and Katie’s eyes fixed on the now empty doorway. With a purposeful stride, she moved forward and pressed her palm to the pad at the side, the door sliding shut with a slight click.

Katie turned around, looking at her bag which had been placed at the foot of her bed and with a loud, angry groan of frustration she flopped backwards onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

***** Chapter 9

**Original Posting**

[thegryffindorprincess]

Warmth//Draco Malfoy x Muggle Reader (fluff and smut)

A/N: Hi Loves! This is a draft that’s been chilling in my docs for a few months, and it’s so pure I needed to share it. I have a George Weasley x reader fic coming out a little later, and i’m starting to work on a master list. Anyways enjoy this, I think it’s fucking beautiful!

Set: Golden Trio Era

Word Count: 1,915

Warnings: Smut obviously! Also angst, abuse and swearing.

He regretted coming home this summer. He’d finished his fifth year with perfect OWLs scores but everything had changed since then. Draco was sat on the sofa in the main formal living room as he watched his mother and father pack up their stuff into suitcases in the hall. He was reading a book on quidditch quietly by the fireplace, the only comfort he could find at times like this. He’d just been given a task by the dark lord that he knew would be the final knife in his soul, he’d do anything to distract himself. The pale boy traced his long fingers over the mark on his arm, gently looking at it. If it didn’t have such meaning, it would probably be beautiful. Except, it wasn’t. He hadn’t noticed his mums weak figure and pale face fall next to him, so he jumped a little with surprise when she began to talk.

“Me and your father are leaving now,” Narcissa said cautiously, watching Lucius cautiously as he paced by the door, “three days. We’ll be back. Keep safe.” Draco nodded and let her hug him, he placed a shaky kiss to her head and smiled gently as she walked away. He watched as his parents apparated away, and he snuggled back up with his book. Time passed. Hours probably except he couldn’t be bothered to care. A house elf arrived at the door of the sitting room and laid his dinner before him. As he was beginning to tuck in, the doorbell rang out throughout the halls, echoing into the room he was sitting in. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d heard anyone come to the house, unless they were here to use the manor as a death eater head quarters. Cautiously, Draco approached the door, wand drawn. He opened the door with his wand and it slowly creaked open. He hesitated before walking forward to see who was there. The figure behind the door was a girl, probably his age, standing there, face knitted with pain. He hastily stuffed his wand in his pocket and walked towards her.

“Can I help you?” He asked slowly, still worried about what this random person could want from him. The girl was shaking quietly, looking at him. She thought he was beautiful, almost made of glass. He was tall and slender, with platinum blonde hair that was so perfectly styled she felt nervous in his presence but his eyes were bright and sympathetic.

“Sorry. I can’t go home and this was the first house I could find.” Draco looked at the girl again and decided against his better judgement to help her into the house. He sat her down by the fire, and covered her in a blanket. He rang the bell that sat on the coffee table. A house elf appeared. The girl screamed. 

“What the fuck is that?!” She yelled covering herself further with the blanket the handsome stranger had offered. Draco decided no to answer and simply whispered to the elf, who soon left. 

“So? What’s your name?” Draco asked calmly, sitting down next to her. The girl hesitantly looked at him.

“Y/N Y/L/N.” She was shaking more now. He slowly moved a little closer to her and she relaxed slowly into him.

“I’m Draco Malfoy,” he said quietly, “and I’ve got a secret.” He wiggled his eyebrows and on the outside looked confidently down at the girl on his sofa. Inside his stomach was flipping. A muggle, in his house, on his sofa who he was going to help. 

“I’m a wizard.” Draco sat back on the sofa triumphantly. Y/N burst out laughing.

“What?” Draco said a little offended. 

“Bet you’re not. Wizards don’t exist.” The once quiet girl scoffed. Draco rolled his eyes and took the wand out of his pocket. He flicked it and the flame from the fire burst from the grate and flew around the room, before returning to the fireplace. Y/N sat, mouth wide staring at him.

“Told you.” Was all he said before the house elf tottered back into the room with a silver platter. 

“So,” Draco said attempting to remain as natural as possible, “where are your injuries, I will attend to them.” The girls eyes suddenly shot open. When he shot her a tiny smile, she became less up tight and relaxed a little. She pointed to her legs. Draco slowly leant down and rolled the legs of pyjamas up. He’d barely realised that was what she was wearing, but now it felt almost amusing. That was until he saw her legs. They were covered in purple bruises and red scrapes, she looked away when she saw Draco scan her injuries. 

“Who did this to you?” He asked gently, the caring tone in his voice almost making Y/N cry. She shook her head.

“It doesn’t matter.” She whispered. He took the cream the house elf had bought him and applied it to his hands softly. Draco began to rub it into her injuries. She hissed as it sunk in, feeling it sting. He worked away quietly, so that the muggle above him couldn’t see. When he moved away, Y/N saw that all of the injuries she’d had gone as if they’d sunk into her skin. 

“Now, you look exhausted, you should be getting to bed.” Draco offered a hand.

“I’ll be on my way it’s okay. Thankyou.” She quickly stood and made her way toward the door. Draco ran to keep up and managed to get in between her and the door. He didn’t really know whether he was about to do this or not. Was he going to disobey everything his parents had ever taught him? Let her in? Let her stay with him? Why was his chest pounding? Why was she making him blush? Why was his heart pounding? Could he do this? Should he?

“Is the person who caused this at home?” Draco asked slowly. She nodded. “Then stay. Please?” Y/N deliberated by for a moment, before nodding once more.

XXX

Draco got Y/N into his bed and made sure she was comfortable. She was smiling now, cuddling into his duvet. He’d never liked his room, but with her in it, he was beginning to. He went to leave. 

“Stay?” She said peering at him over the duvet. Draco now was taken a back, looking carefully at the gentle girl in his bed. Could he, share a bed with a muggle? Cuddle a muggle? Wasn’t she inferior? She couldn’t be, she was perfect, his parents had to be wrong. He gently walked back over to the bed and shuffled in. The second Draco was buried into the sheets, she snuggled into the bed, her head on his chest. He felt butterflies swim through his stomach, he was nervous. He’d never been nervous before. Then again, Draco had never had a girl in his room, let alone a muggle, let alone in his bed. He looked down at her, watching her eyelashes flutter up at him. Against his better judgement, he leant down and kissed her. She kissed back, wrapping her body into his, legs tangled, her hands going up to his hair. Y/N gently pulled him slowly on top of her, he felt so confident then, more than he had in years. He looked down at her, her smile so wide he could barely handle it.

“Have you had sex before Draco?” She asked suddenly. He bit his lip, debating lying before deciding not too. 

“No.” He said honestly. He hadn’t had time, he’d had chances, he just didn’t want to let anyone know him like that. That was until Y/N. She smiled.

“Me neither for the record.” Draco smiled at her before leaning further in.

“Would you like too?” He asked her nervously. She nodded eagerly and he kissed her again. They began to scrabble at eachothers clothes, he began to remove her pyjama top and she began to undo the buttons of his shirt. They were both giggling gently their bare skin touching each other. Draco began to kiss down her neck, her collarbones, her stomach, her thighs... He was being so slow, so gentle, but he was teasing. He sat between her legs and looked up at her eager smile. 

“Do you want this?” He asked. She moaned softly and nodded holding his head in her hand.

“I need to hear you say it baby.” He said again.

“Yes. Draco please!” Y/N practically moaned. Draco grinned and fell between her legs, pulling her under wear to the side. He licked along her folds and darted his tongue in and out. She was writhing underneath him, moaning. He then began to rub her clit with his fingers, gently at first. 

“I want to do something, but it may hurt and I want you to tell me to stop if you don’t like it.” He said gently. She nodded, eagerly again. Draco inserted one of his long fingers into her pussy, feeling how wet she was again. Y/N hissed, but soon began to moan. He added more and more fingers until she was practically shaking. He could feel his erection strain against his joggers and he could barely take it. 

“You can have sex with me Draco.” Y/N said quietly, looking at his erect dick. 

“Are you sure?” He asked gently, brushing some hair from her face.

“Please.” That’s all he needed to rid himself of the rest of his clothes. She winced a little at the size of him, as his dick hit his stomach. 

“I’ll be gentle, I promise,” He reached out for her hands, “hold my hands, squeeze them, so I know how you feel.” Y/N nodded and gently held his hands in hers. Draco lined himself up to her entrance and gently pushed in. He could feel her eyes water and she softly began to cry.

“Shush baby, it’s okay, i’ve got you, I’m going to be gentle.” He cooed as she hissed. He began to move once her grip released on his hands. He began to thrust slowly.

“Oh Draco, yes!” Y/N moaned against his neck. He began to speed up, wanting to feel her melt into him. 

“Y/N, you feel so fucking amazing, baby urgh...” Draco grunted. He sped up once more, hitting her G spot repeatedly. She was essentially screaming now, squirming below him.

“Oh Draco, you make me wanna...” He understood and used his thumb to rub her clit. She felt her rise form in her stomach.

“I know baby, me too. I’ve got you Y/N cum...” That sent her over the edge. She felt herself cum all over him, her legs shaking and her moans echoing from the walls. Draco felt her tighten and he came too, she felt him leave his seed inside of her. He rode out their highs, thrusting sloppily, breathing against her. He collapsed off of her, both of them sweaty but grinning. 

“That was...” Y/N began.

“Incredible.” Draco whispered, laying a kiss to her forehead. She giggled and once more shuffled into him.

“I’ve had sex with a wizard!” She giggled.

“And i’ve fallen for a beautiful muggle.” She rose her eyebrow confused for a second. “None magic folk.” He sighed letting her snuggle. And in that moment, her head on his chest, he felt safe. He could feel his soul become whole again. 

[fleetingpieces]

Everything we were CH 3

@hereforwolfstarr and @heyitssmiller thank you so much for reaching out when I wasn’t feeling too great about my writing, you’re both wonderful <3  I know this might not be what you expected but I wanted to gift something to both of you, and since I haven’t finished chapter 5 of One in a Million, I hope this one is ok <3

Love youu

Everything we were Masterlist

Chapter 3

The view of the castle from the middle of the lake took Remus’ breath away. Hogwarts was set on top of a cliff, its many towers pointing at the moon like spears, the numerous windows illuminated from the inside contrasting majestically against the night sky. Remus could almost feel the magic pulsating from it. 

The dark rippling waves reflected the golden light, gasps of admiration coming from all the boats around him. The massive game keeper, who had introduced himself as Hagrid, was a heavy weight at his back. Remus had chosen to sit with him so he could keep to himself and avoid other students, just like he had done on the train ride.

Saying goodbye to his parents had been harder than he cared to admit. Especially his Mum. Who would he talk to if not Hope? Through his lonely years of secrecy, his mother had been the one constant in his life, the rock that kept him grounded. He confided in her, and felt comfortable in her presence.

As the train had left the station that morning, he’d felt an undeniable sense of dread. He would be alone now. Utterly alone. He hadn’t met that many people before, but at least his parents had been there for him. Now he wouldn’t even have that, and instead he found himself in a train full of students whom he couldn’t trust and that would turn him away in an instant if they found out about what he was. When was the last time he had even been around any kids his age? Two years at least, and even longer before that.

But, as the city landscape had given way to green rolling hills, he also felt…excited. Like some light had been ignited inside of him, and it couldn’t be put out. He was going to learn magic. With his own wand, not just reading the books his dad brought for him. He could put up with being alone in exchange for some minimal sense of normalcy, even if he couldn't have it all. He had been so sure that he would never be able to go to school, that he still couldn’t quite believe he had been given a chance. And he was not going to let that go to waste.

So he had sat on a corner, looking through the window, avoiding the small talk the three second year hufflepuffs had tried to strike with him in the compartment.

The boat shook a bit under the mass of Hagrid, bringing Remus back to the present, and he gripped the wooden edge, scared that they would sink.

“Don’ yeh worry, this ruddy thing‘s made ter support me,” said Hagrid. “Yer Remus Lupin, ain’t ya?”

Remus jumped. “Um. Yeah. How did you know?”

“Ha! Yeh look exactly like yer dad! Great lad, that Lyall.”

“You know my dad?”

“’Course I do! Bloody interest in the Forbidden Forest, he had. Always wantin’ ter see the creatures in there, could hardly keep him out,” he huffed a laugh.

Remus had no idea what the Forbidden Forest was or what sort of creatures his dad could have been so interested in, but he didn’t want to show how little he knew about Hogwarts by asking. He thought maybe he could ask more about his father’s time at school, but then his attention was brought to the dark tunnel they had just gone in at the side of the cliff, leading to an underground harbour.

A tall, dark haired witch in emerald-green robes was waiting for them, and soon they were being led to the Entrance Hall. The stone walls were lined with flaming torches, the ceilings were incredibly high, and in front of them was a huge marble staircase that led to the top floors.

The witch guided the first years through a small chamber, facing them once they were all inside.

“Welcome. I am Professor McGonagall, deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor House. We’ll be going into the Great Hall soon to start the Sorting Ceremony, to determine which house you will be in through your time at Hogwarts.” Remus knew this much, his dad would occasionally mention Gryffindor Tower and his common room, but he didn’t know what the ceremony was about. Most of the students around him were whispering excitedly and he had to look down to hide the flush that was creeping onto his face. He decided right then he would try to learn as much as possible, as soon as he was able to. The tall witch opened the door, motioning to them. “Form a line and follow me.”

While organizing themselves, a kid behind Remus asked, “What do you think the ceremony is about?”

Remus looked back to a slightly plump, blond boy. He was about as short as Remus himself, and he felt kind of relieved to know that he wasn’t the only one lost there. He shrugged helplessly, turning around to focus on what was in front of him.

Going through the door, Remus tried not to gawk, but a gasp escaped his lips nonetheless. He was pleased when he realized he wasn’t the only one. The Great Hall was enormous, stone walls lined with high windows reaching up to the ceiling. Or lack of ceiling. Remus wasn’t sure, ‘cause all he could see was the cloudy night sky above him. Must be bewitched, he decided. Thousands of floating candles lighted up the faces of the students sitting on four long tables, placed in front of the smaller staff table at the top of the hall.

Professor McGonagall led them up there so they were facing the hundreds of students, making Remus shift uncomfortably. He had never seen so many people before, let alone all of them together in one room. It felt like they were all staring at him.

No one can know.

He had to remind himself a few times that they wouldn’t be able to tell what he was just by looking at him. Still, he tugged down on his sleeves, making sure his arms were fully covered.

Remus looked down again to avoid the gazes and noticed there was a four-legged stool in front of them. On top of the stool, McGonagall placed an old wizard’s hat. Everyone’s attention shifted to it when a rip near the brim of the hat opened and it started singing. It was an eerie, dazing sound that lasted for a few minutes, and as soon as it was over the Hall erupted in applause.

McGonagall stepped forward with a roll of parchment then. “When I call your name, sit on the stool and try on the Hat,” she said, and without further ado started reading out loud.

“Avery, Enos!”

A bulky looking boy with short brown hair walked to the front. He put on the Hat, sitting on the stool, and almost instantly the Hat shouted “SLYTHERIN!”

There was a round of applause from the table on the far right as Avery went to sit with the rest of the slytherins. A couple more kids were called forward, both of whom stumbled to the front before being sorted and sitting on their respective house tables. Then McGonagall called the next student.

“Black, Sirius!”

A hushed murmur came from the Slytherin table, as a student with wavy black hair and clear eyes walked to the front with lazy elegance. Remus recognized him as the boy that had been staring at him and his mother at Platform 9 ¾. He had looked at them so longingly it had made Remus feel uncomfortable in his mother’s arms, and Remus had made a point to avoid the boy’s compartment when he’d gotten on the train.

Despite the confidence with which the dark-haired boy walked, he looked nervous as he shoved the Hat onto his head. He sat perfectly still as the seconds dragged by. The Hat was taking longer with him than it had done with the other students, and some tension was rising in the air, although Remus couldn’t tell if it was from the boy or exactly where it was coming from. Everyone seemed to be sitting still, waiting, until –

“GRYFFINDOR!”

Black stayed there as if paralyzed. After a few seconds, he took the Hat off slowly and glanced with wide eyes to the Slytherin table, but then looked away quickly. There was a moment of shocked silence before the table on the far left broke into tumultuous cheer, and Black walked to the other gryffindors as if in a daze.

The list kept going, “Derwent, Adrian!” went into Ravenclaw, and a red haired girl by the name of “Evans, Lily!” was sorted into Gryffindor as well. Remus heard someone close to him cursing: a boy with a hooked nose was looking sourly at the girl as she sent him a sad little smile. Remus saw Black move up the bench to make room for her, but Evans took one look at him, made a disgusted face, and folding her arms firmly she turned her back on him. Remus wondered if he had been staring intently at her too when she was at the station.

The roll call continued, and maybe too soon there was a shout for “Lupin, Remus!”.

A sudden fear seized his body. Remus walked to the front feeling incredibly nervous. He tugged at his sleeves again, being very careful as he put the Hat on his head and sat on the stool. He stared at the black inside of the Hat as it fell over his eyes and waited, trying very hard not to squirm on the seat, but he ended up bouncing his leg anyway.

“Well, well, isn’t this interesting? I haven’t had a werewolf in over 300 years,” a voice whispered in his ear.

Remus’ thoughts turned cold, panicked. His secret was out so quickly he didn’t even last a freaking meal. But then he remembered that the Hat hadn’t said anything out loud about the rest of the students other than their houses.

“Yes, exactly,” the Hat continued. “You have a good brain, maybe Ravenclaw would be a good fit.”

Remus clasped his hands tightly on his lap, thinking furiously, “Please don’t tell anyone.”

“Oh no, I am only here for the Sorting. It’s all here in your head, you see. I can see you’ve had to face hardships a lot of people wouldn’t even survive, but still you remain kind. Very mature for your age. Very interesting, indeed. It takes plenty of courage to be here despite your many fears, with an attitude like that you better be GRYFFINDOR!”

As the last word was shouted to the school, the Gryffindor table gave a loud cheer, and Remus headed over there feeling a bit queasy at the thought that a mere hat had been able to tell his secret in just a few seconds. Fair enough, it clearly wasn’t just any normal hat, but he still felt so shaken that he didn’t even notice the pats on his back or Sirius Black making space for him as Remus sat next to the boy on the bench. He looked down at his lap, frowning. He was gonna have to be extra careful if he wanted to finish his school career without being chased by a mob.

“Hello,” a tentative voice came from beside him. Remus looked up to silver eyes and a hesitant smile. Up close, he noticed how expensive Black’s clothes looked, how he held himself like he was better than the rest of them. Remus was relieved right then that he had taken the time to fix the tiny hole on his sleeves before getting on the train. Sewing was a tedious task, one he couldn’t wait to be able to do magically, but he had learnt to do it early on so he could mend his clothes, and avoid making his parents spend extra money on him. He was painfully aware that taking care of him was expensive sometimes, particularly with the few times they had had to move from town to town.

Black was looking at him funny and Remus realized he had been staring for a while without saying anything. “Um, hi.” He flushed, cursing himself. Why would this fancy boy want to talk to him? Black’s smile turned soft, but then a cheer erupted around them as a boy called Peter Pettigrew got sorted into Gryffindor as well. Remus looked up to see the blond boy from before.

Pettigrew came to sit in front of them, looking very pleased with himself.

“Can’t believe I got into Gryffindor!” he gushed to Remus, who tried to give him a small smile. Pettigrew’s eyes got wider as he contemplated Black, but the raven-haired boy had his eyes on the front as McGonagall called the next name on the roll.

“Potter, James!”

A boy with a mop of wild black hair and a huge smile walked to the stool, moving like he owned the place. Remus envied that kind of confidence, and tried to straighten his back slightly as opposed to his usual hunched posture. As the Potter lad put on the Hat and sat down, he felt Black beside him tense up, but the Sorting Hat had barely touched the boy’s head when it screamed “GRYFFINDOR!”.

Potter flashed his teeth in a dazzling smile, walking with even more confidence to sit next to Pettigrew. His smile only grew when he looked at Black.

“How great is this? Can’t believe you actually broke the tradition, mate! That’s brilliant!”

Remus was almost sure Black's cheeks had gone slightly pink, but the boy still managed to give a lazy smile. “Yeah, I was a bit surprised myself.” Then he frowned, glancing unconsciously to the table on the opposite side, “I hope it’s ok.”

“Of course it is! This is the best house to be in! And we are together!” said Potter, practically bouncing on his seat. Black smirked at that.

“Yeah, I bet you would cry if you didn’t get to share a dorm with my magnificent self.”

“Shut up.” Potter laughed. “But yeah, it would have been a bugger to get my first friend sorted into Slytherin.” He smirked back, and Black’s eyes seemed to brighten, while Remus sunk on his seat.

It’s ok, he repeated to himself, I don’t need that, it’s ok.

Every student looked up when McGonagall took the Hat away and an old wizard in royal blue robes stood at the staff table with open arms. Remus almost sprang up when he realized it was Dumbledore. He’d been so nervous about the whole ceremony, he hadn’t even noticed the Headmaster was there. Now that he thought about it, it would have been weird if he wasn’t.

Dumbledore gave a short welcome speech with an easy smile on his face, and Remus found himself smiling a real smile for the first time since he had left King’s Cross station. That is, until the Headmaster went on to the last bit of his speech.

“Lastly,” he said, “before we fill ourselves with warm food and I lose your attention completely, there’s an important announcement to make. I would like to remind you all that the Forbidden Forest is out of bounds to any student that doesn’t want to find themselves in deep trouble. And also,” he looked at Remus for just a fraction of a second, making Remus’ heart skip a beat. But then it was gone and Dumbledore was looking sternly at the students, “this year we have an addition to our school grounds. The Whomping Willow is a rare and valuable specimen that we’ve had the pleasure to receive as a donation. But I must warn you, it can be very violent, so all students are to keep away from it.”

There was a deafening silence as the words sank in, some students even gulped. Then Dumbledore smiled affably again and clapped his hands once. “Now let the feast begin!”

The dishes were suddenly piled with a wide range of delicious looking food. Everyone tucked in happily, as if they hadn’t just been given a warning about a very violent freaking tree that was on school grounds.

“But the Forbidden Forest…” Remus heard someone saying and he looked up.

Black and Potter were talking about the numerous, dangerous beasts that were rumoured to dwell in the dark Forest. Remus didn’t like the excited way their eyes were shining.

He should definitely keep away from those two.

[fanficflaneuse]

One Day - Part 3

A/N: Hello, Magical tumblr friends! I have absolutely no self control. Writing has flown very easily lately and I just want to post as soon as I finish. First, as always, I want to thank you for all of your love and support. This has been awesome so far. Every little heart, reblog and note makes my heart soar. Thank you, thank you, thank you! Second, I really want to apologize in case my writing has too many mistakes. I’m a perfectionist. I usually try very hard to be polished and strive to have a near perfect grammar and spelling, but English is not my first language, so even when I reread my writing time and time again I still find a lot of mistakes. I’m sorry! I’m really trying my best and hopefully it gets better :) 

Third, this post features Fragment 31 by greek poet Sappho, translated by Jim Powell. 

Details: 

Draco x reader (she/her pronouns) Word count: 1465 Summary: One day AU. Post-war. Since The Battle of Hogwarts, Draco and y/n meet one day a year.

Enjoy! 

Masterlist 

3 May, 2000

My dearest (Y/N/N),

I imagine you probably want to burn me at the stake right now. I know I promised to write as often as possible, but the things I’ve experienced in the last few weeks have shaken me to my core. And I can already imagine you saying something along the lines of “there’s always time to scribble a few lines, it’s not that hard, Dray”, but not everyone is a talented writer like you, darling. Be it as it may, in case my words don’t grant me your forgiveness with this letter you’ll find a couple of books I’ve read lately and I’d love to discuss with my favourite bookworm.

I arrived in Prague last week. Oh, (Y/N/N)! What a wondrous place. It’s everything you described and so much more. I spent the first few days sightseeing and walking around. I ventured into the wizarding library you told me about and I could totally understand your excitement. I spent two whole days there and I don’t think I covered more than half of it. It reminded me a bit of Hogwarts and a great deal of you. I miss you terribly, (Y/N), and the only thing I’d change about this trip would be having you with me. We should go on a holiday together, explore a corner of the world we have yet to see. What do you say?

I started venturing into the muggle parts of the city as well. Muggle tourists seem to be three times more of a pain in the arse than wizard tourists are. All in all, I’ve learned a great deal from them as well. I’ve visited cathedrals and museums and I even consulted a muggle about their literature. As much as I hate to admit this, you’re right: there are some awfully great things out there. That Kafka fellow? An absolute genius. The way The Metamorphosis made me feel is nothing short of magical. What a gross book (in the best possible way).

What else can I tell you, love? I definitely needed all of this. I needed to get away from Britain, away from my parents, away from everything I once knew. I needed to get lost in places where my last name meant absolutely nothing. It has helped me put things into perspective and get to know myself. I haven’t found myself just yet. I don’t even know if it’s possible, to truly find oneself. But at least I’m ridden with questions and challenges to my old beliefs. I am not ashamed to tell you I’m terribly afraid of the answers, but I at least I don’t fear finding them anymore. The price of not asking myself all I have to learn is much too high.

I hope this letter finds you well, (Y/N/N). Tell me what’s new with you. Please make my days better with some of your poems and short stories. I miss them as much as I miss you (plus, I want to collect a bunch of your original works to boast when you’re a famous writer).

I send you all of those hugs I cannot give you right now.

Hope to see you soon.

Love,

Your cuddling partner.

D. M.

...

My dearest Dray,

I was thinking about sending you a howler when you owl arrived, lucky bastard. I’d say there are no words to describe how much joy your letter brings me, but I am want to be a writer so this doesn’t apply to me, I guess. I knew a change of scenery would open your mind to different things and I’m genuinely happy for you. I hope all of those questions lead you to live your truth and build a life that truly fulfils you.

Thank you for the books, love. I’m quite impressed by your selection. Muggle books? I never would’ve imagined you, of all people, would send me muggle literature. I’m so proud! And Kafka is wonderful. I only got my hands on some of his short stories. I guess I’ll give that little novel a go now that it has your approval stamp. I’ll read all of these books and send you a very extensive review. I won’t quite forgive you, though, until you drag your arse back here and we can have yet another cuddle session.

I’d love to go on a holiday with you, Dray. What do you propose? I’ve never been to America and I’m really curious of what it has to offer. I’d also love to go someplace sunny, enjoy the nice weather and hopefully get a bit tanned, don’t you think? (Or at least try…You’re so freakishly pale tanning seems like a big stretch).

I’ll tell you some of my news. Last week I started working at the Ministry. I’m part of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement now. It is a lot of work and it includes a great deal of paperwork, but at least I have Hermione, Harry and Ron with me. (They all send you their regards, by the way. Ron says that if you don’t bring gifts with you, you won’t be allowed at the Burrow anymore. Hermione scolded him, but the threat remains). I like helping people. I guess this is just a more official continuation of what we’ve been doing since we’re eleven, don’t you think? I am learning a lot and I am very busy. It makes me happy and excited for what’s to come.

Yesterday we went back to Hogwarts for the second anniversary of the battle. It was all very gloomy. The wounds are still fresh. I got back home and cried my heart out. But I feel it was absolutely necessary for us – all of us – to be there. We need to heal collectively, Dray. I know you say it’s not your place. I know a lot of people won’t be able to look past the mark in your forearm. Many others, though, asked me about you and your wellbeing. I am sure it is going to take a while, but I hope you can go back and face those demons. I wish for you to recover. I cherish the day in which we all do.

You have no idea how much I miss you, Draco Malfoy. Even Harry is jealous. It’s not my fault that our cuddle partnership is absolutely awesome and that he’s a terrible cuddler. I guess you’re my one and only.

I have a bunch of short stories in the works. To be honest I have been a bit lazy lately. I’m so tired once I get home that I don’t really have enough patience to work on my tragic heroines. I’ve been writing a lot of poetry, though. I write verses on napkins and stray pieces of parchment, on the back of the forms I have to fill or at the margins of the books I’m currently reading. I’ll send you a couple of them.

(…) once I look at you for a moment, I can't speak any longer,

but my tongue breaks down, and then all at once a subtle fire races inside my skin, my eyes can't see a thing and a whirring whistle thrums at my hearing,

cold sweat covers me and a trembling takes ahold of me all over: I'm greener than the grass is and appear to myself to be little short of dying.

Hope to see you soon.

Love,

Your cuddling partner.

(Your Initials).

Draco unfolded the letter and read it for the tenth time. He loved how (Y/N) could write the most erudite poems and elaborate stories, yet her letters seemed to have a more conversational tone. It made him feel closer to her. He could imagine her saying every single sentence out loud, complete with guessing where would she breathe, laugh or make dramatic pauses.

In the last two years, Draco and (Y/N) had built a one of a kind friendship. It was foreign territory even to her, who was used to a tight-knit group of friends. He’d be lying if he didn’t admit that his heart almost leaped out of his chest when he read the words “you’re my one and only”. If he had to guess, he’d say she had written that in a more teasing tone. After all, he had started with the pet names.

And yet.

The poem was the icing on the cake. He wanted to think she had written it with him in mind. Reading her writing was like having access to a very reserved piece of her mind he’d never quite grasp. And he wanted as much of it as he could get. Draco folded the letter once again and saved it with the rest. (Y/N) (Y/L/N), his best friend, would be the death of him.

Tags: @fandomscombine @okaydraco @iliketoast23 @naomi02hook

[peterquillss]

The Misadventures of Star-Lord & the Earth Girl #17

Summary: When Malia Reyes wakes in the dead of  night, she finds an alien ship crashed atop her apartment building! And  the “alien,’ abroad is no other then Star-Lord, retired Guardian fallen back on his more criminal lifestyle. Now with fate having thrown a man from the stars and a girl from earth together, they’ll have to survive whatever the black void of space and the marvel universe has to throw at  them.

Rated: PG-13

Pairings: Peter Quill x OC

 CHAPTER MASTERLIST

 Maybe she should've stayed on the Cruise Ship after all. Without Peter. And his damn endless supply of seventies hits. But, it was too late for that now — days having passed from the week-long event and the Milano being far off from its territory. She just had to deal with him and his rather musical mood today; regardless of their previous , "we have no money," conversation earlier on. What on earth possessed her to stay after that clear sign was beyond her. She loved him too much. Narrowing her brown eyes in his direction with resentment as the song Magic by Pilot played, Malia folded her arms over her chest and groaned loud enough to catch Peter's attention —  which he ignored giving her, too immersed in his personal song and dance. Why did she fall in love with this man again?

Peter moved in sync with the music, even while limited by the confines of his seat. Malia's displeasure with his music choices wasn't something he turned out, just something that he'd grown accustomed to. She never really got too upset about it, just a weary look and a comment about his 'hippie music' here and there. Maybe it was because she knew what the music meant to him. Maybe, but Peter had other suspicions. Once in a while he'd catch her getting into a song, swaying and mouthing the words presumably so he wouldn't hear her. She'd immediately stop if she so much as suspected he was looking. He kinda wished she would just cut loose. 

He'd seen her worry and get lost in thought so much in the past that seeing her just be happy in the moment and let the music be all that was on her mind made him happy for her. Not to mention it was one of those things she did that made him think he couldn't love her any more then he already did. 

The song faded out, leaving Peter with a combination of satisfaction and excitement for the next track. He glanced at Malia who rolled her eyes and looked out the window at the stars. Peter chuckled, glancing at the controls. "Hey, don't worry about the money thing. We're making a stop that'll have some chances for cash. I got this." She gave him a smirk that faded after a few moments before giving a small nod. 

 The next track started to play and a smile crossed Peter's face. 'Stumblin' by Suzi Quatro', a favorite of his and a song he knew for a fact Malia enjoyed. He looked at Malia, putting on a look of shock. "Oh shit, Mal! It's a duet. Come on, don't leave me hanging."

"Someone has to worry," Malia huffed in response as the familiar song she would never admit she loved to him started to fill her ears. She knew that he knew some of his tracks had pierced through her modern heart, but — she pretended more often than not, like they didn't; for fun. And for the adorable face he made whenever she did. It had grown into a habit of hers. Pursing her lips into a forced line amidst the head bopping beat, she turned her face away from him before he could catch her change in expression and chewed the inside of her cheek. Maybe she did want to sing along, just a little, since it was her favorite song. 

"Wherever you go, whatever you do...," As Peter directed the lyrics he sang, rather loudly, in her direction with a smile that reflected off the windshield mirror for her to see, Malia felt the corners of her mouth lift into a genuine grin of her own as he continued to belt out the rest of his part and playfully reach out for her. "You know these reckless thoughts of mine are following you." 

She softly slapped his hand away, in between a giggle and allowed herself to move to the rhythm of the beat. "I've fallen for you, whatever you do," She harmonized in her part. "Cause, baby, you've shown me so many things that I never knew!"

Malia swayed to the music, extended out her hand to Peter and continued to carol her parts of the duet in glee, putting her worries behind her for the remainder of the song. She felt pleased seeing him like this with her, happy, when before it was a rare occurence to come by, knowing the undisclosed pain she knew he held. Of course, he shared sweet moments she forever would remember, the smiles and laughs he allowed himself to have. But, they were different. This was different. So, she'd cherish the moment and make it last longer.

"Our love is alive, and so we begin!" In unison, she sang along with Peter the chorus,  dancing in the co-pilot seat beside him and looked in his direction to catch his loving gaze. She admired the heavenly feeling he gave her as she continued to harmonize the track, squeezing his hand. "Foolishly laying our hearts on the table, stumblin in." Malia smiled, never taking her attention from him and swayed blissfully. If singing to his music made him this happy, she'd sing with him all the time. To have her heart swell, explode in millions of butterflies that tickled her inside. What could she say? She loved him.

Peter let Malia's hand go and shook his head as the closing notes of the song began to play. It was still so weird to think that this woman who had grown to be so important to him had just wandered into his ship at random one night. He looked at her, catching the beaming smile she was giving as she watched him, unable to help smiling back. "What?"

 Malia shook her head, the smile never leaving her face. "Nothing." The song ended and a few seconds later the opening notes to Queen's rendition of ' The Great Pretender' began to play. "So, where are we  stopping this time?"

 Peter adjusted the controls before returning his full attention to Malia. "Sakarr. Never been there myself, but it's supposed to be filled with all kinds of chances to make a little deniro."

Malia nodded, even though she had that adorable clueless look on her face. "How long?"

Peter shrugged. "Not long with these private trading routes at our disposal."

 Malia shifted in her seat, pulling one of her knees up to her chest. "They are helpful. This 'Sakarr', what's it supposed to be like?"

 Peter made a slight adjustment in the ship's course before answering. "Kinda tough from what I've heard, but don't worry. You've got superpowers after all."

"Yeah, I'll go in there blazing while you hide behind me and scream like a girl." Malia lifted her hands in an exaggerated gesture and laughed as the hysterical image of Peter freaking out while she kicked some random alien's butt filled her mind. It made her a bit excited over the possibility of her using her, 'gifts,' to fight and discover more about them. He being so accepting of her weird, glowy hands, had given her the confidence boost she needed over them. Her powers were no longer a pending secret she shared; it’s burden having become weightless.

Drifting her attention toward the colorful constellation in front of her, she remained silent for a few minutes, listening to Freddie Mercury’s ballad before speaking again. “If only there was a death star that needed blowing up,” She flatly chimed, remembering the fondness Peter had for the sci-fi classic. Unlike Captain America, she was certain he caught her not-so vague reference to a galaxy far, far away. After all, she was the Leia to his Han Solo. Their paired figurines on the dash of the Milano proved half of that claim, along with everything else.

“I forgot I glued those there,” Malia pointed to the small statuettes with a blissful expression painted over her face and smiled as she tried to reach out for them briefly and then relax herself back into her seat when the awkward attempt failed. Instead, she flicked her fingers, like a witch would amidst chanting a spell, and created a circular veil over the stilled dolls. “I will be Space’s Mightiest…,” She paused to think of a catchy enough alias to go with the known saying and bit her bottom lip. “Hero?” She said in the form of a question, glancing over at Peter for any suggestions. 

She stared at him as another track began to play, then followed his gaze toward the shields she had placed over their figurines. “I can make them go away,” Waving her hand effortlessly in a dismissive motion, the blueish bubbles vanishing from the plastic toys. Maybe, she should’ve warned him a bit first? Malia stifled in a laugh at his lack of response, bewildered into rare silence again and leaned toward his chair. “Peter, sweetie?” She placed a hand on his arm, feeling light butterflies tickle her stomach over her first usage of a pet name and smiled playfully as she made her index and middle fingers into legs to walk along his arm. “I know where your candy is,” She whispered with an added gasp, hoping that would snap him out of his dazed state.

Peter quickly snapped his gaze from the figurines to Malia, noting the mischievous grin on her face. "Hold the phone. You mean I didn't lose it?" Malia let her hand brush his arm as she returned to her seat. "Mal? You better tell me where my candy is." Peter furrowed his brow as Malia mimed zipping her lips and throwing away the key. "Oh, that's how it's gonna be then?" Malia shrugged her shoulders, a pleased smile on her face. Peter nodded, a smile of his own creeping across his face. "One of these days, when you're looking out at space, don't be surprised if you see a certain bunch of wizard related movies floating by."

 That got her. Malia sat up straight, her eyes widening a bit. "You wouldn't."

 Peter gave a small shrug. "A man does crazy things when he doesn't get candy, Mal. I may not be able to stop myself."

 Malia sat back in her seat with a huff. "Your precious candy is under the cushion of the bench."

 Peter smirked. "Alright. Crisis averted."

 Malia glanced at him and smiled. "You're booze on the other hand..."

 Peter threw up his brow. "Oh, that's even worse. Not sure what'll happen if I get sober all at once."

Malia slapped both of her hands over the sides of her face in a dramatized expression of shock and turned her attention toward Peter. "I don't know. Maybe, you'll clean your room?" She suggested with widened brown eyes for emphasis. Over their six month course on the Milano she'd cleaned his room about twice, opting the third time to leave his pigpen alone for him to roll over in. It wasn’t dirty in terms of trash laying around, but rather an accumulation of scattered clothes, unmentionables, and candy wrappers. She was lucky he at least showered.

“By the way, I found something the other day.” While she was on the subject of cleaning, she remembered the disc she found in one of the guest bedrooms. “I know I shouldn’t really go into those rooms…,” She admitted as she unbuckled the safety-straps from her torso and carefully walked toward the back of the flight deck. “But, I was looking for some tape and found it in one of the bins, tucked away.” Malia rummaged through the knapsack she usually left hanging near the ship’s blasters and retrieved the circular-like chip Tochi told her was actually a video. 

Unhooking one of the pads from the armrest of an empty chair, she inserted the micro disk into its side and made her way back to her seat, trying to contain her excitement over the footage she had already seen of him and his team the night before. There were so many questions she wanted to ask him over it. Like where had they all gone? It was clear as day to her they were no longer together or in contact, but why? She paused in her train of thought, hoping what she was about to show him didn’t count as crossing the line with her overzealous curiosity.

“It’s some old footage,” Malia looked up at Peter once the video loaded on the pocket sized computer in her hand and smiled sheepishly as his blue eyes wandered onto the pad itself. She studied his muddled expression, her hand blocking him from seeing the screen and gave him an affectionate gaze, before hitting the play button. “It’s you and the Guardians…,” She mumbled, the sounds of the captured battle he at the time led, shouting out orders being displayed. He was nothing like the man she knew. “Look at you!” She beamed, smiling from ear to ear. 

She averted her eyes from his face to look down at the moving images on the pad she held up for him, pointed at his figure on the screen and took in the footage with him. Besides the clip of The Guardians of the Galaxy, there were more mashed up tidbits recorded that she loved. “The cameraman is awful at his job,” Giggling  over the shaky shots and the very angry Raccoon who scolded someone named, “Groot,” Malia returned her attention back to Peter. Her gleeful smile slowly wavered from her lips when she caught sight of his somber expression. “Peter?”

Peter had heard Malia say something, but it hadn't registered. Nothing she'd said after the footage started had his full attention on that. Everything else around him felt like it'd been drained of its warmth and color as the old footage pulled him deeper in. Thoughts and feelings he'd tried for so long to keep buried bubbled to the surface. There was a reason he'd cleared the ship of almost every trace of his old teammates, and this was it. Because thinking of them meant thinking of when they left, and thinking of that meant thinking of why. 

He was far into thinking that as the footage switched to a more candid moment of the team together. Peter felt sick as he recognized the location and knew it was just hours before his greatest failure. Just hours before and he'd had everything. His team, his family. He'd finally grown into more of the leader he tried so hard to be. He'd been happy. A few hours later he'd destroyed it all. Everything he'd done and gone through that day was still so fresh in his mind that sometimes it still felt like he was living it. He was living it now as the feeling of utter devastation he'd felt ever since came to the forefront. 

He furrowed his brow, anger mixing in with the sadness, all of it directed at himself. He and his team continued to laugh as they made their way around the streets, oblivious to the coming event that would tear them apart. Peter was stuck in that event as he sat frozen in place, all of it written on his face plain as day as he stared at the screen.The fear, confusion, sadness, hatred, hopelessness, all of it felt like it was pushing to burst out of him. He tried to at least hold it together on the outside, having never much cared for feeling vulnerable. It was a battle he was quickly losing. 

The camera turned and Peter saw himself at the front of the group, closely followed by a kid who'd taken a liking to him and the others. Her face and voice was forever scorched into Peter's mind as they both embodied everything that's happened that day. She was the last thing he could handle seeing. Peter broke his eyes away from the screen and set them forward on the stars. "Turn it off.

“Okay.” Malia lowered the pad from his line of view and turned off the electronic device without saying another word. She deeply regretted her decision over the footage and remained silent, knowing their lighthearted mood had drastically shifted into something she wanted to avoid. Something she expected yet, wished would’ve gone a different way. The subject over his team was indeed the puzzle piece she connected to the undisclosed pain she knew he felt. It was apparent by the waves of emotions she witnessed his face have in the span of the video.

Biting her lower lip, she squeezed the sides of the tablet gently, at a loss as the crippling silence started to take hold over her. ‘Should she excuse herself and leave?’ She thought to herself, unsure of the proper action to take. She wanted him to face whatever it was he desperately was trying to run away from. “Peter?” Malia turned her attention toward him, having kept her eyes trained on the dashboard for the long minutes that passed, and exhaled a deep breath in response to his stillness. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself…,” She flatly stated. “I won’t let you.”

She carefully moved the pad off her lap to twist her body into a more comfortable position and leaned as much as her seat restraints could allow her over to him, reaching out for his arm. “I know I’ve told you plenty of times you don’t have to tell me anything, but,” She paused to flick on the autopilot option of the Milano and continued in a stern tone. “It’s okay to talk about things and let them out.” That’s all she wanted, hating seeing him like this. She unbuckled her seatbelt with a desolate smile and stood beside his chair, hoping some of her words broke through. “And please don’t tell me you're okay cause I know you're not.”

Peter took a deep breath, letting her words sink in while the contents of the footage still swirled in his mind. He wasn't surprised that Mal had taken note of all of this. She was perceptive, it was one of the things he admired in her. A part of him really did want to tell her, let it out, but a bigger part was scared of how she'd take it. His hand wandered over his pocket, the picture he'd kept with him since that day coming to mind. Telling her would mean facing all that again. "Nothing gets by you, huh?"

 He let the statement lighten the mood for the brief moment it did before the heaviness returned. He wasn't sure he could talk about it, but he owed Mal something more than silence. Peter took another deep breath, trying to keep the emotions out of his voice. "My team." The words hung in the air for a few moments before he continued. "We broke up about a year before I met you." His mind again wandered to the 'why', but he tried to ignore it. "It was bad, really bad." He slid a hand into his pocket, touching the picture housed there. It hurt him just knowing it was there despite his avoidance to look at it, but he couldn't bring himself to get rid of it. Maybe he should just tell her. It couldn't feel worse than this, right? He gingerly grasped the polaroid, keeping his eyes trained on the stars ahead. "It was my fault, all of it."

Malia let out a heavy sigh as his unexpected words sunk into her head and laid there. Particularly, the — 'all my fault,' part of his somber statement. She was unsure of how to take it. She could never imagine Peter doing anything spiteful on purpose to anyone or his team. He didn't have it in him. "I'm sure you tried your best." Gingerly touching the back of his metal chair, she leaned herself a little closer to him and hovered over his form with a soft expression. "Even if it was all your fault," She added cautiously. "Some bad things happen so we can learn from them sometimes." Malia ran her hand over his hair, before sitting herself on his lap. He had told her what he was willing to disclose, which was a lot to her, even if it was another puzzle piece to fit in. 

"And, you can't learn from Peter if you're still stuck in that place." Lifting her brown eyes up to him, she gave him a heartfelt smile and grabbed the sides of his face playfully. "I told you I was going to need a reward for putting up with you," She chuckled, trying to lighten the heavy mood she felt was enough for the start of their day. There wasn't anything, but one part she hadn't already assumed over the absence of his team. The rest, the full story without any carefully placed words she would have to chisel slowly away for and wait or hope all the words she said helped him find his way. Pecking him on the lips, she wrapped one of his arms around her waist and laid her head on his shoulder. "Let's stay like this for a while, okay?" She mumbled, wanting to give him comfort.

Peter let go of the photograph in his pocket, taking the arm and wrapping it around Malia. He held her as tightly as he could without causing her discomfort. A deep sigh escaped him as the weight of the topic began to dissipate. "Yeah, that sounds like a plan."

 He'd let the topic go as best he could for now, but it was never fully gone. There was more that he felt needed said, but he wasn't sure he was ready. He knew Mal would try and understand and help, but he wasn't sure if it was something that could be helped. If she were to know and look at him differently for it, he knew it'd kill him. But, she deserved to know, and so he'd try and tell her. He didn't know when, but he'd try. He'd just have to deal with whatever came of it. 

There was one thing she'd said that he disagreed with though. He had learned from the whole mess. He'd learned that he had never been the hero he thought he was, and that he likely never would be at all. 

The cargo bay door lowered and Peter was immediately hit with the stench of garbage. They'd touched down in a landing bay on the outskirts of a city once they reached Sakarr Beings dressed like vagabonds hustled about, none really noting Peter and Mal's arrival. Malia joined him at his side, having changed into the usual garb of her space suit and his jacket. She'd claimed his only spare jacket as hers after his had been shredded during a tangle with that symbiote. This left Peter with just his trench coat for trips away from the Milano. 

Malia wrinkled her nose as she took in the trashy landscape. "It's no Contraxia."

 Peter drew his attention up from her outfit when she spoke. "No it is not."

 Malia glanced at him, no doubt noticing the very conscious effort he was making to not constantly gawk at her in her outfit. "Every time I wear it, huh?"

 Peter smiled, looking back out at the planet. "I'm not apologizing." He wasn't completely sure where to start, having only heard scattered facts about the planet. There was an arena, he knew that . Maybe they could get some units and bet on some matches. Their best bet would probably be to hit a bar and ask around. Someplace not too good looking, so that it would have more locals than travellers. Peter instinctively held out his arm for Malia to take, it having become a habit. "Let's go."

“Yeah.” Malia shifted her attention from the junkyard scenery around her and looped her small arms around Peter’s forearm for their stroll along the cluttered outskirts of Sakaar. For a planet built on assorted scraps of metal, 'it sure was colorful,’ she noted as she continued to take in the new environment and keep an eye out for possible job opportunities. With their need for money, or units as space currency was called, any doable task was up for grabs in her mind. If only she knew how to read the alien calligraphy written on some signs to help narrow them down.

Peter could with the implanted translators in his neck, but she avoided asking him once a daunting thought hit her. What if they weren’t ‘help wanted,’ signs after all? Drifting her brown eyes along the plethora of merchants up ahead, Malia unhooked one of her arms to point at one masked seller and their stand. “Are those cookies?” She wondered out loud, pulling Peter toward the vendor without hesitation. There weren’t many space cuisines she enjoyed eating, let alone snacks like he had, so part of her wanted to find something she liked.

“Can we taste them? Like, have a sample.” She looked over the selection of baked goods that were wrapped in vibrant plastic bags and sheepishly smiled up at the merchant, unable to see their facial expression hidden behind the steampunk visor they wore. “Um…,” She pulled Peter softly by the sleeve of his coat, feeling a bit self conscious and took a step back away from the stand — deciding on which bag of mixed pastries she would take. In the case the merchant said no to her sampling, she’d go on a wim and pick one that looked good enough. 

“That one kinda looks like it’s fudge, right?” Pointing cautiously at one of the rosy colored bags near the far end of the table, Malia lifted her gaze up to Peter who seemed to be pondering a choice of his own and snorted. “Oh no!” She playfully wagged a finger in front of his face. “You're not getting any cookies. These are for me. Not you.” She chuckled. As if his candy diet wasn’t bad enough, he now wanted to add more sweets to its mix. “Do you want your baby muscles to turn into chubby ones?” She asked with an amused grin. “We’re going to have to get you an ab-roller then.”

Peter scoffed at the comment, taking a step back from Mal. "I'll have you know that the side of me that isn't you makes sure that this," He gestured towards his torso in a sweeping motion. "isn't going anywhere." Peter gave a flirtatious smile, throwing up his brow. "Lucky you."

 Malia shook her head, her eyes wandering around the market. "Oh, I'm a lucky girl. Picking up candy wrappers all over the place."

 Peter reached into his pocket, feeling around for some units. They were low, but food Mal liked was a rarity. Besides, they were going to make some more soon, hopefully. He pointed out a bag of pastries and handed over the units. "Nobody asked you to clean up."

 Mal watched the bag as Peter took it. "Somebody has to, Star-Lard."

 Peter paused, his mouth dropping open slightly at the jab. "You know what? These were for you, and now they're not. Think about that next time you wanna be hurtful." 

 Malia watched as the bag disappeared into his satchel. "Oh, come on. Don't be a baby."

 Peter shook his head, looking at Mal. "Nope. Not gonna..." He caught her eyes as she innocently looked at him, and immediately averted the gaze by looking just above them. "Not happening."

"Please?” Malia drew herself closer to Peter and pushed her lips forward into a persuasive pout as she placed both her hands over his chest and batted her eyelashes at him. "I'll give you one of my cookies and a kiss?" She offered, inching her face closer to his to tease the intimate action he loved to engage in with her. It was his sort of kryptonite, or maybe she was? His sort of ultimate weakness. She smiled at the comic book thought and continued her childish pleas for her kidnapped goods. “You know you want to give me my cookies back so, give em.”

Peter kept his eyes straight ahead, debating his commitment to withholding the cookies. "What kind of kiss are we talking about?"

 Malia shrugged. "Why? Do you have a preference?"

 Peter threw up his brow, thinking back over the few times they'd shared a kiss in the past... two days? They'd only been together two days? Still felt so weird, but completely normal too. He paused on a thought, giving Malia a small smile. "One like that time on Kalara's rig. When we were in the hall."

 Malia laughed, dropping her head a bit, but keeping her eyes on his. "You liked that one, huh?"

 Peter gave an enthusiastic nod. "I did."

 Malia straightened up, holding out her hand to Peter. "Alright. It's a deal."

 Peter nodded, shaking the outstretched hand and holding out the bag in the other. "Alright."

 Malia took the bag, giving Peter a wink before walking off. "You should've specified 'when'."

 Peter watched her move ahead of him, a bit dumbstruck by the con she'd just pulled. After a few seconds a chuckle escaped him. " My God, I love you."

He started after her, remembering she didn't know anymore where they were going then he did. His eyes scanned the outside of the market, looking for a bar or something like it. He finally caught sight of a dingy looking entrance way with no windows. The sign above was mostly destroyed from what looked like an explosion, judging by the scorch marks. Really the only indication that the place was a bar came from the vagabond passed out on the ground in front of it surrounded by bottles. He tapped Mal on the shoulder and gestured towards the place. "Come on. We'll see about finding a lead there."

Malia nodded her head in response and followed Peter into the unkempt tavern, opening her vibrant bag of cookies in anticipation. "Do you want one?" She asked in a hushed tone as the disreputable environment of the bar settled itself around them and caused her to rethink her premature offer. "Nevermind...," She placed the plastic bag inside his satchel, not wanting to draw any attention and pulled on the flaps of her oversized jacket. ‘What kind of lead were they looking for exactly?’ She wondered. The place seemed to be crawling with so many questionable options already. None which she was too enthusiastic to comb over.

“Why can't we get jobs like normal people?” Malia drifted her brown eyes over the bustling crowd of colorful Sakaarans, going about their business, drinking and briefly touched Peter’s arm once one of the patrons suspiciously eyed them from across the room. That was enough motivation for her to move herself along and avoid ever going in that particular direction. She didn’t want to be mysteriously taken and auctioned off somewhere. Space was a dangerous place ,she learned, the public establishments only adding to it’s laundry list of things to be mindful of. They were like minefields to her, filled with countless booby-traps.

Looking over at Peter, who had shuffled his way toward the bar counter, Malia squeezed herself beside him and the very large individual sitting beside him. “You better be asking the bartender for a lead and not a drink,” She folded her arms as best she could over her chest and glared in his direction. “I don’t care what you say about your genes keeping this,” She moved one of her hands in a circular motion over his figure. “—together. Alcohol makes your human side get fat.” She expressed, not really knowing if her statement held any merit at all. Peter was indeed half-human, right? So, that meant something, she assumed.

“We’re going to get you that ab-roller and , oh, start doing yoga! It’ll be fun.” Malia lifted both of her hands excitedly at the idea of helping him get back into shape, or rather toned up a bit and started to list off the various activities he’d have to do and foods he’d have to cut, like the alcohol and his candy, forgetting about their task at hand. “Oh my god, we’ll even wear matching workout clothes. I’m sure we can find those somewhere. Aren’t you excited?” She gave him a gentle push, accidentally bumping into the customer behind her and quickly apologized, before bringing a smile to her face. “I’ll be like Jane Fonda.”

Peter had had a comeback in mind, but Malia's last statement had sent his mind wandering to Jane Fonda's wardrobe in Barbarella. This inevitably led to him imagining Malia in a spacey bikini of her own, an image he knew wasn't going away anytime soon. Malia shoved his arm, snapping him back to the situation at hand. "Hey? I said, ``What kind of lead?"

 Peter shrugged as he turned around to face the room. "You know, odd jobs. Anything that would net us some cash. We just have to ask around." He scanned the room, not knowing where to start. "Just gotta ask around."

 Malia grabbed his hand and pointed across the room. "What about them?"

Peter let his eyes roam over the group Malia had pointed out, shaking his head. "Not quite shady enough. We need at least kinda shady, but not completely shady."

 Malia gave him a light pat on the arm. "So, you? "

 Peter considered the words for a moment before nodding. "Pretty much." His eyes continued to wander around the room, stopping when he thought he saw a familiar face. He focused on the dark corner of the bar, hoping he'd been mistaken. The woman moved slightly, enough for the light to hit her blue face and reflect off the cybernetic eye. Peter tightened his grip on Malia's hand, immediately turning towards the door. "Time to go."

"But, what about the leads?" Malia looked over her shoulder in the direction Peter had stared off to and caught sight of the scowling woman she assumed caused his sudden panic and change in tune. “Who…,” She blinked at the cybernetic individual, receiving a glared response in return as she did and turned her head away, the crowded streets of Sakaar coming back into view. "Frenemy?" She asked once the tavern was far from their line of sight, surprisingly not considering the blue colored woman an ex of his. She just didn’t look like one. 

Her cybernetic death glare made her believe she was a friend or frenemy like she mentioned. There was a look of familiarity there, not filled with too much animosity she might add. “You know, a person who's sorta a friend, but also kinda an enemy too?” She felt inclined to explain, digging into the back of Peter Satchel for her cookies while they followed a sea of residents down the street. “She looked like an assassin.” Malia took a small pause after her statement to bite into the cookie she held in her hand and smiled, savoring it’s taste.

“It is chocolate!” She beamed. “Or something like it?” She added, pleased to have found a snack she could finally ask for at the market. She ran her finger across the plastic’s label, curious of its name and hummed at the alien writing, slightly annoyed she was met with the usual language barrier. “I feel like a handicap person,” She groaned, before handing the bag over to Peter. She didn’t want creepy implanted translators. “Read this, please.” She asked, catching sight of a growing line not too far from them. ‘That seemed shady enough,’ she thought to herself.

Peter glanced at the bag for a moment and sighed. "You know the translator only works with talking, right?"

 Malia furrowed her brow as he handed the cookies back to her. "What?"

 Peter nodded, eyeing the gathering crowd. "Yeah. I use my helmet for reading alien stuff, but the translator makes me able to understand and communicate in any language."

 Malia continued to stare at him, wearing the adorably perplexed look she often had when encountering new things. "How?"

 Peter shrugged, having long since accepted it as normal. "Not sure. Brainwaves and such. I might not even know English anymore, but with the implant it's what you hear from me."

 Malia glanced down, absorbing all the new information. "Space is weird."

 Peter chuckled. "Yeah, it can be. Maybe you should get one? An implant, I mean. Just in case you run across an alien who doesn't if I'm not around."

 Malia shook her head, covering her neck with her hand. "No way."

 Peter looked over his shoulder, just to be sure Nebula hadn't followed him. 'Frenemy ' was what Mal had described her as, and Peter kind of agreed. Nebula always seemed to dislike him, but not outright hate him. There'd been a time or two where they'd even had a friendly enough conversation. Like that time he'd tried to get her and Gamora to make up. Peter sighed as he thought of his old teammate and looked back at Malia. "Looked like an assassin, huh?"

 Malia shrugged. "She did."

 Peter started towards the gathering crowd, deciding to see what all the fuss was about. Maybe there'd be a lead in there somewhere. He glanced back at Malia, feeling like he'd dropped the Nebula thing a bit too abruptly. "She's not a very good assassin if you picked her out that quickly."

 Malia gave a small laugh. "All those mystery shows came in handy."

 Peter held out his arm for her to take as they entered the crowd. "Seriously though. That's exactly what she is and she's grumpy, so I don't recommend saying 'hi'."

"Well, if she pops up and tries to kill you, I'll be sure to remember that." Malia let out a slight laugh with her response and wrapped her arms around his forearm again, drifting her attention toward the bustling crowd up ahead. "You know what this kinda reminds me of?" She asked as she took in the various Sakaarians in line ahead of them and smiled at the recent memory that filled her head. "When we waited for the lift in the garden," She clarified, looking up at him with a brief sentimental look of nostalgia. It was strange, how two whole days felt ancient.

Not too long ago, they were aboard a cruise ship, before then trying to figure out what their feelings meant for them going forward. And now? They just were, everything prior to that seeming like a year had gone and went, when merely days had passed. She squeezed Peter’s arm softly as she drew her thoughts back to the present and held up a finger when she recalled their deal. “I almost forgot,” She admitted, unhooking one of her arms from his to retrieve a cookie from her coat pocket. “Since you’ll be going on a diet, here you go.” 

Handing him one of her baked goods, Malia playfully stuck out her tongue as he took a bite of his cookie, grumbling something incoherent she couldn’t quite make out between chews. She figured it was about her diet comment and wrinkled her nose with a funny expression, then moved along the line, before turning to Peter confused. “Why are we in line? And for what exactly? What if this is leading us to be sold for parts?” She started to think of a dozen possibilities for the growing line they were in and tried to peer over the sea of heads with the help of her own feet.

She stood on her toes, using Peter for balance and craned her neck out in hopes of spotting any clues as to what the line was actually for. “There's a ticket booth…,” She announced, seeing the customers near an entrance of sorts, stop at the worn out structure near it. A crooked sign hung up above it with a drawing of an object she couldn’t put into detail. From their distance it looked like a misshapen vehicle. “I think this line is for a race?” Moaning a bit over her sprained toes, Malia snaked her arms around Peter’s neck and giggled as she let her feet lay normally on the ground again.  

‘She should make him carry her,’ She thought to herself, leaning her head on his shoulders and maneuvering her hands back around his forearm. She closed her brown eyes for a minute or two amidst the alien chatter about her and spoke once the line started to move forward again. “Before, when we were in Karla's closet, why did you ask when we were going to kiss again?” She wondered. “You do know, and I know you know, that you can just kiss me whenever, right?” She added, curious to know his answer. Sometimes she felt a little self conscious putting the moves on the Legendary Star Lord.

Peter had to think to recall his flirtatious question from that night, and then think even harder to give a suitable answer to Malia's question. That whole night was really just a jumbled mess of happy memories in his head, so focusing on one thing he barely remembered saying was a task, let alone why he'd said it. He couldn't help but chuckle at the expectant look Mal was giving him over her out of the blue inquiry. "Geez, Mal. Way to put me on the spot." Peter cocked his head, piecing his reply together. "I guess I was just still adjusting to the fact that we were a thing. I'd wanted that for so long that when it happened I could barely wrap my head around it."

 Peter moved forward as the line progressed, making sure Mal stayed with him so as not to lose her in the crowd. "There was so much I felt like I needed to and wanted to say to make up for all that time I hadn't said anything. But, I couldn't get any of those thoughts straight, so I just asked you that." Peter caught her eyes and gave her a small smile. "Still feels like there's a lot I should tell you." He racked his brain, trying to grab one of those restless thoughts he'd mentioned. Of course, the first to come up was embarrassing, but he figured he'd share it anyway. "Way back when I was taking you back to earth and thought you were staying there, I used to get drunk and listen to crappy love songs while thinking about you. This one time I actually made-'' Peter cut himself off, remembering the long lost and forgotten mixtape he'd made her during one such drunken stupor. He shook his head, deciding to save that embarrassing story for another time. "Nevermind."

Malia lifted her head up to Peter and raised the corners of her mouth into a smile with a look of realization settling across her face. She remembered the said tape, tucked away in her underwear drawer. 'So, that's what it was,' She quietly confirmed to herself as the line advanced forward, causing her to take a momentary pause. He was thinking of her even way back then? Like she was. Holding her gaze forward while she savored the heartwarming thought, she continued to grin, feeling the light flutter of her stomach. "You, Peter Quill," She gushed amidst the unexpected chatter of the crowd, "are a certified dork." 

Turning her attention once more toward him with an expression of glee, Malia tapped the side of his face with her lips and stared at him. She found it strange how much she wanted to say, 'I love you,' with each passing conversation and cover his face with kisses whenever she could. To make up for lost time, for the many occasions she in the past wanted to show him her genuine affection. "My Space man, or better yet, my Star-Lord?" She suggested, taking in his adorable expression of bewilderment with the smile that never left her. She liked the sound of that. Her Star-Lord. As she opened her mouth to speak, an abrupt bang shifted her attention over to the line.

"I said, fifty units, each." Marked with an irritated scowl plastered across his tainted yellow skin, sat the ticket master in his booth, awaiting his pay. He lowered the metal pipe he held from the barred window and leaned forward in his chair. "Or are you two just here to give us a show?" He grudgingly asked, maneuvering his red eyes over them to his customers behind, who seemed just as agitated when Malia glanced in their direction. ‘Since when had they gotten to the front of the line?’ She wondered in a daze as she sheepishly bowed her head toward the crowd and approached the window alongside Peter. “Sorry,” She mumbled. 

“Fifty units, each, people,” The ticketer repeated, ignoring her apology. He pointed a finger at the both of them, pretending to be a clock and locked eyes with Peter as he dug around his pocket for the payment and practically slammed the coins against the booth’s small window desk once found. “Thank you! NEXT.” Dispensing two casino styled tokens from a hatch that opened beneath the barred glass, Malia quickly scooped up the metal and shuffled herself forward. “What a douche,” She blurted out, moving the ripped curtains out of the way as she walked down the entrance. And she thought New York was riddled with mannerless pricks. She hadn’t met not one nice alien yet.

Peter nodded in agreement with Malia's assessment of the alien running the ticket booth. His mind soon wandered to the miniscule amount of units he had left. What was on him was all they had. He glanced at the chip in his hand, turning it over. A race, huh? Maybe he could place a bet or two. He looked up as the crowd dispersed to makeshift stands built from what looked to be scrap metal. Ahead of them some floating wrecks of vehicles hovered above the cracked stone of the ground. "I think we found that shadiness we needed. "

Malia nodded as she leaned closer to him to allow a large alien to lumber past. "This looks like Mad Max... or that Death Race movie. You know, with..." Her voice trailed off as she continued to take in their decrepit surroundings. "You know, I kinda forget just how not normal my life is most of the time. But then at times like these it really just hits me," She looked up at Peter, an amused smile across her face. "I'm not in Kansas anymore."

 Peter threw up his brow, actually recognizing one of her references for a change. "No, you're a far cry from your kind of normal. You miss it?"

 Malia wrinkled her nose. "Not for a second." She once again turned her attention to the area around them. " So, what's the plan? "

Peter furrowed his brow as he scanned the crowd. "Look for leads on work, place a careful bet or two. We only need enough units to restock on food for now... unless we see something fun to buy, obviously. " He glanced at Malia, a thought crossing his mind. All the times he'd called her his partner without ever really showing her he believed in her. That'd been a shift between them he was still adjusting to, having been more or less her protector for so long. She'd asked him a few times to trust her more to help, and this seemed like a good time to show her he did. Peter reached into his pocket, pulling out half of their remaining units and holding them out to Malia. "Here. We'll find something quicker if we split up. You have a communicator, right?"

“Yes,” Malia dug inside her pocket to retrieve the earpiece Peter mentioned and gingerly placed it behind her ear with a firm nod as the crescent shaped metal beeped in confirmation. She trickled half of the units he held out for her in its place and patted the leather area to hear the coins. “Um,” She paused to look up at him in thought over what to say and pointed to her communicator when only the obvious was left. “If anything goes wrong, let me know.” She advised, remembering the time when she saved him from the Nova Cell.

“Or don’t,” She added with a playful chuckle, “So, I have enough time to run away.”

She leaned herself into him for a bit, placing her hands above his chest and kissed his cheek for personal good luck. Giving him a soft push forward afterward, Malia turned on her heels and randomly picked a direction while she stood next him. “I’m going to go that way,” She pointed to the left section of the stadium-esque arena and started to tread in the decided direction with exaggerated confidence. Midway, she glanced over her shoulder and winked at Peter, before blending in with the passing crowd, a smile forming on her lips.

‘Place a bet, make a killing, not literally — and earn some money.’ That was their goal, one she hoped was smoothly accomplished. But, judging by the brow-raising citizens of Saakar around the race track, that could prove to be a bit difficult. So, she had to…? Test the murky alien waters. Drifting her brown eyes over the various groups of sellers, gamblers and vagabonds that roamed the metal assorted stadium, Malia pulled her hair into a high ponytail, catching the unexpected attention of a man wearing a bandana.

He stared at her from the herd of individuals he was part of, a white furred woman and cybernetic looking man, with a suggestive smirk placed across his moustached lips. It alone sent a shiver down her spine as the strip of hair above his mouth reminded her of Peter’s short-lived stache-lord persona. 'What was with this Tom Selleck facial hair infatuation?’ She wondered, not fully understanding the craze. She furrowed her brows once she noticed the stranger’s continued gaze and cautiously slipped her hands inside her pockets.

As he approached her, going in the opposite direction, she gripped the handle of her engraved barbecue fork, grateful she brought it along. She never did leave the Milano without it, the gift sort of becoming an odd weapon of choice of hers. She knew a two pointed piece of cutlery couldn’t lethally harm anyone, but it'd injure them at least. Shifting herself closer to one side as his figure drew closer to pass, Malia looked directly into his eyes and pursed her lips into a tight line. She furrowed her brows downward then narrowed her own eyes. 

There was just something about this guy she didn’t quite like. His whole aura gave off too many shady vibes. And not the kind her and Peter were looking for. More of the ones you stay away from. Once he came to pass, his smirk changed to a small smile at the suspicious expression she held for him to catch, turning his head forward with an amused laugh. ‘What's so funny?’ She threw him a daggered glare as he slowly blended himself within a mixed crowd, making her come to a stop. He was heading in Peter’s direction.

Touching the back of her ear to activate her communicator, Malia continued her stalled walk and puffed up her cheeks for a minute, before releasing the air in them. Whoever that stranger was irked her. It was like he knew what she was up to by the way he looked at her. “Peter?” She called out, careful not to draw too much attention to herself. “There’s a real shady guy heading your way. Has a bandana on.” She expressed, hoping he heard her amidst the roaring noise of the ongoing race and attendees around her. She at least had to warn him. Especially with the gut wrenching feeling she felt.

Peter put a finger in one ear and cupped a hand over the other. "I didn't quite catch that, babe. What did you say?" He shot an annoyed look at the noisy crowd and even noisier race before making his way to an isolated corner. "Hey, can you hear me?" Peter tapped his communicator a few times for good measure, somewhat regretting his choice to show Mal his confidence in her. His eyes scanned the crowd in the direction she'd walked off in, trying to at least catch a glimpse of her. Hopefully the communicators were in working order and it was just the noise. Maybe she'd gotten distracted? That wasn't unusual for her. Peter tried to think of something that would get her attention if that was the case. "Hey, Mal. You remember that time when you were in that vent and I touched your butt by accident? Not an accident. "

 There was a few seconds of silence before Mal's voice answered. "What? I could barely hear you."

 Peter breathed a sigh of relief before letting out a chuckle. "Nothing important. I'll tell you later."

 Malia grunted on the other end before letting out a soft curse. "Okay, but did you catch what I said about the shady looking guy headed your way? Something didn't feel right about him, Peter."

 Peter glanced around momentarily, not really sure what he was looking for. "Gonna need some more details then 'shady looking', babe. Everyone here fits that bill." 

 "Do my eyes deceive me, or is that the legendary Star-Lord?"

 Peter paused as the unfamiliar voice behind him practically sang the question. He turned around to look at the man before him. The man's shoulder length black hair was tied up in a ratty looking blue bandana. He wore a red jumpsuit with various pouches and other such items strapped about here and there. On one hip he had a blaster, and in the other was, bafflingly, a cutlass. "Mal, I'll talk to you in a minute." Peter lowered his finger from his ear, keeping his eyes on the man's own and not his enviable mustache. "Depends on who's asking."

 The man raised his brow, a smirk crossing his face. "I'm Corsair."

 Peter threw up his brow as he recognized the name. "Corsair? The pirate?"

 Corsair nodded, obviously pleased with the recognition. "The very same. What brings an outlaw such as yourself to Sakarr, Star-Lord?"

 Peter didn't want to give this guy much information. He was, after all, a pirate. Peter knew better than to trust anyone that shared a line of work similar to his own. Corsair studied Peter with a close eye that made Peter uncomfortable. It felt like he was being sized up. Peter gave a nonchalant shrug. "Just a quick stop. No real reason."

 Corsair nodded, looking around at the crowd. "Well, you picked a pretty dangerous place to stop considering your wanted status." The privateer locked eyes with Peter on that last word, narrowing him just a bit. "Somebody might just wanna grab that reward."

Peter's hand instinctively moved to hover above his blaster. While he was willing to do it, he didn't want to kill this guy and throw the place into chaos with Malia still in the crowd somewhere. She could handle herself, but finding her and getting away may prove difficult after. "Listen, Cap'n, I'd rather not do this."

 Corsair held his arms open. "Go ahead. It'll make things more fun. But, don't forget that unlike you..." Some motion behind Peter drew his attention for just a moment. It was only long enough to note the two armed individuals that stood behind Peter on either side of him. Peter returned his attention to Corsair, his heart rate quickening in the familiar way it did before a fight. "I still have a team."

[blacknailpolishonguitarstrings]

We deserve justice

A sharp knock sounded at her door. “Minister!” “Come in,” answered Hermione shortly, not looking up from her papers. “The Daily Prophet,” said her assistant, depositing the newspaper on her desk before leaving. “Thank you, Demelza.” With a sigh, she set her files and paperwork aside and picked up the neatly folded paper covered in black ink. Headlines printed in bold black letters, paragraphs of fine print, and moving pictures fleeted past her eyes as she flicked rapidly through the newspaper, clicking her pen nervously. As soon as her eyes found the article she was looking for, she tensed, the clicking intensifying with every word she read.

“Yet another femicide in Wizarding Britain, when will this end?

Today in the early hours of the morning, a new murder was discovered near Ottery St. Catchpole. The lifeless bodies of a mother and her daughter were found not far from the Weasley family house, along with a note saying, “It is the law of nature that women should be held under the dominance of men”. This is the third femicide this week in Wizarding Britain, and the twenty-fifth murder of an innocent witch in the Wizarding World, in just ten days. Eveline Ivanova was presumably heading home after visiting relatives with her eleven-year-old daughter, Selina, who was due to head to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in mere months. [...]”

The article went on and on describing the gruesome details of the assassination, but what really struck Hermione were the last few lines.

“ [...] Fear is rising, not only in the Wizarding World but also in Wizarding Britain. Witches everywhere are afraid of leaving their homes, and statistically, the sales of warding and protection charms have risen drastically. Mistrust and wariness have settled amongst wizarding communities, not unlike during the two Wizarding Wars. We have yet to hear from the Ministry of Magic on the matter, or from the Minister herself, who claims to be an active advocate for female rights. How long will we have to wait to be safe again? How many more murders will we have to endure for something to be done? These questions remain unanswered, as the leaders of our country remain inactive. I must admit I am quite disappointed with Hermione Jean Granger’s handling of the matter, who, we must remember, is a prized war hero.

Rita Skeeter reported from London.”

With a frustrated groan, Hermione slammed the paper on her desk. She scribbled something on a paper, before standing up and walking over to the door of her office, heels clacking sharply on the marble floor. “Demelza!” She called out. Immediately, the young witch appeared at the threshold. “Please get Auror Potter to come up to my office, and send copies of this all over the Ministry and one to the Daily Prophet, we will be holding a meeting in the Atrium at 4 pm, I expect everyone to be there,” she said, handing her the crumpled paper in her hand. “Shall I notify Mr. Granger too?” “No need, I will speak to Ronald myself.” With a small smile, Demelza disappeared into her own office facing Hermione’s. Nervously running her hand through her messy curls, the witch paced around her office, muttering under her breath. A Quick-Quotes quill floated behind her, trailing after her as she walked back and forth, noting down her words and ideas. Salve for the scratching of the quill on parchment, the clicking of her heels, and her hushed whispers, silence reigned on the room. It was so quiet, that Hermione gasped, startled when yet another knock sounded at her door. Without waiting for an answer, her childhood best friend came in, strolling confidently into her office. “Hermione,” said Harry in his business voice. “You requested my presence.” “Harry,” she replied coldly. “I thought you had the situation under control.” “I- ” “No. This is unacceptable. I left the matter in your hands, expecting you would be able to handle it correctly, yet we have another femicide case on our hands as of this morning. There were two victims this time, one of them being an eleven-year-old girl due to leave for Hogwarts soon. She and her mother were found near the Burrow-” “I know, Hermione, I know. I’ve read the reports, I’ve seen what that despicable Rita Skeeter wrote in the Daily Prophet. Believe me, I’ve been doing everything I can…” “You’re not doing enough, Auror Potter,” she answered coldly. “I will be holding a meeting in the Atrium this afternoon at 4 pm, I expect you and your team to be there, and ready to depart for the crime scene as soon as it ends. Meanwhile, strengthen the security around Diagon Alley and especially St. Mungos and the Ministry. Send Aurors to every town housing witches and set up wards and protection charms. If I recall correctly, Malfoy Manor is at present times unoccupied and in the hands of the Ministry. That place possesses one of the most thorough and secure safety systems I know of, and it is big enough to house a large number of witches. Get it ready to accept guests in the next few hours, I will be issuing a statement accordingly during this afternoon’s meeting. That is all.” “Very well, Minister,” nodded Harry, before exiting the room and leaving her alone once again.

***

Huge masses of witches and wizards had already assembled in the Atrium as Hermione made her way through the crowd, surrounded by the Aurors guaranteeing her security. As she walked up the steps leading to a specially set up podium, silence settled throughout the room, all eyes focusing on her. She fidgeted nervously with the hem of her long red coat, before sighing heavily and squaring her shoulders, notes displayed in front of her. Pointing the tip of her wand at her throat, she whispered: “Sonorus!” The spell shot through her vocal cords, warming them. “Good afternoon,” she began, her voice resonating around her. “I am sure that you are all already aware of the current situation we are dealing with. Our community has suffered yet another murder, the one of Eveline and Selina Ivanova…” Surprised gasps and frightened whispers ran through the crowd as Hermione went on, describing details of the assassinations and the overall circumstances. “Gruesome femicides such as this ought not to happen in Britain, our witches should not be leaving in fear. I expected this situation to be dealt with quickly, and I must say I am disappointed with the handling of things in our country as much as in the rest of the Wizarding World. It is time for us to strengthen our justice systems, too many cases go unnoticed and unsanctioned, and if we want to end this problem, we need to actively participate in its prevention, all of us, wizards and witches alike. New security systems will be set up throughout Britain as of tonight, and new laws are being discussed regarding the punishment for the commitment of femicide. I will be ensuring these topics are regularly discussed in our information services, and I trust this issue will be spoken of in families as well. I urge you all to take care of your mothers, sisters, aunts, daughters, grandmothers, cousins, and friends. A safe house has been set up, it is open to any witch deeming herself in danger. If you desire to seek safety under the Ministry’s protection, portkeys will be set up for you, you will be notified of the details in due time. As of now, I myself will be taking over the team in charge of this case, and we shall not rest until the killer is safely locked up in Azkaban. For far too long the inequality between the two genders has been overlooked. I encourage you all to set your prejudices aside and look at the occurrences in the Muggle World and educate yourself correspondingly. This cannot and will not keep happening. We must do better. Speaking as a woman and a witch myself, we deserve justice. I will not have any more women murdered under my watch!” Applause thundered around her as she Apparated away with a loud crack.

[manage-mischief]

Regulus Black and the Darkest Shadows: Chapter 10

Read on AO3 or FF.net

Author’s Note: Gah sorry I’m late! This week has been crazy! Thanks, as always, for your support/comments/favorites/kudos! Y’all are the best. Enjoy the new chapter! And, as per usual, thanks to my fabulous beta reader @leahstypewriter. Follow @manage-mischief on Tumblr for more excerpts/requests!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

December 25th, 1978

Narcissa sat across the table from Regulus, her hands folded daintily in front of her. She regarded him curiously, studying his features. Regulus had no idea what to say. He knew why she had wanted to talk to him. But he wasn’t going to be the first to admit it. He tried is best to look naïve and innocent.

“Lucius told me,” Narcissa finally whispered.

“Told you what?”

“Don’t do that, Regulus. Don’t pretend.” She looked genuinely concerned.

“Alright. So, Lucius told you. What do you want from me?” He answered coldly.

“Merlin, Reg!” Narcissa scolded, “Don’t treat me like I’m one of your Death Eater friends! I’m not here to hurt you. I want to help.”

“They’re not my friends,” Regulus whispered.

“What?”  

“They’re not my friends. Not anymore,” he said, this time more boldly.

Narcissa stared at him like he was a wounded animal. “Oh Reg. Oh no.”

“Stop. I don’t need your pity or disapproval. You don’t…you don’t understand! I made mistakes, based on the lies our family has taught us! Now, I’m trying to make it right! You don’t understand what they want to do. What types of things they would have me do. You can ask your husband all about it!” Regulus snapped.

Narcissa winced from the obvious insult. “Lucius has…mentioned things. But Regulus, I’m not here to try and stop you. I’m not your mother. I’m here to warn you,” she said urgently.  

“Warn me about what?”

“That night,” Narcissa explained, “Lucius didn’t go to the Dark Lord. He Apparated home. He told me what he saw. You and that Ravenclaw Muggleborn—or girl raised by Muggles, I don’t know. But he saw you and her protecting her Muggle family. You fought against the Death Eaters, despite the fact that you are supposed to be one yourself.” She gestured to his left arm. He remained absolutely still. Her intensity scared him. Regulus had never seen Narcissa like this before.

“Regulus, Lucius told me that you betrayed him. And worse, you betrayed the Dark Lord. Now, I don’t pretend to condone all of his methods, nor do I claim to be innocent. I have my reservations, like you, but also like you, don’t dare speak of them to my loved ones. I doubt that I’ll ever fully join myself. However, whatever knowledge I have or don’t have in regards to the Dark Lord, I know that you don’t betray He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and live to tell the tale. Worse, you don’t betray the family and get away with it,” his cousin hissed.

“For Merlin’s sake, Cissa. Mum and Dad would never kill me!”

“But you’d be as good as dead,” Narcissa said, solemnly. “You know how it is. When was the last time you spoke to Sirius? And me…I haven’t so much as seen Andromeda in years. She…she was my best friend, Regulus. And I’ve heard she has a daughter now and I’ve never even met her!” Narcissa’s voice broke, speaking about her disgraced sister. “My point is, you’re playing with fire. If you think your parents would protect you from You-Know-Who and risk their own reputation with one of the most powerful dark wizards the world has ever seen… you’re deluding yourself.”  

Regulus’s heart raced. His head spun. He had known he was in danger, but Narcissa’s words made it more real, more tangible. There was a good chance that this Christmas could be his last. “So,” Regulus swallowed. “You’ve come to warn me. When will it happen? When is he coming?”

“He isn’t.”

Regulus’s jaw dropped. The Dark Lord wasn’t coming to kill him?

Narcissa exhaled. “Lucius told me about your rendezvous in the woods before he said anything to the Dark Lord. He knew how devastated I would be if I lost another one of my family members in this battle of ideals.”

Regulus was shocked. Lucius had protected him? He would have never dreamed… “But…what about the others? Macnair and the Carrows? Didn’t they…?”

“No,” his cousin replied firmly, “They have been dealt with.”

“Dealt with?”

Narcissa placed her head in her hands. “I begged Lucius to save you. He promised me he wouldn’t tell The Dark Lord, but he told me there were others who saw. So, we went to Azkaban and…” Her voice shook.

“And what, Cissa?”

“The Imperius Curse,” she whispered. “I used it on a guard. And I used the guard to Obliviate Macnair and the Carrows.”

Regulus paled. He looked across the table at his cousin, who was eerily calm. And Unforgivable Curse? His cousin had used an Unforgivable Curse for him? Regulus felt awful. Selfish, childish, and absolutely awful. Here he was, gambling away his life and he didn’t care one bit about that—but he never wanted innocent lives to be placed on the betting table. “Cissa…” he tried to comfort her.

“Don’t, Regulus. I would do it a million times over if it meant that you and the family would be safe. I’m not looking for pity. I’m a big girl, I can make my own choices. But please, please, whatever you do, be careful. I can’t ask Lucius to put his own life on the line by lying for you again. Please. Think about what you’re doing. Think about the family!” Narcissa was shouting, now.

“I am thinking about the family, Narcissa! I’m thinking about how I don’t want my only legacy to be death and pain and purity. I’m thinking about all this family has wanted me to do, and how long I’ve obeyed. I promise I will be more careful. But, I can’t promise you that I will go back to the way things were. For me, that would be a fate worse than death!” He shouted back, keeping his eyes glued to hers. The cousins were now standing inches from each other. Narcissa suddenly pulled him into a hard embrace. He returned the gesture.

“My Mum was right, Reg,” she whispered sadly into his chest. “You’re all grown up.”

---

Christmas and New Year’s had come and gone. Regulus had never been more eager to return to Hogwarts. He had instructed his new friends not to write to him, lest the letters be stolen and someone discover his treachery. Owl Post was so often intercepted, these days. He especially missed Des, whom he had thought about very frequently ever since their encounter at the hospital wing. When Bellatrix had asked him if there were any interesting women in his life, he’d immediately said no. However, in the back of his mind, he thought of Des. Regulus had begun to realize that his feelings for her may have evolved beyond the strictly platonic. He’d mostly brushed the thoughts aside. There had been way too much going on as of late. But now, with no school, friends, or Death Eaters to occupy his time, he began to imagine what it would be like to kiss her, to hold her, to feel her body pressed up against his own. Warmth filled his chest whenever he thought of her infectious laugh, her biting wit, or even her dramatic outbursts. She was like gravity for his thoughts. She pulled his thoughts towards her forcefully and was almost impossible to resist. He chided himself each time his mind wandered; this was not the time to be fixating on a schoolboy crush. Yet, Regulus continued to think about her.

One lazy afternoon, Regulus was reading a book in his room. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see light flurries of snow gently falling outside his large bedroom windows, coating the city in the white dust. He set down his book to watch, his eyes drooping as he followed the flakes’ movements. Suddenly, he heard a small scuffle downstairs. Curious, Regulus got up and crept down the steps, past the horrifying wall of House Elf heads, to see what was going on. His nerves were on high alert as he heard something—someone, breathing in the living room. His parents were not set to be home for a few more hours, and his mother had taken Kreacher with her...Who was here? Placing a hand on his wand, which was securely placed in his back pocket, he jumped through the threshold of the door into the living room to catch the intruder.

“Des?” Regulus was shocked to find his friend lounging on his downstairs couch in broad daylight. He felt his heart flutter in his chest. She looked at ease and utterly gorgeous. “How–wh-what are you doing here?”

Des’s eyes glinted mischievously. She stood up, painstakingly slowly, and walked to Regulus. Her hips swung seductively with each step. Her tight top hugged her waist, exposing the smooth skin of her stomach. Regulus swallowed hard. If his parents found her here...with him...

“We should be careful,” he managed to choke out, just as Des reached him. She stood before him, hands on hips, as if she was waiting for something.

“Well?” Des asked in a casual, expectant voice. She cocked an eyebrow and smirked, running the tip of her tongue over her soft, pale pink lips.

Regulus rushed forward to close the space between them, crashing his lips into hers. The moment he kissed her, all of his confusion faded away. She tasted better than anything he’d ever known. It was like quidditch and laughter and Honeydukes’s best chocolate, all wrapped up in the package of her lips. She breathed into him, her lips parting as he slid his tongue deeper into her mouth. Regulus felt his breath hitch as she wrapped her arms behind his neck.

His body followed his desires. He slid his hands down her back, relishing in her curves as he reached his target. Regulus lifted her with ease, and she responded by wrapping her legs around his waist. She was close. So close. Her thighs squeezed around him, providing a pleasant pressure. Des rocked into him, her moaning muffled by Regulus’s mouth on hers. How was this happening?

Regulus held her tighter and made for the couch, placing her down on the plush pillows. She released his neck and brought her hands above her own head, squirming with delight as he trailed kisses down her chest. Regulus groaned gutturally. He wanted her. “Are you ready?” He whispered in a low, throaty voice. Des opened her mouth, prepared to respond to his urgent plea.

But, instead of speaking, an odd, metallic clanging emerged from her throat. Regulus jumped up, frightened. “What the?” Suddenly, he felt a jolt of pain in his side.

Regulus opened his eyes. He was sprawled on the living room floor, next to the couch where he’d just been dreaming of Des not a moment earlier. He groaned, this time in frustration. Well, if he had any doubts about his feelings for Des before, they had definitely been resolved now. The odd, metallic clanking continued. The doorbell.

The doorbell turned into a light knocking on the door. As soon as the knuckles hit the wood, his Dark Mark began to burn furiously. Regulus bit his cheek to keep from crying out. Whoever this was--and Regulus was sure he knew--was not going to leave that easily. Fearful, Regulus tread down the hallway to answer the door. When he peered through the keyhole, his worst fears were confirmed. The Dark Lord was standing on his doorstep.

Regulus thanked Merlin he remembered the Occlumency lessons Snape had given him last year. He took a deep breath, closed off his mind as best he could (although he was still unsure if this would be enough to stop Voldemort from viewing his thoughts) and opened the door to his former master. He’d have to get very good at lying very quickly. His mind went into autopilot, ignoring the adrenaline coursing through his veins. This was life or death.

Voldemort smiled—which made his snake-like face look more terrifying than if he were frowning—and glided in. “You know, Regulus,” he spoke in a high, cold voice, “I don’t often come into London to make personal calls. Consider this an honor.” He paused and glanced at the younger boy.

Regulus realized Voldemort was waiting for him to bow. Shakily, he bent, his eyes fixed on the dusty carpet beneath his feat. “Please, have a seat. To what do I owe this honor, my Lord?” Had Lucius lied to Narcissa? Had the Dark Lord found out about the night on the Hogsmeade Trail?

Voldemort sat gracefully in an ornate, high back chair. He treated it like a throne, grasping the armrests with his long, white fingers. “I haven’t seen my youngest recruit in so long, dear boy! I thought it polite to check in. That is, after all, why I knocked on the front door.” His malicious smile stretched wider across his pale face.

“Th-Thank you, my Lord.” Oh, how Regulus wished his parents had been home. He couldn’t stand the intensity of Voldemort’s red eyes on his face, the cold air that seemed to envelop him like a cloak.

“You are quite welcome. And also, quite wise to believe that I am not merely here for pleasantries, Regulus. I have a favor to ask of you.”

Regulus dug his fingernails into his palm, using all of his willpower to keep his voice steady and his mind closed. “Of…of course my Lord. Though, I am young, and could hardly hope to accomplish as much as some of my more experienced compatriots.”

“Oh, do not worry. This is a simple favor. Barely even requires a thought.” Voldemort folded his hands as he regarded the wizard in front of him.

“You know, dear Regulus, you remind me a lot of myself, when I was young.” He waited, as if he expected Regulus to say something. However, Regulus could barely process the swords, let alone respond to them.

Voldemort’s smile faded a bit. “I know you were about to argue that you could never, not even in your wildest dreams, hope to achieve what I have. And you would be right, of course. However, your spirit, it…impresses me. You are descended from greatness, as I was—you are aware that I am descended from Salazar Slytherin himself, of course. You are a handsome, talented young boy, who has a bright future ahead of him. Yet, you see beyond.  You understand there are greater things in life than success. You strive for greater principles than money and prestige.”

Internally, Regulus laughed. Greater principles. If he only knew. “Thank you, my Lord.”

“And so, this is why I come to you, today. You have reached a higher stage of moral reasoning at 17 years old than most adults will in their lifetime.”

“What exactly is it you require of me, my Lord?” Regulus asked, hoping to end this conversation as soon as possible. Though he had decent skills as an Occlumens, he had never been as good as Severus, and could feel his thoughts struggling against the vice within which he had trapped them.

“I am in need of a house elf.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow. That was all? He needed his house elf? “Of-Of course my Lord. Will you be requiring Kreacher’s services now?”

“No, no, not today. I am afraid it is too late to make the journey today,” Voldemort mused. “Tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow will do. I shall pick him up tomorrow, and he will help me perform the…errand, I require.”

Regulus sighed in relief. “Very well, my Lord. Tomorrow, then. Kreacher is a good elf, sir,” He added, putting in a good word for the elf whom he cared for.

“I don’t doubt it. Thank you for your time, young Mister Black. I shall be seeing you soon, my boy.” There was a crack, and Voldemort was gone. Regulus collapsed back into his chair, almost giddy at the fact that he had managed to hide his betrayal from Voldemort. If he ever saw Severus again, he would thank him a million times over for the Occlumency lessons. Still relieved, knowing that he himself was not asked to perform any tasks for Voldemort, he cheerfully summoned Kreacher.

“Yes, Master Regulus?” the elf popped into the room as soon as his name was called.

“Kreacher, I have a very important job for you. And remember, it’s just Regulus.” Regulus smiled at the elf.

“Kreacher would be honored to perform any such task that Ma-…Regulus…deems important.”

“The Dark Lord requires a house elf to run an errand with him. He will come for you tomorrow and take you for the day. Do what he says, and then come back home? Alright?”

“Yes, of course, Regulus!” His huge eyes gleamed. “Is that all?” Kreacher asked. Regulus nodded and watched as Kreacher happily sauntered out of the room.

Regulus climbed the stairs up to his own bedroom, wanting to finish his book. His heart was still beating faster than a hummingbird’s as he lounged on the mattress. He smiled as he read. He had escaped wrath from the forest battle, he had survived an encounter with Voldemort. Perhaps, he thought to himself, life was looking up.

[queerpsychopomp]

what’s owed to them?

Prompt:  can you please write the last letter marlene wrote to sirius? maybe he finds it a week after her death? or maybe she knew she was dying so she wrote it and gave it to someone to give it to him after her death? WOULD MEAN A LOT TO ME IF YOU DO IT.

So this kind of ran away from me. Hope you like it!

AO3 | Masterlist

---

Dear Sirius

If you find this letter, I’ve died. With everything the way it is, it was bound to happen - 

Mar sighed and crumpled up the parchment, tossing it. That didn’t sound right, too much like she was admitting defeat and giving up. That wasn’t her style, and it wasn’t the reason she wanted to write this letter. Sounding like she resigned herself to the war would bring him pain. It needed to provide some comfort, a final goodbye if they didn’t have the chance to say it. 

The Daily Prophet sat on the table in her reach. Today’s headline proclaiming a family of four had been killed last night, the accompanying picture showing the dark mark above a cottage. Aurors found Edgar Bones and his entire family slaughtered just last week. Two weeks before, they buried Dorcas Meadows after she was tortured and killed by Voldemort himself. James and Lily were going into hiding, the madman marking Harry as the child of the prophecy. The war was picking up and the Order was struggling to win against the endless tides of death eaters far outnumbering them. Skilled wizards were dying all the time. Every single day Marlene woke up and wondered if today would be the day that she would die. Or Sirius. Or Remus or Peter or another one of their few friends that were still alive.

So Marlene sat at the kitchen table of the small flat she shared with Sirius, trying to write a letter he would only open if she died. It took weeks for her to reach this point. Every time she built up the courage to start, Sirius would walk into the flat, back from a mission or grocery shopping. He would ask what she was doing, Marlene would brush it off as writing a letter to one of her brothers. They’d get distracted, and she would abandon the letter for another time. No distractions this time though; Sirius had gone to visit the Potters one last time before they went into hiding, so he would be gone at least an hour. Marlene had said her goodbyes the day before. 

Two more pieces of parchment shared the same fate as the one before. Everything sounded wrong, insincere, fake, hopeless. Not anything like she wanted it to. Marlene saw what happened when Sirius found out Regulus had died and didn’t want a repeat of that. He was inconsolable, many nights of sobbing himself to sleep and days of wandering around the flat in a stupor. Only eating because Marlene was there to remind him. Only going to bed because Marlene would guide him there. It broke her heart seeing him like that. The only reason the grief didn’t consume him for good was that they didn’t let it happen. James, Lily, Remus, Peter, along with herself spent those two weeks caring for him, trying to provide some sort of comfort. Stopping him from letting the abyss of his grief and guilt engulf him.

If Marlene died, she wasn’t sure who would be there. James and Lily had to stay in hiding for Harry’s sake, Peter was around less and less, and Remus… she wasn’t sure what happened but Sirius once confided in her that he didn’t entirely trust him anymore. That maybe he was letting information slip - Marlene told him that was daft and Remus would never sell them out and that was the last they spoke of it. Still, it seemed the bond was broken and neither party attempted to fix it.

This letter needed to somehow provide Sirius the comfort they all had before. It needed to stop him from losing himself because Marlene couldn’t bear the thought of causing him so much pain. It had to remind him of how much she loved him, to alleviate the guilt he was sure to have, no matter how ridiculous it was. They both jumped headfirst into fighting the war, but he wouldn’t remember that. He would blame himself for not doing enough. 

“Fuck,” Marlene sighed, scrapping yet another draft. She was putting too much pressure on a piece of parchment, but what was she to do? She wrote for a living, and now the words she desperately needed were out of reach. Just her luck. Pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes, she groaned. At this rate, Sirius would be back before she wrote a single sentence that didn’t make her want to set the parchment on fire. He always joked that she was never happy with ‘just fine,’ always pushing herself for ‘the best.’

“Isn’t this article just about the Harpies match?” Sirius asked, glancing at the piles of parchment around her, all will only a few lines crossed out.

Marlene huffed, her head resting on the table. “It needs to be good.”

“Not good, the best,” he teased a little. Nudging her to raise her head, Sirius set a mug of tea in front of her before sitting in the chair beside her. “I’m sure all of these were good. You just think too much-”

Marlene wrapped her hands around the mug, taking a quick sip. “As opposed to not at all?” she teased, raising an eyebrow and fighting back a grin from spreading on her face. 

“Oi- those are fighting words McKinnon!”

“Okay just- don’t think about it,” she mumbled before trying again. 

It was like a dam broke. Marlene didn’t know how long she wrote, worrying that if she glanced at the clock, the words would halt and the letter would be abandoned for good. Setting down the quill, she looked it over once, folded it, and put it in an envelope before going to tuck it between the pages of an album. They rarely looked through these pictures anymore, the hopeful faces of their youth too painful to look at. If Sirius found the need to look through it, it would either be because he was feeling nostalgic - unlikely - or wanted to see her or their friends alive. When would he feel the need to seek out their happy faces? In a week? A month? Or years from now to show Harry - or maybe their own kids? - what they looked like during their time at school, tell stories of the trouble they got into.

Marlene hoped that when he found the letter, he could walk down the hall and ask her about it. That she would be there to explain why she wrote it, and that would be the end of the matter. They would go to meet the others for lunch, and the war would be a thing of memory.

The universe owed them that much.

But when do people ever get what’s owed to them? 

----- 

Marlene was buried on a Tuesday alongside her family. It was a bright, clear June day. It made Sirius want to scream. The world didn’t deserve to be so happy when everything had been taken away from him. His suit itched. Usually Marlene would stand beside him when he wore this suit, the two mourning yet another fallen member of the Order.

But Marlene wasn’t beside him, she was in the coffin being lowered in the ground.

James and Lily, as much as they wanted to attend, couldn’t, not even under the cloak. Remus was there, but stood away from Sirius. Most of the Order was there - whoever was alive anyway. People made speeches about how the world had lost a bright soul. They had no idea. Marlene was the best of them, the best of him. He could feel the eyes on him, pitying, expecting him to break down. 

He said nothing.

He was the first to leave, not able to bear any more condolences, though spending time in their his flat was worse. The week he heard the news, he fell into a stupor. If he wasn’t drunk and sobbing, he was in their bed, staring at the ceiling. The absence of her beside him was clearer than ever on the nights he passed out in their bed, there was no one he had to fight for the covers from, no hair in his face, no one mumbling “Budge over.”  Every time he walked into the flat, he expected her to be singing along to the radio in the kitchen as she baked. Or lounging on the couch, reading some book that Lily had suggested. Or sitting among a pile of parchment as another deadline loomed above her. 

Contrary to what many might have expected, the flat was immaculate. He took off his shoes at the door and placed them to the side. His coat hung properly in the closet. He never destroyed possessions when mourning; no, his upbringing kicked in and while he would destroy himself, everything in the flat went in its place.

It was perfect. It was sterile. It was no longer a home.

There used to be jackets slung over chairs, a mug of tea here, Marlene’s slippers constantly forgotten in different places around the flat. It hadn’t been messy, but it had been theirs. Comfortable. A refuge from the war. No matter how bad things got, everything seemed better once he stepped inside. They would patch each other up after missions, dream about a life after the war, mumble confessions that they would never share with anyone else, all within this flat. Stave away nightmares of the things they did to survive. The war couldn’t touch them here because they were together. 

It was a grave now.

Staying here, with the ghosts of their life together haunting his every move was unbearable. Sirius had already told James he was moving, a new flat already chosen. His belongings packed away neatly in boxes. Marlene’s were still sitting there, awaiting their fate. He couldn’t bear to part with them, his last remains of her, but they hurt to look at for the same reason. 

After changing out of the funeral suit, he grabbed a box from the top shelf of the closet and sat on the bed, reaching for the half-empty bottle of Firewhiskey on the nightstand. I have to get more later. Popping off the cap, he took a swig before taking things out of it. There were movie tickets from their first date. A newspaper from which they found out Regulus had died. Childhood pictures of Marlene, James making an appearance of many of them after she turned eight. A handful of his own. Some of Marlene’s quidditch medals.

And an album of their school years.

They hadn’t touched the album since they joined the Order; it felt wrong to see them so carefree after constantly being bombarded by the horrors of war. It hurt to see the people they used to be before they were thrown into this mess, who they could have been if they weren’t. Sirius flipped it open and drank more. None of that mattered now. Marlene had just been buried, with her the dreams they shared of life after all this was over. He deserved a glimpse of her alive. 

He almost didn’t notice the envelope that slipped out. That was strange. Picking it up, he saw it was addressed to him in Marlene’s measured writing. He wasn’t sure how long he spent just staring at it. Why did she put this in here? Did it even matter anymore? Wasn’t like he could go ask her about it. Snapping out of it, he opened the envelope and took the letter out, taking three sips from the bottle to steel himself before unfolding it.

Sirius,

I really hope you never find this letter. You’re out visiting the Potters now, and I hope you remember to buy that toy broom on your way back. Harry’ll love it, and it’ll freak James out a bit, which’ll be fun for Lily. Can you believe the little bugger’s turning one soon?

Right, I’m getting off topic. Look, if you’re reading this, it probably means I’m dead. I hope to Merlin that I’m wrong and you can go tease me about this-

He let out a watery laugh at that. He’d give anything to do that. But he was alone. No James, no Lily, no Peter, no Remus, no one at all at his side. She left him here alone.

-and I can tell you to bugger off and that times were different. They are different. Everyone’s dropping dead, better wizards than us. I guess that’s what pushed me to write this. It’s been nagging at me for a while now, but — I don’t know, things feel more urgent now.

Right. Well, there’s really only one important thing I have to tell you: whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault. Don’t start thinking you didn’t protect me enough, that you put me in danger, that would be an insult to my memory. I chose to fight this war as much as you did. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s Voldemort and his lot. 

Living in this war feels like I’m living on borrowed time, but that’s fine. I got to spend that time with you, and that is something I’ll never regret. You made me so so happy, even when we fought, even when you were off on a mission and I was up worrying, even when you felt you were becoming more like the Blacks, which is rubbish. You may share similarities with them love, but your heart is what makes you different. You are a good man, no matter what you may think. You choose to be good, and that makes all the difference in the world. We’ve all got a little darkness in us, but that doesn’t make us evil. Remember that. Please. 

The tears building in his eyes made it harder to read. Sirius swiped at them, careful to make sure none fell on the letter, messing with the ink. This was his last bit of Marlene, the last gift she gave him, a lifeline. Leave it to her to worry about him when faced with death. Merlin, he loves - loved that woman.

I love you. I’ve said it a thousand times and I hope I’ll get to say it a thousand more. If these are the last years of my life, I’m honoured to have shared them with you. Mourn me as long as you need, but don’t shut the others out. Talk to them, let them help you. Keep some of my things and throw away the rest. I don’t want to be a ghost to you Sirius. I don’t want to be the reason you die either, so don’t let the need for revenge consume you. Let me go when you’re ready and move on. Live through this war and find happiness. You deserve all the happiness in the world. The universe owes you that much.

Have a long, happy life Sirius. Fall in love again. I know you don’t believe in anything after death, but I hope to see you again one day. Make sure you have some good stories to tell, yeah?

I love you.

Marlene.

The universe owed them more time.

But when did people ever get what they were owed?

[classysassy9791]

When a job goes terribly wrong, the Fairy Tail guild is left to pick up the pieces. Mourning the deaths of their guildmates, Lucy can't seem to find the strength to move forward. But she comes to realize one person understands. His madness was her mercy, and she finally began to hope that maybe he could make her heart beat again.

Fandom: Fairy Tail Genre: Adventure/Tragedy Warning: Character Death(s) Ch. 1 l

Chapter 2 Word Count: 4,700 Can also be found here

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Humming her herself, Mirajane swept a cloth over the bar top, cleaning up the remnants of the party that had carried over from the day before. Some of her guildmates still hung around, most passed out drunk in various places, but a few, like Cana, were still lively. 

“Another round!” the card mage called from the end of the bar, where her and a drunk Macao sat.

With an airy laugh, Mirajane moved to grab another drink from the tap. “I think Macao has had enough,” she mused, setting a mug down in front of Cana. “He may already be passed out.” 

An incoherent grumble from the elder mage was her only response. The brunette grinned. “See? He’s not down for the count yet!”

“Oh goodness. Romeo is going to be so upset with me. I promised him I’d watch his father’s drinking,” Mirajane deplored. 

“What are you, his keeper? Come on, it’s a celebration! Let him slide.” 

“The celebration started three days ago back in Crocus.” 

Cana pouted. “Way to kill the party, Mira.” 

Suddenly, the guildhall doors burst open, slamming into the walls behind it, and startling the few patrons who were still somewhat conscious. Mirajane’s blue eyes rose, a smile on her face, expecting to see Team Natsu arriving back from the job they took that morning, but what she saw made her freeze in her tracks, a hand covering her mouth to suppress a gasp. 

Loke stood in the doorway, his normally clean-kept suit tattered and torn, with an unconscious Lucy draped in his arms. Blood covered her face and clothes, soaking into the lion’s white shirt. Beside them stood her other spirit, Virgo, with a barely conscious Gray settled on her back. 

“We need help!” Loke shouted, his wide eyes shifting over what remained of the Fairy Tail mages at such a late hour. 

Mirajane pushed down her fear and took charge. “Bring them to the infirmary!” she commanded, pointing down the hallway. 

“What happened?” her little sister, Lisanna, asked, bustling out from the back room at the sound of Loke’s cry. 

“No time,” Loke urged, already moving down the hallway. “We need Wendy!”

“On it!” Lisanna disappeared out the door toward the girl’s dormitory to fetch the sky dragon slayer. 

“I’ll go grab Master.” The barmaid was gone in a flash. 

Loke heard a shout from Cana before she disappeared out the guildhall doors as he stepped into the infirmary. He laid Lucy down on one of the beds, brushing a few blonde strands of hair out of her face. Adrenaline pulsed through his veins as his mind ran a mile a minute. This wasn’t supposed to happen! This isn’t how it was supposed to be!

“Big Brother?” Virgo called from where she had laid Gray on another bed parallel to Lucy. “What are we going to do?” 

The lion spirit shook his head, hazel eyes looking at his mage forlornly. “It’s going to kill her,” he murmured, his brows knitted tightly together. “It’s going to kill both of them.” 

She folded her hands in front of her, blue eyes peering wistfully at the blonde. “They’re going to ask about them.” 

“Then we don’t tell them,” he affirmed. “At least, not yet. Not until they’ve healed some. Let Wendy work her magic; let Lucy and Gray be oblivious for a while before they have to face what happened.”  

Virgo nodded, giving a small bow. “As you wish.” In that moment she understood her assistance was no longer needed, and the drain she was placing on Lucy’s magic had become an impediment. In a flash of golden light, she was gone. 

“What happened?!” Wendy shouted as she dashed into the room, dressed in her pajamas and blue hair an absolute mess. She stopped in her tracks as she took in the sight of Gray and Lucy - both battered, bloody, and unconscious. Her brown eyes wide, her hands flew to her mouth as she gasped. “Oh, no!”

“My word,” Charle chimed in as she flew in behind Wendy. “What on Earth happened here?”

Lisanna appeared beside them with a deep frown. “Where’s Natsu and Happy? And Erza?” she demanded. 

Loke ignored her. “Wendy, please.” 

She glanced between her charges before finally settling on Gray being the worst of the two. “I-I’ll do my best,” she assured, hands hovering over the wound in his abdomen and igniting a soft glow. 

The youngest Strauss sibling turned fierce eyes on Loke. “They were only gone on a simple mission! How did this happen?!”

Just then, Makarov Dreyer entered the room, followed by an anxious Mirajane. The small man shuffled over to where his adopted children lay, worry lines creasing his brows. “They were on a mission to capture some bandits in the next town over,” he said, his expression grim. He turned accusing eyes on Lucy’s spirit. “Explain.” 

“Let’s allow Wendy to work,” Loke instructed, gesturing toward the hallway. He, Mirajane, and the guild master exited the room, closing the door behind them and leaving the others to anxiously watch over Lucy and Gray. Loke exhaled deeply. “I’m not sure of the whole story,” he admitted quietly. “Lucy didn’t call me to her aide until the battle was already in full swing.” 

“Battle?” Makarov echoed. “What battle?”

Loke leaned against the wall, folding his arms over his chest. “I don’t know what happened, but when she called me out, three demons from the books of Zeref were ravaging the town. There were fires and explosions - complete chaos.” 

“That’s not right,” Mirajane said, shaking her head. “How did a mission to capture bandits turn into fighting demons?”

He pulled his lips into a tight line. “I don’t know. What I do know is that I was no match for whoever they were. Lucy was already low on magic energy by the time I was summoned. It seemed like they were giving it everything they had, but I could tell the fight was wearing them down. I didn’t last long before I had to go back to the celestial realm.” 

“What of Natsu?” the master questioned. “And Erza?”

Loke dipped his gaze, his hands clenched tighter around himself. “They’re dead.”

Makarov stayed quiet for a moment, tears falling down his cheeks as he tried to discern the news. “My-My children…” 

Loke’s voice quivered as he spoke. “Th-There was nothing we could do,” he whispered. “They managed to kill one of the demons off, but lost their own lives in the process.” 

A hand flew to Mirajane’s mouth, tears springing into her eyes. “N-No!” she gasped, her legs giving way as she collapsed to her knees. “They-They can’t be-” She drew in shallow sharp breaths, her body trembling. “H-How can you be sure?”

“When… When I was finally able to return with my own magic to make sure Lucy was okay, I found her kneeling over Natsu and…” He took a deep breath to steady himself and cleared his throat. “Lucy found Erza, too.” 

Makarov choked back a sob, his eyes full of fury. “How could this have happened? I don’t understand! Who dared to hurt my children?!”

Loke adjusted his glasses. “Like I said, I’m not entirely sure. The threat had gone by the time I returned, and I don’t know their whereabouts. I’m sure Lucy and Gray could tell you more, but I don’t think we should tell them anything until Wendy has done what she can. They need their rest. Let them live with ignorance for tonight.” 

Blue eyes swimming with tears gazed up at them. “Wh-What are we supposed to do?” Mirajane whispered, her heart constricting painfully in her chest. 

The master exhaled deeply, swiping tears from his eyes. “We need to bring them home. Let Wendy work her sky magic. I’ll send the Thunder Legion.” 

“What about the rest of the guild?” Loke asked. 

“There’s nothing they can do right now.” He sniffled, gathering his composure. “Allow them one last night of rest. Tomorrow…”

He let his sentence trail, not daring to finish it. He pushed his way back into the infirmary. Mirajane shook her head from where she had crumpled to the floor, her eyes wide and vision blurred. 

“Erza… Natsu…” she whispered, squeezing the cloth of her dress over where her heart beat. Her body felt like lead, her tongue tasted like cough syrup, bitter and unwanted. It felt like deja vu, like the night she had lost Lisanna right before her eyes, leaving the guild broken and destroyed. They had lost one of their youngest mages, and it had rippled through everyone, leaving a scar upon their home. 

But this… Losing two of their most treasured wizards in a single night… How could they survive this? Natsu… Erza… They were the forefront of the guild. They made everyone laugh and feel whole. Now who would pick up the pieces? Who would be there to make them laugh again?

Mirajane peered up at Loke, her body numb with the thoughts threatening to drown her. “Loke,” she mumbled earnestly, needing him to wake her from this nightmare. 

The lion spirit slipped his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “I’m not going to tell you everything’s okay,” he mumbled, averting his eyes. “It’ll be a long time before it is again.”

With that, he disappeared, leaving a glitter of golden light to rain down on what remained of a disheveled and broken fairy. 

...

The battlefield lay quiet, for now it was a graveyard for the unburied. Their corpses lay among the crumbled buildings and forget-me-nots. The sun had only risen and the wind still blew, but somewhere, families waited in vain. It seemed as if the majority of the townsfolk had not survived, leaving the rest to escape into the countryside. 

Wide amber eyes swept over the wreckage. He heard a small gasp beside him, and a murmur of “holy hell”. They had been sent on a rescue mission, but from what they had been told, it was more of a retrieval - to bring their fallen brethren home. 

“Fan out,” Laxus ordered, his voice cool and collected compared to the dread eating away at his stomach. “Search the area. And stay alert. We don’t know where the demons have wandered off to.” 

Although hesitant, the Thunder Legion gave their nods of assent before each taking off in a different direction. Laxus began stepping over the wasteland, recalling the path in which Loke had described, where he was almost sure to find a pink-haired dragon slayer in his eternal slumber. 

The thought made him sick. 

How could that feisty kid, with so much fighting spirit, be bested by some demons? It just didn’t seem plausible. Laxus had called Loke a liar, refused his grandfather’s insistency, until he decided he needed to see it for himself. He could never believe Natsu was dead unless there was a body to prove it. 

“Come on, kid,” he grumbled, his eyes sweeping over the expanse of the battlefield. “Where are you?”

It took almost an hour for Laxus to find Natsu, just passed the town square. He lay in a pool of his own cold blood, his eyes half-lidded and his face ashen. Nausea swirled unrestrained in Laxus’ empty stomach. His head swam with half-formed regrets and his heart felt as if his blood had become tar, struggling to keep a steady beat. 

“Natsu…” Laxus almost choked on his name, falling to his knees beside him. He pushed the concrete off his chest and curled an arm around the dragon slayer’s head, feeling the ice cold of his skin, the stiffness of his limbs. 

The bastard had died with a smile on his face. 

His vision blurred with tears, and he suddenly couldn’t breathe. How… How had this happened? The Salamander, the Fire Dragon Slayer, dead…? He couldn’t wrap his mind around this new reality. 

A piercing scream tore his gaze away from the boy in his arms to the direction Evergreen had wandered off in. He carefully wrapped Natsu in his fur-lined jacket and pulled him to his chest as he stood. The walk to where he heard his comrade scream from seemed like a lifetime, his footsteps heavy and staggered. 

Evergreen knelt in the middle of the rubble, her body trembling from her sobs. Freed and Bickslow arrived just as Laxus did, their wide eyes glancing between the bundle in the thunder mage’s arms and the corpse Evergreen cried over. 

“It-It can’t be,” Freed muttered, taking a step back as if he had been punched in the gut. “It can’t possibly be.” 

Bickslow pulled his helmet free from his face, his mouth dropping open in an expression of stunned surprise. “No way…”

Evergreen turned to look at their leader, dark brown eyes overflowing with tears. “T-Titania is gone,” she cried. “The Qu-Queen of the Fairies is dead!”

Laxus didn’t need to check for himself. Just the image of Erza’s broken body was enough to confirm that she was gone. He clenched his jaw, trying to keep the tears at bay as he gripped Natsu tighter in his arms. 

“Cover her,” he instructed quietly, nodding to the coat Evergreen wore. “Let’s bring our family home.” 

“Wh-What about Happy?” Freed questioned, his voice breathy and uneven, as he remembered the blue exceed was still missing. “Has anyone found him?” 

Everyone shook their heads. “I’ll go look for him,” Laxus offered, placing Natsu gently on the ground. He didn’t need to voice to his comrades that it was doubtful the cat had survived. If he had, he would have been by Natsu’s body, or with Lucy upon her return. 

That morning, there was nothing but black smoke to line the glare of the sun. 

...

“They’re going to be suspicious.” 

Makarov focused his attention on the woman who entered his office. Mirajane looked exhausted, her eyes red and swollen, as if she had been up all night crying. He was sure that she had been. He hadn’t been able to sleep either. 

“I know,” he replied to her comment, clenching the pen tighter in his hand. He had mindlessly been signing off on paperwork half the night, the only thing keeping his buried anger in check. “But Loke said-” 

“To hell with what Loke said,” the take-over mage spat, her eyes fierce. “Erza and Natsu are dead. Happy is missing, meanwhile you leave Gray and Lucy, their teammates, in the dark?!”

The master furrowed his brows and gave her a hard stare. “It’s not only my decision to make. They need time to recover from their wounds.” 

“What about the rest of the guild?” she argued, tears gathering in her eyes. “Are you going to leave them in the dark as well?”

He sighed, dropping his pen and running his hands over his balding head. “What am I going to say to them? I don’t have all the answers. I don’t even know what exactly happened or who was behind this.” 

She took a deep breath to reel in her anger. “We are a family.” Her voice quivered. “We… We have just lost two of our own. There is no avoiding that pain. This will tear the entire guild apart. We need each other!”

Makarov averted his gaze to the window, watching as birds flew by. It was still early, but most of the guild would be arriving in the hall for breakfast. As is, he wouldn’t be able to hide the news of their family for long. There had been other members at the guild last night, albeit drunk, but they would be wondering what exactly had occurred. As far as they knew, something terrible had happened and the Thunder Legion had been sent to help. 

“I hate to see my children suffering.” He felt his throat tighten as he drew in a breath. “It kills me to see it.” 

Mirajane choked back a sob. “We-We need you, Master,” she cried, folding her arms around herself. “We-We can’t get through this without you.” 

The old man stayed quiet for a moment. Regret washed over him, the what-ifs and should’ve-beens running through his mind. How he longed to go back and take a different path, to stop them from taking that mission, tell them he would cover Lucy’s rent so they could rest properly. But now… it was impossible. There was no way to turn back the hands of the clock. There was no way to make it right. And he knew the guilt would eat away at him for the rest of his days. 

“All right,” he finally agreed quietly. He reluctantly stood from his chair and made his way to Mirajane’s side. “We’ll go inform Lucy and Gray first. Then the rest of the guild.” 

She swiped at her tears. “Of course.” 

“I’m just not sure how I’m supposed to break the news.” He sighed deeply, folding his hands behind his back. 

“Do what you always do. Speak from the heart.” 

“What could I say? Something poetic and beautiful?” He shook his head. “I can’t about this. Some situations are too hard to glorify.” 

And a man whose stature was so large in every sense of the word… suddenly looked so small. 

...

The sky was dark and explosive. 

“This isn’t time to falter!”

Terror widened her bloodshot eyes. 

“Please, just hold on a little longer!”

She felt burning in her chest and electricity in her veins. 

“Lucy!”

She stood frozen, lips half open, as ash fell from the sky in flakes of grey. 

“Lucy?!”

...

“Lucy?”

Her eyes rolled open, blinking blearily to clear the fog of sleep, only to be met with a look of concern. Wendy hovered over her bedside with her hands clasped gently around her own. Apparently she had been restless in her sleep, the sheets tangled around her and soaked with a cold sweat. 

“Where…?” she tried to ask, her voice hoarse. She licked her dry, cracked lips. 

“It’s okay. You’re at Fairy Tail,” the dragon slayer explained with a reassuring smile. “You’re safe.” 

Lucy’s chest heaved as she breathed heavily, her nightmares fading as she focused on the stale walls of the infirmary. Her head whirled as she struggled to sit up, leaning against the headboard behind her, trying to remember how she had gotten there in the first place. 

“Ow,” she groaned, wincing and curling an arm around her waist, which had been wrapped in bandages. Her entire body ached, and no matter how she moved, it was impossibly painful. “That really packs a punch.” 

Wendy frowned. “I’m sorry. I’m still recovering from everything that happened in Crocus. I wasn’t able to do much, but Porlyusica has been helping me.” 

“Porlyusica’s here?” the blonde questioned, furrowing her brows. If their medicinal advisor was here, they must be in pretty bad shape. 

“Yeah, Jet brought her back last night.” 

Brown eyes turned to the other bed, taking in the unconscious Gray. He didn’t seem much better off than she did. “Is he all right?” 

“He’ll be okay,” Wendy promised. “He just needs to rest. You were both so depleted of magic energy, it’ll be a while before you regain your strength.” 

She grasped her celestial keys from the nightstand, fiddling with them curiously, and feeling them warm with comfort from her touch. “What happened? I remember going on a job, but…”

Wendy shifted her feet nervously. “I’ll go let Master know you’re awake.” She quickly scampered out of the room, leaving the celestial mage alone. 

Alone. 

Lucy swept her gaze over the infirmary once more. Usually when she was injured, she’d have a pink-haired dragon slayer religiously at her bedside. Not often did he leave until he knew she was okay and out of danger. Where was he, anyways? Or Happy and Erza for that matter?

And then flashes from the night before came back full force, making her gasp for breath - the job, the bandits, the sudden appearance of Zeref’s demons, and the long fight that ensued afterwards. She remembered waking up after the entire town had been destroyed, finding Virgo and Gray, being comforted by Loke…

Because Erza and Natsu…

Hot tears sprang into her eyes as Lucy shook her head in denial. There was no way! Erza and Natsu couldn’t be dead. They were Erza and Natsu! Some of the strongest mages in the guild! No way could some monsters be the end of them. 

“We’ll bring them home, Lucy.” 

Loke’s soothing words replayed, and she felt her heart ease. That’s right. He promised he would bring their friends home, where Wendy could heal them. She smiled. Of course. What had she been thinking? Erza and Natsu were probably already in the hall eating. The two of them bounced back quickly enough. 

She pulled her lips into a tight line, drawing her attention to Gray. His ashen complexion and the sweat beading his brow spoke of pain. She only hoped it would pass sooner rather than later. 

Suddenly, a wave of exhaustion hit her and she sighed deeply. The battle they had been in really did a number on her. She had called on nearly every spirit in her arsenal, including Gemini to perform Urano Metria after she ultimately had to call on Loke. Even the Magic of the Stars hadn’t been enough to destroy the demons. 

But a nagging thought pulled at her, the image of a fire dragon slayer coming to mind - a silly grin, blood dripping down his chin, an apology, and a shuddered breath. She swallowed thickly, remembering a bloody halo framing a queen, a cry of denial from her comrade, and the comforting embrace of a lion. 

Every breath she expelled felt hollow in her chest. Her eyes turned as the door to the infirmary opened, revealing a small, elderly man and a silver-haired barmaid. “Ah, it’s good to see you awake,” he greeted. 

Makarov’s expression spoke volumes, and her heart dropped to her stomach. “Master… Mira…,” Lucy mumbled as tears came to her eyes. Her chest constricted painfully, breathing becoming hard. She didn’t want to ask - didn’t want them to confirm what she already knew. 

Their master stood at her bedside, his usually warm eyes hardened with grief. “Lucy, my dear. How are you feeling?”

She shook her head dismissively, wide eyes staring at her guildmates with building panic. “He’s… He’s gone, isn’t he?” she whispered. “Him and Erza and Happy…” 

Mirajane sat on the edge of the bed, taking her hand gently, She rubbed soothing circles over her skin with the pad of her thumb, but stayed silent, giving Lucy all the confirmation she needed. 

This isn’t real. 

“I should’ve never let you take that mission. The outcome is my burden to bear,” Makarov explained, knowing his words held little weight if he could even begin to suspect what Lucy had witnessed. “I don’t want you to blame yourself for what happened. It wasn’t your fault.” He sighed deeply, wanting to further ask her exactly what had transpired on that battlefield, but seeing the crumbling expression on her face, he knew it wasn’t the time. First, they needed to grieve. 

The emptiness in Lucy’s heart began to consume her. Brown eyes welled up and tears fell down her bandaged face, lips trembling. 

This can’t be real. 

Mirajane folded her hand over Lucy’s tighter, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Natsu, Erza, and Happy,” the takeover mage spoke, her voice hitching. “They didn’t make it. They all died in battle.” 

At first there was silence - a misty haze upon the horizons of Lucy’s mind. That’s where she kept her emotions bottled up. That was… until now. She could feel the hard, painful lump in the back of her throat as the tears fell faster. Slowly, her breathing hollowed itself and a small, but intense pain struck the top nerve in her head. 

Her upper body and shoulders wracked with every sob that forced its way out, chest rising and falling unevenly as she gasped for breath. She squeezed her eyes shut, covering her mouth with her hand as the tears dripped between her fingers. Before she knew it there was shouting, it was hers, and yet it seemed too distant. Time had fast forward. She couldn’t remember the briefest of moments. All she saw was her own fists grasping at her celestial keys for comfort, her tear-stained sheets. She even recognized her own voice repeating, “No, no, no!”

Then there were arms around her and she was being smothered by the scent of cake batter and alcohol. She faintly heard a soothing voice in her ear as her body shook with heartache. 

Please don’t let me believe this is real!

It couldn’t have lasted long though, the screaming. A rushing sound filled her ears and all she knew were her hysterical cries that shook the infirmary walls. Deep down, she had known Natsu had died. He had taken his final breath in her arms with a smile on his face. But she hadn’t wanted to believe it. If she didn’t believe it, it couldn’t be true. 

But here was someone else, someone else outside the realms of her mind that confirmed one of her deepest fears. Natsu… Erza… Happy… Their teammates. Their friends. Their family. They were all gone. 

It took awhile for Lucy to finally calm down, for her to lift her face from Mirajane’s chest, which had been soaked with her tears. She glanced between them, their expressions twisted into one she was sure mirrored her own - filled with grief and despair. 

And then her gaze landed on Gray, who remained blissfully unconscious through it all. “Wh-Where are they?” Lucy croaked, her voice hoarse from crying. 

“The Thunder Legion just brought them home,” Makarov explained. “They will have a proper Fairy Tail send off.” 

“Send off,” she echoed, scoffing bitterly as she pushed the tears from her cheeks. “Sounds like they’re just leaving the guild.” 

Mirajane squeezed her hand affectionately, her own face red and blotchy from crying, as she turned her attention to Makarov. “Everyone from the guild will be arriving soon,” she reminded quietly. “They’ll have questions.” 

He nodded solemnly. “I’ll have to make an announcement. I’ve already started on the arraignments.” 

Lucy hiccupped, feeling a new wave of tears sting her eyes. “I-I can’t…”

The barmaid looked at her with concern. “Lucy, I’m here for you. I can stay with you if you want.” 

She shook her head, blonde hair falling over her shoulders, as she pulled her hand free from Mirajane’s grasp. “No, you need to go with Master,” she reasoned. “I… I want to be alone.” 

There was hesitation, and then she nodded robotically. She opened her mouth to speak, but they both knew there was nothing to say. 

This was when the heroes, armed with the strength and courage of old, dueled against the ancient evil…

And lost. 

[calamity-callie]

A Noble Quest - Wiztober Day 18

This story is about my non-wizard wizard 101 OC Iridian! The defeat theme is more subtle, as it’s not so much a defeat for her as it is a defeat for the rest of Avalon...

CW: blood, gore, graphic violence

Art and editing done by @spiralcompendium​

It should have been another calm day in Avalon.

It should have been, but early that morning, a roar from the wild jolted everyone in Caer Lyon out of their peaceful sleep. The nobility and townsfolk alike gathered at the city entrance to see what would cause such a commotion. Only a few minutes passed before they saw her riding out of the woods into the city. 

She appeared to be a wealthy, gallant knight; riding into town in shining steel plate armor, partisan and shield strapped to her back. Her family insignia was proudly displayed on her chest - a boar and a bull, flanking a silver axe. She rode upon what appeared to be the source of the vicious roar, a dignified lightning lizard with two large horns, storm energy crackling and sparkling around its mouth, and two massive wings, folded against its sides. Upon seeing the crowd, she lifted her visor to reveal an attractive, but intense face. She had piercing white irises while the whites appeared dull and gray. A strand of pure white hair fell into her face, which she brushed aside. She began to address the crowd.

“Good people of this city, I am Ser Iridian.”

At this point, the city mayor had pushed his way to the front of the crowd, and addressed her in turn. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your disruption?”

“I’m simply passing through. I’m on a noble quest you see. There’s a vitally important task I must complete. Indeed, failure to complete this task could even result in the destruction of your home.” At this, the crowd gasped and began to part to let her though. “I do apologize for disrupting your pleasant morning, but I had to stop for supplies on the way to my destination, and Tencendur,” she stopped to touch her dragon’s neck, “Tencendur here needed to hunt. Now if you could point me to the blacksmith, I’ll be on my way momentarily.”

The mayor pointed her in the right direction, and she rode off towards the lower district. Arriving at the smithy, she removed her shield and spear and set them down on the table. They both looked like they had seen years of use without proper repair, had layers of rust coating most surfaces, and had accumulated some sort of strange swirling energy. “Fix these up for me, would you? Price is no object, just get it done as quick as you can.” 

“Very well,” the smith answered. He continued, “If ya don’t mind my askin’, what sort of quest are ye on anyway? What’s this destruction ye speak of?”

“It’s a family who lives just outside the city walls. I’ve heard of them doing just the most horrible things you could imagine - forcing children to fight for their amusement then tossing them on the street as soon as they lose, leaving the poor babe a traumatized mess. It’s my belief that this behavior shouldn’t be allowed to continue. After all, imagine having your own children taken away for their amusement!”

At this, the blacksmith recoiled. “Ma’am, that sounds downright awful. We can’t have people out there just doing things like that! Tell ye what, for such a noble quest as yours, I’ll do the work free of charge.”

Only a few hours later, Iridian headed out of the city gate and approached the large manor where the family lived, perfectly sharpened and polished weaponry in hand. She wound her way up the twisting path to the door while the serfs toiling the fields nearby looked away, occasionally shooting her fearful glances. As she approached the door, two men in plate armor crossed their swords in front of her, blocking her entrance. They sternly addressed her, “What is your business here?”

“I’m here to deliver a boon to the head of this manor, Sir Cedric Ward. I wish an audience with him at once.”

“What’s your name? Do you have an appointment? I’ll need to see proof of identification, a signed document of good intent, and a -”

The last word never left the guards lips, as Iridian had drawn her spear as he was speaking and thrust it into his throat. Blood ran from his neck as gurgling replaced the end of his tirade and he collapsed. The other guard raised a horn to his lips and began to blow, signaling the other guards in the barracks, but before he could get a second note out, Iridian had batted the instrument away with her shield, and plunged her spear into his stomach. She sliced to the side as she pulled it out, spilling entrails all over the entryway.

“Well, I’d hoped we’d have a cleaner start than this,” she thought to herself as she dismounted Tencendur. Turning to address the dragon, she said, “Those other guards will be here in no time. I’m heading inside. Protect me, alright?” The dragon snorted in understanding as she opened the front door.

She stepped into the extravagant entryway. Tapestries lined the walls, and a long hallway stretched out before her with many rooms on either side and a staircase in the back. She had three targets that needed to be taken out, three that were all complicit in the family’s crimes - the father, the mother, and their son. 

She began her search of the house, beginning with the kitchen. She opened the door, only to be greeted by the shriek of two servants who were, moments before, butchering a freshly killed hart. One of them began to shout “Lady Ward! Lady Ward!” Iridian was quick to interrupt him, whisper-yelling “Keep quiet!” but to no avail, the servant kept shrieking. She interrupted him a second time with a spear to the heart, then quickly delivered a slash across the second servant’s neck. Both collapsed to the ground as blood began to pool around them. 

“I’d wanted to avoid unnecessary death, but I will not allow anyone to get in my way,” she muttered to herself, gazing at the bodies. As she turned to leave the room though, she heard footsteps. She quickly positioned herself in the shadowy corner where the stone oven didn’t quite touch the wall. Soon the footsteps materialized as a woman in a floor-length beige and green gown, standing where she had a moment before, gazing down at the grisly scene.

Lady Ward shouted in rage, “Whoever you are, show yourself! Now!” She pulled a dagger out of her shoe and continued to yell, “I’ll cut you down where you stand!” At this moment, Iridian made herself known. She stepped out from the shadows and simply said, “Here I am.” Lady Ward turned and saw her, and her expression turned from rage to horror. 

“Y-y-you! It’s not possible!”

“Yes, Lady Sybil Ward,” she said mockingly. “It is me. Your crimes are at an end.” She swung her shield at the Lady’s head, knocking her unconscious as she fell to the ground. “You will be punished for your misdeeds.” She raised her sabaton, and placed it on the unconscious woman’s head. “I will make sure you never hurt any child again!” She shifted all her weight onto the foot and pushed until she felt a crack. As the skull gave way, blood and matter splashed all around the floor. Iridian strolled over to the washing basin and splashed water on her armor, cleaning herself off. She mentally noted, “That’s one down. Doing well so far,” and exited the kitchen, closing the door on the mess she had left.

Back in the hallway, she marched up the stairs and made her way to Cedric’s study. As she passed one of the smaller offices, however, a servant stepped out into her path. He began to profusely apologize, but Iridian, now with fresh, noble blood on her mind, took her spear and impaled him without a second thought.

Arriving at the solar, she attempted to open the door but found it locked. Throwing all remaining sense of stealth to the wind, she kicked it down. Standing in front of her was Sir Ward himself standing in full armor and snatching a large claymore from one of the many racks of weapons. He turned to face her, weapon at the ready.

“Ah, Iridian. I supposed something out of the ordinary was going on, but I never thought I would see your hideous face again. Turn and flee now, and I may even let you live.”

“Flee? I could never do such a cowardly thing! I have lived in the Wyrd for the last ten years absorbing its harsh lessons. I’ve spent every day training and preparing myself for this moment when I can at last put you on trial--trial by combat!” Iridian’s face twisted into a dark grin as her eyes filled with rage and her dark whites swirled as if some mysterious force was working beneath.

“Very well then, if that’s what you want, then you will not leave this room alive!” Sir Ward lunged, sword poised to strike, but as he brought it down on her head, Iridian deflected it with her shield, stabbing her spear towards his undefended shoulder. He barely twisted out of the way and retaliated with a kick that sent her stumbling off balance.

As she fell to the ground, Sir Ward raised his sword up above her chest and plunged it down, but she rolled out of the way and jumped to her feet. She parried the next strike. This time taking better advantage of her opening, she plunged the spear into his clavicle.

He staggered back, dropping his weapon and clutching the handle as he fell to the ground. “I see… you’ve improved quite a lot…” 

“I simply had a task set before me. I did what was necessary to accomplish it.”

Ser Ward continued, “I only ask… ask that you grant this old man one dying request… Please… spare my son…” 

As the last words left his lips, he went limp. Iridian pulled the spear out of his shoulder, then, to ensure the deed was done, took the claymore and severed his head with it. As blood soaked into the carpet, she muttered to herself, “That’s two down. I’m sorry old man, but I must deny your request.” She made her way up to the top floor of the castle, and out onto the wall connecting the main building to the bedroom tower. A guard outside the door attempted to stop her entry, but she grabbed his shoulders and flung him over the crenellations without a word.

Stepping inside, she saw a child, only ten years old, drawing at the foot of a small bed. Silently, she raised her spear, and plunged it through the top of the boy’s skull. “That’s three,” she declared. She turned to leave the room, pausing to glance at the half-finished drawing. It matched the coat of arms displayed throughout the house--a bull and a boar flanking a silver axe. 

She made her way back through the manor and stepped outside, where Tencendur was standing, surrounded by bodies scorched beyond recognition. Ser Iridian Ward mounted her dragon, and they took flight towards the Wyrd. As they passed over Caer Lyon, the dragon roared.

[homenum-revelio-hq]

Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Midge!

You have been accepted for the role of ANDROMEDA TONKS with the faceclaim change of Gemma Arterton! We really enjoyed how the old prejudices come out with your Andromeda, all while trying to combat them. We think it’ll be really interesting to see how she fits within her role in the Order, especially since she’ll be connected to old family. So excited to have you as part of the roleplay!

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME & PRONOUNS: Midge ( she / her )

AGE: 28

TIMEZONE: EST

ACTIVITY LEVEL: It’s pretty solid - I am generally around to plot on mobile throughout the day and while my job can be very demanding at certain times of the year, I still am able to post a few times a week. 

ANYTHING ELSE: ( Triggers ) Rape, incest. [edited for clarity]

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Andromeda Cassiopeia Tonks ( nee Black )

AGE: Twenty-nine

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: CIS Female ( she / her ). Heterosexual. While Bi-Curious, Andromeda has never explored her sexuality fully. 

BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood

HOUSE ALUMNI: Slytherin

ANY CHANGES: I would love to use Gemma Arterton, if possible!

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY: Scorpio ( Sun ). Scorpio ( Moon ). Taurus ( Rising ). 

A sun in Scorpio and ascendant in Taurus, Andromeda does often find difficulty understanding how she is perceived by others. In a position where rubbing people the wrong way was never much of a worry of hers, she often presents herself as materialistic and overly self-involved. While materialism is something she is mindful of ( finding comfort through her means being something she does strive towards ), this is not her driving force. 

Her Sun being in Scorpio means she has a fundamental urge to get to the bottom of things, which can at times lead her to be manipulative or power-hungry, but it is from a place of intense passion for authenticity, real intimacy, and the truth. Andromeda is driven to set herself apart from others, often through her close relationships and long-term partnerships. Her desire for marriage was not only born out of a moment of heated vitriol to her family, but also in the pursuit of sustaining the connection she felt with Ted in the most lasting manner she could think. 

Her Moon represents her emotional self: intense, passionate, and a bit dramatic. With an eye for a bit of a show, she still is inclined to keep her more intense and darker emotions private and has a hard time truly letting people in. Trust is hard-fought with her, and while she is very perceptive this sometimes manifests in suspicion and even controlling tendencies. The through-line of Andromeda’s personality is that she craves intimacy, and while it takes effort to get to the core of her it is upon being truly known she finds herself most fulfilled. 

Dromeda is extremely practical, she is reliable and deliberate, giving off the impression of someone who is sensible ( though sometimes, extremely, stubborn ). Through her insightful intuition, Andromeda excels not only in her career but her obsessive tendencies make for someone who can build out a life for herself. She avoids “ beating around the bush ” where she can, and as a result can come off as harsh or intrusive. Being as intuitive to others as she is, she also heavily relies on communicating through body language or if the relationship allows, physical affection. 

Ultimately, Andromeda can be very internal even when present with her own deeply intuitive and feeling self. Run through with a stubborn nature and desire to use her mental capacities to achieve her own personally set goals, she is ultimately a loving and devoted person to those she allows past the moments of discernment. As a result she’s always very aware of any who come into those people’s lives, utilizing her scrupulous nature to ensure that what she holds dear remains safely guarded. 

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY: ( TW: Mention of child death ) 

It is their cousin who tells them his sister died.

Not much older than Cissa, Iris died before she could even get a place on the family tree. Aunt Lavinia sits by a window and while her eyes are transfixed on the glass, Andromeda somehow knows she is not looking at anything that is outside. The house is quiet, save for Evan occasionally tugging at the cat’s tail just to hear it hiss. Normally Dromeda would tell him to stop, normally she would start pulling his hair so he could understand how it felt. But normally he did not have a dead sister so she sits with her hands politely folded in her lap.

In any case, she has a question to ask.

" Why? "                                       

" How? "

The second question comes rushing from Bella.

They do not receive any answer right away, a pinch from Mother and a look from Father bars any more words from leaving their lips the rest of the visit. They get their answer at home before bed, Mother and Father sits them down in front of a window. Aunt Lavinia’s eyes must still be looking at but not out the window in her own home, Dromeda thinks while her too-wide and observant eyes strain to study Mother’s face.

As usual, it comes back to those creatures called Muggles. The same who burn witches and wizards alive, the same who beat Andromeda’s relatives and stoned them to death. Those evil beings who destroy everything and made Wizard-kind ashamed of their powers. Mother tells Bellatrix and herself of a new heinous act.  They sneak into nurseries of the most innocent babies with their special, magical blood and pierce their soft, sweet skin with their teeth. They drink and drink until the baby stops breathing. They take all that is special from the child to pass on to their own offspring, to make those mudbloods look and speak as they do. They do it to infiltrate, to feed on more, to destroy every bit of goodness in the world.

( Aunt Lavinia’s baby is dead because of muggles - she was killed by a greedy, horrid monster. )

Mother tells her to stop clutching at her as she walks her back to her bedroom. She does her best, straightens her back and balls a small fist at her side - she stops holding Mother’s hand and instead tries to hold her own. It does nothing to stop her heart from racing. Once in bed, she counts the footsteps of Mother’s graceful stride until she knows she is alone. Until she knows she can move from her bed without being punished. Andromeda's less-than-graceful feet fumble from sheets and scramble to the ground. Frantic steps carry her toward the nursery. The door is cracked, and that is concerning.

It takes all of her courage to push through.

She expects to find a horned creature with long fangs hovering over her sister’s crib - instead she finds Bella laying on the floor beside it. With only a look exchanged in recognition, Andie joins her and is comforted in the thought Bella does not mind when she holds her hand. No matter how hard she squeezes.

Without any words the two sisters resolve themselves to be the protectors of the youngest from those who would wish to prey on her.

This memory begins to dull at age eleven. She watches a boy from across the Great Hall with mild curiosity, and his whole body moves as he laughs. 

“Filthy mudblood,” is sneered from somewhere down the table. Instinctively, Andromeda reaches for Bellatrix’s hand.  

( How odd, she thinks as she spots him later, he doesn’t seem to have fangs at all. ) 

She’s thirteen by the time they are formally introduced, her upbringing does not allow for her to be anything less than polite. At least, this is what she tells herself as she engages in conversation. He tells him his name is Ted and Andromeda spends the night thinking of how it felt when they clasped hands.

They talk, confined by isolated areas and the moonlight. Out of shame at first, perhaps. But there are some things Andromeda comes to find she only wants the moon sharing with her, with him.

Later ( in secret, away from her sisters’ prying eyes ), she’ll trace the veins in his wrist and she thinks she can feel the blood beneath begin to warm. How could it be thick, how could it be muddy - she thinks. His blood, and a burgeoning feeling becoming increasingly harder to ignore is as pure as anything she’s ever touched. Soft and warm when she’s nestled beside his beating heart, soft and warm even when she’s not.

( He’s not dirty, she thinks. Her family might be the one that is wrong. )

She’s lost to them long before they realize, long before she herself has accepted the truth. Ted holds one half of her, she believes, reserving some part that has listened to the lessons taught by her parents. Bellatrix’s infatuation of her own dalliance grows, a man who is allowed to eat at their table and handled their most prized heirlooms. He is the one who is unworthy, he is the one who poses the greater threat to everything important. ( There are bigger problems, she reasons, than a simple affair. )

Pregnancy brings on horrid morning sickness, and a slap that rings in her ear to this day, if she listens closely enough. “ Dead to us, ” they say. But offer a gift in the wake. As she spills out into the night air she finds herself gasping, as though she had resurfaced, as though she has just been saved from a watery grave. 

( She stops by Cissa’s room, hoping to salvage at least one piece ). 

Years of playing protector, vanquisher of the monsters under the bed, come full circle on her own. Nymphadora is born without the usual pomp and circumstance she has known in such occasions, but love pours from her quickly enraptured by strong lungs unabashedly wailing into the night air. Born able to achieve whatever she would like. That’s what she tells her, whispered promises like the exchange of vows shared with Ted before. 

( She tries to ignore the Daily Prophet’s proclamations of anything else ).

A life is built, with difficulty and with trial and error ( how was she to know washing machines were to work like that? ) She is happy, she thinks, after years of being told such pursuits are foolish or secondary. She can protect them, she can keep them just isolated enough to not call any attention their way. There’s an effort to bring them closer to the fold but Andromeda balks at such a concept. ( Albus Dumbledore can not be trusted, she implores. Men with such power rarely care for their pawns at play ). 

And still the part of her remains. The way certain light catches and she can feel those around her stiffen ( She looks so much like her, doesn’t she? ) The part of her which sharpened fangs in duels with Bellatrix left idly twiddling her fingers. It’s relentless, the tide. All the reasons why her job suits her. All the best, she thinks, to keep some things separate. 

( She was told, once, about the myth behind her name. The Chained Woman. Andromeda was never asked her opinion, or so it’s said. Perhaps she only knew better to keep it to herself. )

OCCUPATION: 

Unspeakable in the Ministry of Magic. A niche for ancient artifacts and interest in history allows for her attention to be drawn to the mysteries that keep magic interesting. Andromeda enjoys her job, finding it satisfying an itch she oftentimes could feel ashamed of ( if she spent much time thinking about what compels her, that is ). It is with the understanding of the level of access such a position has given her that she found herself acting as informant to the Order in the first place, and not necessarily because she felt any good will towards the movement of radicals. Andromeda isn’t compelled to trust the Ministry, exactly, nor is she inclined to leave her trust with men recruiting children to war. Her loyalty has always been a closed circle, stuck to a desire to move forward and a need to provide for her family. 

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER: 

Andromeda is more inclined to believe that the Ministry and actual authority would have the means to bring about the end of the war, but with the shift of tide she understands that such measures are a necessary evil. For however far removed she has been from the Black Family Tapestry for the time she’s been married, Andromeda still remembers what it was like to host Voldemort for dinner parties as Bellatrix’s obsession for him grew. She is of a unique group who understood what was happening long before the Daily Prophet began their war correspondence. 

That being said, Andromeda also knows of the ambition of man in general. Whispers of a vigilante group were met with indifference at first, she was ( perhaps misguidedly ) indignant at the idea of a select few taking matters into their own hands, let alone the rumors that some were being recruited right out of school? Her opinion on the group as a whole has only slightly softened since a few loved ones got involved, most notably Sirius and now Ted. Accepting the reality of the threat they are faced with comes with the ( somewhat begrudging ) acceptance compromises must be made. 

SURVIVAL: 

To put it bluntly, survival is everything to Andromeda. Above all else she is a true Slytherin and will do whatever it takes to survive, the caveat being that this extends to her family. Andromeda, though certainly affected by her upbringing in prejudice and violent bigotry, has not been indoctrinated in the same way. However, a certain edge to her allows for more than a few people to draw the direct line of understanding she is cut of the same cloth as Bellatrix Lestrange. While Bella found herself perverted past recognition to her devotion to the cause and her “master”, Andromeda made conscientious decisions to be as self-possessed as possible. This includes a willingness to play coy with the war effort that stands to protect her way of life. 

Because, and this is very important, Andromeda thinks herself above it. She does not always draw a direct correlation to the suffering of others to what could become of her, because in Andromeda’s mind she will simply not allow it to happen. She knows she will be ruthless when it comes down to it, and tries to maintain a certain amount of plausible deniability when it comes to moments in which she is directly associated with the war. 

RELATIONSHIPS: 

Ted is, above everything else, the love of her life. She would have moved them to another country if she had her way but they settled on a cottage by the coast. They have fundamental disagreements and while there are times when he is met with exasperation on her end Andromeda has always liked the challenge he presented to her. A certain recklessness to give himself over to a cause rather than be content with the life they have stolen away offers a host of issues she would rather avoid; and it is in part due to this reasoning she doesn’t always share her own passing along of details. Ultimately, however, everything Dromeda does is for Ted, for their family. 

Andromeda carries with her an adolescence of her family’s social engineering, which means she has connections in various places ( some she isn’t the quickest to acknowledge ). I think she finds herself drawn to the other members of her family who have been disowned, or even the women around her year who she recognized herself in. Which is to say nothing of the particular status she has achieved as an Unspeakable. Indifferent to status ( possibly as a result of it always being given to her ), Drom certainly knows how to use it. 

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS: I am a huge sucker for Tedromeda, to be perfectly honest. But at the end of the day I will write with wherever there is chemistry and am always looking for fun avenues to explore! 

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?: 

There is a lifetime of prejudice which Andromeda needs to consistently unpack and confront ( and, as is the way of someone who grew up as incredibly privileged as she did, she is not always willing to do the work ). In many ways, hers is the story of triumph of love over the built-in bigotry that poisoned her home. In practice, it is much trickier. For as much as Andromeda knows what her family is now, there are still fond memories she holds dear. For all the horrors she knows that have been perpetrated in the name of purity, she often finds herself subject to the conditioning she was raised on.

Andromeda was taught, young and often, through the various state-sanctioned ( and family approved ) propaganda pieces to fear and resent anything that would be seen to be an outside, infiltrating force. She does attempt to give her daughter a more objective education of the world around them, though this is made increasingly difficult with the way the war seems to be going. Fear does things to people, she knows more than most, but there is a lack of malice in her heart. 

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO?: 

Honestly, I’ve been keeping my eye on this roleplay for some time and the stars just aligned in terms of my schedule opening up and a role that I wanted to play around with! Andromeda is fascinating to me because of all her contradictions, as well as a major resistance to actively take part in a war which she could potentially play a role in. I think the natural tension between her and former family members could also lead to a very interesting dynamic as we move forward! 

PLOT DROP IDEAS:

I am open to going with the flow and love organically plotting, but I think Andromeda’s position at the Ministry / her being an informant to the Order could really challenge her laissez faire attitude when it comes to the war in general. Along with the building tension she has in her own home, and her desire to keep her family safe above anything else, it would be interesting to explore the boiling point of where that all comes to a head. Passivity has no place when she has a husband actively partaking in the war effort, and when the outcome could potentially call into question his safety she might have to fully establish herself as a combatant against what she was raised in. 

ANYTHING ELSE? I don’t think so!