#Juni came into my life during a very dark time and she changed my life and she changed me

[burymeinwillow]

-

[hadestownmodern]

Wedding

 (literally nobody asked for a wedding fic but someone did ask for soft young parents and...technically...this fits that a little bit?)

It’s a night in the middle of winter; a fresh coating of snow coats the rolling meadow behind Demeter’s tiny farmhouse. She’d offered her house up for their wedding with a wholehearted excitement, borrowed mismatched sets of chairs and tables and set them all out on the lawn. From the moment the day had begun she’d been busy-tending to the animals and putting them away for the night, starting small bonfires and heat lamps to keep the night warm. Fairy lights were strung between the large trees, lanterns hung around the line of the bordering forest. Even the garden, sparse from the winter weather, had been decked in a soft glow of lights among its posts. Bunches of deep purple flowers and earthy sage were scattered along the tables, clipped to the lights. Eurydice had been over during the week, begging to help to no avail; everything was meant to be a surprise.

              “Don’t lift a finger,” Demeter chastised lovingly. “You just take care of that baby of yours. Let us do something for you.”

Hades moved around with a happy display of his culinary skill, having already prepared a decent amount of food throughout the week. It was enough to feed the whole city, they’d joked, and he’d beamed with pride. He set appetizers on whatever sorts of trays he could find, poured drinks into glass jars, set them in a beautiful array around the galley kitchen that made it seem beautifully overflowing. From time to time he’d bustle over to Eurydice and Persephone, shoving spoonfuls of food toward them with urgency, eagerly awaiting the inevitable grins and thumbs-up that would follow. Junie had long since draped herself across a majority of the couch, her own lace-flowered dress a compliment to her head of big angelic curls and the crown of sage-colored leaves around them. Junie’s eyes have been glued to Eurydice since she’d seen her, her hand aching to hold hers, to follow her as she walked.

“You look like a princess,” she’d gasped, reaching up to touch the baby in her arms. Melody wore a matching rendition of the softly flowing lace, a purple headband bow covering the dark hair upon her own head. Eurydice had yet to put her down for more than five minutes-had held her wide-eyed baby proudly as she’d gotten her cropped hair brushed and settled into their natural waves, gone for an earthily toned makeup look, soft and simple. Junie played games with her, hopped up and down and twirled in her dress, entertaining the smiling infant with adoration and purpose.

The guests arrived nearly all at once; friends from work, some of the people Orpheus played music with…the crowd was small, but intimate. Each face knew another, each with their own story to tell of the day Orpheus had told them about this girl in the coffee shop, or her name is Eurydice-I love her more than anything, or we’re having a baby. We’re going to get married. The endless songs of love that came from Orpheus knowing her echoed throughout the crowd, was shown in the way they bustled amongst each other, spoke words of blessing and happiness for the young couple. They poured over the tablecards, each printed with heartfelt photos of the short time they’d spent together-seemingly sprawling, judging on the way the two clung to each other in a photobooth, posed behind the bar, wrapped themselves in each other at Christmas with an ultrasound picture between them. The sunset-evening was glowing with these small sentiments of love, which only grew as a nervous Orpheus stood under the handmade archway beside the garden.

He waited with his eyes trained to the back door of his amma’s house, hands fiddling with the hem of his suit coat. Hermes and Hades stoodd on either side of Orpheus, watching as he fussed around with impatience. Hermes lifted one arm, patting his shoulder with a chuckle. Orpheus looked out at the gathering of their close friends, sat in those same mismatched chairs, arranged from their tables in a haphazardly beautiful sort of crowd with an aisle in between. A pair of musicians played their instruments, a guitar and a fiddle respectively, and the door flung open.

Junie ran out first, in a sort of twirling dance that showed off the carefree flow of lace coming from beneath her warm woolen petticoat. She threw purple petals from Demeter’s greenhouse, petals she helped pick and pluck that morning to keep her occupied. Her feet left tiny tracks in the dusting of snow they’d received; just enough to bless the earth with a perfect white powder, seemingly decorative rather than by the nature of the winter. Orpheus kept his eyes trained on the door, listened as the crowd fell helplessly to the joy she spread. Nothing else mattered except the girl behind the door, which opened only after he heard Hades scoop Junie up in his arms, felt her pat his arm relentlessly.

Everything stopped when the door opened again; a flood of warm light hit the now darkened night, wrapped itself around Eurydice as she stepped out into the snow. Persephone and Demeter stood on either side of her, hands on her back. Flanked in support, Eurydice began her trek down the aisle, and Orpheus wiped feverishly at the tears that spilled openly down his cheeks.

She was ethereal beauty, clothed in a sheer white dress with bell sleeves and a deeply dipped neckline. There are small bits of embroidery, hand-stitched in gold thread to resemble a universe of constellations telling stories of a young Demeter, Persephone about to be born, practicing her hand at a hobby that kept her busy. The dipping neck is hidden by the baby in her arms-their girl, in tiny long-sleeved lace and a completely encompassing petticoat, tucked as close to Eurydice’s chest as possible. He attempted this stand-still moment as he watched all of the important women in his life walk toward him, but then Eurydice was grinning, pausing to gasp, open mouthed and cry with him. His feet move before he can think about the etiquette of it all, meet her in the middle of the aisle. Orpheus reaches his hands to her arms, rubbing her shoulders and kissing Melody’s head.

“Hi,” He breathed, an ear-to-ear grin encompassing all of his features, spreading his own unfiltered joy through the crowd. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” She giggled, shaking her head as he wiped the tears from her eyes. From the archway Hermes cleared his throat, rolled his eyes and called Orpheus’s name.

“Come on, you two. Come up here and get married.”

There was a chorus of laughter, Hermes shaking his head as they stood in front of the crowd, Orpheus with an arm on hers and a hand on Melody’s back. He was shaking, nerves and excitement bubbling within him like carbonation just waiting for its opportunity to meet the open air-for permission to overflow. Eurydice wasn’t much different, then, simultaneously thankful for the presence of their daughter snug against her chest and aching to reach out and fold herself over Orpheus. Her tender poet, soft and adoring, looked between them both with stars in his eyes, content in the moment until Hermes poked at his arm.

“Your vows?” He reminded, and Orpheus took in a deep breath. Feeling the presence of their friends-the bite of the winter air against the warmth of the bonfires and lamps and Eurydice’s soft, glowing smile, he began.

“I know that everyone thought I was crazy when I bought you a ring two weeks after meeting you. I know that they thought it was crazy that four weeks after we met we were engaged, we were going to have a baby. They don’t know what I know. They didn’t get to see the way you looked the night we met, talking about your classes and your degree and your passions. They don’t get to know what it felt like to be loved by someone with every reason to run after I said ‘I love you’ way too soon. They don’t know what it’s like to watch the woman you love tell you she’s pregnant a month in and just feel…joy. Excitement…I was taught from a very young age that love is something rare, and special. That you know when it’s right. I was taught to believe that souls are supposed to meet each other here, that we’re lucky enough to share a physical space for as long as we get. I knew from the moment I met you that you were it. And I didn’t want to waste any more time. You’re it-and I love you endlessly, forever.”

“I’m going to say it before anyone else does-we clearly haven’t wasted any time here.” Eurydice kisses their daughter’s head, their friends and family laughing, Persephone’s distinct agreement above them all. “But I’m glad, because I love you. I love you for speaking too soon-for loving me in a way I’ve never been loved before. I love you for teaching me what love really is, for being the most giving, kind presence of light anybody has had in their life. I love you for your heart; you gave us Melody. You poured yourself into work, you wrote songs and changed diapers and held me even when I was being stubborn. I am so happy that our daughter gets to grow up with a father like you-someone who loves so openly and unconditionally, who speaks with honesty and kindness…when I met you, I met my family. I felt like I was home. And now, I can truly say that. Orpheus, I love you-endlessly, forever.”

Eurydice passes Melody over to Persephone with haste, flies eagerly and wholly into her poet’s waiting arms. She can feel the squeeze of his hug, his hasty lips on hers. She brings both her hands to the back of his neck and presses herself as close to him as possible, the cheering of their friends and family merely a muted background to their own happiness. A tiny squeaking makes its way past them-past the bubble they’d created-and Eurydice pulls away laughing as she takes a fussing mama’s girl away from Persephone. She holds Melody between them, Orpheus kissing her head and holding them both. He’s still holding them as they walk back down the aisle-as their friends begin to move the chairs back around, begin playing celebratory songs, gathering around them to smother them in well wishes.

The crowd is wrapped in doubling of warmth as Orpheus bends over to kiss his wife again, smiling as they laugh through a new round of their own blissful tears.

[spiteweaver]

previous | next in arc | next

Slowly but surely, and as it always did, life in Clan Feldspar returned to normal. Sornieth was changing before their very eyes, but time marched relentlessly onward, towing dragonkind in its wake. So, despite everything, the borders had been reopened, the caravans had returned, and construction continued all throughout the territory.

It was late April now, and Wavecrest Saturnalia was in full tilt. The clan had come together in an effort to make this the most resplendent celebration Feldspar had ever hosted. Some hoped to comfort their sea-dwelling clanmates in their time of need; others believed that a sufficient display of loyalty might bring the Tidelord back from whatever dark crevasse he had sunken Himself into. Regardless, it was set to be the grandest festival since the clan’s anniversary the previous cycle.

Understandably, the ambassadors had been kept busy. The end of an eon was always hectic, but Juneau could not remember ever being spread quite so thin. He felt as though he had been grasped at both ends and stretched to breaking, and that if one more duty fell upon his shoulders, he would snap.

At least, he thought, he would be able to rest come May. He was desperate to visit Aphaster lands, and spend time with his mate--and with Artha, who he had seen far too little of in recent eons.

Across the square, Levi looked up from his work. “Thinking about Penitence again, are we?” he called.

Juneau started, and scrambled to find something to do. The festival may have already been underway, but that didn’t mean he could laze about. There were events to plan for, and events required catering, decorations, entertainment--

A heavy hand came down on his shoulder, halting him in his tracks. “Why don’t you go home?” Levi suggested. “You’ve worked harder than anyone, and this isn’t your festival to plan. You should’ve had a break this eon, to spend with Penitence and Artha.”

“No, no,” Juneau insisted, “I wanted to help. I know this means a lot to you.”

“That’s your problem,” Levi said, “you’re too nice. Go home. Better yet, go to Aphaster, see your family. They need you more than we do.”

Juneau chewed his bottom lip. “You’re sure?” he asked.

“Positive,” Levi replied, “now go.”

Juneau needed no further encouragement. He thanked Levi, reported to Dreamweaver, and in five minutes’ time, he was home, rummaging in his closet for the dress he’d bought for Artha. He hoped she wouldn’t be too cross with him--or that she would interpret the dress as a bribe.

His thoughts were scattered by the sharp rapping of knuckles on wood. Sighing, he set aside the dress and shrugged on his furs. (It was warm now in the Sunbeam Ruins, but he had to look the part.) Yet, as he moved to open the door, a familiar scent gave him pause. In a rush, he threw it open, his heart in his throat.

Another Tundra stood on the stoop. Although he had removed his own furs and draped them over his arm, he was still sweltering in the April heat. His long, dark locks stuck uncomfortably to his skin, and he was quite a bit thinner than Juneau remembered, but he was unmistakably...

“Alois!”

The two embraced, Alois laughing, Juneau sobbing with relief. “You’re alive,” he breathed. “I thought I was the only one...”

“It’s good to see you,” Alois said, cupping Juneau’s cheeks when they parted. “You look well! How you’ve survived in this heat, I’ll never know! It’s miserable here, brother!”

“This is an unusually warm eon,” Juneau said, and his tears at last gave way to a bright, loving smile--then to embarrassment when he remembered his manners. “Oh, but come in! I still remember how to make that tea you like!”

“Great! It’s been too long since I last had it!”

Alois stepped into the foyer, and relaxed visibly. Juneau’s home was cool and, most importantly, dark; the harsh sun had done him no favors, dressed all in black as he was. Juneau ushered him into the kitchen, small and modest, like those of their homeland. “It’s good to see you haven’t forgotten your roots,” Alois commented.

“Of course not,” Juneau said, busying himself with the tea. It was a heavy, aromatic blend that filled the room almost immediately. “I didn’t leave the Southern Icefield because I wanted to. After what I had done, I...”

Juneau’s stomach lurched. He placed the lid back on the kettle and turned, forcing another bright smile. “Anyway,” he began again, “where have you been all this time? What happened?”

“I’ve been busy,” Alois replied. His eyes were alight with mischief, just as Juneau remembered them being. Even during the long, hard eons of training they’d endured, Alois had never lost his childlike wonder. “As for what happened...” He dropped his gaze to his hands, toying thoughtfully with the hem of his sleeve. “We got lucky. There was a brother among the Goalers, and he was able to see at least a few of us to safety.”

When their gazes met again, the light had faded from Alois’ eyes, replaced by something that Juneau could not put a name to. He felt as though he was being hunted when Alois looked at him, and shrank back against the counter. “Not you, though,” Alois said. “Why did the Warden spare you?”

“I...” Juneau turned back to the kettle. “I don’t know,” he confessed. “When I awoke, I was alone. The smells of our clan were all around me, but the doors of the Fortress were shut. There was--there was blood in the air, and I--”

“I’m not blaming you,” Alois was quick to assure. “We’ve all been in hiding since then, so when we learned that you had been spared, we grew curious.”

“I really did think I was alone,” Juneau stressed. “If I’d thought--if I’d known, I would have--” The kettle let out a shrill whistle. His hands trembling, he poured the tea, and joined Alois at the table. “All these cycles,” he said, “I’ve believed that I was the last of our clan. Alois, please, tell me, did any of my siblings survive?”

“We’re all your siblings, brother,” Alois replied.

Juneau pursed his lips. “I meant, born of my mother and father,” he said, “siblings by blood; or my aunts, my uncles, my cousins?”

Alois took a long sip from his cup, his gaze falling to stare hard at a slight chip in the porcelain. “It was a very few of us who survived,” he mumbled, “a very, very few. I’m sorry, Junie.”

“Right,” Juneau said, and nodded stiffly. His voice remained even, but his grip on his cup tightened. “Of course. It was always a fool’s hope. At least you made it out. For that, I--I really am eternally grateful to that Gaoler.” He held out a hand. Smiling softly, Alois took it. “You were my best friend in those days. Having you here now, I finally feel whole again.”

“We’re going to start over,” Alois informed. “Now that the Warden’s attention is elsewhere, we can rebuild. Juneau, we want you to come home.”

Juneau's entire body tensed painfully. Alois was still smiling, and his heart ached in his chest at the sight. His clan lived; they were waiting for him. He could go home, and be with them as he once had been. It would be as if nothing had ever happened. Whatever darkness had come over them all was now banished, a ghost trapped in memory.

They could be a family.

“I can’t.”

Juneau set aside his tea, and pulled his hand away. He kept his eyes downcast, unable to bear even the thought of seeing hurt in Alois’ face. “I have duties to attend to here,” he said. “I can’t leave.”

“Duties?” Unexpectedly, Alois laughed again. Juneau hunched his shoulders. “Junie, they can find another Ice Representative! Maybe not one as good as you, but I’m sure they’ll understand! This is your clan we’re talking about!”

“It’s not just that,” Juneau murmured. “I have...”

He could picture it so clearly, the night he had given Penitence his ring. It was a simple band, fit for a simple man, and he remembered how it had caught the light, and how he had felt putting it on Penitence’s finger, and how he had cried when he’d showed him the matching sapphire upon his own. He touched it now, and realization dawned on Alois’ face.

“You took a mate,” he said.

“Yes,” Juneau replied, “and we’re--well, I suppose we’re raising a child together. I even have a pupil. I couldn’t leave them, Alois; they’re my family. I want to be with you and our people so, so much, and you’re my family too, but I thought you were all dead, and I had to move on. I had to find someone else to live for. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry...”

Alois’ brow furrowed. He seemed perplexed, running through the exchange in his head, before finally reaching the inevitable conclusion. Rather than anger or hurt, however, he met Juneau’s worry with another smile. “Silly,” he said, “you have to come home. The Dominus wills it.”

Juneau’s heart stopped.

“The...the Dominus...?”

“He’s still completely smitten with you,” Alois went on. He spoke casually, as if of the weather, but every word drove an iron stake into Juneau’s chest. A cold sweat beaded on his brow. His eyes were wide, his teeth clenched, but Alois didn’t seem to notice. “You always were his favorite, his protege! I wish he’d talk about me like he does you; not that we haven’t grown close since his return! I’ve been his right hand in your absence!”

“He’s...” Juneau gulped around the lump in his throat. “He’s alive?”

“Of course!” Alois exclaimed. “You didn’t think the Warden would kill a Gaoler, did you? No, no, He sealed our poor master away in those awful Dripcave Dregs! With His attention elsewhere, though, our drake on the inside was able to get him out! I told you, we’re going to rebuild!”

Finally, Juneau stood. His movements stilted, he rounded the table and knelt in front of Alois, grasping him by his arms. “You’re going to stay here,” he said. “You can stay with me. I’ll tell the founders, and we’ll organize a rescue mission to retrieve the rest of the clan. Then we’ll--we’ll put him back on ice--”

“What?” Alois stood as well, brushing Juneau’s hands away. “What are you talking about? ‘Rescue mission?’ We don’t need rescuing. Junie, you must’ve spent too long away from home! Don’t you remember? We’re going to--”

“--usurp the Warden, yes, yes, I remember.” Juneau gripped his robes. His breath came in short, panicked gasps; his chest felt like it was in a vice, and he clutched at it frantically. “I also remember what he did to us,” he panted. “He pitted us against one another. We were children. We hardly knew our mothers and fathers. Then he--he chose me, and he turned me into--he made me--”

A Tundra’s memory was a fickle thing, like a sieve filled with fine white sand. Juneau remembered, though. He had tried so hard to forget, but it was stuck to him like a burr, a sickly, poisonous burr that pricked and prodded him no matter which way he turned. Blood, and steel, and ice, dark, black ice, seeping from his hands and ruining all it touched.

“--nie? Junie?”

Juneau’s eyes fluttered open. He was on the floor, pressed tightly into a corner. Alois was hovering over him...

...and the room was full of black ice.

“Are you all right?” Alois asked. “I haven’t seen you lose control like that since we were kids.”

“He turned me into a murderer,” Juneau whispered. He reached out, grasping desperately at Alois’ furs, beckoning him closer. “Why would I ever want to go back?”

Alois reeled back as if stung, and Juneau crumpled in on himself. He could feel his friend’s, his brother’s eyes on him, hot with shame. “You’ve forsaken the cause?” Alois asked tersely.

“Yes!” Juneau cried, hiding his face in his hands. “Yes, of course I have! He was a tyrant! He was a monster! He ruined me! He ruined us all! Our clan is dead because he willed it so! For what?! For what?!”

“For our people’s honor!” Alois snarled. His fist came down hard on the table, cracking the thick, rich wood. “The Warden hid our ancestors from us! He is ashamed of His own children! Why should He rule over us when He would rather lock us all away in the Dregs?! The Dominus belongs in His place!”

“The Dominus is a lunatic!” Juneau screamed.

“You’re a coward!”

“If you go back to him, you’ll die!”

“I’ll die gladly, under his banner!”

“Please!” Juneau forced himself to his feet. His stomach gave another, more violent lurch, but he swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. “Please, Alois, if you ever loved me, stay. I can’t lose you again, and he’ll kill you, Alois, he’ll kill you like he killed everyone else. Please, I love you, I love you, does that mean nothing?”

For a very brief moment, he thought Alois might heed him. The harshness in the lines of his face gave way to a soft, immature fear. Juneau glimpsed, just barely, the boy he’d known in it, with clever eyes and a gentle hand.

Then, scowling, Alois turned. “You’ll come back,” he hissed. “One way or another, you will come back. The Dominus wills it.”

Juneau fell to his knees as Alois swept from the room. He saw his reflection in the ice, disheveled, his eyes red from crying. The last time he had looked so haggard, he had just lost everyone he loved. The Dominus had taken them from him.

He would not let them be taken a second time.

@nostlenne

[weascleys]

Baby Steps: Chapter 5

Chapter Title: Moaning Myrtle’s New Friend Pairing: George Weasley/Donella Stirling (Original Character) Warning(s): none Words: 2003

Chapter Summary: Ella seeks recluse in the first floor girls' lavatory after an unpleasant encounter with Snape.

Notes: I had no intention of including Myrtle in this chapter and I honestly have no idea how she wormed her way into it. Enjoy the chapter though! :)

Ella and Juni had their foreheads practically pressed together as they brewed their Sleeping Draughts. Gryffindor had double potions with Slytherin, and while most of her classmates sneered at that, Ella was overjoyed. She absolutely loved having classes with Slytherin, it was her only chance to have classes with Juni.

“I can’t believe it,” Ella whispered to Juni as she added two measures of Standard Ingredient to her cauldron. “How is the first Quidditch match already tomorrow? We’re going to get creamed, Juni, I know it.”

Juni was still waiting for her potion to finish brewing and she was absently twirling her wand in her nimble fingers. “Don’t worry about it, Ella. I’m sure you’ll do just fine. Wood found you guys a new Seeker right? What’s there to worry about?”

“That’s exactly my point! Potter’s in his first year, he’s never even seen a game of Quidditch in his life! I mean, yes, he’s brilliant in practice but who’s to say what he’ll be like on the pitch during an actual match? No one knows what’ll happen and I think Wood is putting way too much faith in him and —”

“It’s been a minute, add your Valerian Sprigs.”

“Thank you. Like I was saying, I think there’s a huge possibility that he’s going choke under pressure and we’re going to get completely wrecked in the first match and —”

Juni’s hand shot out to grab Ella’s wrist. “Ella, you need to get your nerves under control. First of all, you were about to stir your cauldron counterclockwise instead of clockwise and ruin your perfect potion. Second of all, you might want to keep your voice down. Snape is starting to look over here.”

Ella sighed and tugged at her red hair. She was such a brilliant young girl but her anxieties got the best of her sometimes. During her first year Transfiguration class she accidentally made a goblet spontaneously combust because she had gotten so nervous. “I know, I’m sorry. I just can’t help it! You know how stressed I get.” Juni hummed in agreement as she added her own Standard Ingredient to her freshly brewed potion. Ella stirred her Sleeping Draught seven times, very careful to go clockwise. “Juni, do you think this looks right?”

Juni didn’t even glance up from her own cauldron. “I don’t even need to look, it’s perfect. You’re a natural at potions, just wave your wand and finish it already.”

Ella waved her wand and the liquid in her cauldron became a deep shape of indigo, Ella glanced at her Potions book to make sure that was the correction reaction and her face broke into a grin. “Brilliant,” she said and ladled some of her potion into a vial to place on Snape’s desk before class was let out. “You ought to hurry, Juni, class gets out in a about three minutes.”

Juni’s eyes shot to the clock and she let out kind of strangled squeak. She began to mix her potion very quickly and when she finished it was a lighter shade than Ella’s and she groaned. That meant that it probably wouldn’t be very strong. She’d be lucky if she didn’t get a P for this one.

They both packed up their cauldrons and bags and began to walk to where Snape’s desk was tucked away in his dark little corner. “Are you still going to ask him?” Juni asked Ella out of the corner of her mouth and they both placed their vials of Sleeping Draught in the potions rack that Snape had set up.

Ella nodded. “Yeah. If ever want to become a Healer I need be more than exceptional in Potions.” “You are more than exceptional in Potions.”

“I could be better,” Ella said and shrugged.

Juni sighed. “Alright, if you insist.” She gave Ella a squeeze on the shoulder. “Good luck.” And she filed out of the room with the rest of the students.

Ella stood in front of Snape’s desk and waited in silence as he scrawled on some parchment. It didn’t seem like he would acknowledge her or initiate the conversation until Ella said something so she shakily cleared her throat.

“Yes, Miss Stirling?” Snape said and Ella felt that unpleasant chill run down her spine.

“I have a question, Professor Snape,” Ella said timidly.

“Well do ask it quickly as to not waste any more of my time.”

Ella stood in a moment of hesitation before spitting out her question, trying very hard to be polite. “I was wondering, if at all possible, if you would be able to give me Remedial Potions, Professor?”

“And what makes you think that you are entitled to Remedial Potions when your Potions skills are at the very least, average?”

Ella could feel her blood heating up. “With all due respect, Sir, I think my Potions skills are more than average and —”

Snape cut her off with a scoff. “Just like your father. Entitled and arrogant! It’ll be a blessing if I get through this term with you and Potter in my classes.”

“Don’t you ever compare me to that man!” Ella spat at him before she could stop herself and she clamped her hand over her mouth, shocked at her own loss of control.

Snape’s eyes flashed dangerously at her. “Exactly what I mean. Hot tempered, arrogant, and childish. Just like your father,” he sneered at her. “Ten points from Gryffindor, Miss Stirling. Now get — out.”

Ella turned on her heel and sped from the room before Snape could see the angry tears forming in her eyes. She couldn't believe that he had compared her to her scoundrel of a father. Derrick Stirling, Ella’s father, had been a great man and an excellent father until Ella was around seven years old. That’s when he turned to the alcohol. It consumed him completely and ruined him. There was a short period of Ella’s life that was composed solely of her parents screaming and fighting before Derrick decided that he was going to leave. And he was gone. She hadn’t seen him since then. She hadn’t seen her father in four years, and she honestly had no desire to. She had grown to hate the man that she had once held so dearly.

Ella skipped her Transfiguration class. It was way too obvious that she had been crying for her to be comfortable with. So instead she sat on the floor of the first floor girls’ lavatory with her back up against one of the outside walls of a stall. No one ever came up to this bathroom because Moaning Myrtle had a tendency to show up, but Ella didn’t care. She just needed somewhere that she could be separate from her own living peers. She sniffled and wiped her runny nose on the sleeve of her rob. She stood up and looked at herself in one of the dusty mirrors and groaned at what she saw. Her eyes were puffy, her nose was red, and she had chewed her fingernails until they threatened to bleed. She looked a mess.

“Stupid,” Ella muttered disdainfully to her reflection and shoved away from the sink, not wanting to look at herself anymore. Thankfully, Transfiguration was the last class on her schedule for today and she could go straight to her dormitory, make herself presentable again, and then go down to dinner and hopefully have some fun with her friends.

“What have you been crying about?” Asked a shrill voice and Ella let out a small scream of surprise as she whipped around to see who was in the bathroom with her. Of course, it was Moaning Myrtle.

Ella hardened her face, a knee jerk reaction. Although she doubted that she looked very threatening. “What’s it to you?”

Myrtle looked highly offended. “Well, excuse me for trying to help! Next time you want to act like a blubbering mess don’t come into my bathroom and then snap at me for being nice!”

“Wait!” Ella said before Myrtle could delve back into the pipes. “I’m sorry, I’m just upset. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” Myrtle was right, she was just trying to be kind.

Myrtle stopped right before she could disappear into her toilet. She turned her head over her transparent shoulder. “So, are you going to be sour with me if ask you what happened again?”

“No, I promise.”

Myrtle floated back over to Ella. “Well, go on then. Tell me.”

Ella sighed and sauntered back over to where she had been sitting previously and sank to the ground. She couldn’t believe she was about to divulge her life story to a ghost in an abandoned bathroom. “Well, I asked Professor Snape if he could give me Remedial Potions lessons for extra practice and he said no. Then he called me entitled and arrogant when I tried to persuade him.” Ella was bending the truth and she knew it. She turned her head away from Myrtle and she felt tears burning in her eyes again. “He compared me to my father,” She said scornfully.

“And that’s a bad thing?” Myrtle asked her, now resting a few inches above the floor in front of Ella.

“Yes,” Ella hissed and wiped her eyes before she could start crying again. “My father was a bastard and a coward. I hate him. Drinking was more important to him than his own family. Being compared to him is one of the worst things I can think of. It’s bad enough that I look like him, I don’t need snobs like Snape reminding me that I come from that miserable slag of a man.”

Myrtle hovered in a silence for a moment. When she had seen Ella dash into her bathroom she had originally felt no sympathy for her. Ella was alive and beautiful, two things that Myrtle was not. But upon hearing Ella’s apology and her heartfelt story, that changed. Myrtle’s resentment for Ella partially melted away. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she told Ella quietly. She decided to change the subject. “Why would you want to spend more time with Snape anyways?”

Ella chuckled lightly. “I don’t. But I want to be a Healer when I’m older and you need to get a N.E.W.T in order to do that so I need to excel in Potions.”

An idea struck Myrtle suddenly, an odd idea, but an idea nonetheless. “Well, if you want extra Potions practice, you could come in here and do it. No one ever comes in here. No one would ever know. And I could help you!” Myrtle wasn’t always this sociable, but she saw potential in Ella for a possible friend of sorts, something that Myrtle had never had.

“You could help me?” Ella asked skeptically.

“Yes!” Myrtle said eagerly. “I was fairly good at it when I was alive, Potions, I mean. And no one would ever know!”

“Well…” Ella pondered the idea, “I do want the extra Potions practice and if Snape isn’t going to help me then I guess I’ll have to help myself.” Ella smiled at Myrtle. “You have a deal, Myrtle.”

Myrtle clapped her ghostly handed together and squealed, making Ella cringe. “Excellent! We can meet here on Fridays after dinner! This is going to be fun — oh! I don’t even know your name.”

Ella stood and grabbed her bag, making to leave. “It’s Ella, Ella stirling. I already know your name, obviously,” she said with an awkward smile. “Well, thank you, Myrtle. I’ll see you next Friday, I suppose.”

“Yes! I’ll see you next week! Feel free to come visit me anytime!” Myrtle called after Ella as she walked out of the bathroom.

“For sure!” Ella said over her shoulder as she left. When she was further down the corridor she blew out a big sigh. Had she really just agreed to practicing Potions with Moaning Myrtle? And on a weekly basis, nonetheless. What on earth had she gotten herself into?

[lighthouseofthewanderess]

Dreams

(noun): a series of images that plays through one’s sleep and vanishes when they wake up.

‘I have a dream’, said Martin Luther King Junior. I was hearing it everywhere, and people were listening to his posthumous words. Here, the word dream felt like he meant vision, a plan. I was also hearing the phrase ‘The American Dream’ - I couldn’t grasp this one much, it only felt like it meant a happy, stress-free life for everyone. When I leave US for good, I would learn that this was the ethos of the nation; social mobility, equality, and opportunity. An ideal life. But this wasn’t the most common usage of dream either. So what did it mean to dream? What was a dream? A noun and a verb. Same words, yet an altogether new direction. I stumbled upon on Doris Day’s ‘Dream a Little Dream of Me ’ at my piano class. Some senior students were doing a rendition of it and at the sound of the word, my head snapped up. Stars. Night. Dawn. Sunbeams. She sang the words so magically, that from then on the word dream was a place up there in the sky, on a crescent moon. It was made of stardust, hope, and immense strength. The only catch was you couldn’t pull it down into your mortal life. It could visit you at night, teasing you with all the possibilities and leave you chasing life the next morning. I had a little white, angel-looking teddy bear. He used to hang from my doorknob and on my way to bed, I used to press his hands together. The lord’s prayer would disrupt the silence, and during it all, I prayed only for one thing. ‘Let me sleep soundly tonight. And in if I dream, show me another world. I will make it come true.’ For a kid, it might look like a far-fetched thought to dream of the future instead of pink cupcakes and Barbies on birthdays. But then again, I wasn’t a normal kid. I knew the time had come for me to focus all my energies on reaching that sweet spot in the sky. To chase my dream.

“I had a bad dream.” I would hear kids say in school, in movies, in books. This dream was something else, a spot inside our heads that processed what we saw in the day and enacted it out with glitches at night. I slept alone and had nightmares, but waking up I would find myself safe in my room. This version of the word I wasn’t concerned about. I still went about hunting for my dream in my sleep, not knowing that dreams are found in the waking hours with an active brain. My prayers were heard and my dream came to me, not when I was tucked in bed but at a library.

Barnes & Noble was my first glimpse at what heaven could be. Walls and walls of books, ladders and mellow yellow lighting. The sound of silence and the smell of roasted coffee. The dark green carpet felt like clouds, and the twinkling lights felt like stars. I am finally in my dream, I told myself when I entered through the double doors. Mom watched me stroll away slowly, losing myself in this universe all too fast. Because it didn’t matter if I got lost, here is a good place to go missing. I won’t say the books called out to me and that I felt like I found a treasure trove. To be frank, the library intimated me. It looked down on me smugly as if to say ‘what do you have to add to this place.’ I would spend most of my life trying to add a part of me to its shelves. But at this very moment my dream was fast approaching me. Words muffled at the other end of the huge space. I walked toward it and I found myself at a book reading. Here was a budding author, reading his book out to a select group of 30 odd people. I didn’t understand most of what he read; looked like an intense family story. Pages turned, people clapped, the book was closed shut. After that he sat next to the little stage, took out his pen and signed the books that were brought to him. Now to me, all this looked like a king sitting on his throne, and accepting the peace offerings that came his way. I want that. My mind screamed it loud and clear that it almost caught me off guard. I want to read something to people one day, and I want it to be all mine. There it was. I left this library heaven smiling ear to ear, holding my dream safely in my head. That night when I went to sleep, I was almost scared that I would wake up and find my dream missing. Silly me.

I woke up to find that excited feeling in the pit of my stomach. A knot that released little by little with every step I took towards making my dream come true. But I had a challenge on my hands; I needed to write in English and this wasn’t a language that came easily to me. I caressed the words on pages of my favorite books from then. Wizard of Oz. Junie B Jones. The Magic Treehouse. When will I be able to string a sentence like that? Or worse, will I be ever? When these doubts came my way, my the knot tightened further. And it only went away when I put some letters down. Lord of the Rings. Nancy Drew. I widened the pool of words that i could fish from to write my own tale. This was what I realized about dreams; you could be inspired by things around you, cheered on by people who believed in you. But the dream was entirely yours to make real. A grave responsibility.

I started first to say the words before I penned them down. On visits to India, I would round up a bunch of kids and wear the hat of a storyteller. Though the words were in Tamil, I came closer to articulating stories that were similar to the ones I had read. I would take my ordinary day and throw in magic, weaving story after story. ‘How akka? How do you know so much?” my cousins used to ask me. I used to smile proudly envisioning a book bound with red leather materialize on the shelves of Barnes & Noble. I was getting closer. I went back to the US and narrated the same stories, this time in English. It didn’t have the same impact, but I had managed to move my thoughts from being born in Tamil to English. I now had words that could be penned down directly instead of going through a translation first.

When I finally moved to India, I found my affinity for story telling greater than others. English was probably the only subject out of the 13 that didn’t make me cringe. In essays and comprehension I found the stepping stones to refine my dream. But like all people, I made the mistake of taking my dream for granted. Two or three years went wasted on rote learning, education for the purpose of education and soon my red book on the shelf vanished. I started considering other possibilities for my future, started searching for a new dream instead of nurture the very first. It’s alright, I convinced myself. Especially with people stabbing the thought of writing as a profession, I learnt to look for something new.  People change. Dreams can change. Then came one person, and proved me so wrong.

Sharath Konidala was a friend of a friend. He seemed sorted for a kid and I was drawn to spending more time to be like him. But the thing that kept me in awe of him was his big dream. Not little at all, and not the second or third. His first and larger than life dream was to become a pilot. When a 6th grader utters a sentence like that, you don’t tend to believe him. But this boy put one foot in front of the other and marched his way to victory. He left our school early but I kept an eye out on his life. He’s chasing his dream, and I really wanted to see him win. For the larger part, this sudden excitement for someone’s else dream was only because I wasn’t doing anything about mine. Look at him go! Everything he’s doing, he’s doing for his dream. The knot was back in my stomach. I had to write to get past this laziness.

And I wrote. I kept a dream journal, pen downed my ideas and turned them into English essays. The teachers sometimes read out my work. I transitioned from essays to poetry next. Mrs Emily was the first to recognize that I had something in me screaming to see the world; she gave me a notebook and asked me to show everything I write to her. I worked on The Chronicles of the Unicorn Riders and breathed to life Vernetta. The knot got tighter when I realized it wasn't easy. Writing and reading were both subjective. There’s no right and there’s certainly no wrong. I went on to  win poetry slams and competitions. Give me a topic and watch me. What an adrenaline rush. I remember that in one of the competitions, I got there 15 minutes late and I had only 15 more to dish out an award-winning poem. And I did. When people clapped for me on stage, I morphed the scene into a library and for that split second I could feel the throne behind me. Almost there.   There was one final thing holding me back from my dream, my intended career. All the scores pointed to me wearing a white coat and hanging a stethoscope around my neck. They said I can be a doctor and still write. They said writing isn’t going to put food on the table. If only they could see me now. I took the escape pod and joined a media communications course in Pune. Leaving Bangalore gave me the familiar rush of packing bags and starting afresh. Once there, I focused on observing people and building my characters. I worked on a blog; stuck posters at film schools. On the day of the launch, I had a 278-visitor hit on the site. My name was out there in the universe, floating among the clouds. I need to get on that moon. I moved back to Bangalore to be with my mom, my rock for all these years. I joined a creative agency. And then something broke within me.

You see, I believed I had made my dream my life. I believed I was ‘over the moon’. I convinced myself that this is why I moved streams and put myself through 3 years of pure chameleon behavior in Pune. But the disappointment hit me like a salty wave over an open wound. Book signing - gone. Name in the universe - fading. Suddenly my dream felt far-fetched, farther than it ever had been. It felt like I had arrived but in a parallel plane. I was working with words every day, but not the ones I wanted to read out to a select group in a library. And the next thing I did was try chasing another dream, just like I did when I moved to India. I still wrote on the side, but little snippets on thoughts that came to me in random moments. Every day as I turned the corner of my street,  I looked up and hoped that I would be able to write something with soul; sending another prayer to let inspiration come my way. I was so wrong to think I even needed praying for inspiration. And this time I didn’t need another Sharath to point me in the right direction. Like always, a period of latency droned on but during the same time, my body was getting increasingly restless. I felt like a shaken up soda bottle, and instead of waiting for someone to pop the cap I decided bursting with my words was better. That’s how I’m here writing all these things about my life. I don’t even know if everyone will want to read it, but I can surely remove myself from my life and feel proud of myself.

Dream: A heaven within you that struggles all its life to get out into the world. A conflict-causing thing that pushes you to take any path you want as long as the destination is the same.

[thebaadies-blog]

(Click on photos for captions) 

Hello! My name is Brandon Dinh. I’m 18 years old, Chinese, Vietnamese, Japanese, and a living embodiment of a dad joke. If I were to describe my entire existence it would be a dad listening to Careless Whisper or Hotel California. I grew up in San Jose and am a product of bougie Northern California culture of quinoa, pressed juice, and acai bowls. Also I’m a Gemini sun, Taurus moon.

I’m fiercely proud of my cultures and that’s why I chose a photo of my fortune during Lunar New Year. Lunar New Year is always a special time for my family and I, because it’s when I feel most connected to my culture. The food, music, flowers, red and gold everywhere, New Years is such a great intersection of Chinese and Vietnamese culture. I really grew up in a cultural bubble of mostly Asian people in San Jose, so it’s always a shock to travel out of that bubble.

A little more about myself is that I love the arts. I’ve been doing theater since I could walk basically and continue to see plays and musicals to this day. Photography was introduced to me in high school and it’s now one of my favorite hobbies. Processing photos in a dark room is almost meditative for me and there’s always this great sense of pride when I get a good photo.

Gardening is another hobby of mine that I picked up at a really young age when my grandma would ask me to help her water her garden. As I grew up, I began to start planting my own plants in my backyard or little sprout plants on my window in my room. I’m even taking a botany class here at school, so far it’s pretty interesting and very plant identification based, so it’s something I’m very into.

My parents had always made a conscious effort to keep me cultured, so going to museums became a common family outting. I loved science museums as a kid because they were so artistic, but I began to appreciate art museums more and more. Last summer I saw one of my favorite Monet paintings in real life and teared up. My favorite museum in San Francisco is the Asian Art Museum of San Francisco. It was the first time I saw so much art made by Asian people, especially contemporary art and sculptures.

Reading has always been big in my life, Junie B. Jones was my go to read when I was 7 ,but as I grew up I began to read more and more biographical books and philosophical books. Harry Potter, however, has been a series that I never outgrew. I’ve been to Wizarding World of Harry Potter like 5 times and I have my favorite character’s wand too. It’s definitely something I love to geek out about all the time.  I’ve always pictured most of the characters as POC and have always felt a pang in my heart when I think of the injustice done to Cho Chang, being the only Asian character, getting the treatment she got.

So that’s me for now. Thanks for reading!