#and I see myself in all the 16 year olds dying at the cross for a creator that just wants the drama to end

[chiriwritesstuff]

Hometown Glory; 1. Back to the Old House

Series Masterlist

Chapter Rating: M

Chapter Summary: Glory and Frankie, two best friends from a small town in Texas, find themselves in different places as adults. They haven't spoken in years, yet find themselves being drawn back home, searching for... something they can't quite explain. Will they be able to find their purpose back to where it all began?

Chapter Warnings and Tags: Strong language, Frankie is going through it, Someone decides it's a good idea to dip in the middle of the night, Sexism in the workplace, Unstable family dynamics.

Word Count: 8k

1998 (16 years old)

It's a school night on a random Monday, and you're perched cross-legged in a boy's room, a bowl of popcorn resting precariously on your lap. With a mischievous grin, you snatch the remote control from said boy, clicking it over to ABC as he groans in annoyance.

"Hey! What the hell!" he grumbles in annoyance, "Don't you know it's rude to just take a man's remote?"

"It's my night, remember?" you remind him playfully. "There's a new episode of Ally McBeal, and I'm dying to find out what happened between Ally and Billy."

"Gross. Not the biggest fan of that girly romance shit-" he drawls from above, his arm snaking around your shoulder as he reaches for a handful of popcorn. "I would rather watch something cool, like that 70s show. At least it's funny."

You roll your eyes at his protest, a playful smirk dancing on your lips. "Come on, Frankie, let's be real here. We both know the only reason you want to watch it is because you have a huge crush on Jackie," you tease, nudging him lightly with your elbow. "But remember, we made a deal, Frankie baby. Mondays are my night!"

Frankie flops back onto his bed, his arms crossed over his chest in a mock pout. "Fine, but I reserve the right to complain the entire time," he declares, a faint smile on his lips. "I mean, at least Ally is kinda hot-"

You playfully toss a piece of popcorn at your best friend. "Anyway, remember when we had to write that paper in Mrs. Miller's class? About what we wanted to be when we grew up?" You lean in closer, your eyes fixed on Calista Flockhart as she flirts with Billy on the screen. "Well, I wrote that I wanted to be just like Ally," you share, taking a sip of Pepsi.

"What, like a lawyer?"

"No, like an actress. Of course like a lawyer!" you exclaim. "I mean, I love to argue-"

"Not correcting you there-"

"... and, it's like, so grown up, right? She looks like someone who has her shit together, her lack of love life notwithstanding, but still. I can see myself doing that!"

Frankie groans as he props himself up on his elbows, his warm breath tickling your ear. "I can totally see you doing that," he says with a chuckle, his voice close to your ear. "But hey, you're good at everything you set your mind to, Glo."

"Aw, Frankie... is that a compliment I hear? maybe I should check outside and see if any pigs are flying-"

"Very funny," he scoffs, joining you on the floor and reaching for the bowl of popcorn. "You know you're smart as hell, so I don't doubt that you can do it."

"What about you?" you ask, nudging his shoulder playfully.

"What about me?" he responds, his shoulder bumping against yours. "What do I want to be when I grow up? That's easy. I want to be a pilot."

"So, like... the military, then? Flying Black Hawks and getting everyone to safety? I always knew you had a hero complex," you tease, nudging him again.

Frankie grins, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "Yeah, something like that," he says, his voice full of wonder. "I've always wanted to serve my country, you know? And being a pilot in the military seems like the perfect way to do it. Plus, I get to carry a gun," he adds with a smirk. "Chicks dig that, you know?"

"Chicks? Frankie, I love you, but for the love of everything holy, please don't refer to women as "chicks", it's degrading-"

"Some chicks like to be degraded," he quips, cocking his head. "At least that's what the guys say in the locker room."

"Not me though," you muse, resting your head on his shoulder as he settles himself against you more, placing his arm around your shoulder as Ally and Billy kiss on screen. "I guess that makes me not like other girls, huh?"

You feel the slight rumble of his chest as he chuckles.

You swear you feel the ghost of his lips on your temple.

Frankie leans in, his breath warm against your ear. "No, Glory," he whispers. "You're so much more than most girls."

16 years later.

"Excuse me, I think I heard you wrong."

"No, you didn't," you retort firmly, eyeing the hefty stack of papers across from you, addressing the group of men- the partners and board members of the firm you decided to spend the last ten years of your life at seated before you. Settling back into the plush leather chair, you cross your legs with an air of confidence. "While I appreciate your acknowledgment of my ten years of hard work and the countless cases won," you pause for emphasis, casually inspecting your nails before meeting their gaze head-on, "...if it weren't for a stupid technicality, I'd be hailed as the first female lawyer in the entire state of New York with a flawless record, right?"

"Indeed, we recognize your almost-stellar track record," Nigel, the lead partner of your firm continues, glossing over your achievements like you expected, chuckling as he adjusts his suit collar. "That's precisely why we believe it's the perfect time to bring you on as a junior partner. We think you're ready."

"Junior Partner?" you echo, incredulous, your tone laced with a mixture of frustration and disbelief. "After all these years of fighting tooth and nail against men who were promoted with far less experience, after winning case after case and saving these assholes millions of dollars in alimony payments, I'm still only good enough to become a Junior Partner? Please. Please tell me you're joking." You lean forward, fixing them with a pointed stare, the intensity of your gaze daring them to justify their belated recognition.

The ten men in question, a mix of balding, beady-eyed partners and sharply dressed greying board members shift uncomfortably in their seats. The rustle of their tailored Armani suits rubbing against one another fills the room with a grating sound akin to nails on a chalkboard.

"It took me a decade to even get offered Junior Partner. How many more years until I'm considered for a full Partnership? Another decade?" you ask, your impatience seeping into each word.

"Is there something amiss?" another member of the board interjects, gesturing towards the stack of papers on the table once more. "We don't often extend promotions like this, especially to someone as young as yourself... or any woman, for that matter," he adds with a cough, a smirk playing on his lips as if he's cracked a clever joke. "Most would consider it a gift, wouldn't you agree?"

"I appreciate the offer, truly," you interject, "but I believe my worth exceeds what you're offering." Each word resonates with a sense of determination, a testament to the challenges you've overcome and the achievements you've earned in your career.

With a flick of your wrist, you push the stack of papers back across the conference table, the pages dancing in the air as the men across from you watch in disbelief. The gravity of your decision hangs heavy in the room. "I'm done," you announce firmly, the weight of your words echoing in the silence that follows.

The room fills with gasps as another suit interjects, his face flushed with anger. "I beg your pardon?!" he exclaims. "This isn't a negotiation, and it's a fair offer for someone of your talents," he spits.

You fix him with a steely gaze. "Tell me, Bill-" you retort sharply, "who's the most sought-after associate in this firm? Why do I have gold-digging socialites, cheating tech bros, and trigger-happy celebrities clamoring for a meeting with me at the front desk? Whose face is it on the news when the courts decide to rule in our favor? Certainly, it isn't any of you, that's for damn sure."

Gone is the girl from the small town off the outskirts of Austin, Texas- a former homecoming queen slash magna cum laude loved and cherished by a town that seemed so minuscule compared to the vastness and hunger of your ambition.

You were both a dreamer and a doer, tirelessly working and amassing scholarship after scholarship, grant after grant. Your sights were set on one school only: Yale. You believed that if you couldn't make it there from the start, settling for anything less wasn't an option.

"I'm gonna be like that when I grow up," you declared, flopping onto the lumpy couch as reruns of Law and Order SVU played in the background. Your Nana, her tight, white curls peeking out from the worn brown fabric of her La-Z-Boy, glanced at you with mild curiosity.

"Be like what?" she would reply absentmindedly, her voice raspy from the years of Misty's holding constant residence at the corner of her lips. "Like an actor? Like Mariska? Did you know she's the daughter of Jayne Mansfield?"

"No, like a Lawyer," you would tease, your eyes locked onto Stephanie March as she takes the stand, her sneer as icy as the blonde of her pin-straight hair, her voice strong and confident as she calmly verbally eviscerates yet another rapist, this time one of the shaky-ijustwantedtosmellher-variety, shaking like a leaf as they undergo cross-examination. "She's so fucking cool," you would whisper to yourself, the loud chuckle-cough-chuckle of your Nana as she peers at you from the corner of her eye.

"... but you're such a sweet girl!" she would retort, "how are you gonna win the case when you're so damn nice all the time? those suits would eat you alive, believe you me!"

Your voice rises steadily, like a crescendo building to a climax, until you're finally shouting. All the hurt and embarrassment you've bottled up explodes, coursing through your veins like an unstable chemical reaction. "The reason we're all still in business is because of me!" you declare, your words punctuated by frustration. "Or should I ask Bill in finance for confirmation? Maybe he's mistaken." You unclench your jaw, feeling the tension in your neck as you reach for your phone. "All those high-profile clients? They're loyal to me. If I leave, they'll follow. Think about that."

As the partners exchange bewildered looks, Nigel's discomfort is palpable as he clears his throat. "But... where will you go?" he stammers. "How do you expect to thrive in this industry without the support of a prestigious firm like ours? Besides, no one just turns their nose up at a salary increase of a hundred thousand dollars-"

"Okay, got it. So this isn't a negotiation, and there's no room for reconsideration?" You glance around the room, meeting each of their downturned gazes. Leaning back in your chair, a smirk plays at the corners of your lips as you hold their gaze.

"Oh, don't worry about me," you retort, rolling your eyes slightly. "You don't have to concern yourselves with my well-being. After all, you haven't given a damn about it throughout my entire career here, have you?"

A ripple of anxious laughter echoes through the room, mingled with the partners' disbelief at your audacity. "And just where do you plan to go?" Nigel presses.

With a knowing smile, you rise from your seat, gathering your belongings with a newfound sense of purpose. "Back to where I belong, I suppose," you declare. "Home."

You give the group of men one last nod, your expression firm. "Thank you for the offer, but I don't think this is going to work out," you say, your tone resolute. "And frankly, I've had enough of playing by your rules."

With a final flick of your hair, pin-straight and glossy like Stephanie, you stride out of the conference room, leaving behind the stifling atmosphere of the sleazy-suited assholes, their mouths agape, completely stunned. As the door clicks shut, you feel a sense of liberation wash over you, like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders.

Good fucking riddance, you think to yourself, walking past your colleagues, their heads bobbing up curiously from their cubicles as they watch you march away. You laugh to yourself at the sight of it, your head held high in defiance. Today marks the beginning of a new journey, one where you refuse to let others dictate your worth or your future.

Back in your corner office, tucked away at the back of the building- a spot they seemed to think was where you belonged, far away from the big boys club, you're surrounded by the familiar trappings of your professional life. The cardboard box on your desk awaits its contents – the remnants of a career spent in a firm that never fully appreciated your efforts, despite your unwavering dedication and the millions of dollars earned in your wake.

Shaking off the sting of humiliation and blinking back the tears of frustration threatening to spill, you begin the task of packing up your belongings. Your framed Juris Doctor is tossed in haphazardly, followed by a flurry of other items scattered across the surface of the box. Three framed photos: two girls, with wide smiles and pigtails, an old woman standing on the porch of a decaying home, and a group of like-looking women, the bright smiles and the promise of the endless possibility of the future in their eyes. Gone is the meticulously styled hair, now hastily tied up in a messy bun as you delve into the depths of your desk drawer. You pull out items in a flurry, tossing them into the box until your fingers come across something unfamiliar, hidden at the very back of the drawer.

Your fingers brush against something soft, and you pull out a faded friendship bracelet. Its beads are strung together to spell out a name you haven't seen in years. The memories flood back, threatening to overwhelm you as you stare at the name engraved on the bracelet.

F-R-A-N-

In an instant, you're transported back to a moment etched deep in the recesses of your mind: small hands trembling as they offer the bracelet to yours, the earnest gaze of a young boy not much taller than you. A tentative smile graces his lips as he extends the friendship offering. "You gave me yours, so I'm giving you mine... that means we're friends, right?"

You accept the bracelet with shaky hands, feeling a warmth spread through you. You smile back at the boy in front of you, his smile widening to match yours. "Right. Best friends!"

A pang of regret washes over you, mingling with a bittersweet sense of nostalgia for the friendship that once meant so much to you. With a heavy heart, you carefully place the bracelet into the box, a silent reminder of the past you've left behind.

Two Weeks later (somewhere in between New York and Texas)

"Okay, let me get this straight. They finally offer you a promotion, and that's when you decide it's the perfect time to quit? Seriously, Glory, please explain that logic to me," your sister's voice crackles through the car speakers as you navigate down the coast, taking another sip of your coffee to steel yourself for the conversation. "I'm begging you, please make it make sense. If management told me I needed to shake my ass to get a wage increase, I would say when and where. Surely, a hundred thousand dollars is a decent offer-"

"Yeah, they dangled a hundred thousand dollar salary bump in front of me, but it's not just about the money," you reply, frustration evident in your voice. "They were going to make me a Junior Partner. Junior. It's like they're saying, 'Hey Glory, you're good, but you're not quite good enough to sit at the big kids' table yet. Maybe in another decade or two, you'll get there.'"

"So what's the plan, then? You're just gonna pack up your office, leave your fancy Upper East Side condo behind, toss your shit in a U-Haul, and hightail it back to Nowheresville, USA? You're seriously going to start your firm in a place you swore up and down and to the heavens above that you'd never return to?" Your sister's incredulous voice echoes through the phone as you navigate the winding roads back to your hometown. "As much as the kids and I would love for you to finally be around, shouldn't you be aiming a bit higher than Fredericksburg? There's nothing here-"

You bite the inside of your cheek, the sharp pain making you wince as the metallic taste of blood fills your mouth. Relax, you tell yourself. She's right. You should be aiming higher.

"And don't even get me started on that rundown old house that Nana used to live in. Seriously, Glo, you're going to live in that dump? I wouldn't touch that place with a ten-foot pole, let alone live in it. It's a fucking money pit! You'll lose more money than what it's worth!" she snarks, chuckling to herself. "I know that it was all fun and games, talking about how you were gonna fix up that place, make it your forever home, but that was when we were kids! That place barely has a functioning roof!"

"Well, you must read minds, then." you retort dryly. "Sister, I think that you should think about becoming a psychic, because how did you know?" you sing-song back. "Besides, don't you have a guest room in that place of yours? I remember you asking me very nicely to help you out with the reno you did a few years back as a wedding gift, doesn't that mean that the room is mine if I ever needed it?"

There's a weird, awkward silence that suddenly fills the cab of the U-Haul, and you swear you can hear the gears turning in your sister's brain as she processes the implications of your words, holding your breath as you can feel the wrath that is sure to follow next. You appreciate how predictable your sister always was, knowing damn well that if you had told her that you were actually telling her the truth about your plans on returning home, she would try with every fiber of her being to convince you not to.

"There's nothing here for you, Glory. Nothing but heartbreak and the skeletons that have gathered dust in your bedroom closet. You've always been better than this little old town..." You remember her drunkenly telling you over FaceTime as you down your third glass of Pinot Grigio, your eyes fixed on the blue light radiating from the screen of your MacBook.

Congratulations, the email read. The buyer has accepted your terms, and is expected to move in shortly-

"No, Glo-" she starts.

"The condo sold for over market value-" you offer, a thinly-veiled attempt to try to reason with her.

"Wait. Are you fucking telling me that you're in a U-Haul driving back home? and you're only telling me this now when I haven't even had time to clean out the guest room?! You know how I get when things are left to the last minute-"

"Relax, I'm not going to crash at your house, not when Andrew doesn't know, I've already booked a month at the Hyatt in Austin while I square away the final plans for the house. Think of it this way, if you ever need a place to stay after another one of your husband's benders, you could always sneak away to the hotel room, now that I'll finally be close by. Plus, Hank told me that there's a vacant storefront on Main Street, It's a perfect spot to open the firm-"

"It's just..." Your sister's voice trails off, her chuckle sounding forced. "You always seem to have impeccable timing." There's an odd tension in her tone, a hint of something unsaid lingering between you.

"Impeccable timing, huh?" you prod, sensing there's more to her words than she's letting on.

But before you can dig deeper, she interrupts with a hurried excuse. "Hey, I'd love to chat more, but I've got to run. We'll catch up later, okay? Call me when you get to the hotel, we can grab lunch or something with the kids-"

"Hey, what did you mean about impeccable timing?" you press curiously.

"I gotta go love you byeeee-" she says hurriedly, cutting the phone call.

You're left staring at your phone, a gnawing sense of confusion settling in your gut. Something about her sudden evasiveness doesn't sit right with you, but you push it aside for now, focusing on the road ahead as you continue your journey back home. "Love you too, I guess."

You continue to drive throughout the night, the 26 or so hours that the GPS has estimated your trip to be, refusing to stop for anything other than gas and the occasional bathroom pit stop, grabbing yourself a Buc-ees t-shirt for shits and giggles to commemorate your arrival, breathing a sigh of relief as you eye the “Welcome to Texas!” Sign out in the distance, its surface illuminated by the purple skies of early morning.

"Not much longer," you reassure yourself as you nibble on a sad-looking fruit bowl and sip lukewarm water in the Buc-ee's parking lot. Between bites, you check the time on your phone, swiping away the occasional concerned email from your former associates at the firm.

You raise your phone, capturing the Buc-ee's sign in the distance with your camera app. The empty parking lot reflects the loneliness that has become all too familiar in your adult life.

It's not like I meant for it to be this way, you muse silently, drafting a caption for the photo. "Homeward bound, just a few more hours!" You type out as you hit upload, sharing the moment on your Instagram feed.

As you enter the city limits of the small town you once called home on the way to the Hyatt, you can’t help the wave of nostalgia that suddenly washes over you. You can't help but smile as you pass by familiar landmarks – the public library where you would spend countless hours buried in books, the little Italian place with your favorite lasagna, still in the corner where all of the birthday dinners would be held, the bustling mall, still bursting at the seams with teenagers and young families alike, a place where you and your best friend used to gossip about boys and clothes and how much you hated Mr. Frankel constantly staring at your tits over scoops and cones of ice cream, the shrillness of your combined laughter ringing throughout your ears.

Ex-best friend, you remind yourself bitterly, your knuckles turning white as you clutch the steering wheel. It's a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that the one person you would never think would betray you ending up with the guy you once harbored feelings for. The guy. They probably have a picture-perfect life now, living in some military town with a gaggle of kids, the sound of their laughter echoing in your mind like a haunting melody.

As you drive through the familiar streets of your hometown, memories of you and him start to slowly flood back into your consciousness – lazy afternoons spent together, whispered secrets shared under the shade of a tree. But now, those memories are tainted with a bittersweet ache, a reminder of what once was and what could have been.

You can almost see him now, running around the backyard with their children, his laughter mingling with theirs as they play. The image is both heartwarming and heartbreaking, a painful reminder of the love you lost and the friendship that slipped through your fingers.

With a heavy sigh, you tear your gaze away from the fleeting fantasy, focusing instead on the road ahead. It's time to move forward, to let go of the past, and embrace the uncertainty of the future. But as you drive away, a part of you can't help but wonder – what if things had been different?

As you navigate the winding streets, you can't help but feel a sense of belonging wash over you. This may not have been the life you planned, but somehow, returning to your roots feels like coming home in more ways than one.

After a few more hours of driving, you finally pull up to the Hyatt, grateful for the chance to stretch your legs and unload your belongings. The luxurious lobby offers a stark contrast to the worn-out upholstery of your car seat. With a sigh of relief, you drop off your bags in your room before heading back out onto the road.

As you pull up to your Nana's old place, you can't help but feel a pang of nostalgia mixed with apprehension. The once-charming house now stands in complete disrepair, its paint peeling and windows boarded up. Standing outside the weathered front door, you can't help but shake your head.

"Welcome home, Glory," you mutter to yourself, the words carrying both resignation and determination. With a deep breath, you unlock the door and step inside, ready to face whatever challenges lie ahead.

Frankie, two weeks before your arrival.

Frankie forgot how fucking hot it was in Texas.

With a heavy sigh, he turns off the ignition of his truck and gazes at the house he hasn't seen in the last few years. The weathered paint job catches his eye, the deep cracks spiderwebbing across the exterior walls. Once-bright white has faded to a tired tan, and a single bright blue shutter still hangs slightly askew from his bedroom window.

"Shit Frankie, do you think your pop is gonna kill me for that?" The voice seeps into his thoughts, unbidden. He shuts his eyes tight, battling against the memories he's long kept buried deep in the recesses of his brain.

His ears catch the familiar sound of tinkering echoing from the depths of the carport beside the house, still cluttered with dismantled shells and rusty car parts. He recognizes the soft grunts of his father as he works on yet another car he decided to fiddle with probably after spotting it abandoned on the roadside.

I've been gone for fifteen years, and yet, it feels like nothing has changed, he muses to himself, shaking his head in disbelief.

Frankie lets out a groan as he swings open his car door. His legs feel like lead, knees protesting from the strain of hours spent behind the wheel. He's just made the long haul from his actual home in Florida, leaving behind his daughter and the life he's built there for the last fifteen or so years.

Or tried to, at least.

The notion of divorce loomed over Frankie's thoughts like a persistent shadow, coloring every interaction with his wife. Even in the mundane moments of their daily life, he couldn't shake the feeling of their impending separation. It was as if they were constantly tiptoeing along the edge of a cliff, one wrong step away from falling into the abyss of divorce.

He found himself distancing emotionally, a subconscious defense mechanism against the possibility of heartache. Small disagreements turned into major rifts, each argument fueling the belief that their marriage was irreparable. He couldn't help but imagine a life without Chelsea, even as they sat across from each other at the dinner table or shared a quiet moment on the couch.

The weight of his doubts pressed down on him, clouding his perception of their relationship. Frankie had never truly loved his wife; their relationship was born more out of convenience and familiarity than genuine affection. He often wondered if Chelsea sensed his lack of affection, if she felt the absence of passion and connection that should have been the foundation of their marriage.

Guilt gnawed at him, knowing that he had never given Chelsea the love she deserved. He had entered into their marriage with a sense of obligation rather than devotion, and now he was trapped in a cycle of discontent and disillusionment. Divorce had become more than a possibility; it had become a constant companion, lurking in the shadows of their marriage.

Fuck. She never stood a fucking chance.

So, with a heavy heart and a mind full of fucking turmoil, he'd packed up his car and hit the road, effectively abandoning his wife and kid like a fucking coward, driving with no destination in mind until he found himself back in the town where it all began.

Frankie's chest tightens at the memory of Lily's desperate pleas, her small face etched with fear as she begs him not to leave. He had thought he was being discreet, tiptoeing past her room, his rucksack slung across his back. Pausing in the dim light, he takes a long look at his daughter, knowing he might not see her again for some time. "I love you, baby girl," he whispers, his voice barely audible as he gently closes her door, the click echoing in the quiet hallway.

He pushes open the door leading to the garage, grateful that he had the foresight to leave the garage door open earlier in the evening. It was a calculated move, part of his plan to make a quiet exit from this house that never felt like a home. He had thought about his grand escape throughout dinner that night, opting to remain silent as he tuned Chelsea out, her words of her displeasure falling on deaf ears as he nodded in agreement, cutting into his meatloaf as he slouches himself down his chair.

Lousy, lazy husband. Neglectful and absent father. The biggest disappointment and regret of her fucking life. Coward. Fucking Coward.

Ah, there it was.

I bet you wish that it was her, huh? I bet you wish that it was her pussy that you were fucking instead of mine, right Frankie? Chelsea would accuse, her hand motioning for him to pass over the mashed potatoes in the same breath.

Hell. She isn't wrong.

He thought his plan was about to unfold smoothly, exhaling a sigh of relief as he set his rucksack in the bed of his truck. Then, he heard it—the unmistakable creak of a door opening, followed by the soft padding of feet on concrete, drawing closer from behind. With a heavy heart, he closed his eyes, bracing himself for the pain he knew was coming.

"Daddy?" his daughter's sleepy voice broke the silence of the darkened garage. "Where are you going?"

Frankie's heart sank at the sound of Lily's voice, her innocent question piercing through his resolve like a knife. He turned around slowly, his eyes meeting hers in the dim light filtering through the garage.

"Lil, sweetheart," he began, his voice catching in his throat as he struggled to find the right words. "I... I have to go away for a little while." His chest tightened with every word, the weight of his decision heavy on his shoulders.

"Why?" Lily's voice trembled with confusion and fear, her small frame shivering in the cool air of the garage. She took a hesitant step closer, her eyes searching his face for answers.

Frankie knelt down in front of her, his heart breaking at the sight of her tear-filled eyes. "It's... it's complicated, baby," he said softly, reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair away from her face. "But I promise, I'll come back for you. I love you so much, Lily. You're my everything."

Lily threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder as she sobbed. "Please don't go, Daddy," she pleaded, her words muffled against his shirt. "I need you."

Tears pricked at Frankie's eyes as he held his daughter close, his own heart breaking with every second that passed. But he knew he had to go, for both of their sakes. With a heavy heart, he gently pulled away from Lily's embrace, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"I'll always be with you, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I promise. I'll come back for you, but you have to stay with Mommy for now, okay? I swear I'll come back for you."

As he stood up and turned away, leaving Lily behind in the garage, Frankie couldn't shake the feeling of guilt that weighed on him like a lead weight. But deep down, he knew that he had to do this—to find a way to be the father Lily deserved, even if it meant breaking both of their hearts in the process.

His throat tightens as he relives that moment, the memory etched vividly in his mind like a relentless nightmare. He can still see Lily's tear-stained face, her eyes pleading with him not to leave, her small hands reaching out for him as he walked away, the way her small form looks back at him as he looks at his rearview mirror, getting smaller and smaller as he drives out of the cul-de-sac like a fucking coward. The weight of her despair presses down on him like a vice, suffocating him with guilt and remorse.

Frankie silently makes his way over to the carport, his father's familiar silhouette outlined against the fading sunlight. He watches as his dad tinkers away, lost in his own world of gears and grease. With a smirk playing on his lips, Frankie leans against the doorframe, soaking in the scene before him.

"When I left, I was saying goodbye to a pair of feet under a fender, and I come home years later and it's like you haven't moved an inch," Frankie quips, his tone laced with affection and a hint of disbelief. "Are you sure you ain't dead under there, old man?"

His dad chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that fills the air. "Nah, still kicking, just like always," he replies, not bothering to look up from his work. "You, on the other hand, look like you could use a good night's sleep."

Frankie rolls his eyes, but there's a warmth in his chest at the familiar banter. Despite everything that's changed, some things remain constant – like the easy camaraderie between a father and son, even after years apart.

Frankie's dad finally emerges from under the car, wiping his hands on a greasy rag as he beams at his son. "Well, well, look who's finally back home, a child of mine finally appears!" he says with a grin, opening his arms for a hug.

Frankie steps forward, enveloped in his dad's embrace, the familiar scent of motor oil and sawdust washing over him. "I'm your only child, Dad, or did you forget?" he teases, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

His dad chuckles, patting Frankie on the back. "No, son, I didn't forget," he replies with a twinkle in his eye. "But you always knew who my favorite was."

Frankie nods solemnly, his eyes squinting in the distance, not wanting his mind to go there. He clicks his tongue. "So-"

"I assume that your sudden appearance has something to do with that wife of yours screaming into my voicemail about you abandoning your family in the middle of the night?" his dad asks, a hint of concern lacing his words as he studies Frankie's expression.

Frankie lets out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping as he meets his father's gaze. "Yeah, Pop," he admits, running a hand through his hair. "Things with Chelsea... they haven't been working for a while now. I couldn't stay there anymore. I had to get out."

His father's expression softens, concern etched into his features. "And what about Lily? How's she taking it?" he inquires, his voice laced with worry as he thinks of his granddaughter.

"Yeah, she was torn up about it," he admits, his voice heavy with sorrow. "But I couldn't just take her. Chels would accuse me of kidnapping, and you know how the courts always side with the mother. I can't risk getting arrested again. Not after what happened last time."

"Well, that seems about something she would do, I guess," his father surmises, "... but what the hell are you doin' back here? I swore the last time I saw you, you told me you would never step your foot back here, especially with what happened with Glory-"

Frankie cuts him off, his jaw tensing as he steels himself against the memories threatening to resurface. "Look, Dad, let's not go there, okay? It's been years, and I've moved on, she's moved on," he says, his tone firm. "I'm just here to figure things out, clear my head. I don't need to worry bout no skeletons in my fucking closet, especially when I know for a fact that she ain't here no more to spook me."

Frankie's dad pauses, his gaze distant for a moment before he speaks again. "You know, son, I always loved her like my own," he says quietly, his voice tinged with regret. "She was like family to us, and seeing her leave was one of the hardest things I've had to witness. It broke my heart, and I know for a fact that it broke yours, too. Maybe if she had stayed... you wouldn't be here standing on my front lawn, hiding from your wife."

Frankie's chest tightens at his father's admission, a pang of guilt gnawing at him for the pain he caused. "I know, Pop," he replies softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I wish things had turned out differently."

"Yeah, well... shit happens, I guess." His father slaps his hand on his shoulder once more, motioning towards the house. "Come on, I got a pot of Chili that’s been simmering for the last few hours, I reckon it should be ready right about now. Go grab your shit and come help me set the table after you get settled, alright?"

Frankie nods, giving his father one last smile as he makes his way back to his pickup truck, slinging his military-grade duffle over his shoulder. Groaning, he makes his way up to the old house, the floorboards of the patio creaking as he opens the front door, the smell of his father's chili wafting in the air. He takes in the familiar sight of his living room, still the same as he left it all the years ago.

The same lumpy couch, the imprint of his father forever immortalized in his spot where he watches reruns of Pawn Stars and Columbo, greeted Frankie as he stepped into the living room. The faded fabric sagged under his weight as he lowered himself onto it, memories flooding back with each creak of the worn-out springs.

As Frankie's gaze shifted to the mantle, he couldn't help but notice the familiar photos arranged there. His eyes lingered on the one of him and his mother, her radiant smile captured forever in the frame. Beside it was a picture of you and Frankie as kids, arms wrapped around each other in a tight embrace, the innocence of youth reflected in your beaming faces.

Frankie's breath caught in his throat as he noticed a new addition to the mantle – a photo of you and his father in front of the Christmas Tree at Rockefeller Center. His father's arms were proudly slung around your shoulders, and both of you wore wide smiles that reached your eyes. It was a moment frozen in time, capturing a bond that had evidently formed in his absence.

"Well, what are you doing just sittin' there? Table ain't gonna set itself."

Frankie rolls his eyes at that. Yep, shit hasn't changed a bit. "Placemats still in the same drawer?"

"Unless someone moved them, which I highly doubt, being that it's just been me in this house for the last fifteen years," his father replies with a weary sigh, retrieving a steaming casserole dish from the oven and setting it on the stove. "Made some of that cornbread you like so much too," he adds with a wink. "Your Mama's recipe, not that boxed shit."

As they arrange the table settings, Frankie's father casts a cautious glance at him, a hint of concern in his eyes. "So, besides your marriage, How's everything going, son?"

Frankie lets out a heavy sigh, his shoulders sagging as he carefully places the silverware beside each plate. "Could be better, Dad. Could be a lot better."

His father's expression softens with understanding. "I heard about what happened. You doing okay?"

Frankie nods, though the weight of his recent troubles still hangs heavily on him. "Yeah, I'm managing. Just trying to figure things out."

His father places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You know, son, we all make mistakes. What's important is how we learn from them and move forward."

Frankie meets his father's gaze. "Thanks, Dad. I appreciate it."

His father's fork hovers awkwardly over his plate, his gaze fixed on the food as if it holds the answers to questions he dare not ask. "Dig in, for fucks sake. Don't let it get cold."

Frankie senses an opportunity to steer the conversation elsewhere, away from the awkwardness. "Hey, Pop," he begins, trying to sound nonchalant, "I couldn't help but notice that photo on the mantle. Is it new?"

His father pauses, then looks at him, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he answers, "The one from New York? Yeah, it's recent."

"How recent?" Frankie probes further, his curiosity piqued.

His dad casually tears off a piece of cornbread and dips it into his chili, shrugging. "About three months ago," he replies, his tone casual. "Why do you ask?"

"I'm just surprised, that's all," Frankie says with what he hopes is casual, stabbing his spoon into his bowl, pushing the pieces of beans and corn around, refusing to make eye contact with his father who is surely gazing back at him with the quirk of his brow. "Wasn't aware that the both of you were still close," he mumbles, the sight of your bright wide smile feeling like death by a thousand cuts straight into his jugular. “Never thought that you would actually leave this fucking place, let alone go to New fucking York.”

"Well, we haven't stopped being close, son. Did you know that she sends me a bottle of tequila every year on my birthday? Noticed the difference in quality as the years gone by, she's doing quite alright up there in the big 'ol apple." Frankie hears his father make a noncommital snort as he continues to eat. “Besides, she asked me to visit her the last time she was in town, and I ain’t getting any younger, have to enjoy life somehow, right?”

You still remembered his father's birthday. Do you still remember his? he wonders silently.

He strains his eye at the label of said tequila bottle, near the center of the dinner table. José Cuervo 250 Aniversario. Twenty-one hundred off the shelf, easy. A soft snort escapes his lips, shaking his head. Well, at least you still remembered your shit.

"You know, she's one of those lawyers that deal with family stuff," his father muses, chuckling to himself as he gets that gleam in his eye when he realizes he has a (stupid, but convenient idea). "Maybe you should-"

“No.”

“I could even be the one to call her, I know she won’t say no to me-“

“Pop-“

“She’s still single, you know.”

“I don’t know what her being single has to do anything with my divorce-“

“She never really got into anything serious, at least she never told me… but I knew. She was too busy for it, you know? Too distracted. Told her she should stop playing ball with the boys and start her own firm back here."

Frankie's father continued, a wistful tone creeping into his voice as he reminisced. "She always had that fire in her, just like her grandma. I remember when she was just a kid, always standing up for what she believed in, never backing down from a challenge. That girl could argue her way out of anything."

Frankie listened quietly, his mind racing with memories of Glory's fierce determination. Despite their differences, he couldn't deny the admiration he held for her unwavering spirit.

"Yeah, well, she's probably forgotten all about this place," Frankie muttered dismissively, though a small part of him hoped it wasn't true.

His father's gaze softened, a hint of sadness flickering in his eyes.

"Maybe. But some things, some people, they never really leave you, no matter how far you go."

"Why settle for Fredericksburg when she's killing it up there?" Frankie says bitterly, his frustration palpable. "She's made it clear that there is nothing for her here beside her sister, and her Nana has been gone for the last ten years. This place is a shithole, honestly."

"If it's such a shithole, then why the fuck are you here then?" his father challenges, his irritation evident as he stabs his salad with more force than necessary. "It might not be fancy like New York or as interesting as Tampa, but it's your home, son. It's her home, too."

"Well, I'm glad to know that you still gave a damn about somebody after all these years," Frankie retorts quietly. "... and here I thought I was your actual child-"

"What do you want me to say, huh? I feel like you're trying to insinuate something here, son, so just be a fucking man for once and spit it out!"

"Why didn't you visit me, huh? If you had so much time on your hands, why her and not me?"

"What, so I could bear witness to the shitshow that's your marriage? Do you think I like watching you suffer?" his father shouts, slamming his fork on the table. "Your wife can barely stand being in the same room as me! I ain't gonna waste my time spending it with people who clearly don't want me there."

"Well maybe if you didn't find the need to compare her to Glory all the damn like you did, maybe she would have made my life a fuck of a lot easier, don't you think?"

His father's expression shifts, a mix of surprise and guilt flickering across his features before settling into a resigned acceptance. "Son, I never meant to make things harder for you," he starts, his voice softer now, devoid of the earlier hostility. "But you gotta understand, Glory was special. She was... different. And I know I shouldn't have let that affect how I saw your wife, but I guess old habits die hard."

Frankie's shoulders tense as he absorbs his father's words, a bitter taste lingering in his mouth. "Well, you certainly made it clear where her place was in your eyes," he mutters.

His father sighs heavily, his gaze dropping to his plate. "I know, son. And I'm sorry for that," he says, his tone laced with regret.

Frankie's jaw clenches as he struggles to contain his frustration. "Yeah, well, easier said than done," he grumbles, his gaze flickering to the tequila bottle on the table, a stark reminder of the divide between them.

His father rises from the table, his movements slow and deliberate, as if weighed down by the gravity of their conversation. "I'm heading to the bar," he announces quietly, his voice tinged with resignation. "Don't wait up for me."

Frankie scoffs under his breath, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "Typical," he mutters, bitterness seeping into his words. "Always running away when shit gets dicey. Coward."

As his father reaches the door, he pauses, casting a sorrowful glance back at Frankie. "Takes a coward to know one, son," he says softly, the words heavy with unspoken regret. Then, without another word, he slips out into the night, leaving Frankie alone with his thoughts.

With a frustrated grunt, Frankie snatches the tequila bottle from the table, his movements rough and unceremonious. He doesn't bother with a shot glass, instead opting to take several swigs straight from the bottle. The fiery liquid burns as it travels down his throat, but he hardly notices it amidst the tumult of emotions swirling inside him.

"Fuck," he curses. "Welcome home, I guess."

Clutching the bottle tightly, he trudges up the stairs to his bedroom, the weight of the day settling heavily on his shoulders. As he disappears into the darkness of his room, the only sound that fills the empty house is the quiet echo of his footsteps on the creaking floorboards.

Series Taglist:

@ashleyfilm @danaispunk @imdrinkingpedro @yxtkiwiyxt @lilyevanstan1325

@kungfucapslock @critfailroll

[herbsnspices]

Draco x Slytherin OC✨🐍

AN ~ not sure where this will go but I thought I’d put it out there, in my world Voldy does exist but he’s not coming back anytime soon. As for Death eaters, they are dying out along with blood supremacy and all that crap. Draco is still a Brat so prepare for angst but it should be worth it? Anyway enjoy <3

Part 1?

~

Sable, 16, daughter to Wysteria and Thorn Grimsbane, they make a small but high ranking family within the wizarding world. Thorn is the head of investigations within the ministry with Wysteria as his partner, they are truly a power couple. Sable had been studying abroad at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic up until the summer of her 16th birthday, when her parents demanded her return before enrolling her into Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry.

Ignoring sable's plea's they never explained their actions, simply stating it was for the best and that they would handle everything. it broke her heart saying goodbye to her friends at Beauxbatons, especially to her boyfriend, Cyran, who she'd only been able to kiss once. feeling as if her world had come to an end she was anything but excited while shopping for supplies with her mother, even the idea of fresh books and stationary wasn't enough to cheer her up.

Unfortunately it didn't take long for the dreaded day to arrive, with all her trunks packed Sable stood on the platform with a frown. holding back her tears as she hugged her parents goodbye sable made her way onto the train, it was tight as she walked along looking for an empty compartment, releasing a sigh of relief when she came across one and slipped inside.

getting comfy with her copy of Hogwarts: A History sable prepared herself for what was to come, or at least tried to.

~

Draco's pov

~

it was the same old routine of cold goodbyes and empty hellos as I stepped onto the train, my parents not staying any longer then needed. I bumped into Blaise first, he greeted me with his usual smirk and a slap on the back.

"Draco, its good to see you. we've got a compartment just up ahead if you'd care to join? kindly grace us with your presence" he teased while rolling his eyes.

"I suppose I could" I replied with smirk, the two of us chuckling together as I followed him to the compartment. thankfully the corridor was empty of students as we walked down, the rooms on either side of us however were full of them. glancing into them as I passed one caught my eye, slowing me to a stop, this compartment empty compared to the rest.

she was pale, with smooth skin dotted with freckles. Her Black hair looked like silk as it draped around her in loose curls, her eyes a bright green as they concentrated on the book before her. she was dressed in smart attire and had an air of maturity about her as she sat with a straight back and her legs crossed, she looked like a Lady.

"Draco?"

looking up Blaise was stood a couple of compartments ahead, the door open and waiting. Risking one last glance I was surprised to see a pair of emeralds gazing back at me, a question clear within them. looking away I headed into the compartment and took a seat between the window and Theo, Blaise was opposite me with pansy next to him. the journey was usually long and tedious but it seemed to fly by as I gazed out the window, thoughts of the girl filling my mind.

We lived in confusing times, never knowing if Voldemort would return or not, but if I knew anything for certain, it was that i’d have her before the year was up.

~

Sable's pov

~

I had no idea who the blonde was but he was certainly easy on the eyes with his sharp features and lean but muscular build, the all black suit he wore was just the cherry on top. sadly he was gone as quick as he appeared but I'm sure I'll be seeing more of him, he looked to be about my age if not the year above.

finally taking a break from reading and checking my watch I noticed it wouldn't be long till we arrived at Hogwarts and I still needed to change, cursing myself I grabbed my small carry on case and headed out the compartment and to the toilet.

the uniform was plain black awaiting my house colours but the shirt, pleated skirt and robes were certainly different to the silk dress I was used to. Choosing to keep on my tights and long socks I dressed myself in the uniform, overall it wasn't so bad. After packing away my clothes and switching my shoes I quickly touched up my hair and make-up before swiftly exiting the cramped room, walking straight into someone's chest.

the strong scent of musk and cherry wafted over me as I looked up, two swirling pools of chocolate looking down at me.

"well hello there" his voice was deep and smooth, like velvet.

"hello" my reply was meek and breathy, my surprise evident.

"hmm no house colours, you've got to be the biggest first year I've ever seen" he spoke with a smirk and a teasing tone, he seemed like the mischievous type. glancing at his uniform the dark green suited him nicely, the snake emblem resting on his chest.

"sadly no, I'm transferring into sixth year. You're a Slytherin right?" I replied, nodding at his uniform.

"indeed I am, best house to be in. I'm also going into sixth year so ill be seeing more of you misss?" he asked while giving me a once over, a look of approval on his face.

"Sable" I said, my eyebrow quirking at his obvious staring.

"Im Blaise, its been a pleasure Sable but you should head back to your compartment, we'll be arriving soon. ill be seeing you" he greeted while placing a small kiss on the back of my hand, his goodbye ominous as he left with a wink.

heading back into my compartment I got my belongings together and watched anxiously as we came to a stop, students flooding off the train and towards carriages. merging into the flow I stepped off and over to a large friendly looking man holding a sign with my name scribbled on it.

"hello there, ye must be sable?" he asked with a large grin

"hello, yes" I replied with a smile, nodding my head.

"follow me, you'll ride and be sorted along with the first years" nodding along I climbed into the boat with him, watching in awe as we made our way over the water and towards the beautiful castle.

it felt strange standing amongst the first years, towering above them as they looked at me with curiosity. Entering the great hall was daunting due to the hundreds of eyes watching my every move, whispers erupting as I walked towards the front of the room. the headmaster Dumbledore explained that i would be joining the sixth year before calling me up.

"Sable Grimsbane"

holding my head high like I was taught I stepped up and sat on the stool, Professor McGonagall placing the sorting hat on my head.

"hmm a Grimsbane, we haven't had one of you in a while. You value wisdom over valour like Ravenclaw, and yet you're fearlessness befits a Gryffindor. you're cunning like a Slytherin but care like a Hufflepuff, where to put you...suppose it better be SLYTHERIN"

~

~

Taglist?

[darnedchild]

I’m dumping my emotional guts here, please ignore if you just follow me for funny memes and fandom shit

Some of you may have noticed that I’ve been mostly absent and disengaged for a bit.  Truth is, I’m emotionally drained and barely keeping my head up enough to care about anything going on outside of my home and immediate family.  And I have been for so long I’ve stopped counting.

Just for the highlights over the last few months -

My son has been having issues in one of his classes at school.  It was like pulling teeth to get his teachers to communicate with us about what they were seeing on their end; but eventually we had enough information to push to get the Demon Spawn evaluated and he was diagnosed with inattentive ADHD.  I’m not going to go into the details but I will say that the “F” this specific teacher had been threatening him with all semester was suddenly an “A” when we were able to put in an official request for a 504.  My husband, myself, my sister who teaches the same grade in a different district, and my therapist (all 100% biased, obviously) agree that it feels like we’ve been gaslit. 

His teachers noted in the evaluation forms that my son is demonstrably depressed, anxious, feels isolated, and thinks no one likes him at school.  That was the first time I’d heard ANY of that.  I knew my son was anxious and sensitive, but there is a HUGE step from what we see at home and what they wrote on his evaluation forms.  His teachers are our eyes and ears during the school day, they see my son when he’s not dealing with his emotionally damaged mother who is trying her best not to show her son how anxious and scared she is while he does the exact same because we both want the other to just be happy.  They recognized and identified all this devastating stuff about my child and didn’t tell us.  I have been informed that there are “reasons” the teachers might not have feel comfortable approaching us directly but I’m pretty sure this is exactly the kind of thing a school counselor is for.

I was a depressed, anxious, isolated child.  I very clearly remember what it was like.  And I damn sure do not want my kid to go through that.  If something tragic had happened and they knew he was on the edge of crisis and they didn’t tell us... I don’t even want to think about it.

One of my best friends died last year.  Her birthday was in February.  I did not handle the lead up to that well.  And in just a week or so it’s going to be the first anniversary of her passing.  I am definitely not dealing well with that.  I got a little note from the family, written by her mother, two weeks ago.  It’s been almost a year since she died and the family is still using the old address labels that include my friend’s name along side her husband’s (different last names), her mom crossed out her daughter’s name.  Maybe, maybe toss those labels out and get new ones so that people don’t break into tears the second they see their dead best friend’s name scratched out with a fucking black pen?

And the final highlight of this shit parade is that my 15 year old baby kitten Bellatrix was just diagnosed with stage IV kidney disease.  We took her to the vet because she’d lost some more weight (down to just over six pounds) and it was yearly shot time anyway, so why not draw some blood and see what’s going on?  She’s dying, that’s what’s going on.  Fun phone call - the vet, my husband, and me on speaker phone.  All three of us audibly sniffling away tears while we discussed palliative care options and best case scenarios and how much time do we have left with her?  The answer is not enough.  Never enough.  She turns 16 this year.  Would turn 16, but the vet insists we understand that the likelihood of her reaching her birthday is extremely low. 

I rescued her neurotic, balding butt when she was 11 months old.  My son has never known life without Bella.  She let him pull her hair with his chubby, sticky fingers and give her slobbery open-mouthed toddler kisses and use her has a pillow when he didn’t feel well, with only her usual “See what I put up with” side-eye in complaint.  If I’m sick, she’s at my side.  If I’m upset or anxious, she somehow knows.  She’s sleeps at the head of my bed (sometimes with her fur pressed against my face) and snores like a sputtering chainsaw. 

We haven’t told my son yet.  He had a big thing last weekend and we didn’t want him to forever associate that memory with finding out.  Our plan is to tell him this weekend so we can make sure he has a day or two to deal with his feelings before he has to go back to school.  I feel guilty about keeping it from him, though. 

And I’ve spent the last week wondering if this cuddle will be the last, so... yeah.

[d-field22-blog]

Story link: https://www.deviantart.com/d-field22/art/Batman-Oc-Villain-16-Red-Riding-Hood-Digital-867360346

Bio: Real name: Rufina R. Dooh Occupation: Murderer, Professional criminal Base of Operation: Gotham City Eyes: Green Hair: Black, (ends dyed Red) Height: 5ft 7 in Weight: 130lbs

Attributes: Obsessed with old fairytales, particularly Little Red Riding Hood Suicidal Uses hand crafted baskets as not just her means of fitting her gimmick of filling it with dead body parts, but also as her calling card. With a quote of a famous fairytale written on a white card tied to the handles. Uses an exaggerated personality of an innocent girl. Surprisingly good in hand to hand combat. Mainly sticks to knives, or her cleaved she hides in her cloak Mainly sticks to old people as her victims. But is known to kill much younger folk that cross her, or whom she feels like killing.

Dream voice actress: Chloë Grace Moretz. You could say I have sort of a crush on Chloe, I can say that instead of some old perverts on Facebook or Twitter because she and I are a lot closer in age. But aside from that, she has grown to be a very competent actress, whether it be kickass heroes, smart allices, or even tortured souls, she for the most parts gives it her all in acting. I can't seem to recall seeing a "bad" performance from her. Though I think her choices need to be a bit better for some movies, Chloë Grace Moretz has the perfect voice for Rufina. I also tried to model Rufina's face after Chloe, but I'm not that very good at drawing real people. But I did my best, and I think I did it well enough.

Featured song: Little Red Riding Hood by Amanda Seyfried.

Notes.

Red Riding Hood was a rogue that desperately needed a redesign, and I was so looking forward to the day that she would get one. And dare I say, this one blows the original out of the water.

I decided to draw the basket in the crutch of her arm and placed her trademark killing weapon in where the basket use to be, along with an additional butcher knife, 3.Some of the colors of her outfit were changed and now she pops at you much more, because I didn't think to do the inside of her cloak in a different shade of red.

How could I not incorporate the Mad Hatter into her origin? It would have been a missed opportunity if I didn't have them meet/ work together in any point in time.

Now as I have said in my Joker page, I am not a big fan of the film, However I do like elements/ characters from it. I like Murray, I like Gary, and Randall(to a point) so I decided to incorporate the former 2 into Red's origin. For the Batman universe that I am creating is taking bits and pieces from all across Batman history, official, spin-off, or fan created, and finding a way to mesh the elements without going completely nuts.

I am a big Stephen King fan and one year on Christmas I asked for Carrie. I read half of the book in one day and I had to stop myself from reading it to have Christmas. Carrie in the book and the films was a huge inspiration for Rufina right up to the actress and even the main tormentor of Rufina, who shares the name of 2 other characters from the book.

[moreventsthanamongus]

big time vent

The first memory I have of my body is when I was 8. In year 4 we were learning about the different states, solid liquid gas. Miss Nolan handed around a bag of cholate buttons and asked us all to take one, hold it in your hand or place it on your tongue, and see what happens she said. I’ll hold mind in my hand I thought, then my classmates will know I’m not fat because I’m greedy, I just happen to look that way. No one else held theirs, I walk to the bathroom alone to wash my hands.

When I’m 10 I walk to school alone. I’ve only just started to be interested in boys, and I’m even more aware of how I look. I know I'm bigger than the other kids my age. A group of men in a car stop for me at the zebra crossing. They tell me I'll grow into my body soon. They tell me to give them a call. I'm only 10 I think, can't they see my school uniform? I'll never know their names.

When I'm 13 I have a friend named Luce. She's pretty and skinny. She's a vegetarian, so I become one, maybe I can be skinny too. She's anorexic, so I imitate it, maybe I can be skinny too. I starve myself when people can see, and I go home and eat. I develop binge eating disorder. My weight doesn't change. I'll never forget her name.

When I'm 14, we spend out time at sleepovers on Omegle. It's what everyone did. You laugh when old men flash you and ask how old you are. Something doesn't feel right, but everyone's doing it. I'll never know their names.

When I'm 15, I use Tagged. Everyone around me is in a relationship, and I think my chances are better online. I speak to all sorts of men from different ages. I'm not being groomed I think. I know what grooming is. These men are just kind to me when they talk about my body. A 21 year old man named Nick plans for me to visit him. I'll never forget his name.

When I'm 16, I loose my virginity to Jake. It wasn't special, or mind blowing. But I loved him, and it was intimate. I still remember small details, how we went to London and the science museum, my red lipstick, his blue camo coat, how we raced my parents home so we would have a free house. I consented, and he checked. I'll never forget his name.

When I'm 16, I start college. I meet Quaid. He tells me I'm pretty. He convinces me to send him photos of myself, I think he likes me. He shares the photos with his friends. I don't know the names of the men who have seen my breasts now. I cry because I'm a slut, I've only had sex with one man. I'll never forget his name.

When I'm 16, I date Julien. I think he loves me. He rapes me. It's not rape I tell myself, he thinks my no's are playing. Like when he tickles me. He leaves me and gets with another woman, and starts telling everyone about my saggy tits. I don't bother explaining gravity. I go to the youth centre in town, and the man tells me that it's hard to prove rape if he was my boyfriend. I steal ibuprofen from my nan, and swallow them. I get scared and call 999 for myself, dying is scary. I survive. I'll never forget his name.

When I'm 17, me and Ryan break up. I still have to stay at his house, as we made plans. He's drunk and he starts to touch me. I don't want him to, so I say no. I sleep on the floor that night. I know how to say no, and he respected it. He ends up cheating on me and getting chlamydia, I'll never forget his name.

When I'm 18, I start university. I haven't experience night life before this, except drinking in a field with friends. One night my friends go home early, they leave me with someone, I can't remember who. Another man wants to take me home, no-one checks what I want. I remember trying to stop him. I remember waking up and he was gone. I remember the comments from my flatmates about the good night I just had. I don't know if anything happened, what proof do I have if I don't even know what he looks like. I'll never know his name.

When I'm 18, My binge eating disorder gets worse. I plan it days ahead. I still do not know that I have an eating disorder. One cheat day won't hurt I tell myself.

When I'm 26, My boyfriend of 3 years sexually assaults me. I don't know that yet. I wake up from a nap with Liam. One of his hands were down my pants, and the other down his. He notices I wake up and he stops. Maybe he thought I was awake, I tell myself. He breaks up with me 6 months later, that was the last time he touched me. Maybe if I stayed asleep he would still love me I tell myself. Maybe if I let him he would still love me. It's not assault if he's my boyfriend right. It's not rape if he didn't use his penis. I bring it up the last time we speak, he doesn't remember it happening. Maybe I'm just making it up. I'll never forget his name.

When I'm 26, I am the most suicidal I've ever felt. I plan my suicide using tools from amazon. I stop working, I binge nearly every day. My boss buys me 6 hours of therapy. I start to realise that I was sexually assaulted. I was asleep, I could not consent. I did not consent. I realise that I have an eating disorder, and that every time I do it, I've been self harming. I continue therapy from my own wallet, until the desire to kill myself subsides.

My name is Ally and I'm 26 years old, and I start to wonder when I lost ownership of my own body. Was it when I was 8 and decided that my peers opinion of my body mattered more than mine? Was it when I was first catcalled or flashed. Was it when images of me were shared without my consent, or when sexual acts were taken from me without consent. Did I get ownership back when I said no, and proved I could say no, only to loose it again to the next man to take it?

[riverdamien]

Sloughing Towards Galilee#

"Sloughing Towards Galilee!"

Mark 16:7

But you must go and tell his disciples and Peter, "He is going ahead of you to Galilee; that is where you will see him, just as he told you." '

Recently I was looking for a piece on Epiphany and ran a cross-a post by the poet  David Whyte. The title  — “A Star for Navigation.” . The post was about finding one’s true work and vocation:

"Every work begins as an intimation and discovery. Like the first time as a child we walk to the edge of a Yorkshire field, glimpse a new horizon, and immediately want to go there. We do not know where the horizon will take us. We have a glimmering, an inclination, a notion that somehow we will find something beyond our present knowledge. . . Each of us, somewhere in the biography of our childhood, remembers a moment where we felt a portion of the world calling and beckoning to us."

It brought me back to the moment, at twelve years old, sitting around a campfire at "Arcadia" our United Methodist Church Camp on a warm summer's night, I felt my heart "strangely warmed" and I was grasped with the loving presence of Christ, a love that can not be explained, saying: "Preach the Gospel!" From that moment on I was compelled to pour all of my energy into that summons.

Christ was so real in those moments, and throughout my life in the good times and the bad, I never feel alone! 

Two of the greatest influences in my life  were a book by Taylor Caldwell, No One Hears But Him!,  in which she portrays God as One who simply "listens", and the sermon at my ordination by Bishop Robert Goodrich in which he told us, "You shall 'wait on tables' the rest of your lives."

In paraphrasing a title by Joan Didion, in the weeks ahead, looking towards our 30th anniversary celebration, October 4, 2024, I am going to write a couple a times a week on my attempt to be a "listener" on the street, "waiting on tables!" In attempting to follow Jesus I am "Sloughing towards Galilee," little by little.

I am giving out Christmas gifts through Epiphany, and several days ago one gentleman I encountered was "Jim,", around 40. He sat on the sidewalk, looking sad, and lonely, and as I knelt down and gave him his gift, his face simply lit up like the sun.

In listening he shared of being on the street for ten years, no family, feeling dejected, and never fitting in. Jim shared of not feeling safe in the shelters, and of being beaten, and hurt. I gave him some food, and with a smile on his face I moved on.

I am always asked "Why can't you do more?" And to myself I laugh, for through the years, and especially in these days of social media, my biggest support, help, and care came from simply being listened to, and sitting down having a meal with someone. "Listening" and sharing "Food" are great healers!

I invite you to join me in "Sloughing Towards Galilee," and to "listen" to my story, and those I "listen" to, simply listen without judgement, and see where you can "listen" to those around you. Deo Gratias! Thanks be to God!

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

Fr. C. River Damien Sims, sfw, D.Min., D.S.T.

P.O. Box 642656

San Francisco, CA 94164

Snap Chat: "riodamien2"

pay pal can be found on www.temenos.org

415-305-2124

www.temenos.org

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

"Our life of grace and our life of the body goes on beautifully intermingled and harmonious. "All is grace," as the dying priest whispered to his friend in 'The Diary of a Country Priest." The Little Flower also said, "All is grace" (Dorothy Day).

Let Love Ache

Father, give me the courage to keep on loving.

when others keep on hurting.

help me to live an achy love, a gritty,

persistent and emptying love;

a love that’s not afraid to flow toward the other

who has little left to offer in return.

And may I tread faithfully with heaven

through the unfinished work that surrounds me.

[bellarkeselection]

Opposite Half

Request from @phoneixgirl23 on Wattpad. Hope x half sister reader. The reader becomes a full activated tribrid before Hope does.

Hope Mikaelson

My half sister

She’d tried to jump into Malivore but I wouldn’t let her. She isn’t the only miracle baby in the family.

You may be wondering who I am. My name is Y/n Marshall-Mikaelson. I never knew my mother all she left was a letter saying my father was Klaus Mikaelson. I’m younger than by a year her being 16 years old.

Groaning lightly I feel my body laying on a soft bed in my shared room with her in the Salvatore School. Blinking my eyes open I see myself in the mirror. Swinging my legs off the bed my hair is dirty blonde like my fathers and the eye color of my unknown mother. The only real thing I know about her is that she is the cousin of Hope’s mother Hayley. The door opens for me to see my sister and the boy I like Ethan Macado enter. Will they remember me. Why is Ethan here. Professor Saltzman won’t like that.

“Y/n. Oh my gosh what happened to you?” Ethan rushed to me gently hugging me. I hug him back feeling my sister looking, her eyes glow gold slightly meaning she’s mad. “I’m fine, E. I just took a bad turn on a little field trip.” He smiles weakly planting a kiss to my forehead going to wait outside the door.

Slowly my eyes lock with my sister who crosses her arms over her chest. “You messed up real bad. I couldn’t remember you. No one knew who you were. I’ve already lost my mother and my father-“ I jump up cutting her off with a sweet tone my eyes glowing gold. “He was my father too. I thought I was saving you. So that you could be with Landon!”

“So you thought jumping into Malivore and dying was the right call. You activated your vampire-“ I felt fangs pop out of my gums, veins and the hunger coming. “Hope, I need a blood bag....I didn’t activate anything-“ She tosses me a bag that I finished quickly when she sits beside me on the bed. “You didn’t realize did you?” She slowly trails off as I wipe the blood from my mouth.

I clutch the empty blood bag in my hands feeling tears start to slip. “What am I gonna tell Ethan. I mean there’s no way Professor Saltzman is gonna allow me to still date him.” Hope pulls me in for a hug shooshing my tears. “Hey we’ll figure it out, together. Landon and I make it work, especially when I thought he was human. So trust me little sis.”

“Thanks, sis. I hope you’re right.” Lifting my head from her chest I wipe away my tears, sniffling softly. She smiles as I hug her once more. “Always and Forever.” I mumble into her hair hoping to get a handle on truly now being the first Tribid of the supernatural world. “I’m here with you, always and forever.”

[that-bi-bitch-writes]

A Cursed Reality (Ch.1)

JJK x Male Reader Insert

[Name] is an orphan. And He's a little unhinged, but what Jujutsu Sorcerer isn't? A cursed speech user like Inumaki, [Name] can manipulate reality and he's heard some rumors. 

-Once again I'm using the power of Allison Hargreeves AKA 'The Rumor' to bring to life a character I'm passionate about. -This one is purely Male Reader and the reader is a going to be a Second Year. -All platonic for now but perhaps a romance in the future -Really powerful MC but he doesn't know how to use his powers to their fullest potential yet

Previous || Next

(cross posted on wattpad and eventually quotev)

Chapter One:

[Name]’s origin story was not that sad. I mean he lost his family in an accident⸺ one that he caused but he doesn’t feel guilty about it. Not in the least. No, really, he only cares a little. That is of course why he still doesn’t speak unless spoken to and has a hard time making friends. Like a normal 16 year old. Normal people can hear voices. Right?

“Live”

“So”

“...”

“Ahem. Why are you here [Full Name]?”

“?”

“Meaning why do you want to learn jujutsu? We won’t just keep you because you’re orphaned. Sorry we’re not that kind of institution.”

‘What am I supposed to say?’ [Name] thought ‘Do they want an innocent response? That I want to save the world? That it was a dying wish? I don’t do dying wishes because honestly, at this point… I just want⸺’ [Name] paused dramatically and for the first time since the chairman started talking (he started with a god awful introduction before the real interview) he looked up

“To fuck shit up” 

“That’s not a bad response”

‘What the fuck. Is he making dolls? Maybe I should get out of here’

“Thanks?”

“You have to be at least a little crazy to survive the jujutsu world. But being batshit won’t save you” the old dude (he’s not that old [Name]) said 

“Yaga sensei is it? I can handle myself” he said before turning around and walking towards the exit

“Prove it” Yaga called out, stopping [Name] in his tracks “stop my cursed doll and I’ll stop bothering you”

[Name] nodded but it seemed as if Yaga wasn’t giving him the chance to say no. The doll was already flying towards him at an alarming speed. 

“Stop”

Yaga’s surprise showed through his glasses.The doll literally stopped mid-air and then dropped to the floor. He had only seen one cursed speech user powerful enough to stop an attack with one word. And how was it that [Name] could hold a regular conversation? What were his drawbacks? To what extent does he want to fuck shit up? Realistically Yaga knew if he trained this boy and he had a sudden change in alliance, there would be hell to pay. The only option was to give him a lightning rod. Something to keep his allegiance tied down. A lighting rod was the kinder metaphor but really the kid needed an anchor.

“Can I go now?”

“... Yes. I’ll have someone show you to your room in a minute.”

[Name] only nodded

“May I ask another question? This time more about your cursed technique”

[Name] hesitated before beginning “I only recently discovered I could do that. The only reason I could do it with one word was because the doll wasn’t very strong” 

Yaga nodded at the explanation thinking that was all there was, but then [Name] drew in a breath and continued “My brother and I had different powers, and we argued about whose was better with him always saying mine was stronger. He had more powers, sorry, cursed techniques than I did, but no matter how many abilities you have, nothing beats reality manipulation” And with a sense of finality [Name] closed his mouth and turned back towards the door leaving Yaga alone to think.

The room [Name] had arrived at was not modest. When you live in an apartment building with your older brother things can feel cramped at times. The walls were bare and there was a window with curtains and a bed pushed up against a wall that connected to the balcony. There was a desk across from the bed and plenty of space to exercise… if that’s what you’re into.

“Here’s your room [L.Name]. A teacher will be coming in to check on you soon and the rest of the first years are down the hall. Welcome to Jujutsu Tech”

“Thanks I guess”

[Name] spent little to no time on decorating his room. It was hard to decorate when you had no belongings. The only thing he wanted to do was get rid of all the sources of sunlight. How else was he supposed to brood like a teenager. And what about privacy? Japanese people did like to bathe together and let it all hang out but like in his 15 years of living only three people had seen him naked and he wasn’t prepared to let an entire institution of fellow crazies sneak a peek at the goods. (not that they were very good goods anyway)

“Darken”

“That’s a nice cursed technique you got going on there” 

[Name] whipped his head to the door to see a tall white haired man wearing a blind-fold and a smile on his face. Just what name needed. Cheery disposition.

“Are you a cursed speech user just like our little Inumaki here?” 

[Name] turned his attention to the other white haired male standing in the doorway. He seemed aloof like [Name]. He either had some traumatic past or was one of those douchebags who brood because it makes you cooler. The least you could do is actually watch someone die in front of you before you go all messy depressy.

“Konbu Kombu”

Now that was a surprise. [Name] just bowed his head in response 

“Are you the teacher here”

“Yes! Of course. I’m Gojo-sensei AKA the Strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer”

“...”

“That was supposed to get a reaction out of you. Anyway I heard that you were moving in and I wanted to get to know you while bringing two of my precious students together to bond”

“Thanks I guess”

“You can speak?”

“Yes?”

“Interesting. And you are a cursed speech user?”

“In a way yes”

“Explain”

“I can manipulate reality but I usually do it through speech. Recently I’ve been able to do it through commands”

“And you were doing it differently before”

[Name] nodded

“Try and have a conversation with Toge here, the similarity in your powers might make you immune”

“Hello”

“Hello”

“I’m [Name] how does your cursed technique work”

“Commands”

“Go ahead”

“Have a seat then [Name]” 

There was a strong urge to sit down but [Name] held back after seeing the hope in Gojo’s face. Inumaki had none, maybe because he was confident in his technique or perhaps because hope would be too cruel, but a light showed in his eyes after [Name] remained standing. 

“Kneel”

“Jump”

“Run away”

After every command the pain in Inumaki’s throat grew a little. The commands got progressively stronger but so did the hope of having a normal friend. Gojo had been relieved. He only pretended not to know what was going on in front of the two first years. He knew what Yaga was planning, pairing the two together and it was smart. 

“My commands aren’t very strong compared to yours, but I have one for you”

Inumaki nodded and Name drew in a breath to set his resolve

“Be my friend”

[backhurtyy]

9, 16, or 51, whichever you want to do/haven’t done yet 🥰!

9. “You really thought I was dead?”

16. “I want you to be happy…even if its not with me.”

i guess warning for jealousy?? not possessive or anything, more nervous i-really-love-you-and-this-person-unexpectedly-came-back-into-our-life-please-don’t-leave-me jealousy

Returning to Ba Sing Se after the war always felt distinctly like coming home to Zuko. He loved the Fire Nation, he really did, but there were so many bad memories locked away inside empty rooms and shadows decorating blank walls to ever allow it to feel like home. But in Ba Sing Se, strolling into his uncle’s teashop with Sokka’s hand clasped in his and his crown tossed into the bottom of the bag on his shoulder, those memories and shadows slipped away. Instead, there were warm memories of lazy afternoons serving tea to his uncle and friends and the sounds of bright laughter filling the shop, and he felt like he was home.

“You’re awfully smiley,” Sokka laughed as they approached the Jasmine Dragon. “What’re you thinking about?”

“Just that it feels like I’m home, is all. We haven’t been here in a long time, and it’s... It’s really nice. I don’t know if that sounds crazy, but-“

“No, it doesn’t. I feel it too,” he said warmly. “It’s easier here, somehow.”

Zuko nodded, pressing a kiss to Sokka’s forehead as they crossed the threshold of the shop. His uncle was standing behind the counter, and when he saw them come in his face split into a wide grin.

“Zuko! Sokka!” he exclaimed, rushing towards them. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

He dropped Sokka’s hand to meet his uncle’s embrace, sighing at the familiar smell of jasmine tea that hung around him. “Hi Uncle. I’ve missed you.”

“Me too. It’s been too long.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I just got so busy with work and it was hard to find the time to come visit.”

“It’s okay to take breaks, Zuko. You don’t have to be Fire Lord all the time.”

Zuko wanted to say that wasn’t true- that the Fire Nation still had so far to go and that work couldn’t always wait, and also point out that he was the one to insist Zuko take this job- but before he could Sokka was hugging his uncle and proclaiming, “Yeah, that’s why he has me. To make sure he’s talking a whole bunch of breaks.”

His uncle laughed. “I knew he’d be in good hands.”

“Yeah yeah,” he muttered, though he smiled at Sokka fondly and began walking toward the kitchen, where the stairs leading to his uncle’s apartment were. “Can we just drop our bags off, the come back down?”

“Of course. Although this reminds me I have a new employee, and I think it’s someone you’ll be relieved to see! He’s in the back.”

Zuko furrowed his brow, wondering who he could possibly be talking about considering all the people he would want to see were very much not in Ba Sing Se. Well, except Sokka, but it wasn’t like he was his new employe. Still, he just shrugged and pushed aside the curtain to go into the kitchen- only to stop when he saw a tall figure with shaggy black hair, a persistent stalk of wheat sticking out of his mouth. Suddenly, he felt like he was on the ferry to Ba Sing Se all over again.

Sokka, not noticing that Zuko had stopped, crashed into him. “Zuko, wha-“ He stopped too, staring at Jet with his jaw hanging open. “Jet?”

He looked up them, one eyebrow raised and smirking. “Hey Sokka,” he greeted coolly. “And if it isn’t Lee... Or I guess Fire Lord Zuko, I should say.”

“I- What?” he stuttered, not entirely understanding how, much less why, Jet was in his uncle’s tea shop. The first because last he’d heard Jet was dead, and the second because last he’d checked Jet hated him and his uncle. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh, I work here? I’m the new hire,” he said, crossing his arms and cocking his hip out.

“You- How?” Sokka asked, his face wrinkled in confusion. “At Lake Laogai you died. I mean, you got crushed under the rock and you-“

“Wait,” Jet laughed. “You really thought I was dead?”

Sokka and Zuko shared a confused glance, then looked back to him. “Yes?” Zuko asked. “I mean, we’ve seen Smellerbee and Longshot since then and they never said anything so...”

“Yeah, I told them not too. I needed time after I recovered to figure myself out, and wasn’t sure I could handle seeing any old flames- no pun intended- or enemies,” he said, pointedly sliding his eyes from Zuko to Sokka. “But I didn’t think you’d actually think I was dead… I told Katara I’d be fine. That wasn’t a lie.”

Zuko... Zuko didn’t know what to do. He had spent the past five years feeling so guilty for being the reason Jet ended up in Lake Laogai and blaming himself for his death, that seeing him in front of him brought on an overwhelming onslaught of memories and emotions and confusion. But with it was also a huge sense of relief, and he smiled at him softly.

“I’m really happy to see you, Jet,” he said honestly. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

“Don’t think I’m not still pissed at the fact that you lied to me, or for the pain the Fire Nation has caused me and my friends,” he said evenly, though his mouth ticked up in a smile, the wheat jumping as it did. “But I’m glad to see you too. You look good.”

Zuko rolled his eyes but smiled and leaned into Sokka, who had shifted to stand at his side rather than behind him. Sokka grabbed his hand immediately. “Thanks. There’s a lot that’s happened, recently, and if you were willing to, I’d like to catch up and... Well, I know there’s a lot of history, but maybe we could try to be friends?”

There was a slight twinkle in Jet’s eye as he watched Zuko and Sokka, one that reminded him of sneaking around the ferry and running down the streets of Ba Sing Se, and Zuko knew he’d realized they were together. He didn’t say anything though, just smiled. “Yeah. I’d like that. And you too, Sokka. I think I owe you a few apologies.”

Sokka snorted, though Zuko recognized it as one of begrudging amusement rather than actual anger. “Yeah, whatever man.”

Jet nodded and turned away, apparently satisfied with that, and Zuko tugged on Sokka’s hand to lead him up the stairs.

“So…” Sokka said nonchalantly when they had shut the door to the apartment. “Jet. Your ex. He’s downstairs.”

“Yeah…” he hummed, setting down his bag and turning to grab Sokka’s. “That was not at all what I was expecting, gotta be honest.”

“How do you feel about it?” There was something odd to his tone, something curious but also apprehensive, as if he didn’t really want to know.

He shrugged, stepping into Sokka’s space to pull him into a hug- although Sokka would never say it, he knew his boyfriend. After what happened with the village during the war and then later seeing him die- so they thought- that Jet’s presence had to have shaken him. He wondered if that was why his tone of voice was so odd.

“I don’t know yet. But he seems… He seems alright. Happier than he ever was when we had our thing, at least. And I think maybe… Maybe I’d like to try to be friends with him.”

Sokka hugged him back tightly, nodding thoughtfully. When he spoke, it was careful and deliberate. “If you ever decide you want to date him again, I need you to just tell me, okay?”

He pulled back, staring at him in confusion. “Sokka, what?”

“I mean it! I want you to be happy, even if it’s not with me. So… If you ever decide you’re into him-“

“For spirits sake,” he rolled his eyes lightly, realizing what was up with his tone of voice- he was nervous that now Jet was back, Zuko wouldn’t want to be with him anymore. “Sokka, that’s not going to happen. I love you, and I’m going to keep loving you for the rest of time. I already know that you’re it for me, love. Plus,” he dropped his voice into a conspiratorial whisper, “when I kiss you it doesn’t taste like wheat.”

Sokka laughed, shoulders relaxing. “I love you. And you’re it me, too. I’m sorry for being weird about him, it’s just… I don’t know how to explain it. Seeing him and remembering you had a thing and just... I got jealous, I guess.”

“It’s okay, love, I understand,” he said as he smoothed his palm over Sokka’s cheek, before kissing him softly. “Now, come on. I’m sure Uncle is dying to make us some tea.”

[xeo-kunsatan]

MonsterOlympics One Shot (+13) Part 3.

A new morning have been arrived at Monster Maze High.

Sunday 9:47 AM

Room 69

Betrayus was waking up with Muriel and a white haired human woman?

Betrayus:*Yawns* Morning Sweeties~

Muriel: Good morning Moonlight~

Beryl: Hmm~ Morning~

Betrayus: *takes air* Shit that was a crazy night yesterday... I didn't know that you were that good in this~

Muriel: Yeah dude, you were a beast last night~

Beryl: Tsk what are you talking about? You guys are incredible~

Suddenly that human transformed their body into their original form.

Beryl Marjorie

Boss of Jewels Mafia

Age: 125

Gender: Non Binary

Species: Shapeshifter/Wereleopard (Hybrid)

Beryl: And tell me~ are you agree with this payment method?

Muriel: Ohh~ it's the best and a big honor~

Betrayus: Oh Yeah~ That human disguise was a good idea, as you know i can't give myself this adventures with humans, because you know.. Ka-Boom!

Muriel: i can give myself freely this adventures with humans but i don't want to do it if I'm not next to my Moonlight~

Beryl: Awww~ it was a pleasure to make business with you too, now you have a new monetary support from my part.

Betrayus: and it's a pleasure to have your support, Thank you so much Ms Beryl.

Muriel: Come here Everytime you want it.

Beryl: See ya guys *puts in their clothing and leaves*

Beryl have left the room, to then go to a limousine waiting for them.

Note: Beryl is the Boss of a Mafia but they mostly prefers to use their money to support places which needs monetary help.

At the School Cafeteria.

The students where still feel a little tense after that fight from yesterday, mostly of them were still feeling the hurtful words from Manny, Specially Skeebo.

Sir C and Roxy went to them to give them at least good news for them.

Sir C: *with a speaker* Uhum Uhum, A-Attention Please Students! *Sneezes* I know you have felt stressed since yesterday butbi have good news for you.

Blinky: Good News my Balls!..

Roxy: Silence! C'mon Old man put more emotion in this..

Sir C: You're right Rox, The Hot Springs are Finally open for you, so you will have a better Sunday!.

All:......*Runs off to the Hot Springs*

Sir C: Wow, that worked so well..

Roxy: you see~

The students have run away to test the new hot springs

Note: there were 5 Hot Springs Rooms: Girls Room, Boys Room , Man Staff, Woman Staff and for some reason a secret one connected with both Staff rooms (Roxy's idea).

Boys Room

The boys were enyoing their new hot spring room, Skeebo still upset went to a shower next to a really worried Bradley.

Bradley: Foxy.. are you.. alright?..

Skeebo: *sighs*......

Bradley: C'mon you can tell me..

Skeebo: That stupid.. how he dares to make fun of me!!?? just because i have no family doesn't give him the rights to talk shit to me me! Nor even for the school!

Bradley: Don't let that affect you, you have a family here.

Skeebo: But not a biological!

Bradley: !!!!....

Skeebo: My brother left me, he was supposed to take care of me, we were supposed to be family.. and he still left me... For what!? To start a band and create a new family while I was dying of hungry and Cold!!!..

Bradley: Excuse me.. i know what are you feeling but i should remember you that my dad taked you to avoid that....

Skeebo: But what if he wouldn't taked me? Huh?...

Bradley: that's a Good point... *Sighs*.. Skeebo, please family it's not based by blood lines, it's based in the people who loves you and support you as you are..

Skeebo: *turns off*... You said that because you have your own parents and sister who loves you.

Bradley: Skeebo Please... What if he had a reason to left you?

Skeebo: *Hits Bradley* A Reason to Abandon me!!??

Bradley:!!!!!!..... *Trembling*

Skeebo: *reacts* Oh... No...

Bradley:*steps back*..

Skeebo: I-i-i am s-s-so sorry SugarBun!!.. I-i didn't mean to hurt you....

Bradley:*slaps Skeebo* Don't ever call me SugarBun!..*sightly sobs*... This time you Cross the line.. i thought you already understood about that you already have a family... But im wrong...

Skeebo: No Bradley please.. you are not wrong... I am sorry!...

Bradley: I Know you are really mad and hurted but that doesn't mean you can take avenge of me!

Skeebo: I-i know.. i really so sorry...

Bradley: *sobs* Fuck Off!! *Turns into a Bat and flies off crying*...

Skeebo: Bradley... *Sobs in silence* N-No... What a dumb i am... *Sighs*...

Skeebo was sobbing in the shower while the others would feel his silent lament.

Spiral: Ok Those 2 fighting? That's new

Pacster: Not really, they rarely have fights, and when they have them, they always fix the things and They reconcile with.. you know..

Blinky: I Know but this time it's harder..

Inky: yeah...

Clyde: Are they would be okay?...

Skeebo: Can you please SHUT THE FUCK UP!!?? THIS IS NOT YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS!!.

Farley: Ok he is really mad...

Farren: And that's a Mad Fox..

Farid: Oww~ they were such a good couple~...

After the shower, Skeebo left to his dorm which he shares with Bradley, discovering that Bradley wasn't there..

Skeebo: *Sighs and jumps to his bed*... Bradley... If i could... Wait.. *takes his phone to make a important call* Thanks to her i got him.. i hope she can help me to bring him back..

Skeebo called an already known number which helped him as many creatures.

C.A Cupid

Daughter of Eros

Age: ???

Gender: Female

Species: Cherub.

(No, it's not my cupid from Pmatga, she is from from MH/EAH)

C.A Cupid: Greetings, anything your heart wants to share?~

Skeebo: Hello Cupid.. i need your advices one more time but this time to bring my love back..

C.A Cupid: Huh, i think i remember your voice, Long time~ What happened?

Skeebo: You see...My Boyfriend and me had a fight but this time i messed up the things in the really awful way, he surely doesn't want me next to him anymore.. i didn't mean to hurt him..

C.A Cupid: Oh dear.. I'm sorry to hear that.. don't worry i know how i help you.

Skeebo: Please..

C.A Cupid: First give him some time to relax, and then Show him that you feel really bad for hurting him and for it, like give him something really special for you 2 since many years, the reason why you are together.

Skeebo: Something Special for us since many years.. alright I got it, thank you Cupid.

C.A Cupid: Always to help, thanks for calling for my advices.

The Call ended, and Skeebo was looking for an special thing to fix the things with Bradley.

Skeebo: Where is it?..

Betrayus: Where is what?~

Skeebo: Eh!?

Betrayus's stare started to hypnotize Skeebo to make him fall sleep and then take him secretly to a unknown place.

Meanwhile in Monster High.

Miss Bloodgood have asked her students to join a reunion.

Ms Bloodgood: Dear Students, I summoned you in this reunion to discuss about what we will do in the MonsterOlympics Event, the first thing is that all of you most behave and respect your opponents.

Lagoona Blue

Daughter of the Sea Monster.

Age: 16

Gender: Female

Species: Sea monster (Saltwater)

Lagoona: Ohh~ i really felt bad about them...

Ms Bloodgood: Me too Lagoona *sighs* Mostly of The Monster Maze High students have different and difficult situations at mostly of yours, their school is where they live.

Frankie: You mean, their school is their only home

Ms Bloodgood: That's right.

Deuce Gorgon

Son of Medusa

Age: 17

Gender: Male

Species: Gorgon

Deuce: Even Knowing that i can't believe that Manny said that..

Draculaura: Me either...

Holt: Well in certain part he is right

All: Holt!!!

Holt: ok ok.. sorry

Clawd: Just Great.. Now thanks to Manny they already have a bad image of us as the mean ones...

Gillington Webber

Son of the River monster

Age: 17

Gender: Male

Species: Sea Monster (sweet water)

Gil: *Sighs* Things will get so tense during the competency...

Frankie: This can't be like this, we most show them that as we accept us independent of our differences, we accept them too even if they are from other school.

Ms Bloodgood: Frankie is right, the next week the Event will begin, even if we are competing against them we most show them fellowship and support.

Frankie: All agree with you Headless Mistress!

The Reunion finished and everyone was free to leave to their classes.

Toralei and her gang was walking around the school noticing that almost every monster was watching her and whispering to eachother.

Toralei: Pfff, what did I do this time?~

Cleo: Oh My Ra, I didn't know you were like that Toralei?~

Toralei: Mew?~ What are you talking about?.

Cleo: Didn't you check out your phone? *Leaves mocking*

Spectra Vondeirgeist

Daughter of the ghosts

Age: ???

Gender: Female

Species: Ghost.

Spectra: I Hoope you enjoy this unexpected stooory~ *flying around*

Toralei: Huh!?

Toralei Checked out her phone to visit Spectra's Blog finding the surprised of that Spectra made a blog about her meeting with Farley, pointing them as an unexpected couple between a dog and a cat.

Toralei: Meww! No!!

As well her, Farley found out the gossip in the same Blog.

Farley: Woofy Shit!!

<×/////////////////////////////////////////×>

Meanwhile In a dark place, Skeebo waked up to notice that he was tied up.

Skeebo: What The!!??...

Betrayus: You Were a really really bad Fox...

Skeebo: Mr Betrayus!?... I-i didn't mean to hurt your son..

Betrayus: But you did it.. oww~ what a shame I have to do this...

Skeebo: .......*sighs as he sobs In silence*... I'm sorry... I really wanted to fix up the things with him, with effort and heart.. as I promised.. but I guess I most pay for not appreciate what I already had... Go ahead Mr Betrayus..

Betrayus:... Wise decision~

Betrayus hold up a big blade ready to end with the Fox's life to then....

To be Continued.

[hopetofantasy]

Actress Nora Dari (wtFOCK): “I hope I don't go crazy. I wouldn't be surprised if that happens”

Two years ago she was allowed to bump into Matteo Simoni in ‘Patser’, now your fifteen-year-old knows her as Yasmina from ‘wtFOCK’ and she ended up in Cannes because of the new film by Bas Devos. Where it ends for Nora Dari remains to be seen, but you don't want to get in her way. “You’ve been looking so long for a Moroccan girl who wants to act and then you get me.”

“So I always try to be a bit low key...” She hesitates. "Eumh, do you know what 'low key' means?" "How much of antique do you think I am exactly?" “Gosh. You have a flip cover for your smartphone, I saw.” “Point for Dari. But what are you trying to be a bit low key...” “Huh? Sorry, I have no idea anymore. I was completely distracted by that pigeon over there.” It’s easy to forget - especially when she starts talking in her Genk dialect about her sky-high ambitions or her tough childhood in Winterslag - that Nora Dari is barely seventeen. After all, she’s already accumulated a nice record of achievements in two years. From the Belgian-Finnish crime series ‘Bullets’ (shown on Telenet) and a leading role in ‘wtFOCK’, the online series of SBS and Telenet, to her supporting role in ‘Ghost Tropic’, the most recent full-length movie by Bas Devos, who made the selection of Quinzaine des Réalisateurs in Cannes in May. The day after our conversation at an Antwerp terrace, she  leaves for London, for a fourth and final audition for a lead role in an international film project. “It looks good, but I can't tell you anything about it yet. That’s a tough assignment for me: my whole body really wants to scream. Seriously, I'm pretty much the Moroccan Tom Holland (Spider-Man, and the spoiler king of Marvel's Cinematic Universe). But I'll remain silent!”

How does a large, international production house ends up at your door? Nora Dari: “I started knocking on their door. I'm really not going to sit around and wait for someone to discover me miraculously, so if someone gives me a tip about an interesting movie, I'll go after it myself. I always want more and everything I set my mind to, seems to be working. An international series, ‘wtFOCK’, Cannes with my first film role and now this latest project is also within reach. Can you blame me for believing? In my head, I'm already in Hollywood. First become a Shooting Star at the Berlinale.” Just in between everything? Dari: “You can dream, right? Acknowledgement is not for me - I don't even know who decide such things - but rather, it’s a means to an end. If you end up in the same list of acting prodigies (those Shooting Stars) as Marwan Kenzari, Matteo Simoni and Matthias Schoenaerts, every director knows who you are.” You can also quietly build an acting career in Belgium. Or is that really not an option? Dari: “Why should I linger on a few square meters? My world was so small in Winterslag and now that it’s gradually getting bigger, I really don't know why I should stop at Flanders. Even if ambition is a very dirty word where I come from.”

How? Dari: “Winterslag is a neighborhood where many young people are going into the wrong direction. Big dreams are taboo, apparently. I was bullied, mainly because I wanted to start something with my life. Even if I said that I would one day want to go to New York, I would be laughed at: “Just sit down, Nora! Who do you think you are?”

Keep your head down, keep your nose clean and make sure that you can start working at the age of eighteen: something like that? Dari: *nods* “Graduating and going to work at the age of eighteen seems like quite an achievement in Winterslag. If you hadn't gotten into the wrong shit by then, you would’ve done well. At my school, we had two pupils without an immigration background and otherwise exclusively Turks, Moroccans and Italians from families who were really poor. Our parents worked very hard, you spend a lot of time on the street and bad things sometimes happened. *thinks* There’s a reason why I almost exclusively watch gangstershit movies. I come from a neighborhood where a lot of gangstershit happens. I’ve seen and experienced so many bad things, but at the same time Winterslag is such a big part of who I am and I get very angry when someone else talks about it like I do now. *small laugh* 

I’ll buy a house there one day. It’s still my home, all the beautiful things and all the rotten things in one pile. To be clear: I don't want to romanticize my childhood. Winterslag is hard, but nothing to be sad about. There are so many people who have gone through the same thing. Only, it sucks to be called a whore, because you want to do something that is apparently 'not normal'.”

It dawns on me why you once said that Algerian-Canadian Zaho's song Kif'n'dir summed you up quite nicely. Especially the text 'Je fais la morte pour ne pas mourir'. Dari: “That's what I've been doing for a long time. Keeping myself deathly still and don’t stand out too much. In the long run, you also start to believe what others are telling you, that acting is not for you.”

When did you finally stopping ‘being death’? Dari: “When I was fifteen, when I heard that Adil El Arbi and Bilall Fallah were looking for extras for ‘Patser’. That didn't mean much more than just bumping into Matteo Simoni, but I was sold immediately. In between shots, I approached Adil: “Mr. El Arbi, thank you for opening my eyes. From now on, I’ll go all out for this.” *laughs* We clicked and in the meantime we’ve become friends. I hope he thinks of me when they start recording ‘Patsers’, so that I can show how much I've grown in those two years.”

Not much later, through their casting agency Hakuna, you ended up as a suicide bomber in the Finnish-Belgian Crime series ‘Bullets’. What have I missed? How did you go from a sixteen-year-old extra to such an intense role in a few months? Dari: “I think - if I may say that - they were shocked after my casting. I’ve never thrown myself into a project as hard in my life. Whining. Shouting. Tantrums. All fucking emotions, one after the other. You’ve been looking so long for a Moroccan girl who wants to act and then you get me. *laughs* I've never loved anything as much as acting, so I’m giving everything during a casting. I know that I’m not the best and still have to learn, but I suspect my energy is making up for it. That, and I consider myself a very pleasant colleague. *laughs* I greet everyone in a Genk dialect, always walk around smiling and even bring cookies.

I've always had the feeling that I have to work harder than the rest, because people expect less of me. That's what my father taught my brothers and me. At the Liège boarding school where he studied, he was the only Moroccan in Latin studies: his classmates thought he was weird, because of his origins and the other Moroccans looked at him weirdly, because he aimed higher. "Ah, Mr. pope is back there." In the end it became so unbearable that he enrolled in the TSO (technical school), which was socially accepted.”

How does a 16-year-old feel like a suicide bomber? Dari: “They gave me a background, but I added a few things myself to make it easier. And music helps me really hard too: ‘Qui suis-je’ from Scylla on repeat and then a little method acting in that character. My mother was there on set and apparently got terrified. *laughs* I asked them not to accompany me anymore. When I see them, I come back to myself, while I try very hard to forget myself in front of the camera. I need to be able to get into a role on set. Although it remains very strange to hype yourself up for hours with the mantra 'I'm dying and I'm taking all these people with me'. Fortunately, I can also easily let go. I had to, I had exams the next day. *laughs* Suicide bomber by day, studying economy by night.”

In May you hopped around on the Croisette for the world premiere of ‘Ghost Tropic’. You play the daughter of Khadija, a woman who walks home through Brussels after falling asleep on the metro. Devos makes quiet, poetic arthouse films: it’s a huge leap from teenage series and thrillers. Dari: “It was an adjustment, yes. Before I played in ‘Bullets’, I had never even seen a Flemish film. Not a single one. Or wait: one at school. What was it called? I have to give a speech soon, with its protagonist.”

‘Daens’? With Jan Decleir? Dari: “That one! Everything I had already learned about acting was from Hollywood movies. That enlarged playing style also worked in ‘Bullets’, but when I tried that in ‘Ghost Tropic’, Bas blocked it very quickly. *laughs* "The less you do the better, Nora!" I thought about it all too hard. "Nora, just go." “Yes, but Bas, who am I? What have I been through up to this point?” I have a hard time playing without a backstory in my head.”

Did you learn something from Devos? Dari: “Bas and Maaike Neuville told me in Cannes that I shouldn’t forget to live. I was only busy with what should be my next big step, but I also have to learn to enjoy. Surrendering is nothing dirty, but if I put everything aside for this job, I’ll never be able to put content in my characters. Then they’ll give me a heavy role and I’ll get stuck.”

Sensible advice. Alarm bells already went off when I read in ‘Het Belang van Limburg’ that you certainly wanted to remain celibate until you were 27 and wouldn’t continue your studies, just focussing on your career. Dari: “In the end, I’ll study cross-media management and I’ve come back to that other one as well. *laughs* What?! I’m seventeen, I change my mind completely every month. When I am 40, I don't just want to have a nice IMDb profile to look back on.”

'9000 followers? That is more people than have seen my last film', Devos thought humbly in your Instagram Stories. Dari: “I hope ‘Ghost Tropic’ gets more visitors than I have followers, but I'm not going to bitch if only fifty people come to watch the film in the end. I just like to act and have hardly seen anything from ‘Bullets’ or ‘wtFOCK’ myself. When I'm not on set, I just feel bad. As if I'm not getting the most out of my life. 

At the very least, ‘Ghost Tropic’ gave me another experience and I was able to take my father with me, when we went to the Dominican Republic. My grandfather had passed away just before the shoot and we kind of processed that together there, while we were watching the sunrise at five in the morning. A very tender moment. Very cinematic, too. *thinks* I’m a very passionate person. Everything I experience is immediately very big. It’s all hard, good or bad. So hard that I can't always process all the feelings. *dryly* I hope I don't go crazy. I really wouldn't be surprised if that happens.”

You seem to be especially prone to obsessions. Whether it’s making music, painting or acting: if you decide to do something, everything has to make way for it. Dari: “When I got a keyboard, I was immediately very invested in my music. Making beats to accompany my slam poetry, tinkering at night, searching and keeping my parents awake until they went crazy. And then I suddenly got tired of it and started painting. Swimming. Dancing. I also played soccer for a while, mainly to get my dad's attention. During the 'consultation hour' around the tajine I could never have a chat with my brothers and father, because it was only about football and anime.”

Anime? Dari: “The men in my family are all next-level anime fans. They even speak Japanese to each other. *thinks* And I also plunged into my religion for a while, in between football and slam poetry.”

How? Dari: “When the community center closed its doors around the age of 13 and I saw a whole circle of friends go away in one go, I started clinging to something else. So, faith. At that time I also wore a hijab, because I was convinced that you could only be such a good Muslim. I was really pretty strict and took everything way too literally. Today I understand that you mainly have to look for your own interpretation.”

In the meantime, the average 15-year-old is also going through a storm for the second season of wtFOCK, which can be followed daily on Instagram and wtfock.be, good for about 400,000 visitors a week and more than 8 million watched - or at least started - episodes. Significantly more than the first season, although that also had good numbers. Especially for a series that was deliberately launched in silence. “You’re already bombarded with advertising on Instagram, subtle and less subtle,” says Dari, while she tries so intensely to make eye contact with a waiter that he almost bumps into a glass door. “I don't have any big theories about the future of television, but ‘wtFOCK’ really was a relief. It’s on the internet and you mainly do what you want with it. "Ah, I don't have to look?" That unforced approach works. The worst thing that could have happened to us, was that the press started writing about it en masse: it had to remain a bit mysterious and above all belong to the young people themselves. Normally we don't give interviews either: ‘wtFOCK’ is one big bubble that you shouldn't talk too much about.”

Without any illusions about the appeal of Knack Focus to fifteen-year-olds: is this conversation a good idea? Dari: “Sounds okay to me. I’m more now than just Yasmina? And I think fifteen-year-olds do know Knack.” 

For real? Dari: “That's the book we get in History as source material in class. *laughs* I think I'll stop giving interviews again after this. A little mystery can't hurt.”

SKAM, the Norwegian series of which ‘wtFOCK’ is a remake, became a hit in its own country. That’s not always the case with foreign remakes, except for the Flemish one. It continues to gain popularity. Do you have an explanation for that? Dari: “No idea why things were less successful in other countries, but ‘wtFOCK’ is so good because it is real. We don't disguise anything, don't pour Hollywood sauce on it and talk like I talk to my friends. Apparently, a lot of teachers also follow the series to get a better understanding of their students. Smart, because we tackle all issues a teenager has in a very realistic way.”

The makers of SKAM were prepared with a tour through its country and a survey of Norwegian teenagers. Their biggest conclusion was: no generation suffers as much from performance pressure and comparison anxiety as yours. Dari: “Social media. Instagram is a very beautiful, but at the same time very scary place. A lot of girls now ask me, for example, how they can also enter this profession. But if you ask them why, it turns out that there’s no passion, they just see it as a fast road to fame. Then join ‘Temptation Island’? They see  people like Millie Bobby Brown (from Stranger Things), who is barely fifteen and has a crazy career and they let themselves be hyped about it. I should actually say 'we'. I said it already: I ​​hope I don't go crazy.” *giggles hysterically* 

About 1200 teenagers showed up for the casting of wtFOCK, but the makers did not find their Yasmina there. Dari: *nods* “In the end they also had to call Adil, who gave me the tip.”

Why do you think that is? Dari: “I get angry when someone says they want more diversity, but can't find anyone. *throws arms up dramatically* "They aren't there!" They are there. In my neighborhood alone, so much talent is packed together. You may have to do your best to find them, because if you come from a neighborhood where ambition is laughed at, you’ll not find your way to a casting. Because the TV and film world seem so closed off from the outside - and it is. I also didn't know how to do that, I was just lucky that Adil, Nora Gharib and Ikram Aoulad wanted to help me. They helped me avoid a lot of rookie mistakes. And that I won't sign myself up for Temptation Island or something tomorrow.” *laughs*

Gharib also predicted that as a Moroccan woman she would have problems with ‘Patser’. From the moment you do not portray a classic religious Muslim woman, it seems to already lead to commentary. Dari: “I've had my part too. Women who send to me that I brought shame on the entire Moroccan community, for example, because Yasmina doesn't always wear her hijab. Usually these are women who’ve seen two minutes of the series and then get angry without seeing the context. *blows* You know, I don’t care. If my parents and I are okay with it, then no one has anything to say to me. Criticism slips away from me. It really takes more than an angry DM to get me off my path, I come from Winterslag breeding.”

*** Bas Devos, director ‘Ghost Tropic’:

“I had never seen Nora at work, but her audition video immediately made me curious. At the final casting, where she had to improvise a bit, it was already clear to me after a few minutes. She did a beautiful job. Nora is not trained as an actress, but I often work with a combination of non-professional and professional actors. That really doesn't matter to me. It's all about how naturally someone relates to the camera and how relaxed you are while being filmed. Then very beautiful things can happen. And I think she also liked not having to make her character bigger in an understated film like ‘Ghost Tropic’, as that’s sometimes the case for TV. To hear that you are still playing without doing anything. 

It's cool how she dares to go for something so outspokenly at such a young age, but I did point out to her that working alone isn’t the perfect solution. She’s very fond of that international career, but it is also easy to walk into a wall there. Seventeen-year-olds have to live, right? Well, she's sensible enough, I'm not worried. She'll eventually find the right balance. At the end of the shooting period, she said she hoped we could work together again. I told her that I hope she still likes it by then. *laughs*  Who knows which films will she be in then.”

[princesspiratecat]

The Rise and Fall of the Shepard Family Part 29: Summer, 1084 & Fall, 1085

Part 1& Part 2

Part 3 & Part 4

Part 5 & Part 6 & Part 7

Part 8 & Part 9 & Part 10

Part 11 & Part 12 & Part 13

Part 14 & Part 15 & Part 16

Part 17 & Part 18 & Part 19

Part 20 & Part 21 & Part 22

Part 23 & Part 24 & Part 25

Part 26 & Part 27 & Part 28

It was strange to be back. 

Most of Gwendolyn’s memories of the Allard estate were from a time when Aélgarda had been alive. During her exile at the hovel, she had come to miss so many things about it, and had reveled in the little luxuries she had once had. The fire was always roaring, the meat had always been cooked to perfection, and her feather bed had always afforded her a good night’s sleep when her mind was quiet. But now the house had a coldness about it that she hadn’t remembered from before. It was dark and damp and surprisingly dirty.

Gwendolyn wrinkled her nose at the smell of dog and garlic from last nights’ dinner that hung in the air in the Great Hall. There was something else there that she couldn’t account for....rotten vegetables perhaps? 

Yuck. 

They made their way to down the hall to the stairway and she could feel her palms getting sweaty. Frances met her eyes and offered her a reassuring glance, but she still felt a burning tightness in her chest as they treaded up the stairs.

Courage. You need courage.

“Oh brother! I am so glad you’re here!” Francine’s face was a mix of nervousness and fear as she hugged her brother tightly, and then hugged Gwendolyn. She had never seen her so frazzled before. Francine had always been the girlish one, full of giggles and frivolousness. But today, that was all gone, and she looked older than her eighteen years. “He is getting worse by the day, yet he still insists on coming down to sup and drink his mead. Then he is in his cups until he passes out. Frédérique says she will be here in the morning with her husband, but I am hoping they will arrive sooner. I cannot handle him anymore.”

“Mead? Is that wise?” The beautiful features on her husband’s face flashed with a look of concern.

“I cannot stop him. He won’t listen to anyone and keeps ranting about how he cannot trust women. I don’t know what to do!” The look of helplessness and hopelessness on her face disarmed Gwendolyn. She had seen that look before. It was the look her father had shortly before her mother died.   

“Take us to him.” Gwendolyn could see exactly what he was feeling without him having to say anything, just by the tone in his voice. He was nervous and slightly terrified. 

We all are. 

The room smelled of sweat, vomit and stale air. She had never been in the Master’s bedroom before, but it was a beautiful room, despite the smell. The bed was large with fine fabrics that seemed to shimmer in the light, and the furnishings were inlaid with beautiful carvings done by a highly skilled hand. The light streamed into the room through long windows, which, under different circumstances would have been pleasant, but just then it made her feel exposed. The floors were covered in a variety of fine furs, and the niches were filled with silver candlesticks and beautiful decorative wooden boxes. In the corner sat a bucket of unknown contents, and Gwendolyn tried not to think about what might be in it.

Marcelle had lost a considerable amount of weight since she had last seen him. He was frail and old looking, with dark circles under his eyes. But she noticed he was dressed in a long elaborate robe in the Norman fashion that set him apart from all the other men who wore the Saxon style. There was a finely carved silver medallion at his breast, which Gwendolyn found an odd thing to wear when one was sick. Had he dressed purposely for the occasion? 

He still wants to remind us of his status. Of course.

“What are you doing here, Shepard girl?” The raspy words slithered out of his mouth like a snake before she could even think. Upon his features was a look of disgust, reserved especially for her. She bristled under his gaze and felt her anger surface.  

“I am come to support my husband.” She looked away, intimidated by his hatred of her. She wanted to add that she had also come in the hopes that the breech between them could be healed, but after seeing his face she knew that it had been a foolish hope. Why was she here? The whole thing seemed like a stupid idea now, and she wished she had stayed away.

“Get her out of here, Frances.” He said his son’s name between clenched teeth, and her heart fell. What had she done for him to hate her so? Besides being born and falling in love with his son, she had never caused him harm or hurt him purposefully. If anything, it should be her that hated him.  

Perhaps it was better for her to go. If Frances wanted peace, then she was likely standing in the way of that just with her mere presence. But a small part of her hated being rejected by him, and it hurt her more than she expected it would. She got up and looked at what seemed like dead eyes and held his gaze to the point of making him uncomfortable. She wasn’t going to waste this chance to speak her bit, and he was going to hear it.

“I have come to inform you that I have forgiven you for all of the terrible things you have said and done. For exiling me, and for stealing my dowry, and for the hurt you have caused both of us. Although you really don’t deserve my forgiveness, nor my pity, I give it anyway.” His gaze was empty, as if he found her ridiculous. 

Then she moved closer to him and half whispered in his ear, ”Your time has come old man. You better get down on your knees and pray hard that your God will forgive you too for all of the rotten and disgusting things you have done.” She could feel her lip quiver in anger as she reflected back the look of disgust he had given her. His eyes grew wide with surprise, and it gave her a slight thrill. He hadn’t been expecting her to speak that way to him. In the past she would never have dared.

Before he could respond, she walked out of the room with more confidence than she felt. She noticed that her hands were shaking and her heart seemed to want to burst out of her chest. 

As soon as she walked into the long hall she felt a wave of relief wash over her. She had said what she come to say, and now it was over. She never had to think about that man again, and once he died, she would be free of him forever. But she couldn’t stop her tears from falling, yet she refused to give into the ache in her heart. 

Not here. 

She left word with a servant to tell Frances that she would be at the orphanage, and on shaky legs made the short walk down the lane to see her sisters. She wanted so much to collapse into Gwyn’s embrace, and after a few short moments, she did exactly that. 

She told her everything, in between sobs and sniffles. And when she had gained enough composure over herself, she asked her sister’s opinion. “Do you think I was too harsh on him? Do you think I should have said something kinder to a dying man?”

“Marcelle?! No. He is lucky indeed that more don’t make their opinions of him known. His wealth protects him. But most people have turned against him since what he did to you has come to light, they whisper about him. People are disgusted by his abuse of power against a helpless orphan girl. He’s no longer seen as a gentleman. If I were you, I would have said much more.”

Gwendolyn felt a small sense of relief that the village was on her side, but she was still worried about the rest of her new family. Where did they stand on the issue? Would they turn their backs on her once Marcelle was dead? 

During the ride back to the Inn, Marcelle explained everything that had happened and what his father had said. 

“Of course he chided me for leaving, and for marrying you and called me a simple fool. He called me simple!” Gwendolyn said nothing at this, as it was hardly a surprise. “Honestly, I thought he was going to be more angry and refuse to see me. But Gwendolyn, then he said the strangest thing- he called my mother a whore and said that myself and Francine are the only ones he can be sure are really his!”

Gwendolyn gasped in shock. “How could he say that of Aélgarda?! What an absurd thing to say! She dedicated her life to all of you, and the village.  And as for your parentage, one only has to look at your siblings to know they have the same parents as you do. They are all different arrangements of his own face!”

Frances nodded in agreement. Every one of his siblings had the same dark eyes as Marcelle, the straight sharp noses, and even the same shade of that beautiful sable colored hair. Gwendolyn thought that Frances was the best looking out of all of them, of course, but there was no denying that they were all related. It was as plain as day to anyone that cared to look. 

“I can only imagine that he is suffering from delusions. Perhaps a combination of poppy juice and mead?! He looks awful. I’ve never seen him so weak. It made me pity him.”

“Well, did you make your peace with him? How did you leave it?”

“In a way, I suppose. He said that I would inherit the estate since I am the only son he can be sure of...which shocks me to my core. I think the things you said to him had quite an affect on him, because he then told me to leave so that he could ‘make peace with his maker.’” He gave her a look just then, and she could see he was still recovering from shock. “What exactly did you whisper to him when you got close? I’ve never seen him pray in my life!”

She pinched her lips together and said quietly, “I told him what needed to be said. It was for his ears only.” 

His mouth curled into a little smile and he let out a chuckle. “Something about god? I’ll make a note never to cross you, as I have to say that I never want to see the look you gave him directed at me.” His eyes were teasing and he kissed her gently on the neck. “What a saucy Tigress you are.” She laughed and then he kissed her again. 

                             * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

In just a week’s time with the arrival of autumn, another nasty illness had spread to Barton Upon Humber from the North, and then made it’s way to Grimsby. Most people remained indoors, fearful that another plague would wipe out as many as it had several years ago, or more. Their fears were not unfounded, as it had been reported that twelve people had already died in the nearby farms and villages.

First it hit the Merchant household of Handel, and killed not only Master Uddulf Handel, but his young son as well. Everyone was surprised it had brought down such a large, healthy man, but luckily his wife and daughter were spared. 

Next it hit the Merchants, and killed the Irishman, Fáelán. For a time people thought that it would take Aoifé and the children as well, but they narrowly escaped death after several weeks.

Soon after it traveled to the house of the late Olric, where it bedded his widow, Agatha. The three children had to be sent to the orphanage while their mother was too sick to care for them, and she died just days afterwards, alone. 

But finally it ended it’s travels at the Allard estate, where it made short work of Marcelle, who had been hanging on. It also banished Francois to his bed, where he clung to life. Yet just as quickly as it had spread, it was gone again, leaving the living to mourn the dead one more time. 

As soon as Marcelle died a messenger was dispatched to the Inn. Frances had been summoned to the estate where the reading of the will was to take place, and they hastily began to pack their trunks. As Gwendolyn began to carefully fold her clothing, she couldn’t help but wonder why she felt as if someone had punched her in the gut. It was true that she mostly hated Marcelle, but now that he was gone she remembered the days when he used to come visit their father and offered them fresh cherries from his orchard. He would sup with them sometimes, and her father had always been so proud when he did. She had considered him a father figure for so long. 

What had made him change so much?

She glanced over at Frances, as tears silently rolled down his cheeks, and she could feel his sorrow. She stopped folding and clasped her hands in his. He looked away at first, too ashamed to look her in the eye. Then the tears gushed out, and he quietly began to sob. He rested his head on her shoulder, and she could feel him shake with misery. She gently rubbed his back up and down, up and down, until he sobbed even harder and it all came sputtering out. 

“Now we’re both orphans,” he whispered. 

[seasonsofeverlark]

Oktoberfest Effect

Author: @alliswell21​

Prompt: Town boys (drunk?) dare each other to venture into woods (Halloween night? [Oktoberfest]). Katniss saves Peeta (from peacekeepers? storm?) by pulling him into a cave for the night. (Drunk Peeta talks too much and is cuddly?) [submitted by @567inpanem​] 

Rating: Teen (for drunkenness)

Author’s Note: Thank you to @mandelion82 for lending me her beta services, and being a generally awesome cheerleader! Thank you @567inpanem for the prompt, I hope it brings you joy! Thank y’all for reading! 

Oktoberfest, originally from Munich, Germany, is a two week folkloric festival, celebrated between the third Sunday of September and the first Sunday of October. Copious amounts of beer get served worldwide to celebrate Oktoberfest…👀this fic doesn’t reflected the cultural richness of the festival and or what it represents!👀

Tags: In Panem AU; No Games AU; Not representative of Oktoberfest; Drunken Shenanigans; Thunder storms; Snarky!Everlark; Humor; Blink-and-you-Miss-it fluff. One Shot.

———————

Oktoberfest is one of my least favorite festivals in the small repertory of celebrations my District is allowed. 

It’s usually held in the beginning of October, after the first showers of Fall, and tends to last all day long, severely cutting into my hunting time in the woods, which comprises the bulk of my family’s livelihood. My mother is a healer, but people used to struggle to pay for her services back in the day, so she stopped charging anyone; people gave her what they could: rations, produce from their squalid gardens, old clothes and such. You’d think people would pay with coins, now that things have improved for common folks, but some habits die hard.

It’s probably the same reason we keep observing a holiday that’s real meaning has been lost to Panem since before the Dark Days; people just know that at some point, Oktoberfest was celebrated around this time, and people ate and drank ale by the bucketfuls, so that’s what they do today. 

By the same token, it’s the most popular festivity in District 12, since it’s the only day of the year in which drinking is sanctioned and even encouraged by the higher-ups of government. Trains come carrying ale, spiked ciders, and even hard liquor for the celebration. People like Ms. Ripper, who sells moonshine and white liquor in our black market, better known as The Hob, have free range to sell their wares openly, without suffering repercussions. 

The meek, dull denizens of District 12 drink the spirits by the gallons, just for the one day, and pass out in the most unseemly places around town, like savages. If something had become clear to me with the passing years, it’s that people tend to enjoy drunkenness to soothe their woes away, so it’s natural everyone embraces Oktoberfest.

But, as with everything, things aren’t as bleak as I tend to see them myself.

“Katniss!” My sister, Prim, calls breathlessly from the maypole circle, beckoning me over with one hand, while holding a bright, yellow ribbon in her other, “There still are a few ribbons left!” She shouts excitedly, her meaning plain: she wants me to join in the festivities.

Normally I’d shy away from any and all activities that would have me interacting directly with the townsfolk. It’s nothing personal against them, I’m just not used to being touched by anyone, except for my family, and weaving ribbons around the maypole practically ensures I’d be brushing up against any number of strangers …but, there are worse games to play, and I could never deny my sister anything, not even this. 

I make my way to Prim and reluctantly snatch up a pale blue ribbon from the ground. My sister’s smile is so bright I almost relax when the music starts, and the dancers take to moving in and out around the pole. 

It isn’t as bad as I was dreading it to be. The music is lively; the fiddler follows the dancers while the rest of the band plays on the makeshift stage a few feet away, and the pole is relatively short and moderately wide, so we make quick work of braiding a pretty pattern in one go. Also, people are at a respectable distance from one another, and most everyone feels as awkward around me as I feel around them, so they just give a wide berth when they pass me by.

Prim and I are laughing when the song comes to an end, and we take a minute to admire the pole’s multicolored design. 

There’s a line of smiling people waiting in the fringes to take the ribbons the opposite direction to unravel them and weave them together again. 

I pull Prim into a hug and kiss her blonde head, fondly. “Let’s give somebody else a turn, Little Duck.” Prim narrows her eyes just a smidge; she’s almost 16 and doesn’t appreciate the nickname as much anymore. “Let’s put some warm apple cider into you, yes?” 

Joy returns to her baby blues immediately. “Yes! We should go find Mother as well!” she says excitedly. 

“Let’s go then!” 

After finding our mother in the crowd, and haggling over three cups of cider and one bag of boiled peanuts, our mother suggests we go home early, before the party gets rowdy. 

An unfortunate byproduct of Oktoberfest with all the unchecked drinking is men get loud, bold and stupid. Better to clear out before that happens, because while crimes aren’t tolerated— under the influence or sober—people tend to get belligerent when alcohol is involved. 

President Snow died years ago, when I was Prim’s age. Many things changed drastically, like the abolishment of the Hunger Games, and a slightly better salary for miners, but the seemingly tolerant new government of Panem gives men a strange leave to criticize the Capitol while drunk…which technically, is still a crime in today’s Panem, just not as mortally dangerous anymore. Still, women try to haul their spouses home before they can say something incriminating and land themselves in prison.

Nothing can be done about the youngsters, though. 

With women trying to keep a leash and muzzle over the men, the teenagers have unhindered access to alcohol and close to no supervision; although spirits are supposedly only served to people 17 and older, I wouldn’t put it past the vendors to look the other way if a group of merchant kids pass a few extra coins across the table, when nobody is watching. 

If grown up men are loud, bold and stupid while drunk, teen and young adult men are even worse, and that’s without a gaggle of equally intoxicated girls egging them on.

This year— as in every Oktoberfest— the electric fence surrounding the district lays dormant and harmless, lest one of the hundreds of inebriated fools roaming the meadow fall into the wires and fry themselves upon accident.

Not that the Capitol cares if a few malnourished— probably discontented— miners fall dead during a district festival; people in 12 used to keel over from starvation all the time back under Snow’s regime, but those deaths were usually chalked up to any number of unrelated causes: pneumonia, heart weakness, black lung disease…anything, except starvation. But dying electrocuted on the very fence that’s supposed to keep us safe in our little district is unthinkable! The fence is there to keep dangerous beasts— and nutritious game alike— away from us.

District 12 remains that enduring jewel of Panem, where you can starve in safety! All we need is to drink the memory of our empty pantries away for another year, and everyone is happy. I sigh. At least they did away with the Hunger Games; now we have singing contests and trivia challenges playing on national television instead of the blood shed of innocent teenagers, which is certainly an improvement. Somehow it’s still not a fair bargain, but district folk will never complain about this particular trade; our children are safe, and we get to watch Capitol people make fools of themselves in front of everyone.

Mother, Prim and I make it home early enough to make a quick supper of roasted potatoes, salted fish and the last of the bakery bread I traded for this week. I make a mental note to bring down a couple squirrels to trade with the baker for more bread. The man is one of the few I can regularly count on to trade fairly with, so I always save him the best of my squirrels. 

By the time dinner is being cleared off the table, I can hear the murmur of families returning home from the meadow. A surge of nervous energy takes over me. I start bouncing my leg restlessly, peeking at the old clock hanging on the wall. 

“Are you going out again?” asks my mother. Her tone is light and her eyes focused on the heap of plates and forks she’s balancing in her hands. I know better than to believe she’s alright with me leaving again. 

“For a while,” I answer. 

“You could get stuck out there!” says Prim, clearly displeased. 

“I’ve been working on a shelter, just in case. I’ll be back before dawn if I can help it,” I say, brokering no arguments.

“Be careful,” Prim mumbles, her blue eyes pleading.

I stand up from my chair and plant a kiss on the crown of her blonde head. “I promise. Now, go make sure Lady is secured before I leave. I don’t want anyone getting any ideas seeing a goat loose out there.” Not that anyone would cross me knowingly, but people get a lot dumber while drunk. 

The sun set on the horizon long ago, but all my years sneaking around urge me to blend instantly with the river of dark-haired children trailing their dark-haired mothers and fathers all over The Seam. It certainly is an entertaining sight; the children are immensely happier than their parents, of course, bouncing and giggling, carrying in their spindly arms their Oktoberfest bounty of apples and freshly picked ears of corn stuffed into old burlap sacks, prizes given to them by the Capitol for every one of those silly games they played at the festival. At least they know supper won’t consist of tesserae bread tonight.

Reaching the fence will be trickier now that the meadow is crawling with blond merchants and peacekeepers patrolling the perimeter of the fence ‘for our safety’. A few miners remain, helping with the cleanup process to earn some extra money, but they are so few I can’t use our physical similarities to hide in plain sight. The merchants, meandering around the meadow, throwing nervous glances at the fence every so often, pretending they don’t care the thing is off, certainly hinders my ability to sneak around. 

I wasn’t the only person who ventured outside the fence by any means. Historically, people have snuck under the barbed wire links in the past to steal apples and berries, when the hunger pains were scarier than the bears and wild dogs roaming the woods; necessity is a great incentive, it either makes you very brave or very reckless…but the few merchants still hanging out here only linger ‘cause an alcohol-fueled thrill holds them captive. Tomorrow, when they’re home nursing a head-splitting hangover, they’ll go back to cowering at the sight of the fence. 

There’s a group of towheaded youngsters, singing obnoxiously, near the edge of the meadow. 

I roll my eyes and try to ignore them for the time being. Meanwhile, I skirt around the maypole, pretending I’m admiring the workers’ effort, pulling the pole out of the ground to haul it into storage until next year. It’s a massive effort, but all I can do is lament how now there’s gonna be a soft spot in the ground for a while there, even after they fill it back with dirt and rocks. 

I curse darkly under my breath when I startle at the sight of two peacekeepers passing by the merchant boys.

The singing stops while the townies nod politely at the albino buzzards. The boys stare at the peacekeepers until they disappear at a bend behind a big, tall retention wall where the fence stops into a jagged corner, and then the young merchants do something very peculiar…they start a round of ‘Row Your Boat’, holding up their fingers in some sort of countdown. Their voices are so shrill and out of tune, everyone around covers their ears and looks the opposite way.

I cock my head, studying the boys. They’re clearly intoxicated: red noses and ears, laughing at nonsense, and the biggest telltale, a bottle of white liquor passing around their misshapen circle. I realize, they’re not all teenagers. A few of them I recognize from my days in school, and I know for a fact two of them are married, and at least one of them has a child on the way already. 

I roll my eyes at their childish behavior. 

The peacekeepers appear again in the distance, and the singers stop their song abruptly. One of the older guys lifts his fingers up, showing all ten digits; he closes his fists quickly and opens them again, now showing seven fingers. They all giggle like lunatics, and I lose interest in them.

I round the cleaning crew closest to the fence, but suddenly, one of the townies stands up and starts calling at the top of his lungs, startling me.

“Hey, you! The girl with the braid!”

I whip around, because I’m 99% sure he’s talking to me! I’ve worn my dark, Seam hair in a single braid down my back for the last 8 years or so; it’s practical, really, to keep it that way. But that’s besides the point.

I wear my fiercest scowl on my face, and I get an uncomfortable jolt to the stomach when I realize I know this guy, the one waving at me while his companions guffaw around him, still intoning their childish ditty. 

Peeta Mellark, the baker’s youngest son, a boy I owe the biggest debt of my entire life, and for the first time since I can remember, he’s meeting my gaze without wavering. 

Debt or not, I have half a mind to stomp his way, grab him by the collar and shove him into the nearest tree in retaliation. My mouth opens to ask him what his problem is, when out of nowhere a pair of peacekeepers pop up from behind the retention wall, walking in the opposite direction of the previous set of guards. 

“Did you know it takes about a minute and a half to sing ‘Row Your Boat’ seventeen times?” Peeta Mellark chuckles, pink cheeks and nose, tilting his head towards the fence, and then his blue, sparkly eyes flit to the peacekeepers passing by; all the boys stop singing and nod at them in greeting. “Then, it takes like five minutes to sing something else, until we go back to Row Your Boat!” 

These guards must’ve crossed the other ones at some point while out of sight without me noticing. If I hadn’t been distracted by Peeta calling out to me, I would’ve run right into them on my way to the fence, if not flat out caught red-handed crossing into the woods, and how would I explain myself then?! Everyone in District 12 knows of my poaching proclivities, peacekeepers included, but that doesn’t mean I should go flaunting around my intention to trespass. Panem is still not completely free and whether people should have the right to escape into the woods for sustenance is still a murky topic…I’m not too keen on finding out if hunting is still a punishable crime by today’s parameters.

I turn my eyes back to Peeta, but he’s already singing and joking with his buddies, and although he seems to be invested in whatever shenanigans they’re doing, I’m not too sure he’s oblivious to me.  After all, he had to be watching me pretty closely to accurately guess I was close to being discovered. 

I huff. My debt to Peeta just increased, and I have no idea how to start paying him back for it. 

The peacekeepers are again out of sight; the merchants are singing again, and like before, people look away from their ruckus. There’s one boy with his fingers up…counting. 

Peeta’s watching me; he lifts 4 fingers offhandedly and turns to face his friends. 

Clever!

It’s a code, I gather. 

They’re timing the passing of the peacekeepers into the ‘blind spot’ with one song, then start a different one to predict when the keepers will be back on the retention wall.

I shake my head to clear off the hint of a smile taking over my face. The silly drunks aren’t as stupid as I thought, I guess. 

I make sure no one is looking my way; I also check the kid counting how many boats they’ve rowed, and leap closer to the spot I know there’s a loose link. I only have ten rows before the peacekeepers come back, so I make quick work out of the wires and slip to the other side fast. 

The drunk boys break into hoots and cheers once I’m in the woods, and despite myself, I look in their direction just to make sure nobody saw me scurrying out. I’m partially hidden by a tree, and should be safe now.

The cheering isn’t because I slipped out of the districteffectively; the boys are either harshly ruffling Peeta’s hair, or slapping him on the back. They’re all laughing and crowing something I can’t make out, but soon I see the glint of white uniforms out of the corner of my eyes, and hide deeper into the woods. 

I decide to check on my snares around here and head home right away. This was perhaps the worst entrance I’ve made into the woods, and too many know I’m out here as it is, but, if the townies are gonna act as a siren of sorts, better to use their system to my advantage. 

Then…I need to figure out how to finally speak to Peeta Mellark and start getting my ledger even with him. 

It’s completely dark by the time I reach my snares. I look at the sky and scowl. The stars are obscured, and the moon has a hazy ring around it. Clouds are rolling in too fast for my liking. Rain is coming, soon. So I make haste and run my fingers along the first wire I find. 

My snare wields two rabbits, and I bag them without resetting the traps. I figure one of these will be enough to hold my family over for a couple of days. I can make some coins out of the second rabbit, which should be enough until Oktoberfest has died down and business resumes as normal. It’s a good plan if I say so myself.

A peal of thunder breaks in the distance, and I grunt lowly. This night keeps getting worse by the minute; it’s good that I’m almost back to my entry point. I head back to the fence, where I can still hear the faint howls of laughter of the merchant boys. 

I’m 30 yards from the fence when another clap of thunder roars overhead, loud enough to reverberate in my bones; people beyond the fence shriek. I’ve only taken a step forward when lightning strikes, and I know the storm is hot on my heels. 

The chanting of the merchants is getting louder. I never thought I’d think this, but it’s a relief, knowing I can count on them to distract the patrols while I sneak back into the district. 

They’re egging and heckling each other like a bunch of rowdy hoodlums. 

“Go on! Ten coins says you won’t last a second!” 

“I say fifteen, if he brings back proof he was there!” 

Somebody belches loudly, making the rest giggle like school kids. 

I roll my eyes and try to concentrate on finding my loose wire in the distance. I’m only a few feet away from the fence, but it’s dark and windy. 

“Seeriouslee, though,” hiccups another, mispronouncing his words. “Gwhat should he…” hiccup, “bring?” Hiccup.

“Don’t know. A berry maybe,” 

“Or a bear bite!” cackles another. They all laugh boisterously. 

I wonder what they’re up to now. The fools! Don’t they know they should be running home for cover? The first raindrops are already falling. 

“Fine! Okay…I’ll do it! But I wanna see all that money now!” slurs a voice I recognize, because I heard it calling me less than twenty minutes ago. “Pay up!”

No! Not him! I think, feeling my stomach drop. Whatever it is they’re doing, doesn’t sound very smart. 

“Dis it?!” Peeta Mellark groans, “I’m taking all your money, so I can buy me a hen house! Dis not even ‘nough to buy me chicken feed!”

I hear grumbling nearby, and the clicking of metal, suspiciously similar to how coins sound falling on each other. I assume they’re shedding the rest of their money for Peeta to see. 

“‘Kay…‘Kay…better now. Okay. Imma go now. Hold me money, Rye…and don’t spend any of it! I counted it… it’s me money! Don’t steal it, or I tell Lavender you were smooching girls a week before you got married!” 

“Don’t you dare!”

“Don’t steal me money!”

“Fine!”

“Fine! And don’t tell father ‘bout dis either!”

Somebody yells, “Mellark, stop stalling!”

“Yeah! Get—“ hiccup, “on with it al—“ hiccup, “…ready!”

“Goin’, I’m goin’!” I hear a few murmurs.

I swear, Peeta Mellark! If you set foot in my woods, I’ll shoot you in the toes! 

I’m close enough to the fence to see a few lights flicking close by, but then another thunder drums, with a lightning to boot, and the rain droplets fall heavier. 

“Wait! White helmets!” hisses someone, and even I drop to the ground to hide. 

“Evenin,’ officers!” says Peeta. 

I can picture him in my mind’s eye, smiling the same way he used to in school when covering for one of his friends to the teachers. 

“Evening? It’s almost nine o’clock, boys!” says a woman. I’m not quite familiar with her voice, but I can surmise she’s one of the peacekeepers on patrol. “Curfew starts in 30 minutes, and a storm’s on its way. I suggest you all head to your houses.” 

“Yeah, we will finish pickin’ up our garbage and head right home, officer!” says Peeta, all polite and pleasant like. 

“Very well. You better clear out by the time we return, or we’ll have you spend the night in a cozy cell at the Justice Building,” says a gruff male voice, most likely the second peacekeeper. “Now, get on with the cleaning, gentlemen.” 

There’s a chorus of voices murmuring stuff like “Right away, sir!” and “Of course, officer.” A lot of movement and hushed conversations go on for a minute or so while I lay on my stomach like an idiot. 

I can only assume the peacekeepers are out of earshot when Peeta exclaims happily, “Aight! I’m goin’ in!” 

The others start fussing and protesting, talking over each other frantically: “You can’t go in!”, “Are you crazy?! You heard them, there’s a storm coming!”, “Stop being a damned hero, Mellark! You already showed us up, by speaking to Everdeen!” 

Peeta calls out, “Guys! Shut up! She’s the reason I wanna go in there! She ain’t back yet!” 

I frown. 

“Everdeen? Dude, she’s probably stalking a deer or somethin’…she’s fine!” says who I believe is his brother. 

“Well…but what if she needs help? Shouldn’t some’ne go get ‘er?” He sounds concerned and strangely hopeful. 

My stomach does a strange little flip at Peeta’s words, and then I have to shake my head to stop myself from being grateful for his concern. Outside of my family, Peeta Mellark seems to be the only person in this entire district who cares about me. 

“No! That girl’s half feral! All them wild things in the woods are probably more afraid of her than we are!” says Peeta’s brother. 

I find myself nodding in agreement, but scowling at the same time, because I’m not feral! I just hunt and enjoy the respect— bordering on fear— people have for me. 

It doesn’t matter, though! Right now I feel almost as silly as they sound, and I just want them to take Peeta home, so I can climb back into the district and go home myself.

“I’m still goin’ in!” I realize Peeta is looking for the spot I used to come into the woods, and I hear muttering and hissing trying to dissuade him from coming in, but he’s already pulling the wire the same way I did, and a moment later, he’s wiggling his broad frame under the fence like an inchworm rolling on salt. 

“No!” I huff under my breath, scrambling to get up, to push him back in the other direction, but then somebody is whispering harshly. 

“White helmets!” 

I’m not even surprised to hear Peeta’s so-called friends run away then. Coward merchants the lot of them!

A thunder booms above us, and I see Peeta struggling to pull through under the flash of the lightning that follows. It’s a miracle the peacekeepers haven’t seen him, splashing in the muddy pool forming rapidly under his body. 

“Ugh!” I finally find my feet and practically throw myself on top of his arms, to pull him in. 

Peeta shrieks, startled by my sudden appearance, so I slap a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet. 

“Hush! Or they’ll find us!” 

I pull him further out from under the wire. He seems to realize what I’m trying to do and relaxes his muscles, letting me guide him forward while propelling himself with the toe of his boots. 

There’s a bush just two feet away from us. I drag him with me on all fours and crouch behind it until the peacekeepers’ flashlights disappear. 

“Hi!” says Peeta.

“Shush!” 

“Sorry!” he whispers…loudly.

“Quiet!” I hiss, bringing a finger to my mouth, as if I was dealing with a toddler instead of a 20-year-old man. 

“‘Kay,” he responds, this time in an actual whisper. 

I still roll my eyes at him. 

Thunder and lightning and cold, stabbing rain fall from the sky unrelenting. 

“Listen, we can’t stay here too long; we need to crawl back into the district!” I tell him, peeking from behind our hiding spot to make sure we are alone. I can’t see very far ahead, but it’s obvious the meadow is empty now. 

“What?!” he calls loudly. 

“For goodness sakes!” I mutter in frustration. “We need to crawl back into the district, or we’re gonna drown out here!” I’m having to yell so he can hear me over the rain.

“Oh! O-kay!” he says, smiling beguilingly at me. “I came to get you!” he yells. 

I look at him, trying to convey all the annoyance I’m feeling towards him right now with just my facial expression, but I guess the moonlight is so minimal he can’t see me, because all he does is smile back at me.

“You’re welcome!” he yells after a second in a self-satisfied tone.

“For what?” I snap.

“For rescuing you, of course!” 

I stare at him, dumbfounded. “Rescuing— you…  what?!” I screech.

More thunder and lighting make it impossible to keep doing this where we are. And thanks to the storm, it’s too risky trying to crawl under the fence, too. Negotiating Peeta’s humongous body back under the railings in these conditions is just calling for trouble; we’ll either get found by the peacekeepers— if they’re still patrolling— or get hit by lightning; after all, the fence is meant to conduct electricity and fry whatever touches it. 

I’m lost in my head, thinking about our options at this point, when a bright flash cracks overhead, so strong, it makes everything look like it’s day time, and I fall back on my butt for how close Peeta’s face is to mine. 

“What are you doing?” I rasp.

“Wow! Has anyone ever told you, you have freckles over the bridge of your nose?” He asks, placing his two paw-like hands on my shoulders, pulling me back onto my haunches. “From close up, your face is as pretty as the night sky with all its coteslations!” 

“Hmm…no—nobody’s ever said…” I huff. “Come on. We can’t stay here.” I tell him, pulling him by the hem of his coat’s sleeve. “I think you meant ‘constellations’ by the way. Alcohol really messes up your speech, you know.” 

I think he says something, but I’m not sure, since the storm is swallowing up all the sounds around us. 

The going is slow, because we have to wait for lightning to illuminate our way, and once, I realized we were straying onto a different path from the place I have in mind. Plus, I have to keep trying to untangle myself from Peeta’s grasp, so I can feel around the way with my feet. Peeta talks too much…nonstop, and I think it’s mostly the alcohol talking, but ugh! Would it kill him to just be quiet for a second?!

He’s awfully clingy for such a big man. I mean, he’s grown a few inches since we were in school, and he used to be stocky and broad-shouldered, even as a teenager, on account of him being wrestling champion two years in a row, plus having to handle those heavy trays in the bakery and whatnot. 

I forgot where I was going with this?

Anyway, I hope the alcohol clears his system soon. He seems like an overgrown puppy at times, the way he trails after me and touches the end of my braid, which I guess he might be using as some kind of leash or rope to tether himself to me. Surprisingly, I don’t find it as annoying as I should. In fact, I find the warmth of his fingers… reassuring. 

“Stop!” I tell him, when I hear rustling nearby I know isn’t from the rain. 

A wild dog jumps in front of us, and I curse loudly. I should’ve grabbed my bow on our way out here, but I didn’t want Peeta to see my hiding spot; not that he’ll remember how to get to it, but he was able to find my loose chain in the fence, so…

I think the dog is coming after us. But before I can tell Peeta to run, he pulls me flush with his chest and somehow lifts me over his head like I weigh nothing. The dog is momentarily confused, and I take the chance to chuck one of my rabbits past it. The dumb animal looks at us curiously, but after a second, loses interest and goes for the easier, smaller prey.

I just got reminded of how strong Peeta is. 

“Thank you!” I call out when he lowers me back to his chest. “You can let go of me now. The dog’s gone, but there might be more around.” 

Peeta nods. His blue eyes are wide and alarmed, his cheeks, ruddy with booze just a few minutes ago, are drained of color. “Alright!” he gasps, clearly shaken.

I grab his arm and squeeze, leading him away from the spot. 

It’s times like these when I miss my old hunting partner, Gale Hawthorne; for starters, he would’ve had a bow on him…he would’ve shot and killed the dog. He would’ve had my back… but Peeta had my back this time, and he surely is no seasoned hunter, not even an outdoorsman, yet it was his quick thinking and sheer brute strength that saved my hide.

It’s also the reason Gale and I broke our partnership to begin with. Given the chance, he would’ve left Peeta stranded out here, instead of finding him shelter. But that’s his style, not mine, and Peeta has shown his worth twice tonight, inebriated as he is. 

I release a sigh of relief when I see the opening of a burrow on the side of a small hill. It’s not truly a cave; it’s much too shallow to be called that, but, I found it about a year ago, and have been carving it out little by little for these kinds of emergencies, when I need shelter on the run, and the concrete little shack by the lake is too far, and I want to stay close to the fence, anyway. 

“Oooh! Is this a cave? Is it abandoned? We ain’t gonna walk into some bear den or somethin’?” Peeta asks, bumping into my back when I stop to remove a few branches from the entrance of my little hiding spot. 

“Get in!” I command him, and he obeys at once. 

I take a few minutes to rearrange the branches at the mouth of the cave, just to keep the water from splashing inside, although we are soaked through our jackets. 

“Sit,” I tell him, bumping into him again when I turn to feel round the wall of the cave for my provisions. The little hollow is only 5 ft wide by 6 feet deep, so there isn’t much room to wiggle for two people even if we were both my size. 

Peeta has to hunch down as it is.

He’s quiet for the time being. My fingers touch the cool glass of the oil lamp I was feeling for, and right next to it, is a box of matches. I can finally breathe! 

I make quick work of the lamp, and we are finally in better shape than we were a moment ago. Peeta blinks owlishly at the lamp, and I can tell he’s surprised, but blinded by the sudden light. 

“Where are we?” Peeta asks in awe.

“It’s my emergency shelter,” I tell him, kicking a log from the back of the cave towards him. “Here, you don’t have to sit on the ground.” I tell him, watching him sitting almost directly in front of the entrance with his legs crossed.

“You have a shelter out here? I knew you were smart, but I didn’t know you were a genius!” 

My cheeks heat up for some reason. “Nah. It’s just common sense. Too many experiences out there without one. Whatever. Intelligence has nothing to do with this, really.” 

“So…do animals come in here?” he asks, turning his head around to study the place, not as nervously as before.

“No. It’s too small for a big animal’s den, and too big for a small critter’s burrow. It’s ‘me’ size because I’ve been digging it out little by little, and putting stuff in it for when I find myself in the same predicament we are in right now.” 

Peeta shifts to his knees and slowly stands up, hunching a smidge, ‘cause the cave ceiling is too low for him. He lumbers to the log I offered him earlier and sits on it heavily. 

“This place is great!” he states, looking at the crude shelving carved into the dirt where I keep the lamp, matches, a couple of cans of food I’ve agonized about leaving here because it feels like a waste, and things like spare arrowheads and fletchings; things that’d be useful in a pinch. 

I have a knife hidden inside the very log Peeta’s sitting on, but I’m not about to divulge that secret. It’s my last line of defense, and since I don’t have my bow on me, I feel safer knowing there’s at least one weapon in the cave I can count on. I need to bring a bow here at some point; I just haven’t found a good way to camouflage…yet.

“Thank you,” I say quietly. 

“Um, you can sit here,” says Peeta after a long moment passes in silence. “Plenty of room!” He motions to the log, scooting to free up some space.

It looks ridiculous, because there truly isn’t any room left on that log for me to sit. Peeta looks like a smushed rag-doll, sitting on a match box, and all the room he’s leaving next to him, is only big enough to accommodate a toothpick. 

“It’s okay,” I tell him, with a reluctant smile. “I’ll stand for now.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, biting his lip guiltily. 

“Yeah. Let me be a generous host.”

His face falls. “I’m sorry,” he rushes to say. “You wouldn’t have to be playing host in your lovely cave if it wasn’t for me. Sorry I was so stupid,” he says sheepishly, “I should’ve known you had it under control before I tried coming in after you.”

“Oh…it’s alright. It was…touching. All those things you said back there.” My cheeks are burning with embarrassment. 

“I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true,” he says, sounding almost sober. 

Another long minute goes by in silence. “Was that a wolf out there?” he asks suddenly. “I didn’t know what to do. I thought about kicking it, but I was afraid it would mangle up my leg, and then I’d get blood poisoned and since medicine is hard to come by, I probably would’ve lost my leg, and I’m not sure I’d be able to master a fake one…unless it was like a Capitol grade thing with robotic nerve connectors and the such… I read some man in District 3 figured out how to make prosthetics that you can control with a chip implanted in your brain!” 

I find myself laughing at his nonsense. And he seems to enjoy my laugh, because he keeps saying outrageous things, I can’t tell if he’s just making them up on the fly, or if he really read about them somewhere. 

I slide against the wall after a while, until I’m crouching close to the wet floor. Our clothes cling to our bodies, but most of the water has leaked off of us already, which is good, since I can’t light a fire inside the cave. 

“Are you hungry?” I ask him, interrupting his musings about how chewing gum is inherently evil, since we don’t have dentistry accessible in the districts. The boy really talks too much!

Peeta cranes his neck to glare at my game bag, which I recently placed by my feet. 

“What do you have there?” He asks, interested. 

“A rabbit. But we can’t eat that raw. We’d get sick with fever if we try. I wouldn’t recommend it,” I tell him. “But I have canned fruit we can share,” I offer. 

He makes an agreeing noise at the back of his throat. “I could eat.” 

“Fine. Um…close your eyes for a second. And don’t peek!” I chide. 

As with everything else I’ve commanded today, Peeta obeys without questioning, and soon I’m darting my hand into the end of the log, retrieving my knife. 

“Open your eyes,” I say. 

“Where did you get that from?!” he screeches, staring open-mouthed at my knife. 

“Secret compartment,” I deadpan.

“Well…I hope you’re not planning on stabbing me with that thing. That blade is bound to be dull now that you hacked into that can with it.”

“What does it matter if the blade’s dull?” I ask, exasperated.

“It’ll tear up my skin if you try stabbing me with it!” Peeta answers, arms moving in exaggerated arches,  “I much rather get a clean cut through, thank you very much!” 

What’s wrong with this boy?! He’s acting like discussing his own potential stabbing is an everyday thing.

“For your information, I’m pretty adept at sharpening things! And…Eww! Gross! Why would I wanna stab you?” I shudder. “I’m sorry, but I don’t do wounds, and I don’t do blood.” I pull a face, shivering.

“You kill things for a living!” He rolls his eyes in disbelief. “Why, the inside of your bag is covered in dried blood from those bunnies right now!”

“Animals! I hunt animals! I don’t do people’s blood and stuff…gross!”

“You’re kinda squeamish for such a lethal thing, aren’t ya?”

“Shut up and eat your pears!” I shove the open can into his hands, and he stares suspiciously at me for a minute before digging in.

Peeta moves over a few more inches, and the toothpick space widens to a Katniss’-rearside-size spot. This time, I take his offer gratefully and sit down next to him. He passes the can to me when he’s done. 

“You know…this is the first time we’ve done something normal together,” he says, pensive.

“It’s the first time we’ve done anything together, Peeta, period!” 

Peeta gasps, and there’s silence for a second. “You’re amazing!” He says, staring and blinking at me while I chew, as if I truly was some extraordinary sight to behold.

I scowl. “Why? Because I fed you canned food in a torrential storm in the middle of the woods?” I didn’t mean to sound so sarcastic. 

“Yeah…” he says dreamily, then scowls, then shakes his head. “Nah! You’re just…amazing! Even my mother says that you’re a survivor and the only thing District 12 has of worth…a better version of Haymitch Abernathy!”

Haymitch Abernathy is District 12’s one, and only living, Hunger Games Victor. He’s also a grumpy hermit, and a drunk, and the richest person in the district. Like me, he was born in the miners’ sector, nicknamed the Seam. People say Haymitch used to be smart as a whip, and a looker too, but now he’s just a paunchy, middle aged man, with anger issues. 

“Well, that’s not much of a compliment, is it?” I wrinkle my nose.

Peeta laughs, brushing his shoulder against mine…but that’s to be expected, he’s a giant after all, and the cave is practically a tall dresser. 

“No, I guess it’s not. But father always gushes about your squirrels. Says you never hit the pelt. You always shoot them right through the eye!” 

“Well, anyone can do that with enough practice.” I shrug.

Peeta snorts, and his knee presses against mine. “I wish I could do even half of the stuff you do. You’re an amazing hunter, and smart, and so pretty, and you can bring down deer, and the way you are with your sister…well, my big brothers have never been doting with me as you are with Primrose.” He sighs, looking at the flickering flame of the oil lamp. “You are something else!” 

“I— that’s not…” I’m frustrated and embarrassed, so I snap, “I wouldn’t have been able to do, or be, any of those things without your help, so…there!”

He scoots closer to me. His body is strangely warm, even under the layers of wet clothes. There’s bewilderment in his blue eyes, and for some reason, I can’t look away from the way his hair is all matted to his forehead. He looks boyish. Kinda cute. 

“What do you mean?” He asks in a small voice. 

I chuff. “Well, it was like today,” I start, leaning back, averting my eyes. He smells of spirits, but weirdly enough, I’m not repulsed by the scent. “You called out to me in the meadow, and I was about to rip you a new one, but then I realized you were trying to help me. Then, you save me from a wild dog, by doing something as simple as lifting me over your head, like I weighed nothing.” I feel small, all of eleven years old, and the fact that I’m wet to the bone and cold to the marrow doesn’t help my case. My voice comes out tiny, “You fed me when we were kids. I’ve never been able to even thank you for that!” I purse my lips to keep them from trembling, and blink some 28 times to keep from crying. 

Peeta sidles up against me. “Oh, Katniss,” he says low and reverently. I realize with a jolt, that it’s the first time he’s said my name. “You’re talking about the bread when we were kids?” His eyes glass over. “You can let that go now… after saving my ass tonight from the storm and the peacekeepers, I think you can count us even.” 

“How can you say that?” I demand, “You keep saving me, and I don’t know why?!”

“Really?” he asks, cocking his head sideways, scrunching his face, and shutting one eye like he can’t quite see me clearly with both eyes open; his tone isn’t malicious, just surprised. “You know why…at least, I think you should,” he says, shrugging and leaning closer. “I thought you’d notice how all of my friends were roasting me because I finally said something to you, and all I said was something lame about Row Your Boat.” He chuckles. “Fifteen years I’ve been trying to pluck up the courage to talk to you, and when I finally do, I call you ‘ Hey, girl with the braid’ like an idiot!” He practically leans into me.  

“Fifteen years?” I ask, bewildered. 

“Yeah…” he trails off, his ears turning cherry red. “I seem to have harbored a crush on you since the first day of school, when we were five.” He slumps back against the wall, and suddenly I wish he was still draped over me, warming me up. 

“Really?” I ask, because this story seems far-fetched. 

“Oh yes! It’s a whole thing! Me being a goner from the moment I heard you singing that very first day…remind me to tell you all the gory details some day.” 

“You betcha,” I say, amused. 

“I’m sorry I’m such a dork, but hey! At least imma buy me some chickens to sell eggs, and save, to buy my father’s bakery one day, and then I’m gonna ask you out on a date or somethin’.”

“Uh— what? Really?!” I chuckle. 

Peeta yawns. “Yeah, Imma take you somewhere nice for a picnic, like Victor’s Village or something, and I’m gonna bring good bread this time! None of that burnt, soggy crap I threw at you when we were kids, but real, freshly baked bread. With butter. And probably canned pears, ‘cause those are my favorites now!”

“Okay,” I tell him, not completely sure why I’m agreeing to this. After all, I decided a long time ago I was never getting married or having any children, at least, not as long as the Hunger Games loomed over me; I won’t be stringing Peeta along either. Gale accused me of doing just that once, which I don’t think I did? The accusation still stung. 

Right now, it feels nice to think I could go on a date with this crazy merchant boy; and who knows?! 

“Buttered bread sounds nice,” I say, sinking next to him. 

“This is nice!” Says Peeta, sleepily, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

“Yeah…it is,” I agree, realizing just how steady and warm his arms are, even encased in wet clothing.

“Will you go out on a picnic with me, then?” He asks hopefully, yawning again. His eyes drooping with sleep. 

“I think I might,” I tell him. I haven’t felt this safe in anyone’s embrace since my father died when I was 11 and I stopped trusting my mother. “I think I will,”

I’m beginning to think that the alcohol fumes clinging to Peeta have gone to my head, and left me as simple minded as all the intoxicated people back home, maybe I have it wrong, and Oktoberfest does have its charm, because despite myself, it feels right to indulge in that fantasy tonight. After all, Peeta was the only person in the district back then, that cared enough about me and my family dying of hunger, to do anything about it. He gave me bread he purposely burned for me, all he gained was a bruised eye from his mother, and my inability to repay his kindness, for his generous gesture. 

“Good! Just a heads up, though, I’ll prolly propose to you at that picnic, ” he says. His eyes are already closed, and I roll mine in response. “What you think my odds are of you saying yes?” He snuggles up to me, his head falls onto my shoulder. 

“The odds might be in your favor,” I tell him softly; I’m not so sure I say that to humor him, though. I am really tired, and sleeping in his arms does sound like a luxury right now, so I’m gonna blame it on the ‘Oktoberfest effect’ in the morning. Plead sleep depravation insanity or something. “Night, Peeta,”

He mumbles a response, which turns into a slow snore. 

I close my eyes, smiling. 

I’ll indulge in the drunken ramblings of Peeta tonight. Tomorrow is a new day, and if the saying is right, the sun shines brightest after a storm…maybe it’s time I bask in the rays. 

[crashdevlin]

Another Second Chance 1- Black Hole

Another Second Chance Masterlist,  Happily Ever Eventually Masterlist

Author’s Note: The final (hopefully) installment of the Happily Ever Eventually RPF series.

Summary: It's been five years since Jensen broke Y/n's heart and she's avoided him completely, but avoidance only lasts so long.

Pairing: past Jensen x Reader

Word count: 2302

Story Warnings: past cheating, little bit of background angst, mostly no warnings.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Things change. Either gradually or in catastrophic leaps, things change. Fact of life, unfortunately. Songs have been sung, books have been penned, movies have been made, all centered around that single inarguable fact.

When I was a younger woman, I thought that nothing really ever changed, that the facts of my life were that I was weak and stupid and I was always going to be in love with people who didn’t want me and were too good for me, that I was going to be miserable and alone forever. I was certain that I was the same person at 26 that I was at 16 and that’s just how things were always going to be.

I can honestly say, at 34 years old, I’m a different woman than I was at 16 or 26 or 30...and I may be alone, but I am not miserable.

I’m successful. I’m happy. I have friends and I have fans. I am well-rounded and, despite a hundred things working against me, well-adjusted. I’ve learned that I don’t need to be dating someone to be happy. In fact, without all the drama surrounding me whenever I do date someone, I’m happier. I have my children and I have my friends and I am happy. 2025 is shaping up to be one of my best years yet and I am ecstatic to see where it leads.

I’m sitting at my computer when my phone goes off. I don’t recognize the number so I Google it. King Woods Private School, the school Jensen wants to send Mav to. Weird that they’d call me when Jensen has primary custody. I answer immediately. “Hello?”

“Is this Miss Y/l/n? Maverick Ackles’ mother?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Hi, Ma’am. I’m Caroline Smith, Dean of Admissions for King Woods Private School. Your son’s father applied to our institution for the Fall semester for Kindergarten.”

“Oh, yeah. He told me. Said his father is very excited to get him in there.”

“His father didn’t tell you?”

“Mav’s nanny mentioned it, too, but...Jensen and I-”

“Had a very public falling out a few years ago, we’ve done our research,” she interrupts me. “But the thing is, King Woods is a very family-oriented institute and we need both parents to participate in all activities like monthly PTAs and volunteer nights. We need to make sure that both active parents can work together amicably. On that note, we have an admissions interview with little Maverick on Friday and we require your presence. Can you make it? 10:30 am.”

“Ten-thirty on Friday? Y-yeah. I can...I can totally do that. I will...see you then, Mrs. Smith.”

“See you then, ma’am. I’m looking forward to meeting you and your son. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.” I set my phone to the side of my laptop and take a deep breath. Jensen and I haven’t been in the same room since NolaCon 2020. We’ve emailed a few times, but haven’t even spoken on the phone...in several years...and that’s better. It’s better for everyone if we don’t talk because then we don’t argue and we don’t fall into patterns that leave us in bad shape.

But for Maverick’s future, for Maverick’s good, I will have to do it.

I call Misha. He encourages me and tells me it’ll be okay. He supports me. He’s an amazing friend, has been for years, one of the few I got in the breakup. Most of our friends specifically didn’t take sides. Kim and Briana and Misha, they sided with me...the girls a little more vocally than Meesh, but it ended up a small rift between Misha and Jensen. I put an end to J2M and it hurts a bit when I think about it. They still talk sometimes but nothing like they used to.

Jared still talks to me every once in a while, but he sided with Jensen. Of course he did. Jensen’s his brother. But Jared tries to keep me involved in his life, he tries to stay a friend...but he’s Jensen’s first, always has been.

“It’s gonna suck,” I say, shaking my head.

“Yeah. But still. You gotta do it, right?” Misha says and I chuckle. To the point with Mr. Collins.

“Yeah. I gotta do it. It’s just...I haven’t seen him in years. I mean...except pictures on Instagram. It’s gonna be weird.”

“You know what I say about weird, right?”

“Yeah. But this isn’t the GISH and Random Acts kinda weird, this is...a pit in my stomach that feels like a bowling ball and a fear of reversion to the person I was in the past kinda weird.”

“You’ve grown too much to revert and that bowling ball will go away when you get comfortable again.”

“That’s…that’s the problem. What happens if I get comfortable with him again, Misha?” I’m scared of it. “He’s like this black hole that sucks me in every time and the only way I’ve been able to stave off the destruction of my universe these last five years is to keep my distance. I don’t know what to do when I’m in close proximity to the black hole.”

“You can do this, Y/n. You won’t have any problems...and maybe Jensen’s grown over the last five years, too.”

“Well, you’ve talked to him more than I have. You’d know how much growing he’d done.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like we’re spending all our time together anymore.”

I nod. “So...hope for the best, that he’s grown and things will be okay, and keep my distance from the dark vortex.”

“Exactly.” Misha smiles and looks directly at the camera. “You got this.”

Yeah, I do. I got this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wear an embroidered black silk Joanna Mastroianni dress to the interview. Not a lot of makeup, but enough to accentuate my features. I keep my hair out of my face and I wear sensible, cute shoes. I look good, but not like I’m trying to look good. I look like I’m trying to look presentable and classy for the people in charge of my son’s education.

I make it to the school first and I sit in a plush chair in the waiting room and wait with my legs crossed neatly to the side. I pull out my phone and start playing a game of Solitaire.

“Mommy!” Maverick’s voice pulls my attention away from the Seven of Hearts that is stuck behind the Six of Diamonds that is arresting my forward momentum in the game. I smile as he runs at me, full-speed, and I slip my phone in my purse as he throws his arms around my neck. “I missed you!”

“I missed you too, Mav!” I exclaim. I lean back and look into the beautiful green eyes he inherited from his father. “Have you been having fun with Daddy?”

“Yes! All the time!” Mav says.

He turns his head to look at the door to the lobby as Jensen walks in. Holy shit. He let his hair grow out a bit...little longer than when he was playing a demon. It's multi toned, what would be called 'Salt and Pepper' in any other man, but it looks more like 'Walnut and light Roux' on him. He's rocking his ginger beard and it has some actual salt in the color. He's wearing a blue suit...a masterpiece tailored to take away your breath. The man knows how to make an entrance.

He's still gorgeous...and I’m still stuck on him. Fuck.

I stand and take Mav’s hand as Jensen steps closer. I focus on his forehead. I can’t look at those eyes. I can’t look at those lips or those freckles on his cheeks. Forehead is safe. He tucks his hands in the pockets of his slacks and licks his lips. “Hi,” I greet him, and my voice sounds awkward, too high-pitched.

“Hey,” he responds and oh, God, that voice.

Breathe. Stay away from the singularity, avoid being pulled into the black hole. “You doin’ good?”

He nods. “Yeah. You?”

“Just fine.” Dying, being sucked into a vortex in space.

He opens his mouth like he’s gonna say something else when a tall brunette woman in a smart pantsuit walks out of the office. “Mr. Ackles? Miss Y/l/n?” We nod as she drops to kneel in front of Mav and me. “And this must be little Maverick.”

Mav turns and hides his face in my skirt. “Sorry. He’s a little shy around new people. He’ll warm up to you.”

“It’s okay. It’s natural.” She stands and extends her hand to me and then Jensen, shaking our hands. “Good to see you both here. So, we’re going to take Maverick in and watch him play a bit, get a sense of his social and developmental placement and if he’s a good fit for King Woods, then we will make that happen.”

Jensen and I nod, then I gently pull Mav away from my legs. “You’re gonna go with the nice lady and play with some toys, answer some questions, okay? You can rock that, right, buddy?” Mav nods and smiles at me and Jensen.

“And you two will be just fine out here together, right?” Mrs. Smith says. She’s making sure we won’t freak out on each other. Freaking out on each other is not the problem.

“Of course we will,” Jensen answers. “We’re gonna park ourselves right here in these chairs and wait for you to tell us how brilliant our boy is.” He winks at the woman and she swoons a bit...I have to stop myself from doing the same as I step back toward the chair I was sitting in before. She offers Maverick her hand and he looks back at me before he takes it and follows her as she leads him away toward a playroom. I play with the hem of my dress for a few moments as Jensen takes the seat next to me, his bowlegs stretching out in front of him a bit. “So...listened to that cover album you did...with, uh, Rob, Rich, and Mark. It came out real good. ‘A Little Dive Bar in Dahlonega’ was perfect.”

I look down and my cheeks heat up. “Thanks. Uh...you and Steve are working on Volume Four, right? How’s that comin’?”

“Pretty good. Not bad at all, actually.” There’s a moment of silence and I sneak a look at him. He’s biting his bottom lip. Black hole, black hole, black hole. “Oh, and how’s that Shakespeare thing goin’?”

My eyes light up and I look over at him. “Midsummer! Yes. My pet project! It’s coming. Rich has signed on to direct a few episodes and Matt signed up to be my Puck. I’m really excited to see what we can do with that universe. Fairies are so my jam!”

“Are you just producing and writing it, or are you gonna be acting in it?” he asks, leaning forward, showing interest, active listening.

“I’m Hermia, actually. It’s coming along very well.”

“That’s really good. I’m...happy for you.” He smiles and I bite my tongue. God. This is bad. This is so fucking bad. I look away from him. “So, uh, I heard that you RSVP’d to Padalecki’s July Fourth barbecue, but you never showed up.”

I shake my head and sigh. Of course Jared told him I flaked on Independence Day. “Yeah. I was, uh...I was gonna go but-”

“But then you heard my shoot in Georgia got rescheduled and I wasn’t gonna be in Atlanta like I planned so you decided not to risk runnin’ into me?” he guesses.

“Yeah.” I nod and look over at him. “It was fine. I ended up watching fireworks with Nova over Skype.”

“You know...it’s been years. You don’t have to avoid me. We can be adults. Jared misses you.”

I lick my lips and nod. “It’s just hard for me to be around you. I miss Jared too, but I can’t be around you. It’s too hard.”

“This is hard?” he asks. I open my mouth to respond ‘Unbelievably’, but he keeps talking. “Because it’s not hard for me. It's the most natural thing in the world to me.”

I close my eyes and shake my head, settling back in the chair to lean away from him. “This is why it’s hard.” I open my eyes and pull my phone out to finish that game of Solitaire.

He doesn’t say anything else until Mrs. Smith walks out with Maverick fifteen minutes later. “They had a lot of toys in there!” Maverick shouts.

“Indoor voice, Mav,” I say as I stand up. I focus on Mrs. Smith. “So?”

She smiles brightly. “He’s a brilliant child. We would absolutely love to have him here at King Woods.”

“That’s great news!” Jensen exclaims.

“Indoor voice, Jay,” I joke before it hits me that I just called him ‘Jay’ and teased him. Slippery slope. Don’t get comfortable. “Uh, a-anyway. That is great news.”

“We’ll send you the information for tuition and supplies. It was wonderful to meet you both,” Mrs. Smith says.

I bend down and give Mav a hug as she walks away. “You’re awesome, kiddo. I’ll see you this weekend, okay?”

“Okay, Mommy!”

He runs to his dad and I pick up my purse, stepping toward the door. Jensen puts his hand out as he picks Maverick up to hold him on the other side. He pulls me into a half hug and I go stiff as his hand lands on the small of my back. God, he smells so good...and his hand is so big and…

I pull away and lick my lips. “You and Daddy have fun, Mav!” I almost run out of the lobby and into the parking lot.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[prettyboyjackhughes]

-It’ll all be worth it in the end- |M. Marner| [Part 1]

Thanks to @workhorsefromwhitehorse24​ for all her help on this! I’m super proud of this and can’t wait for you guys to read it! Thank you for all the love and support!!

Carter wasn’t dumb. He knew how much I loved to push his buttons. I mean, it was kinda my job as his little sister. He’d been ridiculously protective over me since we were little. That may have been due to the fact that I was only 16 months younger than him, or just that I was his little sister, but either way, he took his job as my one and only big brother very seriously. It had always been just the two of us, growing up. We got into more than our fair share of trouble, destroying things in the process most of the time. Our mom always called us the twin terrors, even though we weren’t actually twins. But we did everything together. Nine times out of ten, if you found one of us, you found both of us. And that was how it was supposed to be tonight, the first game of the playoffs. Carter and I had a tradition that before every game, no matter what, we did a little handshake that he had claimed as his good luck charm. So before every game, I was in the locker room with Carter.

"Well I'm definitely in the wrong place." I said, glancing around at all the Leafs equipment around the hall way. I knew my way around Wells Fargo Center, but since this was an away game and we were the away team, we were playing at Scotiabank Arena which was an arena I wasn’t familiar with. When Carter had told me to meet him outside the locker room before the game, I had figured I’d be able to find my way there. But now, standing outside of what I figured out to be the Leafs’ locker room, made me realize I had no idea how to find my brother. As I glanced around, I caught sight of a guy walking away from me. As I jogged to catch up with him, I collided with a tall, brown-haired boy.

“Ouch!” I shouted, falling to the ground.

“Oh god, sorry!” The boy said, getting his balance and looking down at me as he reached down to help me up. He glances between my face and the Flyers logo on my t-shirt, finally settling on my face.

“You okay?” He asks, his eyes coming to rest on my face. I nod, pushing my hair back out of my face.

“Uh…anything I can do to make up for the fact that I took you out?” He asks, rubbing the back of his neck and smiling nervously at me. I look him up and down, having to look up a little to see the top of his head.

“You could tell me your name.” I say, smiling at him. His face looked familiar, but then again, most of the guys Carter played against in the NHL looked familiar to me But he was cute. He had dark brown hair, a kinda goofy smile, and blue eyes that pulled me in.

“Oh yeah sure. I’m Mitch. And you are…?” He said, sticking his hand out for me to shake. I shake it, nodding as I do.

“I’m Sawyer. Let me guess, you play for the Leafs?” I say, crossing my arms and pointing at the Leafs logo and the number 16 spread across the sweatshirt he was wearing. He glanced down and looked back up at me with a smile.

“Guilty. Flyers fan?” He asked, leaning against the wall.

“Well sorta. My older brother is the starting goalie for tonight. So I’m a fan because of him.” I say, turning around to show him the 79 and Hart on my back. As I turned back around, more of his teammates started to make their way out into the hallway and my phone started to vibrate.

“Oh shoot, I probably need to go find my brother. Um, it was nice meeting you, Mitch.” I said, secretly wishing I didn’t have to go. I tugged my phone out of my pocket, seeing Grace’s name on the screen. I wave goodbye to Mitch who looks like he wants to say something as I press my phone to my ear and hurry back down the hallway.

“Hey, sorry I got lost. Tell Carter I’m on my way!” I said, glancing around to figure out where I need to be going.

“You’d better hurry up. Hartsy is starting to do his freak out older brother thing.” Grace says. I roll my eyes and end the call. Grace is Carter’s girlfriend, has been since they were 18. They’ll probably get married, if Carter has anything to do with it. Grace is also one of the trainers for the Flyers so they spend practically every waking minute together. The 3 of us share an apartment, which makes things interesting. We’ve managed to find a good balance for the 3 of us though. Most of the time, Carter and Grace spend pretty much the whole day at the rink while I have classes at UPenn. Then in the evenings, on the rare occasion we’re all home at the same time, we each take turns cooking dinner. Carter is the worst cook out of the 3 of us so usually it’s Grace or I cooking. When there’s an away game, Grace travels with the team sometimes but usually she’s home with me. It’s a lot of fun living with Grace and Carter. But it’s usually not just us at the apartment. Lately, Nolan Patrick, who has claimed boy best friend for me, and a few of Carter’s other team mates have been hanging out at the apartment.

I finally find all the signs for the Flyers locker room but run into a problem. Security. I glance down and realize I forgot the pass that Grace and I had both been given before the game. I groan and walk towards the man standing by the locker room door. He glances at me, then puts his hand out to stop me.

“Sorry young lady, you can’t go in there.” I start to plead my case then see a familiar head of shaggy hair walking towards me.

“It’s okay, she’s training staff.” Nolan says, grabbing my arm and pulling me inside the locker room with him.

“Alright, sorry about that, sir.” I muffle a laugh as the man calls Nolan sir. He rolls his eyes and drags me along with him to where Grace, Carter and a few other guys are standing. Nolan is my best friend. We got really close when I first moved here, at the beginning of last year. He’s claimed me as his “Baby Cat”, which is a weird nickname that Kevin Hayes gave him, but I’ll never admit to Nolan that I actually really love the nickname. Even though he seems all dark and kinda scary sometimes, I can tell I’m a little bit of a soft spot for him. Grace leans against the wall, watching Carter and looking very amused. A few of his team mates are watching from the doorway, also looking amused. He’s doing the whole pacing, running his hand through his hair a thousand times thing he does when he’s worried about me.

“Chillax Hartsy. I’m here and I made it mostly in one piece.” He turns around, glaring at me.

“You were supposed to be here 15 minutes ago! Where were you?” I roll my eyes and reach out my hand. He points his finger at me, glaring still but softens as I nudge his finger away with my hand.

“Do the damn handshake Hartsy!” One of his team mates yells as they start to gather in the hallway to get ready to head out onto the ice for warmups. The longer he’s been in the NHL and playing for the Flyers, the more his team mates have started to pick up on how important the handshake we do is to him. They had also started to say it’s a part of their pregame routine, claiming it’s the reason they win.

“We’ll talk about this later, you’re not home free, Sawyer Mae.” He says we do our little handshake. He claims that it helps him but I think he’s just a little superstitious. I nudge Nolan as he walks past me and heads for the door. He and the boys head out onto the ice and Grace drags me with her back to where my parents are sitting.

“You should’ve seen your brother.” She says, laughing as we walk back out to our box. Usually, Grace and I would just sit in normal seats, if she wasn’t working. But since Mom and Dad were coming to the game, Carter got box tickets for all of us.

“He always freaks out before games. And always assumes I’m gonna forget to come down and meet him. This one is even worse cause it’s the freakin playoffs baby!” I say, hopping around a little and making Grace laugh. In the 3 years that Carter and Grace have been together, Grace has become the big sister I’ve always wanted. When I was younger, I loved having Carter as my big brother but I always secretly wanted a big sister. And now, I had Grace. She and I get along so well and she’s the perfect big sister. She and I would gang up on Carter, teasing him about everything when we were at home. We would watch the Bachelor and cry over sappy romance movies together. My favorite thing to do with Grace was get a little drunk, sometimes just tipsy, and sing karaoke with her when we went out. She had been there when I first moved to Philly a little over a year, helping me get to know the city and working through all my homesickness with me. She was easily my best friend.

“Earth to Sawyer, come in Sawyer.” Grace says, nudging my shoulder. I blink, bringing myself back to reality. I look down to the ice where both teams are skating around the ice, going through warmups, when a certain number 16 catches my eye. He’s skating around, weaving in and out of his teammates. He seems to talk to everybody, laughing and joking throughout all of warmups. I can hear Grace talking to my parents and the rest of my family in the box with us. She calls my name but all I can focus on or think about is the brown haired boy who I ran into today.

“Who are you watching?” Mom asks, sliding up next to me as I stand at the railing.

“Oh no one. Just Nolan.” I say, panicking and taking my eyes off of Mitch. She smiles and nudges me.

“Have you ever considered going on a date with Nolan? He’s a nice boy.” I turn to look at my mother and it takes every ounce of will in my 21 year old body not to gag.

“No Mom. Nolan and I are just friends. He’s not my type.” Mom shakes her head and walks away, leaving me at the railing by myself. I can hear Grace’s laugh before she’s even beside me.

“Shut up Grace.” I say, rolling my eyes and coughing back a laugh.

“Oh but Sawyer, Nolan is such a nice boy.” She says, still dying. This time, I actually do gag, laughing along with Grace. I let myself drift back to my imaginary land, thinking of my next way to drive Carter insane. As I watch Mitch skate around the ice after an icing, I feel like a lightbulb goes off in my head. Carter has always taught me that hockey boys were bad news, no matter who they were or what they were. He said there were no good ones, no matter who they were. I always rolled my eyes, ignored him, and have definitely dated my share of hockey boys growing up. But the one thing I will never admit to him is that most of them were just as bad as he had warned me. But do I learn from my mistakes? Nope. As a plan starts to form in my head, Grace glances at me.

“Oh no I know that look. What are you planning?” She asks, leaning over and resting her arms on my armrest.

“Nothing...Just my next way to drive Carter crazy.” She laughs and rolls her eyes.

“You’d better be careful, Sawyer. You know how on edge he’s been lately.” I nod, my eyes still on Mitch.

“Trust me, it’ll all be worth it in the end.” I said, looking over at Grace. The second the words left my mouth, I knew what I was going to do.

[professorsnape394]

The Potions Master’s Apprentice

Chapter Fourteen: Friends

A/N: This is the fourteenth part to my fanfiction ‘The Potions Master’s Apprentice (Severus Snape x OC)’. Chapters 1-16 can be found already uploaded on Wattpad under the same name. Feel free to leave requests in my inbox for anything Snape related you want me to write. Leave a comment below if you wish to be added to my tag list.

Pairing: Severus Snape x OC (Dumbledore’s Granddaughter)

Summary: A talented young witch is employed as an apprentice professor at Hogwarts, but who will she be working under? Severus Snape is not best pleased with his new responsibility of taking on an apprentice, however she is relentless to create a friendship between them. Will she be successful? Or might the friendship just go a little two far? With the eyes of her grandfather constantly watching over them, an attempt at a relationship might not be in the cards for Aria Dumbledore and Severus Snape.

Word Count: 2779

Warnings: n/a

Credits to Gif Creator

To the other professors, breakfast came and went just as it did every other day. But Aria could sense the difference in tone from the students. To the other professors the students chatter was just as excitable as it always was. But Aria could tell it was more hushed and secretive. To the other professors, today was just a normal day, they would have gone about their day blissfully unaware of the situation that had occurred at the Three Broomsticks. Had it not been for the huge elephant in the room.

As he entered the hall that morning for breakfast not a soul in the room missed the swollen black and blue lump in place of where Snape's eye should be. Not a soul in the room missed the way he stormed in, in a fit of rage, knowing that the whole school would be talking about him. And not a soul missed the glares he sent their way daring them to confront him on the matter. But only Aria Dumbledore could see the hurt in his eyes, the embarrassment he was feeling and the pain he buried deep down for the way he had treated his friend last night.

Of course, she was angry at him. All of this was his fault. But the sadness she felt for him overcame her own dignity and she wanted to find out what it was all for. What hurt him so badly, that he felt the need to make her feel as low as he did. Aria knew this was yet another mystery of the great Severus Snape which would remain unanswered. The man was an enigma.

*

As expected, the potions master and his apprentice were curtly invited to Headmaster Dumbledore's office after breakfast to explain themselves. It had not taken long for the rumours to spread from the students all the way to the top, and it was clear Aria's grandfather was less than pleased to hear them.

"You will both be well aware of why I called you here this morning, I am sure." Dumbledore begun when the pair entered the Headmasters office. The two merely nodded, letting the old wizard speak.

"Firstly, I must begin by saying how utterly disappointed I am in the two of you. Not only in the events that transpired last night, but moreover the fact that neither of you were professional enough to come to speak to me about this first, before it got out of hand." The headmaster started, taking a seat behind his large oak desk.

Both Aria Dumbledore and Severus Snape bowed their heads in shame, as they stood side by side awkwardly, neither of them daring to look at the other.

"Grandfather I-"

"Miss Dumbledore, in this current professional capacity, I would appreciate if you addressed me as your rightful superior."

"I'm sorry." She replied sheepishly. "Headmaster Dumbledore, I want to apologise for not informing you of what had happened at the Three Broomsticks but as you can see Sever-, Professor Snape did have some injuries that needing tending to and in the state that he was, I didn't think him fit enough to be left unattended to."

As she spoke Severus let out a grunt of disagreement in an attempt to mask his embarrassment.

"Whether that may be the case, Miss Dumbledore, if you are being harassed by another member of staff, your priority should be to inform me, not assist your harasser." Albus scorned.

Snape remained silent, waiting to be spoken too before opening his mouth. He was mortified by his actions in the Three Broomsticks, but even more so by what happened later that night.

"Now, which one of you would like to explain to me what happened, so I can distinguish the truth from some of the student's wild imaginations."

Aria turned her attention to the Potions master who continued to keep his head down, not willing to recall his cruel words.

"I think Professor Snape is best for that job, headmaster." Aria confessed, unwilling to let the man get off so easily.

"Very well. Aria, you may leave us." Dumbledore announced.

"What? But why?" She objected.

"As you so graciously volunteered Severus for the job, I no longer have a reason to keep you back from your duties as a professor." Dumbledore informed her calmly. "Speaking of which, you will be taking all of the potions classes alone for the time being. Professor Snape will be taking a short sabbatical."

Snape's face turned grey at the thought. Not only did he not want this young witch teaching his students, but the mention of a sabbatical made his stomach drop. He knew how he had acted was wrong, but never had it crossed his mind that he could possibly lose his job for what he had done.

"What!?" Aria gasped. "But you can't do that, he-"

"Relax, Aria dear." Dumbledore interrupted. "It is only until I get this business cleared up. With his eye looking as it does the excitement will never settle, you know how students like to gossip. Besides he can take some time to reflect on his actions while it heals." Dumbledore shot Snape a disapproving look.

Aria made to object once again, but this time Severus took the opportunity to shut her up.

"Go, Miss Dumbledore. Do not keep my students waiting." He commanded sourly.

Finally, Aria obeyed, leaving with an uneasy feeling settling in her stomach as she left the two men to talk.

Dumbledore clasped his hands on the desk in front of him and waited patiently for Severus to confess his wrong doings.

"I will not insult you, headmaster, by downplaying my actions from last night. I stupidly let my emotions get the better of me and I thought I could find a solution at the bottom of a bottle of Fire Whiskey, I was wrong. I said disgusting things to your granddaughter and believe me no one can judge me more than I am judging myself right now." Snape could not bring himself to meet the old wizards disappointed gaze.

"And your eye, how did that situation occur." Albus questioned, feeling slightly sorry for the professor, despite the trouble he has caused.

"It was well deserved." Snape admitted. "A 'friend' of your granddaughter's rightfully put a stop to my embarrassing display. I apologise whole heartedly for every mistake I made last night."

"That is all very good and well, Severus. But have you said this to her?"

Severus hung his head.

"I see. May I suggest that be your first port of call." Albus advised.

"Of course."

The Professors sat in dead silence. It was clear both of them were in their own heads more than the conversation.

"Is there something more I should know, Severus?" Dumbledore eyed the man skeptically.

Severus paused for a moment, debating whether to confide in his friend.

"No, sir." He lied. His voice remained void of all emotion.

"Aria could be a great friend to you, Severus. Do not throw that chance away, again. Learn from your past mistakes." The Headmaster warned.

Albus Dumbledore's words resonated with Severus all day. The old man was right. He had once lost his only friend due to a small moment of emotional vulnerability paired with the harshness of his words, he could not re-live that experience. There was only one way to avoid losing Aria from his life completely, any feelings he may have had for her now had to be buried entirely.

*

Storming into her first lesson of the day, the room fell silent upon Aria's entry. The students waited a minute or two, expecting the presence of their most feared professor, which never came.

Aria begun the lessons as Severus always did; silently writing out paragraphs of information for the students to copy. It didn't take long for the fifth years to realise Snape would not be joining them this morning and so they set about asking their more relaxed potions professor all of the questions they were just dying to know the answers to, regarding the events of the previous night.

"Professor Dumbledore, where's Professor Snape, isn't he going to teach us?" It began.

"Unfortunately, today I will be solely be teaching Professor Snape's classes." Aria answered, turning her back on the classroom of students and continued to scribble on the chalk board.

"I heard he shouted at you in front of everyone in the Three Broomsticks yesterday Miss, is that true?" One of the Ravenclaw girls dared to ask.

"You should have seen him." Another laughed. "He was absolutely wrecked, knocked back almost a full bottle of Fire Whiskey apparently."

Aria chose not to respond.

"You were there? What did he say?" A curious Gryffindor inquired, wanting to hear the full story for himself. The two started quietly conversing up the back of the class, letting some more students get their accusations in.

"Is it true you are Karkaroff were caught going at it in the potions cupboard, Miss." Another boy bravely chuckled. "Is that where Snape found you?"

"That's can't be true." Someone else defended, shaking their head in disbelief.

"It is so, didn't you see the two of them at dinner yesterday? He could barely keep his hands off of her." Another whispered.

A few gasps and giggles broke out among the students as they continued to speculate.

"I heard she's the one who punched Snape, did you see his eye today?

"To be fair I don't blame her, he is a bit of a wanker, he probably deserved it."

"Don't be so stupid. It wasn't her; it was her boyfriend, I saw it myself."

"Did Snape actually call you a Slut, Miss?"

The room went quiet anticipating their teacher's response.

"Enough!" She yelled, slamming her hand on the desk as she turned to face them. The class stared at her, stunned.

"I don't want to hear any more of this." She started, putting down her chalk. "I am well aware that some of you may have witnessed the incident that occurred in the Three Broomsticks last night and while Professor Snape's little outburst may have happened extremely publicly, this gives none of you the right to make things worse by making up these stupid stories. I am going to settle this once and for all and I want to hear no more of it, do you understand?" The class nodded silently.

"First off; no, Professor Snape has not been fired, nor would I want him to be. He will resume his position as your potion's professor in a few days' time, and I warn all of you that this nonsense better be done with by then. He will not let you off as lightly as I have done." Aria walked around her desk, resting on the edge as she spoke.

"Secondly, any rumours you have heard regarding me and Headmaster Karkaroff are completely false. Professor Snape got the wrong impression and has now been informed of his mistake. In addition to this, anything you may have heard surrounding me and any other member of staff, or indeed students..." She said through gritted teeth. "... is also false. This includes Professor Snape."

A moment of chatter bubbled among the students, before once again falling silent.

"As for the man I was with, he was nothing more than a friend. And after the way he treated Professor Snape, he is no longer even that. Violence in any form will not be tolerated, no matter the circumstances. I will personally deal with any student supporting the actions of this man or the harming of Professor Snape, regardless of anything he may or may not have said." Aria finished.

"Is all of this abundantly clear?" She asked the class, receiving a chorus of agreement in response.

Aria let the students know to spread this information throughout the school to combat the rumours surrounding her and Severus Snape's altercation, and they graciously obliged. She received very little harassment or questions for the rest of the day, although she knew it was almost impossible to put an end to all of the speculations this early on.

*

Whilst packing up her papers to return to her quarters for an early night, Aria was startled by a sharp knock on the door.

"Come in." She called, not bothering to stop what she was doing. It wasn't until he was standing right in front of her did Aria even recognise who it was. "Severus." The professor said in shock. "Knocking to get into your own class room now?"

"As it were, this appears to be your classroom for the time being, Miss Dumbledore." He droned, watching her intently as she went about her business.

"For a few days at least, it seems." She shrugged. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"I came for an update on my classes' progression. While I might not be teaching them, this does not mean I am willing to relinquish all of my responsibilities quite yet. I don't imagine you have anything prepared." He sneered, continuing to analyse the desk.

"Actually, Professor Snape, I have." She retorted, handing him a small binder. "There you will find every class organised by year and then by level of difficulty; I have written a small summary of what we covered in the classes and how far we hope to progress. All students are listed individually and sorted by house, each detailing how well they coped with the lesson and what they need to work on. I shall give you another update tomorrow, and each day after until you are back. Happy?" She smirked.

"Very impressive." He hummed, unamused, snatching the binder from her and making to leave.

As Snape reached the exit, one hand holding the door ajar, he let his fingers tap on the wood indecisively. Letting out a small huff of breath Severus turned on his heel, re-entering the classroom as he remembered his promise to the headmaster.

"There is one more thing, Miss Dumbledore." The potions master announced, bringing her back to his attention.

"Mmhmm." Aria hummed, continued to flick through her papers, making sure she had what she needed.

"If you could actually pay attention, Miss Dumbledore, I would be able to get out of your hair much faster." Severus hissed through gritted teeth, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

"What do you want, Severus." His apprentice huffed. "I do have things to be getting on with. Spit it out."

Snape clenched his jaw and pursed his lips, trying his damn best not to insult the girl.

Couldn't she just listen for five seconds when he was actually trying to be nice to her? He thought.

"I... I want you to know." Snape stuttered, coughing to clear his throat. "I need you to know. Everything I said last night, I didn't mean any of it. I was drunk, and sometimes emotions that we would all like to keep hidden show themselves, do you understand?"

"I get it, Severus. I know you wouldn't have said those things under normal circumstances. You were stressed." Aria accepted, immediately going back to her piles of parchment.

"Look at me." Snape snapped. "You do not understand. I am apologising for my actions in the Three Broomsticks, of course I am. But the point I would most like to stress is... Can we just forget yesterday never happened? All of it."

Aria stared deep into the Professor's eyes knowing he was desperate for her attention. Ignoring the fact he was battered and bruised, she could see the pain in his eyes. The desperateness for her to agree with him, to forget that anything ever happened between them, or rather could have happened.

"Don't worry about it, Severus. Nothing happened as far as I am concerned." She reached out to him, resting a hand on his bicep and flashing a comforting smile.

A hint of a smile threatened on Severus' lips. But as soon as it came it was gone once again. Snape stepped away from the woman, letting her get on with her work.

"Can we agree on one thing, Severus?" Aria asked, keeping her attention on him finally. Snape nodded, allowing her to continue. "The students are having a field day with all of this. I think it would be in everyone's interest for us to try and get along. Hopefully it will dull down a lot of the rumours if they see us acting civil. What do you think? Friends?" She proposed.

Snape let out a small huff of amusement, letting the sides of his lips curl up, contently.

"Friends." He agreed, stepping out of the room quietly.

Taglist: 

@ayamenimthiriel @lizlil