#and i am having trouble summarizing them into something easier to swallow

[izloveshorses]

okay blarkes, what would you say are the Quintessential Bellarke Moments, to you?? not necessarily your favorites/the Best scenes, but the ones you think define their relationship the most.

[the-melting-world]

Kinktober | There is No Spoon 🍋

Kipling x Dante

Big thanks to @arcanecadenza for letting me borrow Dante! I am in love with this pairing. I CANNOT stop thinking about them. Expect many, many, many fics with these two. I might just fuck around and write a damn book because who’s gonna stop me?

For context of Kipling and Dante’s first meeting, check out this fic: Between the Pages

CW: begging, distracted sex, anal penetration, oral 

~ 1.7k words

It’s been some time since Kipling Bronne last saw Dante Aleghieri . The humble gardener missed the shy, dark-haired alchemist she met in the library while he was away. They had only begun to get to know each other before his job required that he leave town. They promised to meet up again if he were ever to pass through Vesuvia. 

Kipling’s POV:

Kipling remembered Dante telling her that he liked tomato soup. Well, that was nice. So did she, but she couldn’t just make him plain old tomato soup for dinner. That wouldn’t make her stand out in his mind. No, she had to prepare this soup a little differently. 

Carrots. That would add depth to the flavor without going overboard. And herbs. Lots and lots of herbs. Also cream. To add some body and smooth out the taste.

Kipling was in the middle of reaching for her jar of thyme when there was a sudden knock at the door. Her gut tightened. 

Relax, Kipling. It’s probably just a client.

Kipling set the stove fire down to a simmer and went to the front door to find that… it was definitely not a client waiting for her.

“Dante!” Kipling drew a sharp breath in the presence of her still very new, very awkward crush. Though he was much too early, she put on a welcoming smile for him.

“Dinner’s not ready yet, but come in. It’s good to see y–” 

Dante stumbled right into her, his ungainly limbs gathering her up against his chest. Kipling had forgotten how broad and rough his hands were. His lankiness, his largeness. She had forgotten how tentative and at the same time how forward he was with his affection. 

Kipling kissed him back, letting go of those annoying formalities that the time away had planted in her head. When they had both got some of that longing for each other out of their systems, Dante finally pulled back and apologized for arriving so early. 

Standing so close, Kipling could only concentrate on the beauty mark in the center of his lower lip. 

“It’s good to see you too.” He said so with the awareness of where her attention was fixed.

Kipling felt her smile become a bit warmer as she tugged him inside. She asked him to tell her about his travels after she pulled up a stool for him at her kitchen island and returned to the soup. 

Dante only managed to summarize a few of his harrowing adventures before he kept stopping and sniffing the air. Kipling didn’t comment on it, but allowed herself a satisfied smile as she kept her back to him. She knew it would only be a matter of time before…

“Sorry, I keep getting distracted because this smell is just... incredible.”

Just as Kipling suspected, Dante drifted up behind her, close enough to embrace her if he wanted to. She steadied her nerves while she took her narrow, wooden spoon and scooped some of the opaque, sunny broth. Holding up the spoon and turning slightly, she offered it to her guest.

Kipling kept her grin in check as Dante eagerly sampled her work in progress. 

“Oh.” His eyelids fluttered as he savored the taste and went back to the spoon to suck off the rest.

“Kipling, that’s really, really good.”

The humble gardener dipped the spoon in the pot and offered it up a second time.

“Do you want some more?”

Dante was nodding before Kip even finished the question. This time, as she brought the spoon close to his mouth, she angled her head towards his neck and walked her lips up to his jawline. Dante, unsurprisingly, could not contain any of his shy, breathless noises. There was something kind of irresistible about the particular way he became flustered. It managed to both excite and embolden Kipling. 

Kip started to take down Dante’s hair just as he undid his pants. 

“Um…”

Kipling withdrew, noticing that it wasn’t her Dante was looking at, but at the spoon. She too stared for a moment before she understood.

Dante finally fell out of his own trance, his sun-baked complexion broken by a dark band of blush as he met her gaze.

Kipling twirled the spoon between her fingers. “I have some salve in the bathroom. The soup needs someone to watch it. Think you can handle that?”

He gave another one of his enthusiastic nods. Kipling left to go rinse off the spoon and find that lemongrass salve that she knew was hiding somewhere…

When Kipling returned, she was relieved to see that Dante hadn’t ruined their dinner. Still, she turned the stove back down to a simmer so she could take care of her guest.

As soon as Dante recognized the smooth product coating the length of the spoon, he surprised Kipling with another round of hungry kisses. Kipling helped him get his pants down to his ankles. She remained standing and moved beside him, making it easier to work with both hands. After squeezing the precum from his cock and giving her thumb a swift suck, she met Dante’s gaze.

“You’re supposed to be watching the pot, remember?”

Dante’s features flashed with brief panic before he caught on to Kip’s little game.

“Right.” His low-lidded gaze gave him away. Playing along, he focused on the barely simmering soup and spread his legs a little wider. Meanwhile Kipling teased his rim with the fingers she coated in salve earlier. Then she pressed the head of the narrow spoon into his warm opening. With her other hand, she pumped his cock, pausing every so often to inch the spoon deeper.

Dante was not watching the pot. 

He grunted a lot, and would turn to give Kipling a hot, flustered kiss before breaking away just to groan some more. 

Trapping his bottom lip between his teeth, he hissed, “Oh gods. Kip, I-I don’t want to come yet.”

Kipling didn’t want that either, so she eased the spoon out and let go of his cock.

“That’s good,” she said as she went to the sink to wash off, “because no one’s coming tonight until we finish our dinner.”

Dante fumbled with his pants. “I beg your pardon?”

Kipling smiled cheerfully. “Bowls are on that shelf over there. Help yourself to as much as you want and meet me at the table.”

***

Dante’s POV:

I need her to eat my ass. I need her to eat my ass. I need her to eat my – 

Dante’s mind raced, coming up with all the reasons why Kipling might say no. She had been such an accommodating host so far, but what if he was asking for too much? 

He definitely could have shown better manners since he showed up. Up until he arrived at Kipling’s doorstep, he had no plans on kissing her. Yet somehow that happened before he even said a word of greeting. But how could he stand a chance? When Kipling opened that door, she unleashed a wave of delightful scents. Herbs and olive oil from the kitchen. And then there was the halo of seawater and coconut extract that no doubt lived in her hair and on her skin. Her light brown eyes had regarded him with surprise and then instant acceptance, perhaps even longing.

It might have been a mistake to kiss the gardener so soon, but he forgot about his regret when he felt her reaction. So sensitive to every touch, leaning into him with such intensity. As if her magic carried the weight of an entire ocean. Her walls disintegrated fast, revealing the Kipling that he had met in the library. Curious, observant, and intent on testing her knowledge in ways he least expected.

Kipling must have noticed that Dante wasn’t eating because she lifted her gaze and gestured to the soup that he barely touched.

“Are you going to finish that?”

Dante blinked away his reverie. Then he sighed and shook his head.

“I’m so sorry, Kipling. You went through all this trouble, but I don’t think I can enjoy this meal until...”

The ghost of a smirk graced the gardener’s freckled face as she arched a dark brow. None of which was helpful to Dante in that moment.

He started to ramble. “What you were doing earlier with the spoon was… generous, but I’m afraid I don’t deserve your hospitality –”

“Dante,” Kipling interrupted, “speak to me plainly. What are you trying to say?”

She knew damn well what he meant.

Still, Dante needed to be honest.

“I want you to be the spoon, Kip. The way you kissed me, I just thought if –”

Kipling got up from her side of the table and came over to where he was. He stood up too.

“When I’m finished,” she said, her voice low and husky, “that bowl of soup better be empty.”

Dante swallowed. “Oh gods, of course.” Then he whispered, “Thank you.”

Kipling’s eyes softened before she spared him one last slow kiss. 

“You’re sweet, Dante. Enough that you don’t ever need to beg. Still,” she stole a glance, “I really like it when you do.”

If Kipling wanted him to beg, then Dante would beg all night if he had to.

“Kip, please… be the spoon.”

Dante moved in a little closer, brushing his erection against her leg so she could know how desperate he was. How much he needed her.

He didn’t know how many times he said please. Kipling impressed him with her ability to appear stoic. But finally, she relented and told him to pull down his pants. When he did, the smell of the lemongrass lubricant kissed the air, still clinging to his skin from before. 

“Lie down,” Kipling instructed, bending him over the edge of the table while dropping down to her knees. Dante remembered his orders from earlier and focused on eating his soup. But once Kip warmed up his ass with her fingers and started exploring with her tongue, his mind blanked. 

Dante was acutely aware of the flux of pressure as Kipling spread his cheeks apart and bobbed her head in a dreamy rhythm. He held onto the table like it was his only lifeline. He wished he had the fortitude to jerk himself off, but all he could manage to do was weep with fresh cum and pathetically hug the table.

“Uh, Dante? Are you all right?”

Dante shakily pried himself from the table and sort of melted in a heap on the floor next to Kip. Then he surprised her with a messy kiss, tasting remnants of the lemongrass salve and traces of his own sweat.

“I didn’t finish the soup. Sorry.”

He really was a rotten guest.

Kipling grinned. “Was I that good of a spoon?”

Dante looked down at his stiff length before reaching for Kipling’s wrist. Guiding her hand to where he needed her most, he said, “You were… more than good, Kip. Much more than that.”

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

An Innocent Man

Summary (summarized request): The reader is from a community where the omegas are forced to mate with an alpha chosen by the head alpha. She manages to run away and in order to have an easier life she makes a fake mark on her neck with make up...

Pairing: Alpha Endverse!Dean x Omega!reader

Square: Endverse AU

Word Count: 5,100ish

Warnings: language, fluff, angst, illness

A/N: Written for @spnfluffbingo and @supernatural-jackles ‘s Weekly Writing challenge (For week #2, I used the prompt “Remind me why I’m still giving you a second chance.”)...

There was a rough hand stroking your cheek gently as you stirred awake. You blinked up, Dean giving you a smile as he finished tying his boots from where he sat on the edge of the bed.

“Morning,” he said quietly. You nodded and tucked yourself into his back, Dean brushing your hair out of your face. “How are you feeling today, Omega?”

“Better,” you said, grabbing the back of his shirt, not really aware you were clinging to it until Dean was pushing your hand away.

“I have work to do, Y/N. I know you don’t trust anyone here besides me but all of these people in our community are good,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, rolling to your other side. Dean sighed and moved you back, brushing his thumb over the mark on your neck.

“You have no reason to trust. I don’t blame you for your fear,” he said. “No Alpha should take.”

“I still don’t understand that,” you said. “Our head Alpha said-”

“It’s only been three years, Omega. Have you really forgotten all of your rights?” he said. No, you hadn’t forgotten. You could remember exactly how everything was before the Croatoan virus, before the Alpha virus.

Sure you were Omega but you didn’t forget what it was like to be free, not looked at like an object. Dean Winchester was quite possibly the only Alpha you’d ever met that you weren’t terrified of.

“This place is not like your old community,” said Dean.

“I know. You’ve explained it to me multiple times over the past few days,” you said, nodding your head.

“I am going to give you something to calm your nerves,” he said. He stood and went to a drawer in the small corner kitchen, returning with a small hunting knife.

You sat up in bed and swallowed, Dean smiling softly as he handed it over to you.

“I am head Alpha here so I want you to feel safe. Don’t stab anyone but I know protection is important. If you ever have an issue, you may speak to any one of the camp leaders,” he said. “You have not been assigned any jobs yet since you’re still on edge.”

“On edge,” you said, taking the knife from Dean.

“You are not the first forcibly taken Omega to come here, Y/N,” said Dean. “We are well aware of what the Alpha virus did to all of us. But we don’t use it as an excuse to control one another. We create our own hierarchy here, screw the dynamics.”

“Everyone is equal here?” you said.

“Always,” he said.

“So...you really won’t give me to an Alpha?” you asked. Dean sighed and dropped his head. “Sorry. I’m just...not used to being treated like a person again.”

“As I said, you will be treated with respect. Any Alpha that gets too horny and tries something, you have full permission to kick their ass and then let me know and I’ll kick their ass again,” he said. You gave him a smile, Dean resting a hand on your head. “I told you, you can trust me.”

“Thanks for letting me stay...and not returning me,” you said, rubbing your arm.

“You’re not property last time I checked,” he said.

“Were you like...a police officer before the world went crazy?” you asked.

“No,” he laughed. “I hunted monsters. My world’s always been crazy. Everyone else just finally caught up.”

You blinked at him, Dean shrugging.

“Why do you think they put me in charge? Ain’t got no degree or diploma or nothing. Just a lifetime of experience. Never knew that’d make me so valuable,” he said.

“Right,” you said, Dean laughing when you kept staring.

“Okay, I’m going to take you over to Chuck’s and he’s going to get you antiquated with how everything works around here, okay?” he asked.

“Alright,” you said. “I’ll...see you later on then.”

“Chuck, you’re late,” said Sam, glancing up from a stack of papers. You looked at Chuck, the other people in the room noticing you, Dean giving you a smile from the head of the table.

“What’s up, Y/N?” he asked.

“Y/N’s pretty handy from what she tells me. She reorganized her old community’s way of taking inventory, scavenging...it made her pretty useful around those parts,” said Chuck. You ducked your head down, feeling too many Alphas eyes on you.

“Y/N,” said Dean, your gaze lifting. “Remember what I told you? Safe place?”

You nodded, allowing Chuck to guide you to take a seat.

“These are our community leaders here at the camp. Sam here is my little brother. Alpha and he’s in charge of education,” said Dean.

“Education?” you asked.

“Yeah,” said Sam. “Kids and adults. There’s a school for kids. A few people around here used to teach which we lucked out on. All adults also go through basic training so in case of an emergency, everyone can defend themselves. People on security, Dean heads up that department, go through a bit more.”

“Chuck, our friendly neighborhood Beta and welcoming committee is in charge of daily necessities. Food, clothing, hygiene products, things like that. Charlie is an Omega and is head of our intelligence. Smarter than the rest of us put together. She and Sam have been working on self-sustained food production. Castiel is another Omega, former angel if you can believe it, that works our medical center. We’ve tried to set up different departments. All of us are in charge of multiple things but we have just as many Betas and Omegas here as Alphas,” said Dean.

“Cool,” you said, Chuck smirking to himself.

“Y/N was going to sit in today and just listen, get a feel for how we do things. I think her expertise might really be able to help us with some issues we have going on,” said Chuck.

“Oh,” said Dean quietly. “Well, uh...somebody get her a notebook and we’ll get started.”

One Month Later

“Y/N,” you heard as you headed out of the medical center. You spun around, Dean giving you a nod as he headed up between the cabins. “Hold up. We got to do our check in.”

“Check in?” you asked. Dean hummed, starting to head towards the edge of the camp, waving you to follow after. “What check in?”

“You’ve been here a month. I like to make sure you’re doing well,” he said.

“It’s like winning the lottery compared to where I was,” you said. Dean nodded, glancing down at his feet.

“You work very hard. Your revamped inventory system makes things a lot easier for us. To keep track of supplies we need, what we’re good on, things we haven’t even considered really,” said Dean.

“It’s was sort of necessary to be perfect in my old job,” you said.

“Doesn’t sound like it was much of a job as it was forced,” he said.

“Well...I did my job well and it kept me out of trouble for the most part,” you said. “Until the end.”

“Still...you should take at least one day a week off. It’s important. Sam said you had signs of formal training too,” said Dean.

“I dated a cop once,” you said. “Taught me most of this stuff. Apart from the crazy zombie people.”

“I’m guessing that’s how you seem pretty okay,” said Dean, making his voice low. “Some Omegas come to us in bad condition. You only have your claiming mark though.”

“I know I’m lucky,” you said.

“No. You aren’t. You shouldn’t have to deal with being afraid all the time,” he said.

“I’m not so afraid now,” you said.

“Good,” he said, licking his lips. “If there is anything you need here, please let me know.”

“May I go scavenging with you or one of the groups sometime?” you asked. Dean looked over your head and you sighed. “Please?”

“...We have a team going out after lunch. We’re hitting a pharmacy. Medicine is likely to be a bust but secondary supplies, hygiene, those might be there. If there’s something you need, I can look for you,” he said.

“Just because I’m Omega-”

“You are not on the scavenging team. You are not on the security team and you have not been trained,” said Dean. “It has nothing to do with your dynamic.”

“I was out on the road a long time, Dean, after I ran away. I know how to be quiet and take care of myself,” you said.

“...you’ll need gear if you’re going to go out there.”

“Y/N, you’re on me and Benny. Stealth operation. We’re only an hour out from home so let’s not make any unwanted messes,” said Dean. You nodded from the backseat, hand resting on the gun in its holster. Both men looked at each other before they slid out of the jeep. You followed after, jogging quietly with them around the back of the pharmacy and inside. The scouting team was already in there, one of them giving Dean the go ahead. You stuck with Dean until he got distracted with putting something in his bag. You snuck off to a far aisle and quickly grabbed what you were looking for, shoving it in your backpack, sneaking back to the end of Dean’s aisle by the time he was up.

“Stay closer,” he whispered. You nodded and crept next to him, Dean going further down the aisle. He walked straight past a few boxes, your eyes wide. You grabbed his arm, his hand on his gun when you pulled him back. You pointed to the boxes but Dean just raised an eyebrow. “Not a priority.”

“Priority,” you said quietly. He sighed and held up his hands. You picked up a box, the two scouts from before grabbing them and taking them back to their car. Benny whistled softly, so low only someone in the store could have heard. You and Dean followed him over to behind a counter, the three of you staring at the boxes and boxes in there.

“Doesn’t look like it was touched,” said Benny. “Any of this stuff still good?”

“Doesn’t matter. Take as much as we can,” said Dean. They started to stack up boxes to go back in the cars, Dean keeping an eye on you. “Y/N. Stop walking away.”

“Sorry,” you mumbled, still walking to the end of an aisle, shoving a few more things in your pack. You slid it back on, Dean’s hand instantly on the back of your neck.

“Disobey me one more time and I will toss you in the car,” he growled. You swallowed hard and he sighed, relaxing his hand. “Only essentials, Y/N.”

“It is essential,” you said. Dean just shrugged. “I swear.”

“Alright. Come on. Let’s swap out your bag for a new one and do one last sweep.”

There was a loud knock at your door late that night, Dean stepping inside when you said it was open. He tilted his head at you working at the small table in your cabin, leaning down over it as he watched you.

“What are you doing?” he asked. You smiled, using a few of the things you’d grabbed earlier in the day. “You made a...thing.”

“It’ll make hot water. We can set them up in the mess hall. People can make coffee again at least. We only have a ton of it,” you said.

“This was essential how?” he asked.

“Coffee is always essential, Dean,” you said. He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Good point,” he said. You stood up and stretched, unplugging the thing before Dean took a seat on your bed. “Listen...I wanted to apologize to you about earlier. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I wandered off,” you said.

“Still,” said Dean, resting his elbows on his knees. “The coffee thing is a good idea. People will really like that I think. A bit of normal again after everything.”

“Yeah,” you said, giving him a nod. “You eat yet? I got a chocolate bar for dessert.”

“Oh, lucky winner of the draw tonight,” he teased. “Nah, it’s yours. I know how chicks and chocolate are.”

“Dark chocolate was good,” you said. “I could go for a hot fudge sundae with a big brownie right now.”

“Mmm,” Dean hummed, licking his lips. “Let’s make that this year’s goal. We make hot fudge sundaes.”

“I’m all for it,” you said, scratching your neck. Dean smiled at you, tilting his head before his face scrunched up. He stood up slowly and drew his gun, aiming it at you. “Dean?”

“Show me your neck. Now,” he growled. You swallowed, covering your neck with your hand. “I said now.”

“I’d rather not,” you said, already feeling the smudge on your fingertips.

“You have three seconds,” he said, clicking off the safety. You shut your eyes and turned your neck to face him, rubbing your thumb over your mark a few times, Dean scoffing. “Is that fucking makeup? No wonder you wanted in on the scavenger run.”

“...I...my old community...most people leave claimed Omegas alone...it was easier to pretend, made being on the road by myself safer,” you said.

“Over here,” he barked. You shook your head, Dean stalking over. He had you turned around and pinned against a wall like that, a pair of handcuffs on you before he was trudging you out your door. “Now we get to do this the hard way.”

“Dean,” you said, trying to jerk away, realizing he was heading for his own cabin. “Dean stop.”

“Shouldn’t have lied. Now I have to find out what else you’re lying about,” he said. He dragged you up the front steps of his cabin and practically tossed you across the room, your back hitting the end of a bed. You were able to sit up, Dean squatting down in front of you.

“I-I can be useful,” you said. “I can be more than just an Omega, I swear. I’ll do two jobs.”

“You currently have no jobs,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Other than one very obvious one.”

“If you’re gonna do it, just do it,” you snapped, a strange confidence hitting you. “I’m not going to grovel and let you get off on it.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he said.

“Big stupid Alpha. You’re all the same,” you said, looking around, trying to figure out any way out. Dean picked you up and set you down on the bed. You kicked at him and scrambled against the wall, Dean’s held tilting. “Stay away from me.”

He rolled his eyes and grabbed your arm, a yelp escaping you. He stared at you long and hard until he reached behind your back and undid the cuffs, pulling them away. You brought your hands to your chest as he stood and backed away, shoving his cuffs in his pocket.

“I didn't cuff you and bring you in here to claim you, Omega. I wanted to question you about why you lied and if you were potentially a spy but all evidence points to something less...manipulative. You’re just scared,” he said.

“I want the Omega on call,” you said. Dean nodded, exiting the cabin, returning a few minutes later with Castiel. “He’s your friend.”

“He’s the Omega on call,” said Dean.

“What did you do?” asked Cas. “I could smell the fear coming off her halfway across camp. Others will be sure to notice.”

“I abused my Alpha status with a vulnerable Omega,” said Dean dryly.

“You are housebound for the next day while the committee investigates,” said Cas. “Y/N, come with me. You’re staying with me tonight.”

“Hi,” said Dean a few days later. The committee realized it was a misunderstanding that caused your panic. You nearly got in trouble yourself for lying about being claimed already but they understood your reasoning.

You ignored Dean, brushing past him on your walk. He quickly caught up, giving you at least a little bit of space.

“Y/N. Come on. I apologized at the hearing. You’re the one that lied,” he said.

“To protect myself. We weren’t all so fortunate to become Alphas,” you said, turning around, Dean stopping dead in his tracks. “I have seen strong people become nothing more than toys to their Alphas. I am not letting that happen to me so I lied and I ain’t sorry about it.”

“But you’d never have an Alpha, ever, if you kept up that rouse,” he said.

“I’m sorry. Have I not made myself clear? I don’t want an Alpha. Ever,” you said.

“Can I be your friend again at least?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” you said. You looked at the ground, a strange scent in the air. It was horribly unpleasant, as if someone had taken Dean’s naturally pleasant one and dipped it in something putrid. You lifted your head, Dean standing with his face soft, a slight submissiveness about him you hadn’t seen in an Alpha before. “Remind me why I’m still giving you a second chance.”

“Because the dynamic thing has no place here and you don’t realize how much tougher you are than I am,” he said, kicking the ground. “And I’ll find some way to make it up to you.”

“You can start by giving me some space,” you said.

“I can do that.”

Two Weeks Later

“Hi,” said Dean, knocking on your door. You popped your head up and stared at him, Dean smiling from the other side of the screen. “Can I come in?”

“I guess,” you said. Dean kept a smile on as he walked over and sat across from you at your table, pulling out his own notebook. “Yes?”

“Would you help me with something?” he asked.

“What is it?” you asked.

“What’s it like being Omega?” he asked. You wanted to roll your eyes but there was a genuine curiosity in his voice. You shrugged, Dean biting his bottom lip. “Please?”

“I don’t know. Doesn’t feel much different than when we were all just people,” you said. “Some people smell better than others. Heats are like a period pretty much. I can’t give much help on the whole being bit in the neck and then bound to another person for the rest of eternity thing though.”

“I think sometimes it’s a good thing. It can be bad but it’s sort of like getting married,” he said.

“So you’d claim an Omega?” you asked.

“If I loved them and they loved me,” he said.

“It’s still ownership,” you said.

“So is marriage,” he said.

“Marriage you can get out of,” you said.

“I didn’t come to debate, just get your perspective,” he said softly, jotting something down on his paper.

“My perspective is its wrong,” you said.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” said Dean, standing up. “There are several mated couples here that think differently than you do. I hope you treat them respectfully for their choices as they will treat you for yours.”

“If other people want it, that’s fine but I-“

“I understand,” said Dean. “There will be a team going out tomorrow morning, pretty far. If you could make up some supply lists or necessities and nice to haves, I’d appreciate it.”

“Yeah. I’ll have it ready by end of the day.”

Two Days Later

“Y/N, come with me,” said Cas, grabbing your arm as you were heading out of the mess hall. “Quickly.”

You kept your mouth shut as you went with him into the medical center. You followed into the back room, Dean passed out on top of one of the beds.

“He was...injured on the scavenging mission. He requires monitoring. Will you watch him for a few moments? We are keeping this quiet. If you need me, I will be at my cabin temporarily,” he said.

“Sure. What…” you trailed off, Cas getting the helm out of there and fast. “Well thanks.”

Dean groaned, flashing open an eye and then the other, blinking up at you for a brief moment. He snuggled back into his pillow, a blanket covering most of him up.

“Hey,” you said.

“Sorry,” he said, closing his eyes.

“You don’t have to apologize. Are you hurt? Do you need anything?” you asked.

“Sorry,” he mumbled again, staring up at you.

“Dean? Did you hit your head?” you asked. You ran your fingers over his scalp gently, Dean taking a big whiff of the air. “Dean?”

“Sorry,” he said quietly.

“You’re really starting to scare me,” you said. He just kept staring at you, the door opening and Cas back by your side. “He keeps saying sorry.”

“How do you feel now, Dean?” asked Cas. He hummed, Cas snapping his fingers. “How do you feel with Y/N here?”

“Better,” he said quietly, trying to turn his head away. “Gonna hurt again though.”

“I know, Dean. Y/N, needs to know what’s going on,” he said.

“No,” said Dean, a bit of authority back in his voice.

“Dean,” said Cas.

“No!” said Dean. “It’ll go away.”

“No, it won’t,” said Cas, turning to you.

“Castiel, don’t do this to me. Please,” said Dean, taking a small breath. “Please.”

“Dean is your true mate,” said Cas. Dean snarled but stayed in bed, the thought crossing your mind that he might have been restrained under the blanket. “He has always known but believed you were claimed by another. I have been treating him for his condition for some time. His long trip away from you was too much though and exacerbated the severity of his condition. Being in close proximity to him has been helping him heal although he is correct in that at some point, even that will no longer work sufficiently.”

“I thought...I thought the Omega was the one that got all shitty feeling,” you said.

“Not always and it’s not surprising you felt no spark. Your levels have been all over the place since you’ve come here and are still returning to normal. Your old community didn’t believe in true mates you said and riddled them out through pack practices,” he said.

“So Dean’s…” you said, Cas nodding. “That stuff you were asking about...you were asking if I’d ever be okay with being claimed.”

“Cas,” groaned Dean. “Fucking hurts.”

“You told me to stop using the pain meds on you,” he said.

“Do the other thing,” said Dean.

“No way in hell. That’s a last resort,” said Cas.

“What last resort?” you asked, taking a step closer to Dean, his face not so scrunched up in pain.

“I’m not doing it,” said Cas.

“She’s not my mate and I’m not forcing her!” shouted Dean.

“I’m not doing an experiment on you that won’t even work,” said Cas. “You two mate or you live with the pain. Those are your options.”

“Then I guess I’m going to be like this forever then.”

“What the hell are we supposed to about Dean?” asked Sam at the emergency meeting that night. The committee members were coming up with crazy theories on an Alpha not claiming a true mate and how he could survive successfully and this and that and the next thing.

“Maybe Y/N will change her mind once her levels are normal again, right?” asked someone. You glanced up, feeling a roomful of stares on you. “Y/N, do you want to say anything? This is your life too.”

“You’re gonna make-“

“No one is making anyone do anything,” said Sam. “You will only mate with Dean if it’s your choice, no one else’s.”

“What if he did get really sick?” you asked. “What if he was going to die?”

“Only if you want to,” repeated Sam. “That is not how this camp works.”

“Then there’s no reason to be having this discussion. It comes down to me and Dean,” you said. You left without another word, wandering around camp until it started to get dark. Dean had been moved to his own cabin, feeling a bit better now that he was back at camp but you’d heard stories of true mates. It was something you inherently knew now. The whole Alpha virus had come on fast but the alarming thing was how everyone understood things without needing to be told. Dynamics, claiming, mating, true mates. Hell, you even called babies pups half the time.

Maybe they were right. Maybe once you got used to everything, you’d have that same desire as Dean did.

Two Weeks Later

“Hi, Dean,” you said, slipping into his cabin. He was on bedrest until further notice, not that he could stand to move when he wasn’t within ten feet of you.

“Time for my daily babysitting,” mumbled Dean, pulling his blankets over himself.

“Castiel said I’m showing up like a normal Omega now,” you said.

“But you aren’t sick,” he said.

“No, I’m not,” you said, ducking your head down. “I’ve been thinking about stuff too.”

“Like?” he asked. You sat down on his bed and leaned over him, Dean swallowing as you bore your neck. “Y/N, stop it. I’m not going to do it. We talked about this.”

“Will you trust me?” you asked. He relented and nodded, allowing you to get even closer, your forehead pressing against his.

“What are you doing?” he whispered.

“Scenting,” you said.

“You’re a little close for scenting,” he said.

“It makes you feel better,” you said. He rolled his eyes, biting his bottom lip when it twitched upwards. “How hard is it to fight it?”

“Hard,” he breathed out. “But you said you’ll never be-”

“People are allowed to change their minds,” you said. He scoffed and you grabbed his chin, turning his head to the side. “You know I never questioned why I came here to camp with you. I should have known something was up right away.”

“What? You suddenly want to be my Omega?” he asked.

“No. I don’t give a shit about that. If I see you writhing around in this bed one more day though I’m going to lose it,” you said.

“Jokes on you. I like to bottom on occasion,” he said.

“Dean,” you said, straddling his hips. Dean gulped and tried to sit up, your hands cupping his cheeks keeping him in place. “I will be your mate if you’re mine. You need it, badly. But I have one condition and it’s non-negotiable.”

“What is it?”

“Hey! If it ain’t our fearless leader back at work,” said Chuck, Dean smiling as he walked into the mess hall late that night. He stared for a moment, his eyes flickering to you as you wandered off to go find him some food. “Is that a true mate thing?”

“This?” asked Dean, pointing to his neck. “Nah. It’s an Alpha thing.”

“I thought only…” Chuck trailed off.

“Not around here. All future claims will require both partners to be marked. You know, like marriage or something like that,” said Dean, smiling when he saw you return with a plate full of food. “That looks delicious and like an excessive waste of food.”

“You need your strength up again,” you said. “You barely ate the past month.”

“You really feeling okay?” asked Chuck. Dean gave him a smile and patted him on the back.

“I swear, I’m all good now.”

“Hello, Omega,” said Dean, walking into you cabin the next day. You squirmed, Dean chuckling. “Still don’t like that?”

“I don’t like that it makes me feel all funny,” you said. He walked around for a minute, going to your back window and staring outside.

“Can I take you on a date tonight?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said quietly, moving beside him. “It’s not a bad funny. It’s just strange to feel all fuzzy like that.”

“Guess I’m more used to feeling the fuzzies than you are,” he said. “You get used to it. Turns calm eventually, like warm or something.”

“Have you always known?” you asked.

“Yes. I wanted to go find your old community, destroy the Alpha that took you without permission,” said Dean. “But that wasn’t the smart move.”

“I ran away because the pack leader was going to give me to another Alpha. Even though I was useful, I didn’t act like I should. I would still be allowed to have my job if I took my role as an Omega more seriously,” you said. “Some people are just born bad, some good. This dynamic thing didn’t have anything to do with it. You were good before, you’re still good. That’s why I realized I’d be happy to stay with you. I mean, how many Alphas let themselves be claimed?” you asked.

“Probably more than you’d think,” he said, wearing a small smile. “So I was thinking for our date, I’d take you someplace real fancy. Real swanky place, super elite.”

“Oh yeah?” you asked.

“Yeah. Cabin 14, right around the corner. They serve up a mean bowl of beans,” said Dean.

“I bet they do,” you said, Dean chuckling again. “Just because you got lucky last night and you’re taking me to some fine dining establishment doesn’t mean I’m putting out again so soon.”

“What if I told you I managed to find a tablecloth and a pretty smelling candle?” he asked.

“Really?” you asked.

“First official date. I got to make it memorable don’t I?” he teased. “And I ain’t expecting any. Like I said last night-“

“I’m yours but not yours,” you said, Dean nodding. “You know that goes for you too.”

“Understood, Omega,” he said, smirking when you blushed. “Understood.”

[darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts]

Enter the Kitsune - Prologue pt4

Warnings: Strong language

Masterlist

—

Prologue part 4

“I know. I’ve been expecting you.”

What the hell does that mean? I was led by the hand deep into the woods. The Ninja lowered his mask and turned to me allowing me to see his complete face.

“Do you recognize me now?”

“Oh my god, you’re the lab guy from the monument.” I couldn’t contain my shock as I took in the man before me. Apart from a change in attire, he didn’t seem altogether that much different.

“I’m actually a post-graduate physics student. But I’m glad you remember me. That makes things easier.” Sasuke seemed relieved that I recognised him. I meet you earlier today. I know I took a massive clout on the head since then but my memory isn’t that bad.

“You ended up back here too? This whole thing feels like a really weird sci-fi story… Are you a ninja? Actually, why are you a ninja?” Questions just tumbled out of me like water. I was face to face with someone who knew I wasn’t just telling tall tales of coming from the future. That feeling of acceptance had me babbling like an overly curious child asking a million questions at once.

“It’s easiest if I start from the beginning. My name is Sasuke. And just like you, I come from the present, or rather, the future.” He went on to explain what happened since our encounter. The whole thing made my already sore head throb as it tried to keep track of everything. Swaying on my feet a little I took a seat on a tree stump and looked up at him.

“So, when that lightning struck that monument it caused a warp in space and time around us and it dragged us both back in time?” I tried as logically as I could to walk through the step by step dummies guide to time travel my befuddled brain had compiled for me as it translated extreme science guy jargon. I can’t say I was a brilliant student in school. I mean I liked classes but I was always what they called an average student and clearly, this guy was not only in a different class to me but had slipped into a whole new realm.  

“Yes. That is a very simplified and condensed version of my current theory. We entered the wormhole at the same time. However, I arrived four years prior to you. In that time, I’ve learned that this Sengoku period, or Japan’s civil war, is different than the one we’re familiar with.” Sasuke was happy enough that I had understood his lecture. Four years? No wonder he asked if I remembered him. To be completely honest I’m impressed he remembers me.

“I’ll have to take your word for that. I’m not familiar at all with Japanese history, it wasn’t something we were taught in school … probably the closest I might get are things I’ve seen in movies at some point. Although I know they aren’t accurate reference material.” I admitted my supreme lack of knowledge expecting to see Sasuke react in some way. The reaction doesn’t come if anything he just seems more sympathetic.

“Indeed. In that case, allow me to explain a little more.” Sasuke talked about how his situation upon arriving in the past was similar to my own. He had found himself near a fallen samurai in need of help. That samurai was Kenshin Uesugi. Thanks in large part to his quick thinking and knowledge of modern medicine Sasuke had managed to save Kenshin. A man who was supposed to have died on that date in that time. That meant that according to Sasuke the historical records did not match with the ones from our time. Nobunaga and Kenshin were both alive but that wasn’t all. Shingen (tall guy from the cliff) was supposed to have also been dead by this time too.

“The fact that he is also alive when he shouldn’t be raises some questions about exactly what is happening. Parallel timelines? Multiple dimensions in space and time? Did we change the past?” Grasping the gist of the conversation I ended up with my mind wandering thinking of possible answers. However unbelievable those answers might be.

“To a degree. I do think we’re in an alternate Sengoku period, not the one we know from our time. Following on from your idea it is possible that because of fluctuations in spacetime we’re in a divergent timeline – one in which history will take a different course.” Sasuke thankfully didn’t think that my mainstream grasp on time travel from late night movies on tv was ridiculous. Time travel, alt-histories, timelines… this really is like science fiction. “I said that I was a post-graduate physics student. My major is in theoretical astrophysics at Kyoto University. I specialize in wormholes and am studying them for their potential for time travel. I’d created a method for predicting the conditions and patterns by which a traversable wormhole would manifest. That’s why I was at the stone monument that day. I was trying to verify my method.” I listened to Sasuke only taking in about a third of what he was saying as I was struggling to keep up with him. Ok clearly being a little different is not something monopolised by people born in this era. “I’ve been searching for you here, expecting you to have travelled back in time as I did. I hadn’t considered the possibility that you would arrive four years later.”

“When I came here, I was kind of hoping this was all a dream. Everything that happened so far has been the stuff that movies are made out of but it’s too real to be a dream or a movie.” I said remembering my experiences so far. The smoke in my lungs, how it burnt my eyes. The heat of that fire and the chill in the air when I was outside. How it hurt when I pinched myself and my heart pounding in my chest after I ran. It was all too real to be a dream.

“I can see why you would think so. There is also another anomaly that I have noticed in this timeline.” Sasuke’s stoic expression seemed to have an intense look about it as he looked closer at me in the dark.

“Another?”

“Are you aware you are speaking perfect Japanese? Not just speaking it but obviously also understanding it. I Don’t suppose you could, before could you?”

“What? Err, no I… Seriously I’m speaking in another language?” Sasuke’s words suddenly hit me with something I had yet to realise. I was so wrapped up in everything else happening I hadn’t even noticed.

“You didn’t know?” His brown eyes widened slightly.

“Well no I didn’t. although I suppose that makes more sense than everyone from 15th-century Japan speaking perfect English. How could I be--?” My voice trailed off, swallowed up by the quiet stillness of the forest.

“It is only an idea and I would hesitate to provide a diagnosis as I am not trained in medicine but I think you might have developed a rare form of something like foreign language syndrome.” Sasuke spoke calmly as if he was recalling some distant memory.

“What is that?” I was curious. It was a bad habit that got me in far more trouble than I would like, but at the same time, it was never something I had been able to change since I was a child.

“Well, it is something that can occur after a trauma has taken place. You develop a shift in your accent to sound as if you are a native from a different country. There have been cases where the stored vocabulary banks of the mind have also been affected and people have been known to speak fluent alternative languages as a result. As I say the cases of such things are very rare phenomena, I wouldn’t be able to go into great detail on it other than to say I believe I read a medical journal at some point that said that patients with this could possibly return to normal after the trauma is healed and with the help of relearning their native language.” Sasuke’s gaze was looking through me, settled at a point that was both where I was and also where I wasn’t. He clearly had the ability to recall even vague information in detail.

“So, the bang on my head was bad enough to knock the English right out of me?”

“You seem to be very good at summarizing. But yes, that would be my working theory at the minute. I realise it’s a little unbelievable--.” Sasuke lowered his eyes a little as he spoke.

“But… Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.” I don’t know why but sometimes my mind just makes random connections to things and I end up blurting out references and quotes to things that generally just leave others confused.

My friends in college took great delight in making up their own game where they would ask me quick-fire questions and see if I could answer them using only quotes and general trivia. That small memory had me cringing as I waited for the same look of confusion to appear on Sasuke’s face, but that never happened.

“Nice use of reference. I must admit I enjoy a good mystery novel from time to time myself.” Sasuke’s eyes seemed to brighten as he recognised the Sherlock Holmes quote. He not only understood that he liked it? “To get back on track if I may. With reference to your idea of this not being a dream, you could say that this is, in fact, a dream situation for me. I get to see and meet the famous men and women of the Sengoku with my own eyes.”

“Well, I’m glad one of us is enjoying themselves.” Looking at him it did seem to be true that he was actually in his element right now. I was confused and not very happy with my own situation but I was still happy enough that someone else was at least having fun.

“My parents were huge history buffs. I got my name from Sasuke Sarutobi, who was a legendary ninja that served Yukimura Sanada. Being a ninja of legend also meant he is fictional. So, I have assumed his “place” in time in order to avoid damaging the historical timeline further than necessary.” Sasuke almost appeared to be more animated as he elaborated. It was probably the most expressive I had seen him since I’d met him, even if his face still seemed to be devoid of movement.

“Did you pick up your job here as a ninja while you were waiting or were your parents ninjas as well as history fanatics?” I asked mirroring a little of his enthusiasm. When someone speaks so happily and passionately about something it's hard not to get wrapped up in the moment.

“I studied that here. It seemed useful to pick up a marketable vocation.” Sasuke said as he pushed his glasses back up securely on his nose. Ok well, a scientific history fanboy turned historical ninja is an interesting plot twist. Talk about thinking on your feet. I may have to take a leaf out of this guy’s book on fast adaption aiding survival. Sasuke indicated the path we had just taken to get here. “Right now, I’m employed with the men you saw earlier by the cliff. I would like you to come with me. I promise I’ll find a way to return us both to the present.” He offered me his hand waiting for a reply.

For the first time since arriving here, I found myself properly thinking about where I had come from. The job I had worked hard to gain experience and recognition in so I could get into the department I really wanted to be in. My small apartment that was a little rundown but I loved it all the same. Then there was all the people, the ones I worked with, family, friends that meet up with me once a month just to grab drinks and hang out.

My options in this situation are definitely limited. I had no doubt that I wanted to return, there was nothing for me here after all. If there really is a way to get back then my chances of doing so have to be increased by hanging out with the guy who can work out space-time stuff. Great now I have the theme for Doctor Who playing on a loop in my head… that is so not helpful right now. Ignoring my inner radio station that clearly took just as much of a bump as my skull did upon entry to the Sengoku. I was about to take his hand when our private moment was interrupted.

“Aerion! Where are you!? Come out!”

---

[dirtyriver]

This is from A message about messages. Here's the text version of this page, with the whole bottom paragraph:

Readers — kids and adults — ask me about the message of one story or another. I want to say to them, “Your question isn’t in the right language.”

As a fiction writer, I don’t speak message. I speak story. Sure, my story means something, but if you want to know what it means, you have to ask the question in terms appropriate to storytelling. Terms such as message are appropriate to expository writing, didactic writing, and sermons — different languages from fiction.

The notion that a story has a message assumes that it can be reduced to a few abstract words, neatly summarized in a school or college examination paper or a brisk critical review.

If that were true, why would writers go to the trouble of making up characters and relationships and plots and scenery and all that? Why not just deliver the message? Is the story a box to hide an idea in, a fancy dress to make a naked idea look pretty, a candy coating to make a bitter idea easier to swallow? (Open your mouth, dear, it’s good for you.) Is fiction decorative wordage concealing a rational thought, a message, which is its ultimate reality and reason for being?

And a few more excerpts, just to make sure the message goes through:

I’m not saying fiction is meaningless or useless. Far from it. I believe storytelling is one of the most useful tools we have for achieving meaning: it serves to keep our communities together by asking and saying who we are, and it’s one of the best tools an individual has to find out who I am, what life may ask of me and how I can respond.

But that’s not the same as having a message. The complex meanings of a serious story or novel can be understood only by participation in the language of the story itself. To translate them into a message or reduce them to a sermon distorts, betrays, and destroys them.

This is because a work of art is understood not by the mind only, but by the emotions and by the body itself.

And so kids ask me, in all good faith, “When you have your message, how do you make up a story to fit it?” All I can answer is, “It doesn’t work that way! I’m not an answering machine — I don’t have a message for you! What I have for you is a story.”

What you get out of that story, in the way of understanding or perception or emotion, is partly up to me — because, of course, the story is passionately meaningful to me (even if I only find out what it’s about after I’ve told it). But it’s also up to you, the reader. Reading is a passionate act. If you read a story not just with your head, but also with your body and feelings and soul, the way you dance or listen to music, then it becomes your story. And it can mean infinitely more than any message. It can offer beauty. It can take you through pain. It can signify freedom. And it can mean something different every time you reread it.

Thinking about this quote from Ursula K. Le Guin

[nico-nightingale]

Summary: Following an accident that involved her beloved younger sister, the crown princess of Arendelle grew to believe she was born cursed. At the summer after her eleventh birthday, however, she receives the visit of a man in strange robes, who invites her to study at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This story follows Elsa's life in Hogwarts as she discovers that magic is no curse and starts learning how to love herself.

Rating: T (ages 13 and up)

Also found on: FF.net, AO3, Wattpad

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. Frozen belongs to Disney. The cover photo belongs to Nico Benedickt and the font belongs to Naharstd.

Chapter VII: Shot in the Dark

first chapter • previous chapter // next chapter

On the night following the feast of Hallowe'en, Elsa was so exhausted that she had fallen asleep at the moment her body hit her bed's mattress. It was a good thing. That way, she hadn't had time to mull over what had happened on Charms or the fact that the Hufflepuff first-years would have another class with Professor Flitwick on the next day, which would have caused a sleepless night. 

On the contrary. The princess had a dreamless full-night sleep and woke up feeling reinvigorated for the first time in an entire week. Sleeping wearing her hair on a tight bun had also proved to make her morning routine easier since it stopped it from entangling too much throughout the night. The experience made Elsa consider, for a moment, doing it every night even though it wasn't healthy for her hair. No, taking care of herself — especially of what concerned her physical appearance — was one of the obligations of a princess.

On every other day, the princess would have left the Common Room with the supplies for her morning classes and her books, but Hufflepuff first-years had no classes on Thursday mornings since they usually had Astronomy on Wednesday nights. Famished after a dinner composed only of chocolate frogs, Elsa headed to the kitchens as soon as she had finished showering and dressing for the day, without waiting for her much slower friends. 

Her belly was full and her body well-rested when the princess' mind finally started working on the pressing matter of what had happened on the previous day during Charms' class. Cursing herself for not having thought about taking her writing supplies, the girl waited for a time when her friends would most likely be in the Great Hall having breakfast to return to the Common Room in order to gather them, giving herself enough space to start worrying. In truth, she didn't want to make excuses for her visit to Flitwick first thing in the morning.

No matter the angle she looked at it, however, Elsa couldn't understand the reason why her magic had behaved the way it had. Unless she had misunderstood the concept of “intent”, it had had nothing to do with what had occurred then. Not only it hadn't worked when she focused on its right purpose; it had worked once the girl was putting an effort on not releasing her magic. If anything, the way she had cast the spell served as a proof against Miranda Goshawk's thesis.

Realizing, from the way the light was entering the kitchen through the window, that it was time for her to go, Elsa thanked the elves for the excellent meal and headed towards her dorm in order to pick her writing supplies, her textbook for Flitwick's class, and the book about “intent”. Then, the girl followed to the Charms' classroom in an attempt to find the teacher before the students arrived for his first period.

Much to Elsa's relief, the tiny professor was sitting behind his desk, reading a book. He raised his head as soon as she crossed the door sill, “I was wondering if you would come to see me before class, Miss Kyrre.” Although somewhat embarrassed by the predictability of her acts, the princess couldn't help but relax under the man's bright and calm smile. 

“Good morning, professor,” she answered, offering him a shy smile in return for his own.

“Likewise!” He offered with enthusiasm before nodding his head towards the books on the princess' hands, “I see you brought Miranda Goshawk's books with you. Why don't you sit down so we can discuss it?”

The smile died on Elsa's lips as she nodded back and took a seat by the desk right in front of Professor Flitwick's. She proceeded by sending an inquiring look toward the man, trying to figure out a way to voice the questions in her mind. Finally, the princess realized she wouldn't be able to summarize everything in one single question, “I— can not understand what happened in class yesterday.”

“I figured as much,” the professor acknowledged with kindness. “First things first, perhaps you might be interested in knowing that the official name used to address what you did yesterday is ‘non-verbal magic’. This style of spell-casting is formally covered from the sixth year, although more advanced students sometimes try it on their own before taking their O.W.L.s.” 

Thinking about it for a few seconds, Elsa realized that, although it didn't guarantee the Charms' teacher would be able to help her, she was relieved that he knew of magic being performed wordlessly. “Do people often cast spells like that by accident?”

“Indeed they do,” Flitwick declared right away. “I dare to say, a child's first accidental spells are always non-verbal.”

“I— yes— of course,” surprise washed the princess as she realized how stupid she had been for having forgotten such basic information. The accidental magic on all the stories she had heard from her classmates was non-verbal. “So, do you think it was an accidental spell?”

“Well, that's for you to say, I'm afraid. Did it feel accidental to you?” The professor replied with an encouraging nod. 

“I— I do not know. Mrs Goshawk's book— what she said about ‘intent’—” the girl shook her head, rethinking her words in an attempt to formulate a clearer answer to Flitwick's question. “During my first attempts, I tried to— to think on how much I wanted to make the spell work, but it helped not— sorry, I mean, it did not help. When you asked me— when the spell actually worked— I had— already— given up that approach.” 

“And what have you tried then?” The man asked, curiosity clear in his voice. The princess could see in his eyes that he was coming up with some theories already.

Elsa struggled to respond to his question, however. Although the professor didn't even acknowledge the issues in her speech, the girl was ashamed about the sudden trouble she had had to formulate her previous answer. In the previous weeks, her English had improved greatly, but more pressing conversations still had the power to make the language slip through her mind. 

“Miss Kyrre, there is no reason to be ashamed of. This is a conversation with your professor on a subject you are not expected to have mastered yet, not a diplomatic discussion with a politician or a reporter. It is fine to stumble on your words a little,” the teacher reprimanded her with kindness. “Now, if you may answer my question—?”

Despite the embarrassment caused by his reproach, Elsa took his encouragement to the heart and was much calmer when she replied with a nod, “well, as I recall, I just wished it to work so I would not have to repeat the exercise.” The girl's cheeks reddened further at the confession of her lazy, sloppy performance.

There was no sign of reproach on his voice when the man responded to Elsa, however, “the purpose of finishing an unpleasant activity as fast as possible.” Encouraged by Professor Flitwick's serenity, the princess locked up, noticing that he was smiling in amusement. “I dare to say that few intentions are as strong as this one.”

Elsa's eyes widened at the revelation that she didn't have to concentrate on the effect of the spell. If the intention of making the spell work was enough, it would make things much easier. “Is it— enough? To— to make it work?” The princess felt the need to ask since Professor Flitwick's answer had felt like something that was too good to be true. 

“Sometimes, with more basic spells, yes,” although he still seemed to be somewhat amused, the teacher was taking his time considering what she was telling her. Albeit anxious, Elsa appreciated his interest on the matter. “As I am sure you know, magic is often unpredictable. Yours seems to be more—” the professor paused, his smile slowly dying as he entered in a state of deep thought, weighing his next words, “instinctive than the others'.”

“Why is that, though?” Elsa asked before she could refrain herself. Suddenly, the girl realized they were discussing a topic she had been determined not to approach with her teachers. 

Flitwick didn't take notice of the girl's struggles, however. Instead, still in deep thought, he started pacing back and forth, “I cannot say for sure. Professor Dumbledore believes that your magic's explosive nature is caused by your attempts to suppress it. While not a common occurrence, such magical outbursts are not unheard of.” 

If not trained to read slight changes in the expressions of experienced politicians, the princess knew she would have missed the worry and fear hidden behind Professor Flitwick's calm composure. The girl tried her best to soothe the wave of anxiety caused by his emotions by telling herself that Professor Dumbledore wouldn't have let her study at Hogwarts if she was dangerous to the other students. The attempt, however, failed.

“Miss Kyrre— Elsa, look at me.” The princess was surprised when she noticed she had averted her fuzzy gaze from the professor. Realizing the way her eyes were flooding with tears of pure dread, however, Elsa didn't do as the man had requested her, keeping her head down. “What is it that is troubling you?”

The girl swallowed her tears before opening her mouth to answer, but she wasn't surprised when her voice came out low and rough, “am I— am I dangerous?”

Professor Flitwick took a few seconds to answer her, but she felt no desire to look up and try reading his expression. What if she saw even more concern in his eyes? Would she be able to stand it? “Regardless of the reason your magic is so unpredictable, you represent no danger to your classmates, Elsa.”

The princess didn't need to look up to realize the man was hiding something from her. His answer had been straight-forward enough, but also too specific for a simple yes-or-no question. Her tutors at home would have advised her to drop the subject since she wasn't well-versed at leading people into revealing something they weren't willing to. Elsa had to know. 

“Do I represent a danger to— someone else?” The girl was still trembling and incapable of raising her head to look straight into the professor's eyes. What would she do if he said she was actually dangerous? What could she do?

“There are certain concerning cases in which suppressing magic can lead to— unpleasant consequences to one own. I dare not to say more than that, though, Elsa,” he added quickly as the princess was opening her mouth to ask more questions, “we are monitoring your magic and there is no reason to be concerned for now.”

There is no reason to be concerned. Elsa had heard those words several times before from her parents, her nanny, some of her father's most trustworthy advisors. Nothing to worry about— the words had been traitorous in each of the moments they had used them to reassure her about her magic. Should she be concerned about her own safety, then?

“Professor Dumbledore's theory worries you, though. Doesn't it— Sir?” At the realization that the first part of her speech had come out as rather obstinate, the princess chose to add the last word to show that she held respect for her teacher. 

Once again, Professor Flitwick surprised her by not reacting to neither her anger nor her attempt to remedy it. Instead, the man focused on her question, “no, Elsa. We are all alert to all the possibilities since we are to keep an eye on the way your magic is adapting to spell-practising and the overall life at Hogwarts. What worries me the most, if you must know, is the unconformity between your magic prowess, the knowledge you show in your theoretical works and what you show us in your practical lessons.”

The princess raised her head to look at Professor Flitwick. She had expected him to either deny being troubled altogether or admit he was worried about her powers. The confession about his concerns about her academic situation caught her off-guard. Even more so when the man kept on, “all the teachers agree you are one of the most brilliant students in this school— yet, you are failing Transfiguration, Charms, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. You've gone through pieces of theory that first years usually ignore, done— if the reports from Professor Dumbledore are correct— done magic beyond your years, and— still, only once you have cast a spell correctly in class.”

Elsa was surprised when, as he paused to look at her again and their eyes met, she realized that they were showing no sign of anger, only curiosity and concern. Although Flitwick was the Head of Ravenclaw, the princess had trouble understanding his level of disregard for manners and respect when he was pursuing knowledge. While the other teachers would have called her off for her previous reply, the man dismissed it.

After a moment of silence, Elsa realized that Professor Flitwick was waiting for her to say something. It took the princess a few more seconds, however, to understand what it was. “I can not see why the spells do not work, Professor. I had considered the possibility of my magic being simply— different from everybody else's. But— yesterday— I cast the wand-lighting spell. So, it must be at least somewhat alike—?”

As she vocalized her doubts, Elsa noticed that they were back to the subject of her spell-casting. Having practised her eloquence and conversational cunning from the moment she had started talking, the princess knew it wasn't quite easy to trick her into a topic. Yet, Professor Flitwick had done it effortlessly, showing a level of focus and oratory she hadn't thought she would see in a teacher.

“It is definitely something else.” The man paused and, rubbing his chin, looked up to the ceiling as if asking for answers from a divine force. A few seconds later, he turned toward her with a smile, “do you mind showing me your wand? I confess I have rarely seen one such as yours— and never before at Hogwarts.”

A flush spread through the princess' face. “I— do not have it with me. I am sorry,” she added quickly. Elsa's complete disregard for the object had shocked her classmates since most of the witches and wizards considered their wands their most precious possession. 

Flitwick wasn't surprised by her confession, however. “That is fine. Why don't you arrive about half an hour before class this afternoon so I can take a look, huh? It might provide us with clues for the reason behind your magic's instability,” he requested with amusement clear in his voice and eyes. 

Elsa only nodded in response, trying to control her own embarrassment as she heard steps indicating that the students coming for his first class had arrived. Giggling, the professor kept going, “if you have nowhere else to be, would you like to stay for my next class? Coincidently, I will be teaching the freezing spell to my third year Gryffindor students, which I am sure interests you greatly.”

Elsa was indeed curious about the subject. It wasn't the first time she would see another person casting a freezing spell since Professor Dumbledore had demonstrated it to the girl and her parents back at the Arendelle castle, but she hadn't seen the spell being taught before. It could end up being elucidating, indeed. 

As the princess nodded in response, Flitwick waved his wand to materialize a desk on a corner at the back of the classroom so she could be out of the way but still watch it. “Do sit, then,” the professor pointed the head at the place he had just conjured. 

It took no time before the classroom was filled, most of the students preferring arriving at the last minute before the beginning of the lecture. Elsa kept her head down, although she could feel the eyes of the Gryffindor third-years on her. Their curiosity was satisfied as soon as the class started, when the professor introduced the princess as a first-year Hufflepuff and explained her interest in the magic of the elements and her desire to see it being cast.

Albeit it wasn't as elucidating as she had first expected it to be, the lecture was rather pleasant as the students were encouraged by Elsa's presence to show maturity and magic skill. Neither of them was able to cast the spell right away, but the first one to manage it was a red-haired boy called William Weasley, whose younger brother Charles was a Gryffindor first-year who shared some classes with the princess. 

After his first success, the boy headed to the back of the classroom and offered to demonstrate the spell to Elsa. He even lent her his textbook, a quill, and piece of parchment so she could take notes based on her observations. It was the first time since the princess had arrived at Hogwarts that an older boy had taken notice of her, the very first time an older teenager had been nice to her with ulterior motives. The realization made Elsa to feel even more self-conscious than usual.

Yet, Bill—that was how the boy had asked her to call him—was polite and patient to her. He managed to perform the magic several times in a roll, which he humbly admitted to being a consequence of his homework practice. By the end of the class, the boy was rewarded with ten points for his attention towards a younger student and ten more for his spell-casting. 

Elsa, on the other hand, had gotten a new friend and mentor throughout the lecture. Professor Flitwick offered the princess an encouraging smile when Bill pulled her to the front of the classroom in order to introduce her to his friends Tyler Springs and John MacGowan. The three teenagers exited the classroom flooding the girl with questions about her interests and pointing out what they knew about each subject.

Once they realized Elsa liked working with numbers, however, their conversation was directed to an elective class they had started that year, Arithmancy. According to the boys, the discipline referred to the study of the magic of the numbers, which made a lot of sense to the princess considering the latest mathematical discoveries on Astronomy.

What followed was some further explanation on Arithmancy as well as a promise to let the princess into their study group. Although overwhelmed, there was a big part of her that was glad about the encounter and eager to start learning everything about what was promising to be the best subject offered by Hogwarts.

Once they reached the dungeons, where the Gryffindor third-years would have their Potions lesson with Slytherin, Bill promised to send their meeting time and place through his brother once they had it all settled.

Feeling warmth inside herself, Elsa followed to the library to get started with her readings on Arithmancy.