#and i passed out .. and when i got my gumption & came back to see if the shelf was there it was gone .... ;__; missed it

[yoshistory]

-___- i need to find a bookshelf thats been thrown out again .. theres no good trash here .. there's GREAT trash next door and i thiiiiiink enough time has passed that i feel comfortable walking over there sometimes and scouring their dumpsters every once in awhile

[jlalafics]

"The Long Weekend"-Part One

Happy belated birthday @keelaree!

Hope you enjoy this first part. Thank you for being such a wonderful part of my writing life, and an even better friend. Can't wait till we can reunite in SF, so we can tea time together and eat soup dumplings.

Love you!

Summary: Two assistants who barely tolerate each other. One snowy cabin. One very long weekend.

Oh, and one bed.

-----

“I’m making the turn now, Haymitch,” Peeta told his boss as he navigated the icy road. “Should have everything prepped and ready by the time you and Effie arrive.”

“Thanks,” Haymitch replied over the speakerphone. “I should tell you that I did ask for someone to help you out. Someone who knows Effie better than I do sometimes—”

Peeta slowed his car as he spotted the cozy cabin in front of him. However, he grimaced seeing the red Jeep already parked on its side.

“You didn’t.”

“Peeta, Katniss knows Effie very well,” his boss said calmly. “Just like you know me. I know that you two don’t get along—”

“Understatement of the year,” Peeta replied as he parked roughly.

“This is important. I’m proposing to Effie and I want it to be perfect,” Haymitch explained. “Katniss knows all the foods she likes to eat, and how to decorate the place to make it comfortable yet romantic. Effie and I are finishing up our meeting with Mr. Snow then we’ll be making our way up to the cabin for the holiday weekend. I’ll call you when we’re on our way so you and Katniss can take off—that is if you haven’t murdered one another by then.”

“I’m only doing this because I’m your assistant,” he called out.

“You could at least like me!” Haymitch joked. “I pay you an obscene amount for an assistant.”

“Katniss probably gets paid more.”

“Well, she picks up tampons for Effie without being asked so probably.”

“Everything will be ready by the time you get here,” Peeta promised. “And I’m doing this because I like and respect you.”

“Thank you, Peeta. Call you soon.”

++++++

Peeta Mellark sighed as he stepped out of his car, bags in hand. The snowy wind picked up and he wrapped his parka tighter around himself before rushing up to the porch. It was getting worse up here, and he hoped that the soon-to-be engaged couple would make it safely.

Getting out the key that Haymitch lent him, Peeta unlocked the door and quickly stepped in to keep the cold air from entering with him.

“Oh, you’re finally here.” Katniss Everdeen sailed into the room, placing a charcuterie board on the coffee table in the center of the sitting room. “I thought you died or something.”

Peeta gave her a wry smile, placing the bags on the floor before shaking off his parka and hanging it on the hook by the door.

“Thought or hoped?” He searched his bag before pulling out the champagne that Haymitch asked along with the two glasses. Going to the table, Peeta placed them on the table before going back to the bag for the champagne bucket. “Is there ice?”

“The fridge has an ice machine,” Katniss informed him tersely, nodding her head towards the left. “I’ve already gotten their dinner started.”

“Not surprised.” Peeta walked into the kitchen, heading to the stainless-steel fridge. “You’re so anal that you’ve probably carved those little radish flowers for garnish.”

“They’re in the fridge so they’ll be fresh.”

Peeta wasn’t sure why they didn’t get along.

For one, Katniss was admittedly attractive with her long dark, and almond-shaped grey eyes. The first time he saw his stomach had definitely done a little flip. She had been walking alongside Effie, notebook in hand, wearing a fitted black dress with a peter pan collar and paying scant attention to anything else around her.

She literally knocked him to the ground.

Katniss had apologized, holding out her hand to help him up.

And Peeta had fucking tingled at her touch.

Over the next few days as he learned the ropes of being Haymitch Abernathy’s assistant, Peeta noticed her across the hall. Effie Trinket’s office was directly adjacent to his boss’ and Katniss’ desk was in the same spot as his.

She kept her head down, never acknowledging him, so wrapped up in her work or answering her phone.

So, Peeta asked around.

“She’s an ice queen,” Cato, who was in Marketing, informed him. “Never wants to hang out with anyone or even join in during happy hour. It’s important here to form relationships with everyone. Panem Industries is all about workplace harmony and Katniss embodies none of that.”

“Yeah, she’s snooty, too,” Clove from IT added. “I once asked her something about her family and she replied that it was none of my business. Like I was just trying to get to know her!”

“Wow. I guess if Katniss is that much of a head case, then I shouldn’t bother to ask her for help,” he told the two.

After that, during any interaction, she treated him indifferently…cold even. Peeta couldn’t help but be disappointed that Cato and Clove’s words were true.

And that was the end of his fascination with Katniss Everdeen.

“You want to get out here and help me or was the ice machine too hard for you to maneuver?” Katniss suddenly called out.

Peeta quickly filled the bucket and stepped out.

Katniss was bent over the couch, arranging the pillows, and he felt a heat rush through his skin.

There was also the slight twinge in his crotch at seeing a firm apple-bottom in tight ski pants.

It seemed that Katniss Everdeen had a bigger effect on him than he realized.

++++++

Peeta Mellark had a huge effect on her.

Katniss struggled to keep the heat off her cheeks as she fixed the pillows that she bought for the cabin. Effie loved those cheesy sayings, so she went on Etsy and ordered custom-made pillows with her favorite quotes.

No one should spend so much time arranging pillows, but Katniss could feel his stare on her. It made her nervous…and tingly.

However, these feelings didn’t belong—especially in a work situation and she needed this job.

Taking a breath, Katniss turned…to find Peeta right behind her.

He jumped back, startled by her abrupt movements.

Whoa—was he checking her out?

“Why were you so close?” she blurted out.

“Sorry. It looked like you were confused about how pillows worked,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “You were there for a millennium.”

“Funny.” She sighed at the amusement in his gorgeous blue eyes—stop it!—and steeled her expression. “Do you think you could help me set up this romantic dinner for our bosses instead of standing there like an ass-licker?”

“You mean asshole.”

“I stand by my words,” Katniss replied and was surprised when he chuckled, his eyes crinkling as he did. She couldn’t help but let her mouth rise. “The table is in that closet next to the door. I got some table linens from a vintage shop that Effie likes last week.”

“Wow, you’re really on top of it,” Peeta remarked, going to the closet. “How do you have time for a life?”

She didn’t.

As in, Katniss didn’t have a life.

She had work, she had a home, but a social life was non-existent. Katniss knew what everyone said about her; that she was cold and distant, never wanting to be part of the team. It never bothered her because she did have her reasons.

So, she was surprised at how hurt she was when she heard Peeta call her a headcase.

Katniss hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, only passing the breakroom to get to the copy machine. However, she stopped at the mention of her name.

Cato’s words were no surprise, though he failed to mention that her iciness was due to him inappropriately putting his arm around her and telling her that they should get to know each other on a personal level. Katniss also didn’t trust Clove for shit; she was the office gossip.

It hit hard to know that the one person who had made her tingle was so easily influenced by two douchebags.

Katniss had decided, then and there, that if Peeta didn’t see past her exterior, then he must be like the rest of them.

“I’m very organized,” she replied. It came out harder than she intended. “I have to be.”

Peeta had already set up the table in front of the fireplace.

“Well, it’s in your favor,” he told her. “You’re a good assistant.”

Katniss looked up in surprise. “You think I’m a good assistant?”

Peeta snorted. “Like you didn’t know it—where are the tablecloths?”

She handed him a beautiful fuchsia tablecloth followed by a cream lace one.

“Fuchsia first then layer it with the lace,” she told him. “I always hope I am. Effie is a great boss and she’s so supportive about work-and-homelife balance. I want to make sure this is all perfect for her.”

Katniss helped Peeta straighten the cloth, smoothing it down and making sure that there were no wrinkles. They settled into a light conversation about working with their respective bosses while setting the rest of the table. While Peeta worked on the place settings, he told her about how he admired Haymitch’s down-to-earth attitude despite being one of the most successful people in the company.

She arranged the florals in the center of the table while telling him how she had worked two jobs prior to getting this one.

“I was a waitress and housekeeper before this,” she revealed. “I was working a crazy lunch rush when I met Effie. We got to talking because she noticed how I met her coffee exactly the way she liked it despite my ragged expression—her words not mine. Effie kept on coming in, and a month after we met, she offered me the assistant job. Said she like my gumption.”

“That’s really cool,” Peeta said. He set down one of the forks he was cleaning and met her eyes. “You know, this is the first time we’ve really talked. I kind of believed you thought of me as your enemy.”

“I thought the same thing.” Katniss placed a folded napkin on the plate in front of her. “You called me a head case.”

His blue eyes widened, shocked at her words. Slowly, she could see in his eyes, the memory of his words.

“I didn’t know you heard that,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean it and I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine!” Katniss stood up abruptly. The pain of his words churned in her stomach. “I know that everyone talks about me. In my defense, Cato was completely inappropriate when we first met. I thought acting like a bitch would stave him off. Clove has no filter—”

Peeta’s brows furrowed at her sudden coldness.

“I realize that now—one year later…is that why you completely ignore me? Why you act like the sight of me makes you sick?”

“I do not!” Katniss cried out into the room. “You avoid me at all costs!”

“Because the one time that I attempted to ask you a question—you brushed me aside!” he shouted. “If you had bothered to talk to me, I wouldn’t have believed what people said in the first place—” Peeta’s phone rang, and he quickly picked up, seeing his boss’ face on his screen. “Haymitch? You on your way? What? No, I haven’t looked outside—”

Katniss rushed to one of the front windows, pulling back the curtain.

White everywhere.

She couldn’t even see her car and it was bright fucking red!

“They’re not coming.”

Turning, Katniss found Peeta putting his phone in his pocket as he approached.

“The snowstorm came unexpectedly, and the roads are blocked. They’re staying at Effie’s to wait it out while we…are stuck here until it passes.”

++++++

The good thing was that the house was fully equipped. Food was stocked in the fridge since the couple had planned to stay for the long weekend. Both he and Katniss had even brought Haymitch and Effie’s luggage so there had clothing.

“Well, dinner must be ready,” Katniss informed him with a sigh. “If you want to get more comfortable, you can probably change to something of Haymitch’s. I have a call to make before my phone dies and then I’ll pull the food out of the oven.”

Peeta nodded numbly, grabbing Haymitch's duffle and going to the opposite open door where the bedroom was. He tossed the bag on the bed—

The one bed.

Turning, he rushed out of the room to look for his female counterpart. “Katniss!” He found the sitting room empty and headed into the kitchen.

“Yes, I’ll be fine,” she spoke quietly into the phone. “Just be nice to Johanna, okay? I’ll be home soon.” Her voice sounded completely different, light and happy—even affectionate. “I love you, too. Good night.”

He knocked on the archway and she turned to him.

“We have a problem,” he told her. “There’s only one bed.”

“And the couch is really just a loveseat,” Katniss mused as she pulled the food—steak with roasted asparagus and potatoes. Her expression was pained, and she blew out a breath. “I don’t really want to think about this right now. Why don’t we just eat?”

Peeta quickly nodded in agreement, rushing to the sitting room, and grabbing their plates.

“Why don’t you let me set this up?” he told her, seeing how frazzled she seemed. “Have a seat. Open the champagne—”

Katniss laughed and the sound of her lightened the load on his chest.

“You trying to get me drunk, Mellark?”

Peeta smirked. “If it makes you like me, then yes.”

“Fine, fine…” Katniss sauntered off towards the doorway. She stopped at the archway and their eyes met. Her gaze was nervous, but he could see the warmth in her greys. “You’re not my enemy, Peeta. And…I like you more than you think.”

Katniss disappeared, but not before he spied the blush on her cheeks.

Peeta felt another twinge. This time—in his chest.

++++++

Instead of sitting at the table, Katniss grabbed Effie’s luggage, a classic Louis Vuitton that cost more than her old Jeep, and brought it to the bedroom.

The one bedroom. With the one bed.

A sudden image of herself spooned contentedly against Peeta in that very bed rose in her mind—

“Stop tripping off him!” she chided herself.

Distractedly, Katniss opened the bag, sorting for something remotely comfortable in her boss’ luggage. However, it looked like Effie was expecting some sort of kinky weekend. The only sleepwear she had was a tiny red number that Katniss would probably bust out of; Effie was a tiny but fierce woman.

Maybe she could borrow something from Haymitch’s pile—

“Katniss?”

“I’m coming!” she called out before stuffing Effie’s lingerie back into the back.

Walking back into the room, Katniss saw that Peeta had already placed the plates on the table. He stood waiting for her, looking obnoxiously handsome as he had the day they met.

That first time, she had knocked him to the ground so caught up in following with Effie’s rapid pace. When Katniss held out her hand to him, she was caught up in the open smile he gave her. Then it was the gold waves along his forehead, which Katniss desperately wanted to brush back and the blue of his eyes—they had a tinge of grey in them.

For a moment, she was just a girl, and he was just a boy. Peeta didn’t know anything about the rumors of her iciness or how someone like her, with no college degree, managed to get a position like hers.

In that moment, Katniss was pure.

“You alright?” Peeta asked, interrupting her moment down memory lane.

“Yes.” She let him help her into her seat. “I was just thinking about something.”

“Was it the one bed thing?” he joked. “I’m fine with sleeping on the floor—”

Katniss held her hand up. “Let’s be grownups. It’s a big bed and we can put a pillow between us.”

“Very to the point,” Peeta replied, holding up his champagne glass. “To being grown-ups.”

“To being grown-ups.” She clinked her glass to his and took a full gulp. The liquid bubbled through her, making her laugh. “Wow, that’s some good shit.”

Peeta guffawed. “We’re going to have some fun.”

END OF PART ONE

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Fated Epilogue

Epilogue

Ares x reader

Word Count: 2041

Summary: Time skip to Zag running around trying to fix everything; then he gets a weird message from Ares.

The affair known to most of the Underworld’s population as The Confusion of Zagreus started as most things in his life did, on a run through the place as he tested the defenses against an escaping entity for what felt like the thousandth time. He’d had Ares’ vial with him, so naturally he’d gotten a fair few of the war god’s boons. Nothing too unusual, right? That’s what he thought right up until Ares said the most curious thing.

“When next you see Thanatos, tell him that his sister wants him to visit more.”

Sister? Zagreus wondered. Than doesn’t speak to his . . . Wait, Nemesis . . . But why would Lord Ares have messages from her?

When he mentioned it to his lover, Thanatos just chuckled. “I suppose it has been a while since I last saw her,” was all he had to say on the matter.

And that set the trend that continued for a while. He’d get a message from Ares to Than, pass it on, and get some cryptic non-answer in return. It was absolutely maddening. Even when he asked others, all they had to say was that it wasn’t any of his business, which was fair, but that didn’t aid his curiosity.

Finally, all that started changing when he managed to squeeze a drop of information out of Than when he asked, “So why does Ares see your sister more than you?” while they were dining together one evening.

And without really thinking, Death Incarnate reflexively replied, “Because she lives with him in Thrace instead of here.” Of course, immediately after that, Thanatos realized what he’d just admitted and promptly clammed up, but it was something at least.

Then Demeter let slip something else in one of her messages after he’d accepted several of Ares’ boons yet again. “Ares is aiding you when you get injured, is he? I’d be surprised if Nemesis didn’t have a hand in that sort of attack.”

And that set him thinking. Revenge was her area of expertise, after all. And many of Ares’ such boons were noticeably more powerful in dealing direct damage instead of causing various other effects. Could Than’s sister have been indirectly aiding him through Ares all this time?

Then came another piece of knowledge, this one from his mother upon inquiring why Thanatos and Lord Ares seemed to be so close. 

“Well War and Death were always bound to meet frequently just from their natures, I suppose, but it could also have been because of that mess where he saved poor Thanatos from being chained in a box. I’d wager that was a big help to making their friendship grow.” Before he could ask just what that was about, she continued, “Though it could have also started back when Lord Ares almost passed away, too. I remember Thanatos being quite concerned for both him and Nemesis during all that.”

“What do you mean Lord Ares almost died? He’s an Olympian!”

“He is, but the day Hermes found him was a day that stoked fear in the heart of every Olympian,” Persephone said gravely. “They all worried about Ares’ fate despite how they regularly ridicule the man, because if he could die that meant any of them could.”

Zagreus suddenly found his mouth extremely dry and couldn’t form a response.

“Yes, that was definitely the start of their friendship now that I think on it. It was very kind of Thanatos to linger without threatening the poor dears. From what I heard, he was very calm during the whole affair even in the face of such shocking news.”

“Yes, I suppose learning even the great Olympians might die would be quite dramatic,” he murmured, shoulders sagging.

“No, that’s not--ah! You don’t know, do you?”

He perked back up. “Know what, Mother?” he prompted innocently.

She smiled kindly as she patted his forearm. “It’s not my place to tell you if they haven’t already; I’d forgotten how much they value their privacy when they can get it.”

Who is ‘they’? Zagreus wanted to scream while yanking his hair out. Thanatos and his sister? Her and Ares? Thanatos and Ares?? But he didn’t. Instead, he just smiled stiffly and nodded.

It wasn’t until he managed to broker a peace between the Chthonic gods and the Olympians that he finally got answers.

~

There was a party you were supposed to be preparing for, but you were having a hard time working up the gumption to move from your current position. Because of said celebration, you and your husband--how you’d never tire of calling him that--had arranged your schedules so that they aligned, which of course was the reason you found yourself lying in bed perpendicular to the man, using one arm as a pillow under your head on his chest while the other hand played with his hair.

His gleaming red eyes flicked over to the open, brightly illuminated window where sheer white curtains swayed softly in the breeze. “We really should be dressing; I have a feeling your brother-in-law wants to meet us sooner rather than later.”

“Yes, but it’s so rare that we get time like this to ourselves.”

His hand found the one you’d been carding through his hair and brought it to his lips to kiss. “You and I have an eternity full of moments like this ahead of us; we can spare an evening for the boy.”

You huffed dramatically. “Let it never be said that you’re not a man of your word.” A sigh left your lips, but still you pried yourself out of bed without further complaint. “Are we doing full regalia or casual?” When there was no answer, you glanced back to see that he was transfixed by the sight of your naked form heading towards the shared closet. “Ares!” you laughed, snapping his attention back to reality.

“Darling, I take it all back; you must come back to bed at once. There’s a rather pressing matter that needs your attention at once.”

Now, you rolled your eyes. “Well that pressing matter can wait until we return. Are we doing armor or not?”

From there, there were a lot of kisses, gropes, and laughter between that moment and being fully clothed--in light leather greaves and cloth chitons rather than the usual full armor, after all, Ares so hated to be unprotected or unarmed--but neither of you were really complaining.

“Boys!” Ares called down the hallway with you tucked under his arm.

Two heads of wild silver hair just like their father’s appeared from the same doorway. “Yes, Father?” they chorused.

“We’re leaving. I trust you can manage things until our return?”

“Of course, Father.” And then they were gone from sight, their snickering still echoing in their absence.

Ares chuckled as he shook his head. “Little terrors, the both of them.”

Though they weren’t yours, you’d grown to love both of the twins the moment you met them. With Aphrodite being so absent in their lives, you’d taken up the role of ‘mother figure’ quickly, and the two were practically your own by now. “Well, to be fair, one of them is Panic.” 

~

You were unsurprised at the Olympian turnout at the party; most arrived near the time when you did, but none stayed particularly long. As fond as they were of Zagreus in theory, their detest of the Underworld would always be greater. Only Ares and Demeter attended from the mountain and stayed past the pleasantries and feast. Otherwise, it was entirely the subjects of the House of Hades that were present. Fortunately, they seemed to be enjoying themselves nonetheless judging from the way Meg and Dusa had quickly roped you and Ares into conversation.

Zagreus hadn’t seemed to notice your arrival yet--too wrapped up in getting to know his mother and grandmother, you assumed--but you caught sight of Hades glaring at Ares every now and then. Every time you caught him, the harsh threat he’d delivered to Ares rang through your ears once more. 

“Set foot outside this house, boy, and you shall find yourself in a fate worse than death.” Neither of you were surprised by the warning. He was, after all, still angry about the whole ‘bursting into the Underworld without permission to save Thanatos’ fiasco.

Eventually, you and Ares found yourselves alone for a moment once Achilles and Patroclus excused themselves. You tugged the glass from his fingers to steal a sip of his ambrosia, something that’d been quite hard to find the last time you’d visited. You didn’t want a full glass, and Ares never complained about sharing.

He pressed a kiss to your temple, clearly worried about you partaking in a drink you’d never really managed to develop a taste for. “Are you alright?” he asked quietly. The drinking coupled with the knowledge of how much you hated being dragged to these things had likely set him on edge.

“I’m fine,” you assured him with a genuine smile. “These are my family, remember? Much nicer to be around than yours.”

“That’s quite true,” he murmured. No doubt, he was remembering when he and Aphrodite had been paraded around and humiliated as the entertainment at one of his family’s gatherings. His gaze flickered up as he noticed something before you did: Zagreus approaching at last. “And there’s the man of the hour!” he greeted warmly. It was hard to mistake the boy for any other given his attire was his family’s colors and the way he absolutely looked like a mix of his parents.

“Lord Ares!” Zag’s face was alight with happiness. “I’m glad you were able to make it; it’s an honor to meet you properly.” His eyes shifted to you. “You must be Than’s lovely sister I’ve heard very little about.”

You laughed lightly. You like this kid already. “I suppose that’s me, yes.”

“Frankly, I’m amazed I haven’t seen you around the House before now,” he probed curiously.

You decided to indulge him; it was a celebration in his honor after all. “I pop by to visit Mother and Hypnos from time to time, but I see Than enough that lingering isn’t worth it. I’ve gathered that you’re usually gone from the House as much as he is.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” he chuckled. “Makes sense you wouldn’t just lurk around when you put it like that.”

“Have to budget that precious time off somehow.””

“Plus, it’s sort of my fault that she resides in Thrace since I stole her all those years ago,” Ares teased.

“Stole her, sir?” Oh, how the poor boy looked so confused at those words. You were willing to bet his mind was just running back over Persephone’s situation and comparing it to yours.

Your brows furrowed. “Zag, has no one told you about Ares and I?”

“No!” his voice was laughing but had a manic edge to it. “Everyone keeps hinting at there being something going on with you two, but no one wants to clue me in! I’ve tried to respect your privacy by not asking directly, but it’s driving me crazy!”

“Oh, for Father’s sake.” Ares rolled his eyes. “I’m going to have a word with your brother about this,” he announced as he started pulling away from you.

“Wait! You’re not mad at Than are you?” Zagreus fretted. “Because I’d hate to cause strife between you because of my own curiosity, and--”

“Relax, Zag,” you soothed.

“Thanatos is the only being I would ever call my friend outside of her,” he gestured toward you. “I thought it went without saying that he didn’t have to keep secrets from you for my benefit, but apparently that isn’t the case. I’m simply going to tell him that. I’ll be right back, my darling.” With a kiss to your temple, he stalked over to where Than was loitering with his sleeping brother at the edge of the room.

When you looked back at Zagreus, he was staring at you absolutely slack-jawed, probably at Ares’ display of affection. “Blood and darkness, my Lady,” he managed to wheeze, “what is going on?”

You snorted a little, amused slightly by his turmoil. “Zagreus, Ares is my Fated. He’s my husband.”

His eyes went a little crossed as he realized it was just that simple. “Oh, is that all?!”

[deascheck]

Sam Winchester's Love

Summary: You are in a relationship with Sam Winchester. You don’t feel deserving of his love as your depression causes you to sink into a deep rut. Sam does some research about depression and responds to your lapse in happiness with a gentle approach that ends with him showing you just how much he loves you.

Word Count: 2906

Warnings: talk of depression and suicide/death, angst, and all the fluff with some smut added in there.

A/N: First- I’ve never written smut before. So be nice! Second, I struggle with depression and anxiety, and wanted to write a fic that expresses what would help me (or hopefully anyone struggling as well) feel appreciated when I’m low. I bolded symptoms of depression to help people see what it feels like to have depression. These are not the only symptoms. If you identify with one or more of the symptoms, I encourage you to reach out to someone and start a conversation. It could be a complete stranger or a loved one. (I'm always a listening ear, too!) Whatever you’re most comfortable with. All “Google results” are from my own google search. The crisis text line is a real resource for you to use, if you find yourself in a mental health crisis.

Also tagging a couple people who might like to read. Sorry if that's overstepping! @winchester09 @that-one-gay-girl @supernatural-harrypotter7 @winchest09

The one good thing about living in a bunker was that there were no windows. Your room that you shared with Sam Winchester was no different. It meant no morning sun could wake you up, and you could keep the room as dark and cool as you wanted to. And on this particular morning, your depression had you keeping the room as dark as you possibly could.

You knew the boys would be wondering where you were, since it was 10:30, and you were always up by 8:00. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You couldn’t move, you couldn’t get dressed, brush your teeth or hair, or even get your legs swung over the edge of the bed. You were so emotionless that you couldn’t even cry. You simply didn’t care. Nothing felt important to you. You had no motivation to do anything except lie there in the gloom, curled around yourself, stuck in this dark rut.

You had no idea how much time had passed while you stayed there, motionless, until Sam came in, knocking softly as he opened the door. Your eyes glanced over to him and you could see the surprise and concern on his face at discovering your lack of activity.

“Y/N? Love, what are you still doing in bed? It’s 2:00 in the afternoon.”

You sighed. “I don’t care,” you said softly. “Nothing matters to me right now. I wish I would die. Then I wouldn’t be a burden to anyone anymore. No one would miss me.”

Sam knew you struggled with depression, but in the short time you’d been together, he had yet to see a truly deep depressive episode. It scared him, and he replied, “What? Y/N, I would miss you! You’re scaring me.”

You moved your head marginally to be able to look at him for real, and asked, “Would you let me be? I just need to be alone.” Your tone was expressionless, and it freaked Sam out.

He nodded and slowly and quietly closed the door. Once the door was latched firmly, Sam beelined for his laptop. He’d be damned if he was going to let you suffer alone and in silence.

Opening his computer, he typed in “symptoms of depression”. Among the results were, “fatigue, sleeping too much or too little, feelings of worthlessness or hopelessness, loss of interest in activities that once brought pleasure, appetite loss, feelings of sadness, loneliness, or ‘empty’ feelings, thoughts of suicide or death”. His eyes widened. You met every single one of those criteria for identifying depression.

Determined to help, he next googled “how to help someone with depression”. The answers ranged from helping the loved one cope, to opening a conversation with the loved one and getting them to talk about their feelings. Asking questions such as “What caused you to start feeling like this? How can I help you right now?” Stating things like, “You’re important to me. Your life is important to me,” or “You’re not alone, I’m here for you.”

One resource he found as he researched fervently was the crisis text line. It was a number (741-741) someone could text and speak to a certified individual about whatever their crisis was. Sam noted that in the back of his mind as something to bring up to you.

Sam nodded as he read. He knew he could do all these things. His biggest goal for you was for you to feel supported and loved. Seeing you in the state you were in concerned him and it had almost sent him in a tailspin of worry. But he would remain strong for you. You needed Sam to lean on if you were going to get up to see the light.

Sam noticed Dean wander in and motioned him over.

“Hey, I gotta talk to you about Y/N. She’s in a really bad depressive episode. She said she wanted to die.” Sam’s heart rate sped up with fear just saying those words. He swallowed and continued. “I’ve been looking up depression online and I think I know how to help her. But I could use your help.”

Dean quickly responded, “So that’s why she’s still in your room. Of course. What do you need?”

Sam answered, “I’m going to have a conversation with her and see if I can’t convince her to get out of bed. Actually, once we finish talking, I’m going to carry her out if she won’t walk. But I want to give her some ideas of simple things we could do as a group that would help her snap back to us.”

Dean nodded in agreement. “I think you’re on the right track. I dated a girl for like, a week, years ago who had depression, and getting outside really helped her she said. Maybe we could go on a walk with her down to the lake. Or hell, even loop around the bunker’s perimeter a few times.”

“That’s a good idea. I was also thinking something easier, like a movie night squished between us - something to show her she’s loved and not alone. Or maybe making dinner with us, so that she’s up and about but doesn’t really have to do much.” Sam ran his hand through his hair as he thought out loud.

Dean grinned. “Oh we’d show her she’s loved. She’s like my sister. She’s not going anywhere.”

His grin faded. “Hey, what if we took her on an easy hunt? Tried to get her back in the swing of things? Maybe it would distract her from the depression.”

Sam shook his head thoughtfully. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. She said she wanted to die, which makes me think that she might do something stupid on the hunt, like try to get killed. Or even just make a stupid mistake because her head isn’t in the game. No, I don’t think a hunt is the right option for her right now.”

“Of course. Duh. I should have known that,” Dean rolled his eyes in exasperation at his cluelessness. ‘I wouldn’t want to put Y/N in danger.”

Sam sighed. “Well, we’ve got some ideas. Let me go talk to her and see what I can get her to do. We’ll be out in a bit one way or another.”

Dean nodded and headed to the kitchen to grab a bite and some coffee before doing his own research on your debilitating ailment.

----

You still hadn’t moved since Sam had come into the room. Your mind felt empty, like everything had been drained from it. You just lay there quietly, waiting for nothing.

The door opened slowly, and Sam silently came in, shutting the door behind him. He didn’t say a word, just got in the bed with you and wrapped you up in his arms to hold you close. Your back against his chest, he tried to shelter you with his body, as if he could protect you from the dark thoughts. Sam wanted you to feel his love first before he tried to say anything. The two of you stayed like that for several minutes, the only sound in the room was the sound of two humans breathing softly. You hadn’t even known, but his touch was what you’d been needing. You soaked in the moment, grateful Sam was giving you space before speaking.

“Y/N?” Sam kissed the nook between your shoulder and your neck. “I want you to know you’re not alone. I’m here for you every step of the way.”

You didn’t respond, but it created the first semblance of emotion you’d felt all day. You could feel your eyes start to well up, not understanding how he knew exactly what to say to you.

“I don’t know what triggered your episode, but I think it would help if you talked it through with someone. It doesn’t even have to be me. You could text the crisis help line, and speak to someone through that. What do you think about that?” You could hear the hesitation in Sam’s voice, as though if he spoke too loudly or firmly he’d break you.

Sighing once again, you summoned the motivation to speak. “If I talk to anyone, I’d like it to be you.”

You could feel the smile on his lips as he again kissed you.

You drew in a shaky breath and decided to describe to him how you were feeling. You told him in a whisper about how you had no motivation, no gumption to do anything. How you felt worthless and unlovable. You told him how you felt he’d be better off if you just died so you weren’t a burden anymore and how you couldn’t bring yourself to care about anything today. As you spoke of your symptoms and feelings, you could feel a couple warm tears dripping into the crook of your neck and shoulder.

Once you finished, you felt Sam take a couple steadying breaths, clearly attempting to get himself together. “My love, I’m so sorry you’re going through this. If I could take this all away I would. But I’m here. I can share the weight of your burden. You mean the world to me. You are the farthest thing from a burden on me. You are the shining light in my life, guiding me and loving me. You have given me a reason to fight on. You are what I hold on to in my dark moments.” Here Sam paused, unsure whether he was overwhelming you or even getting through to you.

You turned in his arms so that your chest was facing his, your arms pressed against his chest as you brought your head to tuck under his. “Sam, I can’t tell you how much that helped me,” you said softly.

Sam took that as a cue and gently unwrapped one of his arms from your back and brought your head up to his. Tenderly, he pressed his lips to yours, sending you the message “I love you”. You allowed yourself to respond, capturing his lips with yours. Your kiss was sending the message, “Thank you.”

The two of you kissed delicately for a minute before your body began to respond. You pressed your mouth more firmly against his and adjusted your body to press closer against Sam’s. You brought one hand up and began to run it through Sam’s hair, something you knew he was crazy for. As the kiss began to become more passionate, you grabbed Sam’s hair at the roots and gently pulled, letting him know it was ok to take this a step further. He moaned a little against your mouth at the feeling of his hair being tugged on and involuntarily ground his hips into yours.

You automatically responded by thrusting your hips back against his. Sam broke the kiss long enough to look at you with an unspoken question in his eyes. You nodded, understanding his desire to show you just how much he loved you. Sam rolled you onto your back before resuming the kiss, running his tongue along your bottom lip, lazily requesting access to your mouth. You granted it, and began to explore his mouth with your own as if it were your first kiss. You could feel Sam slowly grinding against you, not rushing, but clearly feeling the need for some friction. His erection was bumping against your abdomen, and both of your breathing began to get shorter and heavier.

Not breaking the kiss, Sam lifted himself up on one arm and began pulling your nightshirt over your head. You allowed your lips to leave his only long enough to get the shirt out of the way and immediately brought your mouth to Sam’s again. His free hand roamed across your stomach, tracing lines in circles and random shapes as he made his way up to your breasts. Your breathing hitching, you moaned into the kiss as he began to massage your breast, pinching your hardened nipple. Your hips began to grind back against Sam’s, now also needing friction. Your arousal was beginning to pool between your legs, and you weren’t wearing panties.

Sam began to move his kisses down your jawline and to your neck, where he sucked through his teeth, determined to leave his mark on you. You cocked your neck to the side to allow him full access but he was already moving lower, taking your nipple in his mouth and swirling his tongue around it, sucking on it. He pulled off it with a pop, and moved to the next one. Sam then continued to work his way down your body, kissing every inch of your stomach, navel, and down to your inner thighs. You shuddered, his lips so close to your slick folds. Sam smiled against your leg. “You like that, sweetheart?” All you could do was whimper in response as you ground your hips desperately. “Ok,” he murmured. “Ok, love. Let me show you how much I love you.”

Sam ran his tongue between your folds and immediately you felt the tightness in your core begin. He knew every sensitive spot, every place to make you writhe in ecstasy. He sucked on your clit and slowly stuck a finger in your hole. You threw your head back, eager for him to insert another, which he obliged. He bent them and ran them against your walls, curling and pumping. Your juices squelched a bit, letting Sam know just how ready for him you were. He continued to run his tongue in swirls around your clit and through your folds as he finger fucked you. The tightness in your core becoming unbearable, you could feel your release coming. You moaned loudly and stuttered, “S-Sam, I’m gon-gonna…”

“Cum for me baby. Come on, that’s it. Good girl,” he praised as your orgasm exploded, pleasure coursing through your body, your pussy clenching around his fingers over and over again as he rode you through it.

You lay limp against the sheets, unable to form words. Sam looked up at you and chuckled. He slowly brought himself up along your body to recapture your lips with his, putting all his love and passion into the kiss. “Now do you know how much I love you?” he asked. You smirked. You could feel his erection pressed between your bodies. You wanted to feel him deep inside you, filling you, satisfying you. “Mmm I’m beginning to,” you murmured. “I might need you to show me more.” Sam smirked back at you and said, “As you wish, my love.”

He lined himself up at your entrance, rubbing his cock in your juices. Slowly, he pushed in, letting you adjust as he went. That was one thing you loved about him. Sam never rushed your body. He worshipped it. Once he was fully sheathed, he pulled halfway out, and slowly thrust back in, creating a slow, lazy pace that made you two feel like you had all the time in the world. As he thrust, he grabbed one of your legs, and put it over his shoulder, giving him a new angle, to get him deeper.

You moaned and your pussy clenched around his cock as he hit places that gave you waves of pleasure. He groaned as you clenched around him and sped up his pace, his balls slapping against your skin. Sam took his free hand and started rubbing your clit again, trying to help you get to your climax. His other hand held your hip in place as his pace picked up even more, almost becoming erratic as he got close to his release. You threw your head back again as you felt the familiar tightness building in your core. “Oh don’t stop. Oh Sam. Oh my god. Don’t .. don’t… ahhh!!” You came loudly and harder than last time, your back arching and your pussy milking Sam’s cock for all it was worth. Sam grunted - he couldn’t handle it, the tightness, the pulsing - and released inside you, jerking his hips, spurts of cum coating your walls.

Sam gently pulled out of you, his cum dripping from between your legs. He got up and grabbed a towel from the closet and quietly cleaned you up, careful to not be too rough. You lay there in heaven, a stupid smile on your face, unsure if you’d even be able to walk the next day. Sam crawled back into bed with you and gathered you in his arms. He pressed a soft kiss to your temple and said, “Do you believe me now? How much I love you?”

You smiled adoringly at him and whispered, “Yes, I do.”

Sam grinned. “Good. Because we have an activity outside the room that we’re going to do. And you need to be clothed for it.” He winked at you cheekily. “Dean and I were talking, and we brainstormed something the three of us could do that would help you feel less alone. So, let’s get UP,” he rolled you on top of him and then over him to get you to the side of the bed. “And dressed, and then we’ll go meet Dean.”

You smiled again at him, and good-naturedly shook your head as you got dressed. The darkness was gone for now. You knew it would be back, but you had ammunition to combat it the next time it came a-knocking. Sam Winchester’s love.

[aquietwritingcorner]

Sicktember Day 24: Sneezing Word Count: 936 Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating: T Characters: Rebecca Catalina Warning: Summary: Rebecca goes looking for Riza in the aftermath of the Promised Day, even through all of the debris around. Notes:  AO3 || ff.net

___________________________________________

Sneezing

Rebecca’s nose itched, and she sneezed.

She had little time to worry about it, though. There was too much to do. She was on a mission, and not an easy one at that. She needed to get downtown, to where the emergency tents and field hospital had been set up, or maybe even to the hospital itself. That was the first part of her mission: Find out where the objective is located.

It was easier said than done. There was chaos and people everywhere. The news had broken that Fuhrer Bradley was dead. People had seen the massive energy blast that had taken out half of Central Command. Everyone had been through… whatever that was. She still wasn’t sure. She’d have to go ask someone about that.  There were buildings damaged and blown apart, dead individuals, stories of monsters. There was too much happening, and Rebecca was about to put herself right in the thick of it.

She sneezed again.

“Ugh,” she reached into her pocket, only to find that she didn’t have her handkerchief with her anymore. She had almost forgotten that she had used it earlier, giving it to Brosh to mop up his flood of tears. Well. It wasn’t much more than a simple sneeze, so she would be fine. She just liked the feeling of wiping her nose after sneezing. She’d manage.

Even though her nose kept itching.

She made her way through the barricades leading downtown and around the blockades that had been put up. Her name got her in some places. Riza and Mustang’s got her in more. Her own gumption and guile got her in most of them. By the time she managed to make it downtown, her nose was in an almost constant state of itch. She ignored that, however, as she got her first glimpse of downtown and HQ. It was in worse shape than she had thought.

There were big chunks of buildings laying around, crews already trying to shore them up or block off the area. She sneezed and coughed as a building corner a crew was trying to prop up collapsed, sending out a wave of dust. She kept going, coughing, sneezing, and her eyes watering for at least a block afterward. She passed areas where people were sweeping up debris, the dust tickling her nose and causing her to sneeze again. The closer she got to the epicenter of everything the more her eyes watered and her nose itched.

She finally found the area she was looking for, the medical tents, and set about looking for her particular goal. She dodged in and out of people moving around carrying supplies, tending to wounded. She grimaced as she looked at some of them. Some were soldiers who had just been on the ground outside of the citadel. Most of them had minor injuries, it seemed. Others were in horrible shape, with wounds that almost looked as if they had been bitten or been partially eaten. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what happened there. (She would definitely find out what had happened there).

She sneezed more when she ran into soldiers who must have been near the area that was destroyed, covered in dust, and shedding it like a second skin.

Her eyes watered.

Her nose itched.

“Ah…ah…AHCOO!”

“Becca?”

Rebecca recognized that voice, and she turned and ducked into the area it came from.

“Riza!”

“Rebecca!”

Rebecca ignored the nurse that told her to be quiet, instead looking over her friend. It must have been bad, as Riza was just in her pants and sports bra, which, if she wasn’t on her back, would leave her back exposed. Riza was always so careful about that. Whatever happened must have been bad.

More alarming was how pale and sweating Riza was, with dark circles under her eyes. The doctor was pressing down onto her neck, several bloody pieces of gauze about, and the nurse who had admonished her was setting up what looked to be a blood transfusion with a sense of urgency. Riza made no effort to move. She just kept her eyes locked on Rebecca.

“What happened?” She asked, and her voice was weak, thready.

Rebecca bit her lip, wanting to ask her what had happened, but she knew that Riza wouldn’t be satisfied until she had her answer. So, instead, she gave Riza a rundown of the day and its results. Riza took it in and then traded her information in turn, leaving Rebecca was stunned. She didn’t even notice herself sneezing as Riza talked. When Riza finally finished, she sat back on a stool someone had stuck under her

“…I don’t even have words for that.” She said. “I—I—ah…ah…AHCHOO!” She grabbed some nearby tissues and blew her nose. “Ugh.”

“You’ve been doing that the whole time,” Riza said. “Are you okay?”

“Ugh, fine. I think I’m allergic to something in all this debris.” She saw Riza frown and waved it off. “But it’s worth it to see you. Not like I could have gotten away from it anyway.”

“True,” Riza said, and Rebecca could see the tiredness creeping up in her eyes.

Rebecca stood up. “Rest, Riza. I’ll go check on things, okay? I’ll get answers, even if I have to sneeze my way through it—including checking on that Colonel of yours!”

Riza laughed breathily. “I’ll count on it.”

Rebecca grinned at her, and then ducked out, leaving her friend to rest. She sneezed again but didn’t let it slow her down. She had a new mission. And for Riza Hawkeye, she’d do it—sneezing or not!

[magicalforcesau]

Letters (part 2)

As Obi-Wan and Satine continue their written correspondence in the back half of their Hogwarts career, their bond strengthens to the point where it might not strictly be platonic.

ao3 link

Fifth Year Summer

Dear Ben,

I GOT MY MENTORSHIP REQUEST APPROVED! I’m going to be a peer mentor this upcoming year! Oh, I know this is going to be another responsibility when we’re already saddling quite a bit with OWLS and our duties as prefects. While it was your initial idea to join, I have no regrets. If I’m to influence the minds of thousands from the Ministry, it will do me good to have practice on a smaller and more impressionable scale. Besides, far too many first years are led astray in my opinion. Having firm and caring guidance will be most beneficial.

I hope you can write to me with the same news, even if I still believe you are pushing yourself far too hard. Just please consider your own mental health for this upcoming term. You’re already wound tighter than anyone I know. I would truly not like to partake in the bets that Fives and Echo make behind your back about when your head will explode. I believe either myself or Cody would win. We know you best.

Speaking of being wound tight, I have been dedicating my summer to the practice of enchanting muggle objects as per our homework assignments. Turns out, it truly is not that difficult. I’ve been careful not to alter anything that would come into contact with other muggles, but I look forward to showing you the results of some of my recreations. Between you and me, I’ve been constructing some that were not on the instructed list.

You’re not technically a prefect yet, Obi-Wan Kenobi, so don’t even think about making a wise remark about how you could see me in trouble.

Yours Truly,

Satine

Dear Satine,

I, too, just received confirmation that I’m to mentor a first year this upcoming school year! Regardless of your speculation and wariness, I stand by my decision. We will be kept busy, but idle minds mean time wasted. If you hadn’t agreed on principle, I don’t believe you would have signed up right behind me. As for my extracurricular activities, pretending as though I am not stressed in the slightest about the prospect of the coming year is futile, but I hope to work through it and to become a better student as a result of it. My father has relented on training by Quidditch form. There are bigger things to worry about such as OWLS, which is why I’m to be locked in all summer. No complaints there- I’d much rather read.

Speaking of reading, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the books you snuck into my trunk. Yes, I found them and they were quite a welcome surprise. A bit of relaxing education is just what the doctor ordered. Not literally, because I loathe visiting my family’s practitioner. He takes the term “witch doctor” to new levels and I will leave it at that.

You’ve always been far better at charming objects than I ever have. To be fair, I still don’t have a full understanding of what certain muggle objects actually do, but I’ve got most of the list marked off by this point. While I promise not to report you for deliberate rule breaking, I do admire your gumption. I hope you’ll one day let me see what you’ve crafted. You know I adore learning the novelties of the muggle world. I believe last we spoke, you were telling me about ‘computers’.

As always, I’d love to know more. You have a manner of speaking that simply can’t go unnoticed, at least not to me.

Best,

Obi-Wan

Fifth Year- Winter

Dear Satine,

I apologize if this owl reaches you at an indecent hour. I know how you are about your beauty sleep. It’s been strange being back home, even if for a couple of weeks. It’s only made me realize just how unreal this year has been in terms of excitement and mystery. Though I do not blame the boy for any of it, I won’t lie that it was a much quieter school without Anakin Skywalker present. I wouldn’t change any of it, of course. I believe I am making a difference in working with him. He has a bright mind, if he chooses to use it.

I still can’t get the vision of him foaming at the mouth on the floor out of my head. There’s no doubt that someone has it in for him. I can only imagine who. While eccentric, Anakin is still just a child. He’s harmless.

At risk of drastically changing the subject- my true reason for writing was to thank you again for the watch. My parents have ingrained in me the importance of writing thank you notes regardless of the nature of the gift. However, this might be the first time the sentiment has felt important in action. It may sound ungrateful, but a boy can only receive so many tie clips before he starts to sound a bit robotic in his delivery.

However, please note that every word I say, I mean through my very bones. I hope you didn’t take my silence at receiving it to be anything less than breathlessness. You always keep me guessing, Satine Kryze, and I would have you no different. I am still in awe every time I catch a gander at my wrist.

You did a marvelous job in transfixing and refurbishing it. Seriously, it is of no wonder that Charms comes easier to you than it does to me. Had I not known otherwise; I would have assumed this watch was always crafted with the intention of being magical. Even if it were just a standard watch, it would still have meant more to me than anything I’ve received simply because it came from you. My friend. I’m not sure I deserve it.

I suppose I’ve no excuse for fear of being late any longer, now do I?

It’s never coming off!

Obi-Wan

Dear Ben,

I’m no longer, by any means, insinuating that the boy is trouble. Or more accurately, I don’t believe he’s cognizant of these omens. What concerns me, is Qui-Gon seems to believe that a dark time is upon us. He won’t share his suspicions outright, but I can tell just by how he talks to Anakin with a certain level of wonder and curiosity. Surely, you see it too.

Even still, I say, when school starts up, we try and start our own investigation- off the books and away from Anakin, of course. We needn’t worry him more than he already is. Perhaps while Gryffindor has the field for Quidditch practice we can better research. There’s been too many strange occurrences this year for it to all be coincidental. I’d argue this is the tipping point.

We can further discuss a game plan back at school, but at risk of hurting feelings and potentially endangering lives, we should keep this between us.

I am, however, glad to hear you enjoyed the watch ♥

Yours,

Satine

Sixth Year- Summer

Dear Satine,

I received my OWLS results today as I’m sure you did the same. I wanted you to hear from me, personally, that I am, in fact, alive and well despite what I received as scores. I’m surprised at how alive and how well, quite actually.

For some context- I received all O’s in everything… With the exception of Arithmancy- of which I got an E. I’m not positive where exactly I went wrong in studying for it. I don’t recall the exam being particularly difficult. It’s never been a prized subject of mine as you well know, but I’ve always delivered nothing less than near-perfect marks.

My parents took the news surprisingly well. As opposed to blaming me for slacking off or being distracted by frivolous things such as friends… They were in support of me. In fact, they’re positive that the school is deliberately discriminating against me. I think it might have to do with the recent revelation regarding Anakin being the chosen one. They’ve been much kinder to me and the choices I’ve made as a result of my association with him. Where they believed I was wasting my time, I apparently “saw” what they couldn’t- even if my decision to mentor Anakin had absolutely nothing to do with the matter.

I still have not yet mentioned my pursuit of becoming an Auror. You have to space this kind of news out when you can. They’ve supported me on this, but I’m not sure they’d take that in stride. My parents have been itching to have me become a lawyer or a politician for as long as I can remember.

How were your scores? I’m sure you did brilliantly. I should know, I studied alongside you during all of this madness. I’m eager to properly celebrate with you when we next meet. My mother asked me where I’d gotten the watch the other day and I exclaimed that the brightest witch of my age crafted it for me personally… She assumed it was Ventress, but you’ve always thrived in the chaos of being underestimated, now haven’t you? I will never make that mistake.

Truly,

Ben

Dear Ben,

Don’t you ever scare me with such a dramatic introduction ever again! I nearly had a heart attack, assuming you’d gone and failed your OWLS in a fit of insanity. Given how unusual our fifth year was, I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if it had another anomaly to toss our way. I thought I was going to have to portkey to you and shake the living daylights out of you for being so foolish.

You landed on your feet, as you always do and seem to make it look incredibly easy to those that do not know any better. We’re matching, actually, except my E was in DADA- likely during the practical session when I wouldn’t cast that Sectumsempra spell. To have us perform such an act on a defenseless animal is cruel (even if it was a spider), particularly in the name of ‘testing’. If they must endorse the epidemic of violence, can they not simply provide test dummies?

I’m actually surprised I scored that high, since the instructor looked at me like I had ten heads. I spoke to Cody today. He passed, despite how hard he doubted himself. We both knew that he would do fine, of course.

Ventress has been around a lot more frequently, hasn’t she? I know that she’s been quite displaced ever since Dooku’s outing. She’s quite smug and entitled for someone who hardly does anything aside from being an errand girl to a Sith terror. I’m sure she’ll be continuing her tricks this year. To think your family thinks you could be as shrewd and awful as her.

How is Anakin this summer? I contemplated sending him an owl just to see how he was processing the more recent revelations, but it would most likely sound more from the heart if it came from you. You were truly excellent with him this year, if I hadn’t already mentioned it. I know I convinced you to break away from the status quo and lean into your desires to become an auror, but you’ve got a real knack for teaching and seeing the best in people. It’s truly one of your best traits. That, and the fact that regardless how much of a mess you are, you always manage to look pristine from head to toe.

Actually, that last bit is borderline infuriating. I hope to see you before the summer lets out. I understand why that might be difficult, but it seems with your parents’ investment in Anakin, you might have a valid reason to be away from the homestead more often. If you understand what I’m saying.

Best,

Satine

Sixth Year- Winter

{A draft from the desk of Obi-Wan Kenobi}

[Boldened text in parenthesis] = out loud thoughts

Dear Satine,

How do I say this without sounding like a damn fool? You kissed me!

It’s been brought to my attention by literally everyone that we have a certain noticeable chemistry. [Why am I saying what everyone else thinks when I should be saying what I think?] Usually, when we are together, we argue. A lot. Sometimes, I’m surprised we haven’t strangled each other yet by how heated some of our debates become. You have this ability to get under my skin in a way that no one else possesses. Truthfully, I love [Too strong! Don’t go scaring her off now] truly appreciate that about you.

But there are times when I get this feeling… And it’s come on more and more the longer I know you… Like we could get beyond the possible strangulation phase and onto something… Better. [What is wrong with me?] You challenge me and I think sometimes I’m able to challenge you as well. I think having people in your life that push you to be the best you can be is a sign of true companionship friendship. You’ve become a constant in my life that I wouldn’t shake even if I could. Looking back, it’s only natural for me to grow feelings for you.

Where I tried to convince myself those feelings were simply an intense comradery, I cannot deny that I do not notice how the light casts on Cody’s hair or linger on him as he walks away [Blast that makes me sound like a pervert] wonder what his hand would feel like in mine. My heart doesn’t quicken if Cody touches my shoulder or laughs at one of my jokes. Cody doesn’t sit incredibly close to me at the dining hall, but if he did, I would be more confused than completely entranced. Cody is my other best friend, but my entire day is not made or broken by seeing him smile.

I wouldn’t be jealous if the seventh year boys decided to notice that Cody was beautiful.

And you are disarmingly beautiful, but I’ve always known that, even if I try to ignore it.

You can imagine how terrifying all of this is to realize at the remarkable hour of 3 in the morning- a mere 3 hours after you decided to kiss me under the mistletoe. How am I supposed to think of anything else now or ever again? Which leads me to think [Don’t be presumptuous] wonder… If you share these feelings. And if you do, we’ve got quite a predicament there. Because if I could blissfully convinced myself that we could never be, I’d be able to bury that deep within me, but even the idea of hope that you could see me in that light… I fear that would be all too tempting. The evidence says that you might. You’ve always been a better investigator than myself, but I can’t shake this feeling that we have these spellbound moments where everything slows down. And it’s just you and me. During those moments, everything is alright.

Usually, when I’m troubled as I am now, I do not hesitate to reach out to you. You’re my co-conspirator, my fellow prefect, my best friend. However, given the situation, that’s not very easy to do. Even if Qui-Gon speaks of it like it is . I wish it were, because now all I can imagine is the mark you’ve left with your kiss. It’s the same sort of feeling I get every time I touch the face of the watch you gifted me last year.

Should I ever muster up the courage to send this letter to you, which I definitely shouldn’t, because you deserve the sort of man that would bare his heart in person, please understand that while I’ve dedicated my life to studying magical text, I’m not nearly as well-versed in the subject of love. Since I’m so certain you’ll never read this, there’s no point in denying that it’s anything less than love.

Love,

Ben

Seventh Year- Summer

Dear Ben,

I wanted to ensure that you were on the road of being okay, all things considering. I tried to wait to give you space, but I couldn’t make it more than a week without knowing you weren’t going mad locked up in that house of yours. I’m not even positive you’ll write me back, which is infuriating, but understanding since Qui-Gon’s passing is not one to be taken lightly by anyone, but especially you. I wish I could alleviate the pain you must be feeling in any way.

I’m relieved just a little bit, knowing that Anakin is in your care. It was very surprising of your parents to offer him refuge, as he’s currently got no one else to possibly lean on. Hopefully the two of you can find some solace in each other during these difficult times. I care for both of you very much and my heart aches knowing I am virtually helpless in making this any better. I know you are likely placing an immense amount of pressure on yourself to distract you from addressing your own mentor’s death, but while your parents might encourage this behavior, it’s not a true way of coping. You need to let someone in.

Stay safe. Do not hesitate to reach out (no matter how cliché that sounds). Even if you talk to Cody instead, that’s fine. Just… Don’t lock yourself in that head of yours and go rogue. I’d miss you far too much.

With Love,

Satine

Dear Satine,

I’m not okay, but I’ll have to be soon. Anakin is safe and on the same boat. I’ll write later with a real reply. I’m not quite in the spirit right now. I just wanted you to know that I haven’t gone completely mad in absence.

~Obi-Wan

Dear Satine,

I’m sorry to be writing to you so late in “true” reply. I’ve been quite busy with Anakin this summer. It has been helpful having someone else around. While a gray cloud still seems to follow him around, I’d say he’s faring better than expected. It’s alarming how resilient the boy is, but also incredibly depressing that it needs to be that way. We’ve discussed the matter of Qui-Gon’s death a couple of times. While you won’t like this, I think there is some closure to knowing that Anakin’s attacker, who became Qui-Gon’s murderer, is dead.

Meanwhile, I must confess that it still haunts me every night. I haven’t said anything to Anakin, because like you rightfully assumed, I’m not about to unload that burden onto him. He feels it’s his fault just as much as I do. We’ve taken to playing Quidditch outside. My family owns several acres of land, so we are able to get out of earshot every now and then. Anakin actually gets on quite nicely with my parents, which is a massive relief. Getting back to school for our final year will be a good way to get back into routine. On the other hand, I’m dreading trying to attempt adjusting to a school without Qui-Gon.

I suppose studying my brains out for the NEWTS alongside you will provide for ample distraction. You, alone, are admittedly very distracting. I am referring to your character of course. A general statement.

There’s always Quidditch, unfortunately, which isn’t nearly as fun and carefree as playing with Anakin in the yard. Despite how massively competitive he is? He’s just turned 13 and he’s loads better than me already. I still hate the flying aspect.

I’m writing you, of course, because we just got notified that I’m to be the Head Boy to your Head Girl. This incredibly tragic time has truly made me appreciate the people I have in my life. You are, without a doubt, shining at the top of that metaphorical list in bold and underlined print. I wouldn’t be Head Boy had it not been for you.

A lot has changed thus far, Satine, and I’m growing tired of being afraid. Life is too short and it’s always going to throw negatives at us- some that are absolutely debilitating. However, there is always the light, which has made me think that perhaps this year, some changes don’t have to be bad. There are many things I’d like to discuss with you, in person. Because this sort of conversation should be the kind that happens face-to-face.

Would you like to meet before school?

Truly Yours,

Ben

[mydrug-is-dragonage]

Veda Adaar, A Letter from Home

The balcony off my room had great light in the morning. The sun shining through the clouds, the crisp mountain air, spring properly arrived and ready to melt into summer. My belly swelled, slowly but surely. No kicks or stirring, a growing bump where they said a child would be. I hid myself in long, flowing robes and oversized tunics. I spent most my days here, staring out the window, feeling the sun on my skin. I wondered if this was the feeling my parents missed, living in this cold land so far from their home. I sighed and looked out at the mountains, so calm with the wars ceased. The sky still bore the thin green scar.

The week after the healer confirmed the child, Lace came into my room with tea. “Hey, V.” I nodded and waved her in. She handed me the cup and we settled onto the sofa. The fire crackled, I pulled my robe closer around me and placed both hands on the warm cup. “I haven’t written the Divine yet,” she said.

“You haven’t written or you haven’t sent it?” I asked.

“Sent. I’ve written a draft,” she said.

“Do we have to send it now?”

“No,” she paused. Her eyes stared at the burning logs. “We will have to tell her soon, though.”

“I suppose we can get it over with. Not like it’ll get any easier,” I sighed. I took a sip of my tea. My hands stayed on the cup, the warmth passing through my palms.

“She’ll make it easier to keep this quiet, if that’s still what you want to do,” she said.

I swallowed and stared out, the sun setting, the chill of the mountains taking over. “I want to keep it quiet. I’ll tell a few friends, in time, but for now it needs to stay with only those we trust the most.”

She nodded. “Have you written your mother yet? We got another two letters from her this week.” I shook my head. “The Divine considers her trustworthy. She hasn’t betrayed any Inquisition secrets thus far.”

“I know,” I said, “I just don’t know how to tell her.” Lace tapped her feet. “Go on, you’ve got a mind full of something.”

“Veda, she loves you. She loved Bull. She’ll be thrilled.” I took another sip of my tea.

“She does love me. She did love Bull. She also loves my father and will certainly tell him,” I said. Lace started to speak, but I interrupted. “Pa never trusted him. He had his reasons, of course.”

“I think he’ll support you more than he hates Bull,” she said.

“You’ve met my father. Do you really believe that?”

“He’s a hardass, but he’s always been bolder in affection than hatred.” I nodded, took another sip of my tea.

“Lace, can you bring me a fresh candle and ink?” She nodded and went to fetch them. I settled into my desk.

Tama,

I’m sorry I haven’t written. Lace tells me she’d get you informed about the immediate developments. I’ll also admit I haven’t read your letters. I’m going to, I keep them in a safe place. I simply haven’t found the time or the gumption. For being so brave, I’m so afraid. I don’t know why. I’ve face dragons and magisters and time travel. I suppose the risk there is death. Dying never seemed as scary.

I remember the stories you told me of when you were a girl. A young apprentice baker, elbows deep in flour. You wanted to be a Tamassaran, raising the children, guiding their growth, comforting their hurts. I suppose it’s the closest thing to motherhood in Par Vollen. They didn’t let you into the priesthood, though. They didn’t let you raise the babies and cuddle them, tend to their wounds. They sent you to a small bakery near the sea. I remember the gull songs you’d sing to me as we wandered along the coastline of the Waking Sea.

Pa never told me the same stories you did. I pieced them together from stories you’d told me. Pa, part of the antaam, stopping by your bakery for bread in the morning. Pa, the good soldier, making jokes as you packed his rations You, the naughty the baker, sneaking him sweetened bread, baked with too much sugar. His hands lingering on yours too long in front of the baker. You two sitting on beach, the sea lapping the shore, your hands finding their way to each other’s again. When I got older and understood the Qun, I always wondered how you weren’t quaking with fear. To love, while not forbidden, was certainly not allowed like this.

When you fled, were you afraid? Crossing through Seheron and Tevinter, Pa joining mercenary companies to gain passage, did you regret it? Did you miss the calm of the bakery, the friends you left behind? Was he worth it? Was I worth it? Were you afraid?

I remember when you sent me off with my first company, an apprentice myself, unsure of the power in my fingertips. I remember Pa standing, arm around you. You held back your tears, but I saw your eyes well up, so afraid for your only child, your only daughter. You wanted more for me than mercenary companies, killing for my dinner. You sang from the Chant of Light, you warned me of magic, yet it came to me anyway, taking me away from you. The first letter I got from you started and ended with, “May the Maker guide you.”

He guided me through mountains and valleys, along the seas. I’d seen the Free Marches, Nevarra, Orlais, the South Western corner of the Anderfels, all while learning to protect myself from demons, manipulate the fade to bend to my very will. The best, of course, was when I’d come home, a year older, a head taller, hardly the child you’d sent away, still so far from real womanhood. You fussed over me so, made goat pies, asked about the places I’d been and the joy I’d found. When you went to bed, Pa and I sat outside, looking towards the sky, the moon so full and hungry. He took a sip of the wine you’d opened, offered me my first glass. He put his arm around me and pointed out constellations. He said something softly, the sounds still ringing in my ears, “We wanted better for you. We wanted safer for you.”

The first time you visited Skyhold, we’d stopped the demon army, but we hadn’t yet gone to Halamshiral to save the empress. You wore a simple cotton dress, you hair braided down your back. Pa put on his nice shirt, his horn caps. You looked so nervous around the nobility. They didn’t know what to make of you. The deafening whispers, everyone so curious about the new Qunari amongst the Inquisition. I heard you sing from some Canticle as you walked towards the throne, up towards my room.

I was scared then, too, my mission unfinished, the Magister still on the loose. When we got to my room you gave me the biggest hug. “My little girl has gone on to be something so much bigger!” You beamed, your own daughter the Herald of Andraste. Pa hugged me too. While I was pressed against him he whispered, “I’m happy you’re safe, for now.” Pa pulled away and glanced at my neck.

The dragon’s tooth was heavy. It rested against my skin, cool and smooth. He didn’t say anything, eyes stuck on the tooth. Your eyes were stuck on me, until Pa’s hand reached your back. Your gaze went where his rested. I can hear your voice now, the surpise and curiosity, “Veda, is that….” your voice trailed off, so Pa, forever your rock, finished for you, “A necklace of the Kadan.” He didn’t share your curiosity.

I said yes. No use in lying to you. I felt my heartbeat in my ears. Your eyes widened when you asked me, “Do you have a Kadan?” I nodded, so unsure and afraid. Not of my love. I knew I loved Bull. I hoped he loved me, but the two of you, seeing me in love with a man closer to your age than mine, a Ben Hassrath agent no less. You two joined me in Herald’s Rest, we found a small table in the corner upstairs. Pa drank a full ale before Bull came to join us. It was awkward, so painfully awkward. When Pa excused himself, I wanted to be sick when Bull said he’d take a walk with him. The men gone, us alone at the table. “He’s,” you thought so carefully about your words, “a lot of man.” I laughed and agreed. You asked if he made me happy.

He did. He made me so happy. He made me happy for years. He made me happy dancing at Halamshiral, he made me happy fighting dragons, he made happy in taverns and campsites, in castles and caves. He held my hand in carriages, he held me in cold storms. He took blows meant for me, he killed foes sent to strike me down. I saw the whole future, I saw the danger you and Pa had lived through. I knew we’d have troubles. I knew he’d be called away from me, but he was mine and he made me so happy, Tama. I couldn’t have loved him more.

I assume you know now what he did. Pa was right. Pa, despite walking with Bull, pulled me into a great big hug before he left. Again, he whispered in my ear, “He’ll never love you more than the Qun.” I shrugged him off. What did Pa know? He didn’t know Bull. He didn’t know me or our circumstances. I thought myself so grown then, barely nineteen, but the most powerful woman in the world. I loved Bull. Bull loved me. I was so sure Bull loved me.

I don’t know if love persists once we return to the Maker’s side. I don’t know if he even gets to return to the Maker. I don’t know what the Qun says happens we die. He obeyed the Qun. He did what the Qun demanded. If there is satisfaction to be had there, he’s earned it. At the cost of himself, at the cost of our love, at the cost of my dignity.

It’s been scarcely two months, his body left to rot near that dragon’s prison. I saw my love struck down before me. Cassandra delivered the killing blow, saving me the anguish of having to kill him myself. He’s dead, Tama. He’s gone. He’s gone forever and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to accept that he loved me and still did this. I don’t know how to accept that he never loved me and felt no guilt. I don’t understand. I don’t understand.

It’s been two months, I’m in Skyhold with Lace and the few others who stayed behind to serve what was the Inquisition. I’m no longer the Inquisitor, I’m no longer a fearsome fighter. I’m no longer someone’s Kadan. I’m just Veda. I’m just Veda and that’s all I’ll ever be. I’ll try to help stop Solas, but I won’t lead the charge. I can’t, not anymore. I’m going to be a glorified advisor, one-armed and tired. All that is so hard to write. Forgive the smudges. I’ve finally cried without violence and I don’t know how to accept any of this, but I do have something I have to tell you.

I’m no longer the Inquisitor, a Valo-Kas mercenary, a Knight Enchanter. But I’m still your daughter, and I’m going to be a mother.

Love,

Veda

Lace sent the raven to my mother, I sat down and finally read her letters, her usual, motherly concern filling each page. Father was doing well, a goat had twin kids. When she’d found out about Bull, the letter was longer. Words about love and loss, the way pain settles in our chest, proving our love mattered at all. Beautiful words, frustrating as they were comforting. I heard her and Thom ringing in my ears. I lounged on the sofa, my hands resting at my side, sometimes settling on the top of it. My stomach was warm and tight. Sometimes my fingers would wander towards my stomach, but I’d pull them away. The child would have to be acknowledged eventually. I would have to care for the child, provide for its needs. But I didn’t have to love it, caress its home. Not yet, not now.

Two weeks passed, visitors came and went, spring got brighter, the documents and plans seemed more convoluted. A sunny afternoon, Lace came to my room with two letters. “I thought you’d want this as soon as possible,” she said. I opened the first, smelled the pages. The light scent of lavender and smoke, the oils mother loved and the constant cooking.

Sweetling,

Asit tal-eb. It is to be. Maraas Kata. Nothing is ended.

Love,

Tama

I held the letter to my chest, weeping. So few words, yet they struck right into my heart. Asit tal-eb, what mother would say whenever we suffered and lost. One summer, before I’d come into my magic, Pa came home furious. He cursed and threw down his sword. They spoke in quick Qunlat, too fast for me to understand. Pa sat down and put his elbows on his knees, his head in his hand. Tama put her arms around his head, rested her head on his. She whispered, “Asit tal-eb,” over and over, stroking his hair. I put my doll aside, walked up beside them. Pa took an arm off Tama’s waist and pulled me into their embrace. She leaned up, dried her eyes, and squatted down to my height. “We’ve got to go, sweetling,” she said. Her voice calm despite it all.

“But I like it here! They’re not even mean at the Chantry!” I said, full of childlike fury.

“They won’t sell us the land,” Pa said. “So we can’t grow food for ourselves. We can’t raise animals of our own.” He sniffed and stared at the wall. His gaze moved down to me, little girl with little horns still budding. “We will try again. Find a new place we can stay. Asit tal-eb.”

I caught my breath and opened the next letter. Instead of my mother’s gentle writing, a harsher, sturdier hand had written it.

Imekari,

Your mother says you are having a child. This means we will be grandparents. I have never known a grandparent. Like parenthood, it is a concept we’ve stolen from the Bas. Regardless, I will inquire with the man who sells wheat what this entails. I presume we will love this child, just as we love you. The stories I’ve heard, being a grandparent is easier. That brings some joy.

I read the letter you sent your mother. I read it a few times. I lost count after seven. You’re not so wrong with your telling of me. I was in the antaam. I tried to make your mother laugh often. We did hold hands when we shouldn’t have. Due to your existence, you know we fled together, children ourselves. We chose love over duty. We abandoned the Qun.

I never told you of the walk Hissrad and I took the day we met. You were right. It was awkward. I hoped for a moment to compose myself. Perhaps find a man to hit me with a stick. Of course, Hissrad chose to join me. We walked along the battlements for some time. He was quiet, as I was quiet. We reached a corner and overlooked the endless mountains. I asked him about the necklace. Your mother and I had never told you of this. Kadans and necklaces of Kadans were a memory we left behind. It had to be his idea. He kept a blank face. I presume he was a very good Hissrad. After some contemplation, he said (translated for your sake), “I mentioned it off hand. We killed a dragon less than a week later. I thought we were just having fun, but she surprised me. She constantly surprises me.” I asked if he loved you. He said yes. I asked if he loved you as the Qunari he was or the Tal-Vashoth he pretended to be. He said (again, translated for your sake. You need to learn more Qunlat. The child should know Qunlat), “Both. I love her as the friend and companion I’d get to have in Par Vollen. I love her as a Tal-Vashoth would love whomever they chose.” When I asked about the Qun and when he’d be pulled back to Par Vollen, he gave meaningless answers. He’d spent too much time around bas, he’d forgotten how to talk to men like men.

Imekari, I was wrong. He’s dead. He died obeying orders. But, presuming this new imekari—Imekari II? Small imekari? Ari-imekari? I’ll discuss with Tama—was not of your planning, he broke the Qun. He knew how to control his seed. We all grow up knowing, waiting to be called for breeding. He made a choice. He violated the Qun.

He died Tal-Vashoth. I wish he had lived to fulfill that betrayal of the Qun. The child will come. Tama and I will come too, to discuss and guide. For now, I’ve enclosed something that gave me great comfort during our great suffering.

You’re still a Kadan. You’ve always been our Kadan.

Your Father,

Beres

Behind his letter there was another piece of paper. I opened it slowly, the creases deep and discolored. Inside was a drawing, crude, of a little house. Two Qunari stood, both smiling. The drawing was labeled, “This will be our house. This is where the goats will sleep. This is where the goats will chase the chickens. This is where Veda will play. This is where Tama will sing to Veda. This is where Pa will squeeze Veda on days the Maker didn’t bring kindness to school.” A smaller Qunari reached both hands up, a parent grabbing each hand. At the bottom, it said, “Home.”

I read and re-read the letter. When my hand drifted to my belly, I let it rest.

[aggresivelyfriendly]

Day Thirteen

Hello loveys! Happy Sunday! Here we are at the penultimate chapter! If you’ve been reading, thanks, if we’ve spoken, love, and if you’ve reblogged, you have my heart! Thanks to @emulateharry for the read through.

Enjoy! All The Love- Tam

Day Thirteen: The One With The Fight

"Why do you do this?" His voice was so pointed it cut her distraction.

"What?" Elise looked up from where she was laying on the guest bed she thought of as hers. She'd slept here every night, until she had slept with Harry. She'd been in with him since. And yesterday, after the scrabble sex, he had pulled her legless and naked to gather up her things.

"I'll help you pack!" He'd pulled out the top drawer and a pair of her drawers first thing and looked back with a crocodile grin.

"Harry!" She could feel her blush. Which was patently ridiculous since she was naked. "Those are my underwear." She was fucking whispering.

He wore amusement, since he didn't have another stitch on. He tossed her underwear to her as he passed her to the bathroom. "I'll handle your toiletries then. I'll leave you to your," he put his hand on the opposite side of his mouth and whispered "unmentionables."

She could hear him laughing. He hadn't even bothered to suppress it.

"Fuck you, Styles!" She yelled and he got louder. Should such provocation go unanswered?

Elise went in and tackled him. He was bigger than her and much stronger, so naked wrestling tended not to last that long. He had her flat on her back, pinned and winded, quickly. At his mercy was a good place to be.

Long story short her things stayed in the guest bedroom, but she stayed in his room, again.

He'd woken her with breakfast, that he'd had postmated in and they'd stayed in bed playing on their phones until long past noon.

Harry was officially addicted to animal crossing. Not as addicted as he was to the gym though. By 2 he was so energetic Elise was ready to punch him and she had playfully kicked him out of bed to send him to get his energy out like a kid on a long road trip. "Please go run or do some other ridiculously athletic thing." She'd said while prodding him in the ass with her toes. She watched him get dressed, and Harry was so good for an audience, he made a show of it for her.

He'd kissed her goodbye, well, and went away with a "move your stuff in!"

And she'd gone to her room, really she had, with some intention of packing. Once she was in there, alone, she had realized it seemed stupid to move her stuff for two days.

Was it two days?

And therein lay the problem.

Harry was acting like their rom com inspired tryst was going to continue indefinitely. He had not talked about it, like at all their impending deadline. He had only made one mention of time; they needed to finish friends in a couple days.

She was all in her head again. He was so confusing. Of course she wanted to stay in the fantasy, but if she moved into his room and committed in her head to this and then he said good bye in two days... Well, it might be as devastating as what happened with her family after Bryce.

Jesus. She stared at her book, the one she wasn't reading. Had she really just thought that? That a mild rejection after a short love fest would be as hurtful as the trauma that sent her running to another country.

With her family, it was miserable because she was persona non grata, but persona presens. They were all stuck in the same place, but after the initial fight with her sister, the literal siding of her mother with her sister and her father's shaken head and scornful look, it had kinda stopped being overt.

That didn't mean she was unaware of exactly where she stood in that house with her family. No one was screaming 'slut!' anymore, but there were cold shoulders and silent treatment from all of them. Screaming would have been better.

Or to be kicked out.

That may have jump started her flight, if they had actually 86'd her, which leaving clearly was something of a blessing. At the time, the chilly feeling in her house kept her at the library long hours. Her GPA was stellar the last semester of her senior year, and she made some actual friends. They had stayed in touch even when she moved to another entire continent. It dawned on her she had been so distracted by the sexy imp she was falling for, she hadn't checked on anybody. That needed to happen, specially in a global pandemic.

In any case, Elise was imagining how it could go. If she got up the gumption to ask him. He could tell her, 'it's been real, it's been fun, but it hasn't been real fun. Appreciate the pussy, goodbye.' The idea was strangely comforting, Harry's rejection would be swift, she'd only have, at most, 36 hours of misery in his home. After the 8 months with her family, that was child's play. Open contempt, with words, she thought she could stand too. Though she suspected it would look more like casual indifference. Harry was too kind to be mean about it. He'd probably just assume she was having fun like he was.

Elise realized she was already convinced of the worst case scenario. It was a habit of hers, born of experience. She was less likely to be disappointed if she wasn't hopeful.

But she was hopeful, there were little glimmers that Harry would want her to stay, or keep seeing her.

"Fuck this!" Elise muttered. She needed a pro and con list. That was how she decided to come to London. Her pro side had been longer, but her con had simply said, family hates me. It was enough, that negative, to fuel the positive.

This list, it was the same. On the Harry likes me and the love fest continues side, the list was long, and made her smile thinking over the last two weeks. The pro side had all the little things. How he treated her. The breakfasts in bed, their games, the baking, the flirting, the touching, the kissing, the ...

The other side had one entry, Friends. Even though she had spelt it out cutely, like it was on screen, punctuation in the middle, but no color, she only had the blue pen, it was still devastating.

One entry made her run and one made her hide. Wow! She had some courage, didn't she? Elise "run and hide" Jameson. That should be her name. How much did it cost to legally change your name?

In any case, that was what she was doing and had been doing for hours by the time Harry came to find her. Elise was hiding.

"Why do you do this?" he asked from the door.

"Hmmm?" She tried to give a blank expression, like she didn't know what he meant, but of course she did.

He sighed, like the conversation was exhausting, like they had had it so many times he had run out of words to say. Elise nearly scoffed. Where did he get off. They'd never talked about it, that was the problem, they didn't talk about anything. Which was funny, they talked all the time. Just not about pertinent things. She was just supposed to read his mind or suss out all of his intentions from his actions. And his actions were good, so she had done that for some time now, but it wasn't enough.

"What do I do?" she kept up the confused act, she didn't want to ruin their day. Huh, maybe that's why he didn't ever bring it up. He didn't want to ruin the time they had. The finite nature of their time, made it sweeter of something. They only have one and a half left. She didn't want to fight. Elise hated conflict of any kind, and she wanted to savor having him, even if only for 14 short days.

He sighed again, louder. "Whatever, Elise." He closed his eyes and swallowed. She watched his fists ball and then relax. When his eyes opened, his face had relaxed a bit, though his jaw was still tight, and his irises fairly glowed. "Are you hungry?"

Her stomach lurched. She was hungry, though she wasn't sure she could eat. Usually, Harry would extend a hand, or wait for her to pass. Instead, he just nodded and her "yeah." and went out of her room.

Her room. She'd never moved her stuff.

She was biting her lip the whole way down. This was going to be the most uncomfortable meal of her life, which was saying something.

It wasn't. She could think of at least 10 meals with her family that sucked worse. Those were supremely uncomfortable, like a pair of panties that ride up too much or socks that fall into the back of your shoe over your heel. That was a wholly foreign feeling in Harry's house. It had gone away within minutes of her being there day one.

This meal was like pants that slide down your hips a little, a tad irritating, but you just had to hike them up and get on with it.

"Will you pass me a salt sachet, please?"

"Yes, of course." She replied.

Their every exchange was like this, stifled and like a meal in a period piece. She was glad they both had manners, but they'd licked each other's come up, so the formality felt wrong. Elise almost brought it up, "Harry?" She'd started.

He'd looked up and his jaw was still a little tight even if his dimple was starting to fill up with air. He inclined his head and she couldn't stand the thought of the next day being miserable instead of uncomfortable. Or of leaving. They could probably rationalize at this point they were both fine.

It dawned on her, Harry probably could have got his hands on tests, if he wanted to. She'd think about that more later. When she wasn't losing her nerve.

"Did you like your food?" She searched for conversation while she helped him clear up.

He exhaled and nodded. Started cleaning up. Went into the media room, didn't wait for her again.

He turned on Friends, and she wanted to scream. As the episodes proceeded, they crept towards each other, most of the motion coming from her side. On their third episode, he looked up at her right next to him. He stared at her long enough to get her attention, and then long enough to make her a bit nervous that there was something on her face. She was just about to ask 'what?' when he shook his head and opened the arm next to her.

She exhaled and fit herself into the pocket of his armpit happily. When he lay back, she cozied into her spot in the hollow of his chest like it was home. She had better soak this up she told herself. The shiver of pleasure all over when he tangled his fingers in her hair was recorded, the kiss to her hair was put to memory, and the span of his thumb to his pinky on her lower back was mapped. She'd always remember what it was like to be in Harry's arms and know him, intimately. Even if they ended soon

He probably dozed, he usually did. Elise was pretty sure she did as well. Sleeping happened at night, but other activities kept them up as well. She'd miss that too. The shape of his wet lips and contrast of his long pale hands on her olive skin, the look on his face when he came and the satisfied sigh just after. That was probably her favorite.

"Where is your head at?" Harry asked during dinner. Elise realized she had stopped where she was carrying the cauliflower she'd curried over to the chana masala he'd whipped up.

"Hmmm?" She looked up, still lost in memorizing the way they choreographed their parts in the kitchen. They rarely invaded each other's dance space, unless Harry did it on purpose to steal a kiss off her.

"You seem distracted." He had stepped forward and smoothed her hair behind her ear, cupped her jaw. If she wasn't distracted before he pressed his mouth to hers, she was after.

"You're gonna make me drop the veggies." She giggled breathlessly up at him.

"They can wait." He'd taken them gently from her hands and deposited her on the edge of the counter before stepping between her legs. "These house dresses you wear are so convenient." He was busy pulling it up to her hips.

"Thank you for not calling it a mumu again." She laughed as it came over her head. "I'm glad you waited until after the cooking was done."

"How about we cook clothed and eat naked. Now, lie back, I'm very hungry."

"I'll be sure to think of England." She joked.

"Oh no! Only me." He licked the crest of her belly button.

He effectively erased her mind until all she could think about was his taste, and her own on his lips. She became mindful again of the present moment when the gentle popping sound of him pushing through her pulsing muscles hit her ears.

She would miss this. His appetite and weird predilection for kitchen sex.

"Where'd you go?" He slowed his stroke and looked her in the eye.

"What?" She didn't know what he was talking about. She clearly hadn't gone anywhere. She was interlocked with him, like the salt and pepper shakers behind her, again.

"I had you, right here, and then you went away."

How did he know her mind wandered? Elise had barely had time to worry or map the moment before he noticed.

His arms were crossed over her back like a pirate's destination. She felt like treasure. So she lifted her hands from the purchase on the counter's edge. Held his jaw and locked their eyes, opened up their connection. It was impossible to look at Harry's face, his eyes and not find riches. "I'm here."

"Good." He breathed and picked up his rhythm again, held her eyes and her body, until his closed over the sensation. "It's where you should be." He breathed.

This is where she should be. Those words hit her sweet spots, just as his cock did. Her neck went soft, and he cradled it. Her eyes blinked open and her cunt bore down and she came before she could announce it, notice it. "Harry!" He made her so loud.

"Elise!" He fucked through her muscles trying to push him out until she was shimmying to her next high in his arms. "I'm gonna come." He grunted.

"More," was all she could get out. And he could do it, she knew he gritted his teeth and doubled his effort and got her there, her contractions causing his seize.

She was his.

Now, how did she tell him that?

He laid his head on her chest. She could feel the sweat of his forehead running between her breasts. Her hands were in his hair and her heart was under his heel. Now, now is the time to tell him that. Show him her belly, while he is in it.

She didn't. It took her one moment to have the thought, and only half second to take it back. It was the worst time to confess love to someone, while making love with them. Plus, she wasn't sure she could take him grinding her heart into the flooring right after grinding her body to heaven. She petted his head instead and bit her lip through her tears.

Then she felt him laugh, the cool exhalation blowing the drips on her torso. It felt delicious. His laugh tasted so good. Elise wouldn't do anything to make him uncomfortable, to lose this. She'd take what she was given, be a good girl and get what she what she gets and not throw a fit.

He looked up at her and she hoped the tears that had leaked just blended with the glow of aftermath.

"Now I'm really hungry." He was a sunbeam. "Let's heat up the food."

"It probably would have been better right off the stove," she said later as they are eating.

"Hob." He said. "The appetizer was worth it though, wasn't it?" He danced his eyebrows.

"Maybe." She knew she was blushing. He was laughing his bursting laugh and she knew this memory would last her whole life.

She recorded other things for her posterity throughout the rest of the night and she got away with it. He left his frustration where it had been earlier. Until bedtime.

"I need to grab some things," she told him when they'd kissed their way naked. She'd fall asleep afterwards. She needed to brush her teeth and things.

He stiffened.

The sun had shut off and its shadow was cold.

His arms dropped from around her waist.

"Why didn't you move it in earlier?"

"What?" She knew he asked her to earlier, but she got out of answering, thought she had avoided this confrontation.

"We talked about it. You were gonna move your stuff over here. We agreed." He said.

"Did we?" She asked, a little pissed he assumed his word was law. She pulled away, grabbed her t-shirt off the end of the bed, and threw it on. "I think you told me to do it. I didn't say ok."

"What's the point of you having your own room if you sleep in here every night?"

"That's a great question." She rounded on him then. "What is the point?"

"I didn't follow you round that bend, love." He said. "What's the point of what?"

"Me moving into your room." Obvious! She scoffed.

"I think it makes perfect sense. We sleep together every night now." He'd calmed his voice like he was talking to a screaming toddler. It pissed her off. "It's right inconvenient too. Like now, you were gonna put the brakes on to get your stuff." He looked down at the boxers around his ankles and pulled them up.

"You could wait five minutes to get laid Harry!" She rolled her eyes.

"I wasn't trying to get laid." He said lowly. "Was trying to be close to you. But you're gonna run away again. May even hide." He'd lost his former cool by the end of it, voice pointed like earlier. "Like you always do."

"I don't run."

She did.

"You do. And I have to chase you everyday outta your room." He sighed. "One day I may not and you can see how you feel then."

"What day? Tomorrow is our last day!" She screamed without meaning to, finally shouting all her fears.

Harry looked like the dawn coming up. "Is that what you're so afraid of?"

[nerdyfangirl67]

Leading Woman -  Phantom of the Opera Fanfiction

Pairing: Meg Giry x Erik/Phantom

Warnings: Hurt/comfort, big scary Phantom (but honestly when isn’t he like this)

Word count: 1790

Requested: @ofserien​

A/N: This is my first character x character one-shot in a while so I hope y’all enjoy it. Also I know the GIF is of Phantom and Christine, but lets imagine its Meg for this one! Hope you enjoy this darling! <3 As always, requests are open and comments are very welcome!

Meg being willing to do whatever the Phantom suggests, even though his attention is on Christine. Finally, Meg has had enough and decided to meet the Phantom on his turf. Although he is upset at the disrespect and blatant neglect of his privacy, he is impressed by her lack of fear towards him and her gumption. Meg makes a case for herself, and the Phantom finally sees Meg for who she is, a leading woman.

She had had enough. It had been all I want Christine to sing my new composition and I demand Christine be the lead in the next production and Get rid of the background dancers. They draw attention away from Christine. 

She never argued or disagreed because the demands were coming from the Phantom of the Opera, after all. She never questioned his decisions because she thought the world of him. 

Everyone else saw him as this frightening being that would strike down anyone who opposed him. They saw him as an ugly creature that loomed like a shadow over the Opera house. Everyone except her. 

She saw him as a mysterious man, who despite his rough nature and scars, physical and emotional, only wanted to love and be loved in return. And that’s what saddened her. The fact that he chose to give Christine his love when she was clearly in love with another. 

She could tell the minute she saw recognition, followed by something much deeper and more intense, flash across Christine’s face upon seeing the Vicomte de Chagny that Christine loved this man. And every time she saw the two after that, she knew this to be true.

And yet, Christine still followed the Phantom to his lair, obeyed his rules to a T, and called him her ‘Angel of Music.’ And Meg has seen enough to know that Christine continued to allow the Phantom to come up through the tunnels to the mirror in her dressing room and sing to her, although she knew that even if Christine hadn’t wanted him to, he still would because that’s who he was. Christine’s ‘angel of Music’.

But she finally decided that she was done letting her friend have both the attention of the Vicomte de Chagny and the devotion of the man she loved. So for the first time since she had started dancing at the Opera Populaire, she decided she was going to step into the light, no longer as a backup, but as a leading lady.

Despite her wanting to act on this desire immediately, she had to wait until Christine was out of her dressing chambers and know that she wasn’t somewhere in the tunnels with the Phantom. Because if Meg was going to confront the Phantom and tell him how she felt, she didn’t want to do it with an audience or in the shadow of Christine.

She loiters around the door to Christine’s dressing room, pretending she was practicing moves for the next production. After what felt like an eternity, Christine finally padded out of her dressing chamber. Meg waits for a moment longer before slipping into the ornate room. She took a moment to scan the room, her eyes falling on the single rose resting on a small table towards the center of the room. She glides forward, a finger brushing over the black satin bow tied to the stem. A glance to her left reveals a large vase placed in the far corner of the room, filled with roses ordained with the same black bow, in various stages of decay, as if they were placed there as an after-thought.

Meg realizes that these had to be the ‘gifts’ Christine had told her about, the ones that appeared as if by magic in her chambers after each performance. She knew that the roses couldn’t be from Raoul because Christine would have made sure that all the girls knew she had received something from her love. 

No, Meg knew these had to be from the Phantom. A surge of white-hot rage flew over her at the thought. Before she knew what she was doing, she had the satin ribbon tied in her hair and, after breaking the stem off, the rose tucked into the top of her corset. On a whim, she moves towards the vase and gently grabs the oldest rose out.

She steps to the front of the large mirror, with the rose held delicately in her hand, taking a moment to collect herself before she pushes against the cold, heavy glass, sliding it open. After moving through the narrow gap, she pulls the mirror back in place. 

A soft gasp escapes past her lips as she takes in the expansiveness of the damp tunnel, lit only by a torch on the wall every hundred feet. A shiver passes down her spine as she moves through the dark tunnel, her nerves building. 

The soft music trickling down through the tunnels acts as a gentle siren, calling her through the twists and turns, to the Phantom. As she got closer, the music got louder, washing over her like a wave. After twenty paces, in which she thought the music couldn’t get any louder, the tunnel opened up to a large, cavernous room. Candelabras of various sizes bring a soft aurora of light into the room, causing a feeling of warmth to spread within Meg. Seated at the massive organ was the Phantom himself, his black cape spanning out behind him like a pool of thick, black satin. She let out a breath, fascinated by the music being created just as much as the man before her.

“I know you are there, hiding in the shadows, my muse.” Her heart stops, realizing not only that he knew she was there but also, that he thought she was Christine.

She steps out of the shadows at the same time as the Phantom turns around. She watches his look of happiness transform into one of confusion and frustration.

“Ah, little Meg Giry. I knew you’d come traipsing through my tunnels sooner or later.” His tone was condescending and his steps unhurried and confident as he made his way towards her.

She didn’t appreciate his tone and instead of cowering in wait for him to reach her, she strode forwards, abandoning the shadows that had been concealing her features.

“If you knew I would come, you must know why I’m here. After all, you are the Phantom of the Opera.” She comments, holding her head high, when he stops only two steps away from her.

He didn’t reply as his eyes slowly rakeover her body, stopping not once, but twice at the rose in her hand and the bud tucked into her corset. She can practically see the wheels turning in his head as he storms forward, catching a glimpse of the ribbon in her hair. His hands are clenched tightly at his sides and as he comes close enough to her that she can feel his breath on her face, she can see the fire blazing in his dark eyes, a sharp contrast to the soft white mask covering half his face.

Suddenly his hand is reaching up and roughly pulling the ribbon out of her hair and yanking the delicate rose out of her fingers. She lets out a small yelp of surprise as the thorns prick her fingers. She refuses to take a step back, despite the rising fear caused by his actions. 

She watches him a moment before she speaks.

“I will not tolerate being in Christine’s shadow any longer. I am skilled enough to have a lead position.” She pauses, moving slowly to place a gentle hand on his unmasked cheek. Her touch is feather light, not wanting him to feel fear with her fingers being so close to his mask. He remains still, as she traces a line from his forehead to his chin. 

“You deserve to be loved by someone who loves you back.” She whispers as she withdraws her hand from his face, turning her attention to his eyes. His dark eyes are no longer burning with fury as he looks at her.

“Continue.” His tone was less derogatory now and more interested than it had been. 

She does as he orders, “She once called you her Angel of Music and she was right. You are a master composer. What she does not see is beyond that. You are a man of mystery and intrigue. You strike fear into the heart of others, but beneath that callous exterior is a man. A man who deserves to be loved and treasured.” At this point she is a breath away from him and her voice is barely more than a whisper as his mere presence this close to her is enchanting.

“What are you suggesting little Giry?” His voice, no more than a rough whisper, actually sends a shiver down her spine, causing the Phantom to quirk his lips into a small smile, which is gone as soon as it comes.

“I am suggesting that you stop pushing me aside. I can be just as good as Christine if you stopped demanding that she be the star of the show.” She pauses, only briefly, to place a soft hand on his clothed chest. “I am suggesting you teach me as my angel of music. And I am telling you to let me love you. Because I can, quite easily.”

She finishes, her attention now on the soft material of the Phantom’s shirt between her fingers. Silence follows for a long time and she removes her hand from his shirt, ready to step away from him and return to the upper level of the Opera Populaire. A gentle, gloved hand brushes her chin, lifting it up so she is now looking into his eyes. 

“Ah little Giry, I’ve been waiting for you to speak your mind. Do you think I never saw the way you pushed yourself to be better than Christine? Or the way you made sure to follow my commands exactly, even when no one else did?” His eyes searched hers, and to her dismay, she could feel tears welling up in her eyes. 

She had thought that her actions, her commitment, had gone unseen and knowing that it had not was overwhelming.

A gloved finger came and gently brushed the tears that had fallen over her lashes, away. “Do you think I never noticed how devoted to me you were? Because little Giry, I did notice and you managed to warm my long dead heart by being so devoted.” 

With that, he grasps one of her hands within his much larger one, pulling her along with him to the organ. He slowly guides her to sit on the bench in front of the instrument and, after he seated himself next to her, he turns slightly to look at her.

“We shall begin with the traditional music scale. I want to see the range you can sing in, little Giry.” His words leave her breathless as she realizes that her dream was finally coming true. The Phantom finally saw her for who she was and was helping her become more.

[saintandsinnerwrites]

Could I ask for prompt 47+Z (Friends with benefits) for taywhora? 🥺

47. “You better be undressed by the time I get there.” + Z (other: friends with benefits)

This is my first time writing any of the UK girls, so I hope I did them a little bit of justice, and I hope you like it! - Saint

--

It never failed, every time the girls hung out Lawrence always had something to say about Tayce and Awhora’s so-called sexual tension. Bimini just shook her head, not wanting to get in the middle of their little feud, focusing more on the food on her plate, and the other Scottish lass sitting across from her. Ellie just chuckled, but also kept out of the little back and forth between the other two.

Tayce feigned offense, placing her hand on her chest, “The cheek, the nerve, the audacity, the gall, and the gumption!” 

“Ha!” Bimini cackled, unable to completely tune them out. 

Was it somewhat annoying how Lawrence wouldn’t let it go? Yes. But if she was being entirely honest Lawrence wasn’t completely wrong. That being said, Tayce sure as fuck was not about to let her know that, if word got out that there actually was a little sexual tension between her and Awhora she knew damn well she’d never hear the end of that one. In fact, the only one who knew about that was Awhora herself, who was currently out for a fitting for a new corset.

Tayce’s phone vibrated in her pocket. She took it out and saw the notification of a new message, and something within her just knew who it was going to be. The fitting must have gone without a hitch, as she didn’t expect her to be done so soon. Sure as hell when she swiped the screen to unlock, there she was, miss Awhora, and her text read:

‘I’m done with my fitting and want to see you. Are you home?’

Tayce smirked a little behind her phone screen, as she replied. ‘No, but I can be.’

‘Good. I’ll see you in about 15 minutes.’

Tayce was about to reply, when another text came through.

‘And you better be undressed by the time I get there.’

Fuck…

“Hey guys, sorry to run, but something came up and I gotta go!” said Tayce excitedly as she leapt from the table tossing some money behind to pay for her food.

“Wait where are you going? Is everything okay?” asked Bimini.

“Yep! Everything’s fine, I’ll text you later, bye!” 

And with that she was gone, nearly jogging to get to her apartment. She fumbled with her keys almost dropping them trying to get the door unlocked. Once inside she tossed them and her purse onto the table and rushed upstairs. She stripped down to nothing, but did decide to put on a slinky little number to not give Awhora everything as soon as she stepped into the room. It showed off enough skin though, showed off her cute tits and those long legs. Tayce couldn’t help but to admire herself in the mirror so much so that she didn’t even realize how much time had passed until she heard Awhora letting herself in. Yes, she had a key, no, no one else knew about that either. Tayce went and sat on the edge of the bed and waited for her to come and see just how lucky she was about to get.

“I’m upstairs, love!” called Tayce. 

Awhora made her way upstairs, a huge grin spreading across her face at the sight of her --friend in nothing but a cute bra, barely there panties, and thigh high stockings. Tayce matched that devilish look and beckoned her over with a curled finger. She then pointed downwards, signaling her to get on her knees and Awhora obliged. 

“I hope you’re hungry, babe,” purred Tayce, running her fingers through Awhora’s hair. 

“Fucking starved~” 

The look in Tayce’s eyes was absolute lust, and she loved that she had that effect on her. This was her absolute favorite and Awhora would never give up an opportunity to have her favorite snack.

[p-artsypants]

Much Obliged

Inspired by @bugaboo-n-bananoir‘s amazing Cowboy!Adrien and Witch!Marinette Au. 

I’m probably going to write more to this later. It’s just too funny.

Ao3

---

Everyone deals with grief differently. Some take to drinking, others devote themselves to charity.

Adrien Agreste? Well, he became a cowboy.

It wasn’t a spur of the moment decision either. He had always been obsessed with American Westerns. Especially John Wayne. He practically worshipped the man.

He had a collection of hats, boots, spurs, and chaps. He had his favorite bolo tie, and every summer for two weeks, he helped out at his uncle’s ranch in the countryside, where he learned a thing or two about riding horses, lassoing, and other things his father would probably have heart attack over if he knew.

Yes, Adrien was obsessed with Cowboys and the Cowboy lifestyle.

So much so, that when he lost this mother, and subsequently emotionally lost his father, his closeted obsession became very public.

A 14 year old boy walking around with cowboy boots, hat, spurs and occasional chaps wouldn’t have been as jarring if they were in Texas. But given they were in the middle of Paris, France...he pretty much stuck out as a sore thumb. Even more so in the circles his father was included in. Sprinkling in a few ‘yeehaw’s, ‘howdy’s, and ‘pardner’s into his French was also pretty jarring.

And a complete embarrassment to his father, Gabriel Agreste, fashion icon.

“Adrien, I insist you stop this foolishness!” Gabriel said one day, after Adrien had turned up to a photo shoot in full gear.

“I cain’t pa!” Adrien yelled back. “It’s in my blood!”

“Stop talking like that! You don’t have a Texan accent!”

“I reckon I do!”

For a year, the arguments would continue, getting louder and louder until Adrien would plug his ears and start yodeling to drown his father out.

Eventually, they came to an agreement. Adrien would pretend to be like every normal Parisian at photo shoots, fashion shows, and big events. But he could continue to be a Cowboy at home without being reprimanded.

It worked for a while, really in Gabriel’s favor. The brief appearances of Cowboy Adrien in the past were written off as a phase.

But then Adrien demanded to go to school.

“I’m tired of bein’ cooped up here like a chicken! I want to go out and meet other folks!”

“You’re not like other folks! Er—other people!” Gabriel argues back. “You’re...special.”

“Sir, if I may?” Nathalie, Gabriel’s Stoic secretary spoke up. “Perhaps Adrien attending public school would be a good thing. It might encourage him to…drop some habits.”

Begrudgingly, Gabriel agreed, and Adrien was off to school.

Being homeschooled most of his life, Adrien didn’t have many friends. But he did have Chloe, who tolerated his Cowboy-ness with some degree of skepticism. She was never vocal about it, but she did secretly judge him, worry for his sanity. It was her school, her class, that he was transferring into today.

She waited for him at the front door, frowning slightly when she saw him exit the sedan with a white hat, flannel shirt, jeans, boots, and a wide belt buckle with a bronco on it.

But she smiled once he made eye-contact with her. After all, he was still very famous, and very handsome. “Howdy Chloe.”

“Oh yee-haw Adrikins!” She sang, clinging to his arm. “I’m so glad your father let you finally come to school!”

“Me too! But I reckon he just got annoyed with me practicing my rope tricks in the foyer all the time. The other day I lassoed a vase and smashed it. Not too happy ‘bout that, he was.”

“Oh, like he couldn’t buy a hundred more,” she waved her hand. “Come with me! I’ll show you to your seat!”

Upon entering the school, Adrien was suddenly bombarded with fans asking for autographs. It seemed everyone was just taking his attire for an interesting choice of fashion. That was what Chloe was hoping for.

But as soon as he started tipping his hat as a reply to ‘thank you’s, she started to see the eyebrows rising. People were suspicious. Maybe they’d just think it was part of the look. Yeah…maybe…

—

Marinette was not having a great day. Not a bad day though! Just not great. For one thing, she heard that Chloe Bourgeois was going to be in her class again this year. Again. Seriously, did Chloe ask to put in the same class on purpose? It was totally unfair!

But she was wearing her favorite black dress today, one that was enchanted to have a galaxy glittering on it, and if you looked closely, you could see it moving. It made her feel powerful, and not at all like the half-washed witch that she was. Sure she knew a few spells, but nothing very powerful, or life changing.

And certainly no curses, like Chloe told everyone she did. Hexes, yes, but not curses. Curses were powerful and crippling and permanent, even down bloodlines. Hexes would pass over time, like a bad pimple or excessive farting. Not really something she could claim as her work.

So that in laid the problem. A girl that calls herself a witch, but doesn’t really have the power to show it? Might as well paint a giant target on the forehead with a sign that said, “I’m delusional, please laugh at me!”

But things were going to be different this year! She was going to stand up for herself and she was going to prove she could do magic!

“Are you ready for school, Marinette?” A sweet voice, her familiar Tikki, asked.

“As ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s go!” She beckoned the ladybug-like fairy into her purse.

But immediately after leaving her parents bakery with a box of macrons to share, she was knocked off balance by a cyclist and dropped the box. Thirteen smashed macrons on the ground.

“This is an ill omen.” She stated gravely.

“Yes, but you still have seven good ones left in the box!” Tikki reassured.

Marinette smirked. “Then lets get to school before I spill them all!”

Only a minute later did she crash again, this time only breaking one cookie. The person she ran into was another girl, a student like her.

“I’m so sorry!” Marinette stated, helping the girl to her feet. “I’m so clumsy!”

“That’s alright clumsy girl.” Said the newbie. “I’m Alya.”

“I’m Marinette! You must be new here, right?”

“Yep! I’m starting in Miss Bustier’s class. How about you?”

“I’m in her class too!”

“Oh lucky break! I’m horrible with talking to new people on my own. Thanks for the ice breaker!” She laughed.

Marinette gave her a flat look. “Well, see if I ever purposely run into you again.”

Alya just laughed more. “You’re funny! Let’s sit together, and then you can give me the low down on the hierarchy of the class.”

“Hierarchy?”

“Yeah, like who’s popular, who’s at the bottom of the totem pole.”

“Oh that’s easy. I’m at the bottom!”

“No way! How? You’re so nice!”

“Well…” might as well bite the bullet. If she could tell the new kid first before someone else did, maybe she’d have a chance. “I’m sort of…a witch.”

“A witch?”

“Yeah…like…” She snapped her fingers and a small flame ignited on her thumb.

“Wow! That’s so cool! Can you teach me!?”

“Well…I’m not very good. I’m still learning.”

“Aren’t we all? I’m training to be a journalist, but I know I’m not good enough to work for any papers, except maybe the school paper. But I can teach you about inverted pyramids!”

“Sounds like a plan!” Marinette laughed. “But let’s get to class before we’re late on the first day!”

“Awesome! Day one and I already have a new best friend!”

—

Once they reached the classroom, Chloe let out a sigh of relief. She was queen here, and no one would say a thing to Adrien as long as she was around.

“This is your seat, Adrikins!” She gestured to the place right in the front row. “And I sit right behind you, so you can talk to me whenever you need to!”

“Much obliged, Chloe.”

“Oh! You want to see something hilarious?”

“You know I’m always up for a rip roaring good time!”

“Then watch!” She spat out her gum, and then held the wad out to Sabrina, who then placed the gum on the bench adjacent to Adrien. They they both started giggling.

“Why Chloe!” Adrien frowned at his longtime friend. “That’s low down, and dishonest. Why’d you do a thing like that?”

“It had to be done, Adrien. The girl who sits here is a practicing witch. We had to keep her in her place, or she’ll get too cocky and curse us all!”

“One of them spell casters?”

“Yep! A ‘bonafide witch’!” She put it in quotation marks.

“Well, I’ll be.” He knelt, and started to pick at the gum. “I’d think if you’d have a witch in your midst, you’d want to keep her happy, or else she’d hex you in revenge!”

“It was a joke Adrien! She doesn’t know any magic! She just thinks she does!”

“Ahem!” A small voice cleared her throat from behind him.

Adrien turned around to face a girl who was small in frame. She was adorable, with her black hair in pigtails, and a black dress full of a moving galaxy of stars. But her bluebell eyes shined with anger.

Adrien stood and raised the brim of his hat to her. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but this isn’t what it looks like!”

“Yeah right, Clint Eastwood. Dealing with Chloe was hard enough, now I gotta deal with two of you!?”

“It really wasn’t—“

“First you steal my usual seat, and now you had to go and ruin my new one!”

“Please listen…”

“Forget it! Just—sit your chap-less ass over there and leave me alone!”

Adrien did as he was told, sliding into the bench next to another boy. Adrien sighed, resting his head on his hand.

“Tough break,” said the other boy. “What’s with the…get up?”

Adrien flicked his eyes over to his bench mate, a kid with glasses, headphones, and a red cap on. He didn’t have the gumption to reply with his usual vigor. “I’m a cowboy.”

“Oh.” Said the boy. “All the time?”

“Yep.”

“Oh…cool.”

Soon enough, the teacher arrived and called roll. Unfortunately, Adrien was too caught up in his gloom to realize what was happening, and his neighbor had to nudge him when his name was called.

“Pre-sent!” Adrien stood, raising his hand in the air.

The class laughed behind him.

Adrien sat back down, pulling his hat down to hide his face.

“Eager, are we?” Asked the other kid.

“Er, a wee, I reckon. Never been to school before. Never had any friends ‘cept Chloe.”

“Dude, that’s rough. Sounds like you need to make new friends! I’m Nino. Nice to meet you!”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Niño.”

“It’s Nino.”

“That’s what I said.”

Nino quirked his lip. “Dude, if you want to get in good with everyone, I’d make up with Marinette.”

“Who?”

Nino pointed at the girl across the aisle from him.

“The witch?”

“Aw, did Chloe call her that?”

“I mean, isn’t she one? She looks all magical like.”

“I mean…she’s got some slight of hand stuff, and she’s got some pretty good hunches, but I wouldn’t call her a witch.”

Adrien flicked the brim of his hat. “Well, I’ll be.”

“Seriously dude, you always talk like that?”

“Sure! Why wouldn’t I?”

“Are you like, from Texas?”

“No sir, native Parisan, born and raised!”

Nino squinted at him. “Then why…?”

“Just a pure bred Cowboy, don’t matter where you come from. It’s what’s in your heart.”

“Oh, he’s corny too.”

—

After school, Marinette stood at the steps of the school, the rain pattering against the sidewalk in a downpour. True, her house was just around the corner, but it was coming down pretty hard.

“If only I knew weather changing spells.” She lamented.

“You do! You can make it rain!” Said Tikki from her purse.

“Yeah, over someone’s head! But I don’t think that’s going to do us any good here.”

“Don’t look like it’ll let up soon, I s’pose.” Said a man’s voice from behind her.

Marinette hunched her shoulders and turned away from him.

“Aw shucks, I was lookin’ to patch things up, considering I didn’t make a mash with you back there.”

“If you’re here to tease me again, then you can right on your merry way.”

“I’m not here to give you a hard time, Little Lady. I promise, I was trying to take the gum off, not put it on. Chloe was the one responsible for that. I didn’t want to get on your bad side.”

“Why? Because I’m a witch?” She bit.

“Well you are, ain’tcha?”

She turned to face him, her lips thin. “I’m as much of a witch as you are a cowboy.”

He nodded, “That’s what I thought, darlin’. And I only meant I wanted to catch your good side, only on account I got not many friends. Chloe, and now Niño—“

“Nino.”

“That’s what I said.”

She smiled.

“And I don’t like to make enemies. Let’s start again, ah? I’m Adrien, Adrien Agreste.”

“Son of Gabriel Agreste.” She added.

“Ah, so you heard of me? Famously or infamously?”

“Alya mentioned it, actually. I’m a fan of your father’s work, as a designer. I didn’t recognize you from the ads.”

“Reckon you wouldn’t. My old man doesn’t let me wear comfortable clothes on set.” He smirked, “But your name, My Lady?”

“I’m Marinette.”

“Marinette. I like it. Like a doll.”

Now that the miscommunication was over, Marinette started to feel her chest warm at his presence. His manner of speaking made her felt safe. And he sure was cute!

“You know, I was wonderin’. If you’re a witch, why don’tcha got a big ole’ hat?”

“Oh,” she grew slightly solemn. “I did have one. But I lost it last time I went flying.” Then she winced, realizing he might not believe her.

“Flying? Like on a broomstick and everythin’?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that sounds mighty nice. Real nice. I wish I could ride a broomstick. I barely get to ride a horse! No where to hitch em in Paris! But a broom, why, you could just stand it up in a corner when you’re done!”

He wasn’t laughing at her. In fact, he looked genuinely interested. “I could take you sometime, out for a flight?”

“Would you? That’d be swell!” He beamed at her, setting her heart fluttering. “Here, since your hat is missing.” He took off his hat and placed it on her head, ever so carefully. “Can’t let you melt in the rain, Miss Witch.”

“Melt? Like the Wicked Witch of the West? Are you calling me wicked?”

“Never dream of it, My Lady! I told you I didn’t want to cross you. I don’t need no hexes. I left all my hexes in Texas.”

The look she gave him at that comment had him bowled over in laughter.

She couldn’t help but join him.

By time they collected themselves, a silver sedan pulled up to the curb. “Well, looks like my hoss is here. Keep the hat, Marinette. I looks mighty nice on you.”

“T-Thanks!” She stuttered.

“See you tomorrow, My Lady!” He called as he ran into the rain.

“T-tomorrow! Yes! I—wow, why am I stuttering?”

“I think I reckon!” Tikki chirped, from her bag.  

“Oh shush!”

[chiseler]

The Kitten in the Storm Drain

Yes, in retrospect it had all the makings of a bestselling children’s book, but in the midst of everything, before any end was in sight, it was more like one of those frustrating and hopeless nightmares where you need to do something important, but can’t.

It was about five or six Sunday morning. Shortly after we got up, my wife Morgan heard what could only be described as the piteous mewling of a cat in some kind of terrible trouble. After confirming none of our own cats were in any major distress, she threw on her coat and went outside. It may have been yet another standoff between a couple of the local outdoor cats, or maybe a cat in heat, but she just wanted to make sure that’s all it was.

It took a few minutes, but after zeroing in on the wailing across the street, she caught the glint of whiskers a foot or two below the grating of the storm drain. She came back upstairs and grabbed some cans of food, thinking that might lure the cat out, just so she could see it was safe. The food, however, was promptly eaten by the aforementioned street cats, and the wailing continued.

Once the sun came up and Morgan could see more clearly into the storm drain, she found a calico kitten, likely only a few weeks old, perched precariously on a short  concrete pipe two feet above the water running below. The kitten was on the street side opposite the wider opening on the curb, and there was no way Morgan could reach her. She couldn’t fit her arm through the grate. Even if she could, there was no way she’d be able to pull the kitten’s head through anything other than the wider curbside opening. It was unclear how the kitten may have found itself in that predicament, and we weren’t sure we wanted to know. Balanced on that short pipe it was clearly too terrified to make the jump to safety, and equally terrified of people.

Morgan called the city’s Animal Care and Control center, but they were closed. She left a message with all the pertinent details and a contact number, then came back upstairs to let me know what was going on.

I sent a quick note to a vet tech who’d helped us in the past, asking if he had any suggestions. Morgan, meanwhile, headed back outside to try and lure the kitten to safety. The cold rain had started to fall.

Not sure how long it might be before I heard back from the vet tech—it was early Sunday morning, after all—I called 311, New York’s all purpose hotline for non-emergency city agencies.

At this point, two parallel dramas began playing out—one outside in the rain, the other upstairs on the phone.

After sifting through half a dozen phone menus, someone from the sewers department informed me the problem at hand was beyond their jurisdiction. The grating over the storm drain was not theirs, and they were not allowed to touch it. After calling back and sifting through the same menu, the fire department—and this was shocking—told me they no longer rescued trapped kittens (so there goes that myth). I finally reached someone at ACC, who informed me they were not a city agency, and the sewer grating was city property belonging to the water department (DEP). What I needed to do, she said, was contact DEP and have them send someone out to remove the grating. The DEP workers would then contact ACC, and only at that point would ACC send someone out to pluck the kitten to safety. If it was still alive at that point, of course. So I called 311 again, where I was told there was no direct phone line to DEP, that pretty much my only option was to send them a letter requesting they, whenever they had the chance, send a licensed crew out to remove the grating.

In other words, I might expect the city to take some action on the “kitten trapped in the storm drain” front come around April, maybe June.

Meanwhile the rain was coming down harder and the water in the storm pipe was rising fast. The kitten was soaked and freezing and frantic, and there was nothing Morgan could do. A couple strangers stopped to see what was happening, and while they were sympathetic, there was nothing they could do, either.

When two passing  cops arrived on the scene, for just an instant it seemed something might possibly happen. If nothing else, they’d certainly know who to contact. It was a step or two toward rescuing the kitten. That instant passed quickly, however, as the cops merely stood around on the sewer grating for ten or fifteen minutes doing nothing, then told Morgan the cat was fine. It was an adult, they insisted, it lived down there, it knew what it was doing, so she shouldn’t worry about it. Then they went away. After they left, the cops apparently also called ACC and fed them the same line of bullshit, because when Morgan called again, she was told ACC wasn’t going to do anything about rescuing the kitten, based on what the cops reported.

So the city, in essence, refused to do anything to save a damned kitten, using byzantine bureaucracy and fuzzy jurisdictions as a cheap and easy excuse.

By this point things had been going on for three or four hours, and we were starting to run out of hope. Morgan used what she could find to try and construct a makeshift bridge to allow the kitten to cross over the rushing and rising water to the curbside opening. I still hadn’t heard from the vet tech, so, with few other options, I called my friends Daniel and Marilyn. I knew they’d had a number of dealings with animal shelters and the like, so figured it was a long shot, but a shot nonetheless.

After I explained the situation to them, they had a few suggestions, people and places I might contact, but at the top of the list was a man named Sean Casey, who ran an animal rescue and was known to handle cases like this on occasion.

I called Mr. Casey, told him what was going on, and asked for his help. It was apparently his day off, but he said he might come out. The best thing to do, he suggested, was try and flag down a couple passing cops (“They’ll never come if you call them”) and have them put in a call to ESU, which I took, perhaps erroneously, to mean the Emergency Services Unit.

I told him what happened with the earlier cops, and he suggested we try and flag down different cops. I thanked him and hung up the phone, still hopeless and still unsure whether he was coming by or not.

Between the two of us, Morgan and I had pretty much exhausted our options. We’d just have to wait and watch and listen to the screaming until the water rose high enough to wash the kitten away.

Then about fiftteen minutes later Morgan glanced out the window again and saw a white  truck out front.

“Animal Care and Control’s out there,” She said, before throwing on her coat and running downstairs.

Well imagine that, right? After all we’d been through with them, ACC came through after all.

But when Morgan got downstairs she saw it wasn’t ACC after all, but Sean Casey’s Animal Rescue van, and Casey himself.

Morgan explained the story again, and he assessed the situation. Then he asked her to stand back a ways, as he needed room to work. He also warned her, quite seriously that there was a chance there wouldn’t be a happy ending, that the kitten might slip away from him into the rising water. With that disclaimer, he set about his business.

Apparently unafraid of what this or that city agency might say about who it does or doesn’t belong to, Casey lifted the grating off the storm drain, lay down on his belly on the wet and filthy pavement, and, using two animal control loops, scooped the sopping, freezing and yelping kitten out of the sewer and dropped it safely into a waiting carrier, together with a towel Morgan handed him.

He replaced the grating, set the carrier in his van, and returned his new charge to the shelter where she (we learned it was a “she”) would be cleaned up and checked out. Later that night, pictures of Casey posing with their latest acquisition—now dry, clean and fed—were posted on the Rescue’s website. It was as happy an ending to the day’s story as we could’ve hoped.

So maybe it’s a story that’s a bit more softhearted, a bit less cynical and nasty than I’m used to, but we couldn’t just stand around and listen to that kitten die. Consider it a simple lesson in the uselessness of city agencies, and the value of individuals with the gumption to overlook ridiculous bureaucratic folderol in order to do what needs doing.

For the rest of that afternoon, Morgan and I found ourselves saying, apropos of nothing, “Fuckin’ Sean Casey, man. Fuckin’ Sean Casey.”

(For the record, less than 24 hours later, the list of people lining up to adopt the storm drain kitten continued to grow astronomically.)

by Jim Knipfel

Please donate to Sean Casey’s Animal Rescue 

https://www.nyanimalrescue.org/

[angel-squid-trash-ghost]

Parental Guidance Pt.6

            Hakoda had the children dressed and fed by the time his mother had woken up. She fretted and fussed that he needed to be resting so he can get back to his regular duties. But is seemed his cold had all but disappeared. And for the time, Hakoda was enjoying spending time with his family. It had been too long.

              Hakoda left to go get some burn ointment for Zuko’s burns. He found it strange how adamant they were of not going with him. Not even Sokka wanted to go. Smoke billowed from the small chimney of the healing hut. A noxious smell radiated from the entrance. Kehana always had reminded him of a ghost story Bato used to tell when they were lads. A tale of a winter witch that lived in the middle of nowhere. She never left her home until a blizzard came and would snatch and eat anyone who dared to venture out.

He entered the healing hut. Danak was inside holding a cloth around his thumb. It looked like he had cut it deep. The cloth was turning redder by the second. Danak tapped his foot impatiently. Kehana was hunched over her mortar and pestle grinding some green paste.

“Woman, I came for a bandage. By the time I get one I will have passed out from blood loss or the fumes of whatever poisons is in that brew of yours.” Danak sneered.

“You interrupted me. I will attend to your parchment cut in a moment.” Kehana mumbled.

Danak straightened his broad shoulders, “Parchment cut!? Woman, I am bleeding out here!”

“I do not think it is that bad.” Hakoda chuckled. “And Kehana with your usual Northern charm and impeccable bedside manner.” They both turned to face him.

“Good morning Chief Hakoda. Could you kindly tell this wicked woman that I am in need of aid? Seeing how she is the healer!” Danak finished shouting at Kehana.

Kehana ignored him throwing a dried plant in the pot. Hakoda shook his head. “So what happened to you?”

“I was trying to hold the baby and reached for my paring knife rather than the rattle.” Danak looked away embarrassed.

“How is the baby? No name yet. I bet Yise cannot choose just one.”

 Danak wrapped the cloth again as it was becoming too saturated. “Actually, she has her heart set on an Earth Kingdom name.”

“Well if she is insistent, then just agree you get to name the next one. That is what me and Kya did.” Hakoda tried to smile.

“So, an Earth Kingdom name would be alright?” Danak pondered.

“Of course not! Fire children and Earth kingdom names. Next you will suggest marriages between nations.” Kehana put another plant in the pot making the smell recede.

Hakoda narrowed his eyes. “Marriages between nations already exist in the North.”

“To immoral men who couldn’t resist the sight of opened legs and green eyes. Children born out of wedlock are a pitiful result of war.”

“Pitiful is your outlook of the world. Get this man a bandage before he starts dripping.” Hakoda bit.

Kehana rummaged through a basket of bandages of varying sizes. “Here!” She threw the roll at him, “Now get out and tell your dim wife that she should have proper supplies instead of listening to silly ideas from foreigners.”

“Old bitch.” Danak stomped towards the door, “Feel better, Chief.”

“Thank you, Danak. Well wishes to your daughter and Yise.” Hakoda waved off.

Kehana moved back to her mortar, “What do you need?”

“I need something for my cold.” Hakoda said.

“Then why are you here? Ask your mother to make you soup.”

“I also need burn ointment.”

“For whom?” Kehana paused her grinding.

He smiled in disbelief, “Does it matter? I asked for it.”

“I’m not wasting anymore of my good medicine on that ugly thing.”

Hakoda growled, “Watch your mouth. Stop your assuming and just give me what I ask for. ”

Kehana hissed. “Your affinity for him is concerning. You are Chief. You have an obligation to protect-”

“And your obligation is to provide medical help to my village! You left a man to bleed from a knife wound while you mind your concoctions.”

“Is it for him?” Kehana ticked her head. A wild look came to her pale blue eyes. “It is summer. Many firebenders bloom at this time. Best to stomp a spark out before it becomes a flame.”

Hakoda watched her face warp into something hideous. Monstrous. “The burn ointment please.”

Kehana took a step closer, “I suggest you take him out far and club him like a seal.”

Hakoda couldn’t believe his ears. He curled his lip, “You’re disgusting.”

“Then if you don’t have the… gumption, there are many plants here that will do the trick.”

“Give me the ointment. Now.”

“If he is a firebender, he cannot be here!” Kehana ran to his face.

“Kehana! Give me the ointment!” Hakoda would doubt if the next village over did not hear him.

Kehana glowered a few moments. She spun around rapidly almost hitting Hakoda with her hair. She snatched a corked jar and shoved it in his hands. “What happened to your beard?” She smiled showing her worn teeth.

Hakoda tilted his chin away from her, “There will be a village meeting tomorrow. You are not to attend. Am I understood?”

“Of course, Chief Hakoda.” The crazed smile became wider.

               He left without another word.

…

               It was a relief to be back inside. The village had given him odd looks on his way home. Someone was surely to come by later and ask what happened. In a small village things get dull. Gossip of a confrontation will be good entertainment for a few hours.

               Sokka was siting surprisingly still brow twitching as Katara and Zuko braided his hair. His mother was smiling softly holding a cup of tea. She was the first to see him. She had lost her smile. He called Zuko over. He looked very different from the distraught boy he held last night. He bounced over to Hakoda happy and affectionate.

“What are you two doing to Sokka?” Hakoda didn’t want the children to hear any of his previous tone.

Katara skipped over abandoning Sokka’s hair, “We’re making him pretty.” She sat next to Zuko.

“I’m already pretty.” Sokka rejected.

Zuko and Katara giggled. Zuko cocked his head, “Are you ok, Sir.”

“I am.” Hakoda said softly.

                 Zuko put his hands on Hakoda’s cheeks. Hakoda eyes drifted to his scar. Realizing this, he looked away. Zuko’s arms moved around his neck. The scar grazed his jaw. Zuko hugged him. Hakoda reciprocated. Katara joined with a kiss. And Sokka from behind. Kanna made her way over too. Her arms encircling them all. Hakoda breathed in deep. Their love radiating into him. He felt fulfilled. An image of cobalt blue eyes shining with delight, flashed in his mind.

When they broke apart Zuko was smiling, “Better?”

Hakoda nodded. “Yes. Thank you.” He took the jar from inside his pocket, “Let’s get this on just now. Shall we?”

               Hakoda unwrapped Zuko’s fingers. He could tell the boy was putting on a brave face as he revealed the raw and peeling burns. He uncorked the jar making everyone cover their noses. Did everything that hag made have to smell so terrible? Katara handed him a brush and he got to work on applying the ointment.

“Do they hurt?” Sokka asked over his shoulder.

“Not bad.” Zuko winced, “My face hurt more.”

Katara watched as if she were supervising his work. Zuko saw this and put a finger on her forehead. He said something in Fire’s Tongue, and she responded. Zuko said something else mentioning Kehana’s name.

“Was Kehana ever mean to you?” He watched their faces drop.

“Kehana is not nice.” Zuko said simply.

“She’s more than not nice. She’s horrible. She has witch’s fingers and rats in her hair! She’s ugly and I hate her.” Katara raved.

“She said bad things about Katara’s and Sokka’s mommy.” Hakoda barely heard Zuko say.

He distracted himself with his task, “Do not worry about her children. You do not have to go to her if you do not want to.” He set his jaw so he would not scowl.

“When I’m a master waterbender I can just make a snowstorm and whoosh her away!” Katara declared.

“Yeah. And I can throw my boomerang!” Sokka held up his fist.

“She will get a smack upside the head from me if she keeps messing with my grandbabies!” Kanna added.

The children laughed. Hakoda shook his head chuckling. Kehana should run for the hills.

“Well to be a master waterbender you need a teacher.” He said to his daughter.

“Yeah but there’s no one here to teach me.” Katara shrugged.

“Which is why I am going to send for one. The only waterbenders are in the North. It is our only option.”

“Zuko will need a teacher too.” Katara looked at Zuko.

“No. I don’t want to firebend.” Zuko added quickly.

“Why is that?” Hakoda asked.

Zuko looked at him like he had three heads. “Firebending is bad.”

Hakoda put down the brush. He held Zuko by the wrists as he had done the night before, “Zuko. We have suffered much. All of us.” He looked around sadly. “By men who can control fire. They use their fire to burn towns and hurt people. What do you see there?” Hakoda pointed to the hearth.

Zuko paused, “I see fire.”

“Exactly. It keeps us warm, and cooks are food, and gives us light. We need fire to survive.” He released the small wrists, “You want to do good right?”  

“Yes!” Zuko said desperately.

“Then that is what makes you good. Do not loose apart of yourself to please others.” Hakoda put his hand on his silky hair, “Never forget who you are.”

“Well said my son!” Kanna smacked her knee and held her chin high.

“You should be proud to be a bender.” Katara put her forehead to his, “We can learn together.”

“But you still have to do weapons training!” Sokka tackled Zuko.

“I will announce a village meeting tomorrow. I want the whole village to meet you formally. And I will make the announcement that you will live with us-”

“Yay!” Katara flung herself to her best friend. “I’m so happy!”

“Me too!” Zuko hugged her.

Hakoda shook with laughter, “And then we will make you an honorary citizen of the Southern Water Tribe.”

“What’s that mean?” Zuko sat up.

Sokka gave him a firm pat on the back, “That means you’ll be one of us and no one can say otherwise! You’ll be a warrior!”

“And a bender.” Katara cheered.

Hakoda nodded, “And Water Tribe.”

“And my newest grandson! Oh! Come here!” Kanna scooped him up and gave Zuko the tightest hug he had ever received.

…

               The next evening, the entire village had gathered to the communal hut. Hakoda wore a ceremonial Artic fox shawl and a band of seashells. He carried his Whale bone spear unwrapped showing its sharp point. Kanna wore her favorite Snow Leopard Caribou stole albeit the season. She didn’t get to wear it often and would never miss a chance to dress up. She looked dignified on her favorite stool in her faint blue gown and silver jewelry. Both Katara and Sokka were dressed in darker blue summer outfits with a variety of beads strewn in their hair. And Zuko in an ashen grey. Gran-Gran had given him a braid wrapped in cord. A Water tribe symbol of humility and innocence.

               Family groups made a circle around the hut so everyone could be seen and heard. Hakoda sat at the point with his mother to his right and the children to his left. Once everyone was settled, dried meat was passed around. It was believed a full stomach would make for a better temperament.

“Good evening.” Hakoda began.

“Good evening.” Everyone responded in their own time.

“Some of you may wonder why we are gathered here today and other’s probably have already guessed.” He looked around the room, “Firstly, I would like to address that my daughter, Katara, is a waterbender!”

Many cheered and gave their congratulations. Katara gladly accepted the praise. She slipped her hand into Zuko’s

“Wonderful news!”

“We finally have a bender!”

“How will she be trained?” Vakita, Moak’s wife asked. Moak raised a brow.

“I will have to send for a teacher. I have written a letter to Chief Arnook. I will send this letter in the morning.” Hakoda said absolutely.

“Another Northerner?” This time it was it was Kursru to speak.

“I understand your concern. But we have no choice in this matter.”

“It will be good to have a bender. Send for as many Northerners as you need. We need little Katara to learn as much as possible.” Bato said. No one was more loyal and understanding than Bato.

“Thank you, Mr. Bato.” Katara held a regal pose, “I have accepted my duty as sole waterbender of the Southern Water Tribe. I will train hard and endlessly until I am confident that I will be able to protect my people. I look forward to learning and mastering my element.” Katara recited the speech her grandmother helped her write.

“Does anyone else have any questions for me or Katara about this subject?” Hakoda asked.

“Yeah, can you not freeze us in an ice block again?” Noaluk groaned. Moak swiftly smacked the boy in the back of the head.

“That depends.” Katara said haughtily.

“That is enough. Any more questions? No? Ok. The matter is settled.” Hakoda pounded the spear to the ground. “Our next subject is probably something you all have been very eager to speak to me about.” He looked around the room again. Everyone stayed silent waiting for their turn to say aloud what they have been keeping to themselves. “We have had a guest here for quite some time. Almost seven months now. I understand that opinions about our guest have been divided. Some hateful even. I would like to introduce our guest.” Hakoda held out his hand.

               Zuko looked around at the faces of all the village. Big and small were all staring directly at him. He felt stuck but shifted slightly. He watched their eyes move with him. He felt like a mouse trying to creep around a Mink Snake. No matter which way he moved, he would probably end up bit.

Zuko curled inwards. “Don’t worry. I’m right here.” Katara whispered in his ear.

He moved to Sir and sat in his lap with a finger to his mouth and his eyes down. “Ah-ah. Sit up straight and face everyone.” Sir said pleasantly moving his hand away. “Speak clearly now.”

“Hello. My name is Zuko.” Zuko felt his heart would burst from his chest.

There were oohs and ahs from the circle.

“Why does he talk funny?” Someone asked. Zuko didn’t see who but it sounded like an older boy.

Sir gave him a pat on the shoulder. “I like to sew and play outside.”

“And hit people with sticks.” Zuko could guess who said that.

“I came on a boat from the Fire Nation-”

“We know this. When is he going back?” It was an adult’s voice.

Zuko didn’t think his heart could beat faster, “I look forward to being a productive…” Zuko couldn’t remember what he was supposed to say as the room got louder with murmurs and whispers. Zuko went to stand to run away.

Sir held him in place, “We do not run when things get tough.” He said into his ear, “We stand strong and face our obstacles. If one way does not work, then we choose another.”

Zuko took a deep breath. He looked to Katara. She nodded. “I’m here.” She said in Fire’s Tongue. Zuko barely heard it amongst the growing noise.

He stood from Sir’s lap. “My name is Zuko!” The village went quiet. “I like to sew with Gran-Gran and play outside with Katara and Sokka. Katara teaches me Water Language and Sokka teaches me how to use weapons. They are my friends. Gran-Gran and Sir teach me lessons and how to be good. I want to be good. I want to be Water Tribe!”

“He can’t be Water Tribe!”

“Is he crazy?”

“Did you hear that? He wants to be one of us.”

“I think that’s a good thing!” Yise shouted. Everyone turned to Yise who was cradling her baby. Danak tried to hold her still, but she snatched herself away, “Why would we send the boy back just to grow up and be another Fire Nation soldier? If he wants to be Water Tribe, let him.”

“You foolish woman! You have always not been all there in the head!” The widower Lohara cried.

“Do not speak to her like that!” Danak shouted, “Go ahead sweetie. Finish what you were saying.” He grimaced suddenly having a change of heart.

“All I mean is that he is a little boy! He is not a danger to us!”

“He is Fire Nation!” Kursru complained.

“He is dangerous. He hit my son with a stick.” Vakita pulled her son’s closer to her.

“Because they attacked me and Sokka! Zuko was being a good friend! Noaluk and Yoton were being bullies!” Katara cut in. Zuko looked at her in awe.

“What if he turns out to be a firebender?!”

“Then he will be a danger to us all!”

“I am a firebender!” Zuko yelled.

               Zuko with all his fury unintentionally summoned sparks to his hands. They did not spit like before but crackled like kindling when he clenched his fists. If Katara could be brave, then so could he. Several men stood. Zuko held his ground. Katara rushed to his side. Hakoda pounded his spear and demanded they sit. But when Kanna stood the men froze.

“Shame! All of you! Shame!” Kanna glared at every last man who stood.

“You say shame, but the Fire Nation killed my husband and left my children without a father!”

“And my brother and his son.”

“And my wife!” Hakoda bellowed. “We have all lost to the Fire Nation!”

Kanna took Zuko and Katara to sit back down with her. She kept them both firmly to her chest. “All of us. Even him.”

“More of reason he should stay. Look at what they did to him.” Yise pointed to Zuko’s scar. The baby started to wail.

Sokka rose. He couldn’t hold back anymore, “You think letting Zuko live here is the same as forgiving the Fire Nation! It’s not. I will never forgive the man who killed my mother! We’re sitting here arguing when there is no argument. Zuko doesn’t remember anything before the ship. How can he be loyal to people he doesn’t remember? But Zuko is loyal to us. He made a promise to my sister that they would be friends forever. And he really means forever. And I know he will keep that promise because Zuko is the most honest person I know! Yeah I’m looking at you Jiliruq!” Sokka pointed dramatically.

“I didn’t take your sharpening stone!” The older boy groaned.

Sokka shook his fist. “I know it was you! You were the only one near my stuff-”

“Sokka.” Hakoda warned.

Sokka exhaled, “Alright. When it all comes down to it, Zuko is going to stay with us. He is not gonna run around melting igloos, or eat babies, or steal people’s stuff. Katara froze the porridge this morning. Should we send her away too? Zuko’s a boy like me. Who’s lost just as much as we have and wants to be one of us. If an Earth Kingdom ditch digger washed up, we’d hand him a blue parka and a spear, right?” Some in the circle laughed, “Then we’ll do the same for Zuko. I mean he’s a human heater spit out by the ocean!” There was more laughter, “If La wants him here then I want him here too.”

                The crowd spoke quietly on their take of his point. Zuko eyes traced the faces of the families around the room. He saw Yoton quietly speaking to his parents and Ms. Yise to her husband. The air in the room had gotten lighter. Zuko felt like he could finally take an entire inhale. Katara seemed to relax too. Her grip on his hand had loosened some and her face wasn’t wound as tight.

“But Chief Hakoda.” Bato spoke, “This arrangement is very unusual.”

“Yes. I think it will be a good change of pace.”

Bato nodded at the nonchalant answer. He knew Hakoda had already made up his mind.

“Does anyone have anything else to say?” Hakoda surveyed the circle.

Everyone had digressed to reserved utterings.

Bato let out a dry laugh, “I suppose he is to stay then.”

“Then the matter is settled.” Hakoda pound the spear again.

Kanna kissed both of their heads. “Did you two hear that? No more worries ok.”

               Zuko let that sink in. No more worries. Katara beamed brightly. Sokka was smiling too. He came over to pat him on the back. Sir motioned for him to come over again. Zuko reluctantly untethered his finger’s from Katara’s and crawled to Sir. He directed Zuko in front of him and look out a beautiful porcelain jar. It was inlayed with mother of pearl in the shape of a Snow Eagle. Inside was a thick paint made of ash and squid ink. Sir dipped two fingers in and smeared two lines from Zuko’s hairline to his brow. He dipped one more time wiping his fingers across his forehead.

“This boy is now my ward!” Sir announced strong and proud. He turned Zuko around, “He is now known as Tulujok, child of the ocean!”

               Tulujok. Water language for Crow-Owl. Katara joined him again. She snuggled into his cheeks.

“You are happy.” Zuko giggled.

Katara squeezed around him. “Aren’t you?”

Her smile made him want to leap for the moon. “I am always happy when you are happy.”

                 Life had only improved for Zuko after that. Although he had to split his time between Sokka and Katara. In the morning he would go to weapons training with Sokka and sometimes Sir would join them. After a while, the sight in his left had diminished to nothing. He was constantly swiveling his head further earning his name of Tulujok. He had to work twice as hard with half his sight. Eventually ,with weeks of relentless practice ,his spear had flown straighter and his arrows piercing their practice target. Never dead on. But knife play was always his calling. With the help of Sokka and Sir he was quickly becoming a skilled knife wielder.

                 His afternoons were shared with Katara and Gran-Gran in the igloo. His knife experience was put to the test when he skinned his first Seal. Gran-Gran had guided him through the rite earning him respect from the other home keepers. After chores, Zuko would help Katara and Gran-Gran with dinner. There was nothing like sharing stew with family after a full day of learning.

                 As for Katara’s and Zuko’s bending, neither had made much progress. Their lack of direction made for lack of control over their elements. There were  accidents here and there. Zuko sneezing a flame or Katara hiccupping tea frozen were common mishaps around the igloo. And when Zuko and Katara had their first fight, Hakoda physically had to hold the children down before the igloo had caved in on them all. It had all started over something as trivial as a shared spinning top. Each of their screams either engorging the hearth or making cracks in the ceiling. It didn’t take them more than an hour for the best friends to make up. Each promising they’d never fight again.

                   Winter had come again. The ocean had frozen for miles out creating an icy labyrinth. There wouldn’t be another visitor for at least three more months. Zuko didn’t like the winter. He hadn’t before, but with the sun not giving him it’s light, something in him had weakened. Katara had seemed the opposite. She thrived under the silvery moon beams.

                   Snow steadily fell outside. Zuko was curled up by the fire. He had found a shiny black stone at archery practice. It was so beautiful. He knew Katara would love to see it. He traced over the smooth stone reflecting the fire’s light in its surface. The moment the furs moved Zuko was upright. Katara skipped happily to him.

“Zuko! Guess what? Ms. Vakita is going to have a baby!” Katara said excitedly.

“That is great news!” Zuko threw up his hands. The stone glinted.

“What is that?” Katara tried to grab his hand.

Zuko easily evaded her. He grinned, “It’s a surprise. Close your eyes.”

“Why? What is it?” Katara rolled to her knees.

“Close your eyes.” Zuko insisted in Fire’s Tongue.

Katara closed and covered her eyes, “Ok. I promise I’m not peeking.”

Zuko took her hand and placed the dark stone in the middle of her palm. Katara looked down to see the shining crystal. She gasped.

“Zuko! It’s so pretty! Where did you find it?” She too examined it in the light.

“At the archery range. Do you like it?” he was on his hands and knees quaking to hear her answer.

“It’s for me?!” Katara’s eyes glittered.

“Of course!” Zuko sat on his heels.

               Katara was just about to hug Zuko when a commotion came from outside. Men were yelling in alarm. Zuko pulled Katara up and ran to Gran-Gran. Gran-Gran was on alert listening for any news. Katara’s started to think dark thoughts. Another raid. After all the time of peace. Another raid. More murder. This time they would come for her. And take her away like all the other waterbenders. She looked at Zuko. They would take him too. They would make him a soldier and make him kill. Katara started to cry. Zuko clutched her face. The look in his eye was striking.

“Don’t worry. I will protect us.” Zuko showed Katara his knife.

“A ship! A ship!”

“Zuko get your parka on now! Katara grab a blanket. We’re going to the communal hut.” Gran-Gran gathered what appeared to be an emergency bag. “Hurry both of you!”

               Katara and Zuko did as they were told then helping their Gran-Gran pack water and dried food. She pushed the children out of the igloo with Zuko faithfully in front holding his knife ready to strike. Katara knew she might have to run. Scenario after dreadful scenario played in her mind. Flashes of her mother’s face kept appearing. The begging, the shrieking, the smell.

              There was a terrible cracking sound coming from the ice as it broke. The ship was getting closer. Other families were running to the communal hut. Katara could see Sokka running towards them with a real spear and not his wooden practice one. Sokka took the bag from Gran-Gran and went in front of Zuko. The cold stung her face nearly freezing her tears. Zuko locked his arm in hers. He was walking fast but not too fast in front of Gran- Gran. He turned his head back and forth trying to catch any and all movement. Katara steeled herself and did the same. She saw her father shouting orders. If the Fire nation were going to come back, she would be ready this time. She no longer had a mommy to cling to. But she had Sokka and Gran-Gran and Zuko. She wasn’t going to let anything happen to anyone she loved ever again.

“They’re Water Tribe!”

“They’re Northerners!”

               Katara fell to her knees in relief.

[berkmansimagines]

Here Comes the Sun (Barry Berkman Imagine)

A/N: Hey everyone! I thought it would be fun and mix things up with my imagines so I’m giving y’all a Barry x teen!daughter family thing instead. The idea came to my mind and I thought it would be interesting to see how Barry reacts to finding out and his interactions with her. I’ve gotten a couple more ideas for this teen daughter premise, so I might write more if you like this!

Summary: Barry thought he didn’t have any family left, until you knocked on his door...

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK

You anxiously stand outside the apartment door, hoping you had the right address. As you wait, you rustle the document you’re holding in your hands. After a minute, you give a defeated sigh. Maybe Barry Berkman didn’t live here after all. You’re about to turn and walk away when the door opens.

“Can I help you?”

In front of you stands a tall man with brown hair and eyes that matched your own.

“Hi, uh, are you Barry Berkman?” you bite the bottom of your lip.

“Listen, whatever you’re selling I’m not interested,” Barry sighs as he starts closing the door. He didn’t even know how anyone would get his address, he’s unlisted.

“WAIT!” you put your hand on the door to stop him from closing it completely, “I just need you to sign something. Okay so, uh, the thing is… you’re my biological father. Like your name is on my birth certificate and everything. My birth mom gave me up at birth and I’ve been bouncing around foster homes all over southern California ever since. I’m about to turn sixteen, I’m trying to get emancipated from the foster system and I need your signature.”

“Wait...WHAT?!” the man before you looks genuinely stunned.

“I know crazy right?” you try your best to empathize. He just found out he had a long lost teen daughter, he had the right to be shook, “Anyways, apparently no one ever signed a permanent release of rights. So I need my birth parents to sign this for my court hearing next week. I did my research and unfortunately my birth mother passed away, but luckily you’re still alive so you can sign!”

“What’s your name? Who...who’s your-” Barry begins before you cut him off.

“I’m y/n and I’m not here asking for anything but a signature. You’re legally my dad until you sign this,” you hold up the document and pull a pen out of your bag, “After you sign this, you can just close the door and pretend this never happened. Sound good?”

Barry stands shellshocked for a moment. A million thoughts are racing through his head. He has so many questions.

“Do you… do you want to come in?” Barry opens his door.

“Okay,” you nod.

Nervous, you slowly step inside. Even if he was technically your birth dad, you had no idea who this guy was. You tightly grip the pen you pulled out of your bag earlier by your side, ready to turn it into a weapon if needed. Growing up in foster care, you learned to prepare for anything and expect the unexpected.

“Uh, do you want anything to drink?” Barry walks towards the fridge.

“No thanks,” you shyly cross your arms against your chest.

Barry opens the fridge, it’s almost empty. He closes it and shakes his head, “I don’t even know why I asked you that. I got nothing.”

You let out a little laugh, putting your guard down a bit, “It’s fine, really.”

“So, uh, y/n… how did you get my address?” Barry leans back against the counter. You both keep a little distance from each other.

“Well I...I stole a copy of my birth certificate from my case worker. She needed to step out of the office after I spilled some coffee on her. It was iced, so she was fine! And then I got your address from the police,” you explain.

“The cops gave you my address?” Barry raised an eyebrow.

“Uhh technically… I kinda broke into a cop car while they were eating lunch and looked you up,” you admit the truth and hope he wouldn’t be put off, “I, uhm, saw that you were questioned for some guy’s murder. I’m sorry for that guy, but honestly I find true crime fascinating so I think it’s pretty cool that I found you because of that.”

Barry can’t help but let out a small smile. You were smart and he was impressed about how you got his information. If he was in your shoes, he saw himself doing the exact same thing. You had gumption. And after taking a good look at you, he noticed that you have his eyes.

“Who’s your birth mother?”

You reach into your bag, pull out a copy of your birth certificate and hand it to Barry. He recognizes the name. He tells you that he and your birth mother dated very briefly before he was deployed overseas. They never spoke after they ended things and he certainly never knew about you. In your brief research, you learned that your birth mother died in a car accident a couple of years after you were born.

“Do your foster parents know you’re here?” Barry asks you.

You nervously shift your weight onto your back foot and shake your head. The truth was you ran away from your Long Beach foster home two days ago and your foster father didn’t even know that you left.

“He doesn’t really care. He only really does it for the monthly check,” you tell him, “He drinks a lot so he probably didn’t notice.”

Barry lets out a sigh and shakes his head. And then, “So what do you need me to sign?”

You hand him the document and the pen you’ve been gripping in your hand since you entered the apartment.  He briefly reads it over and signs. One step in this long process is now complete, you were relieved and anxious to move forward.

“What’s your plan? After you get emancipated, I mean,” Barry hands you back the document and pen.

“I, uh, I don’t know…” you suddenly begin to panic. You had spent so much time trying to get the emancipation process going that you didn’t think about what you were going to do after. Would a judge even grant you emancipation if you didn’t have a plan?

“Y/n…” Barry waves his hand in front of your face, snapping you back to reality.

“Yeah right...a plan. Uh, I know some decent shelters for teens in LA,” you try thinking of something, “Maybe I can stay in one of those until I figure something out.”

Suddenly Barry’s mind flashes to the two of you posing for a picture together. He’s in a suit, you’re in a cap and gown. You’re graduating from high school and he’s there to cheer you on. You two are taking the classic graduation family photo. Barry smiles at the thought. You were his daughter. Now he had a chance to have the type of family and normal he’s longed for, the exact opposite of the job he’s fighting to get out of.

“Well I should get going,” the sound of your voice takes Barry out of his daydream, “Thank you, Barry Berkman, for signing this document and, uh,  contributing to half my DNA I guess?”

You put the document and pen in your bag. You begin walking towards the door when…

“Wait!” Barry calls out after you.

“Yeah?” you turn around to face him.

“Those shelters aren’t…” Barry awkwardly flusters, trying to find the right words to say, “Do you want to… do you want to crash here? Just until you figure something out.”

“Really?” you’re taken aback. You just came here for a signature. You expected the door to be slammed in your face more than you expected this. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Barry nods, becoming more confident in addressing you, “The shelters are alright, but there’s never a guarantee that you’ll get a spot. You shouldn’t end up on the street.”

You pause for a moment, thinking it over. You talked a little bit, but you still didn’t really know who he was. Then you think of going to the shelter or being forced back into foster care. This option was definitely the most ideal.

“Ok,” you say softly and nod, “Thank you. Your couch looks super comfy. Probably much better than any of the cots at-”

“No,” Barry interrupts you, “You can take my bed, I’ll take the couch.”

You smile at Barry, giving him an unspoken thank you. He nods back. The anxiety and nervousness you had earlier about meeting your birth father, has now faded. This is the first time you’ve ever felt at home.

--

That was fun and different to write! Thanks for reading!

[ansgar-martinsson]

The Best Intentions - Part 7

“You know, Joline, you remind me of someone,” Ansgar chuckled, lifting his fingers to wave languidly at the passing jogger. He laughed harder when said jogger did a double take and turned his head quickly away. “Someone I knew in America.”

“Really?” Joline replied. “I remind you of an American woman?”

He nodded. “You are very American in your demeanor, but in only the good ways.”

“In the good ways, huh?”

“Yes,” Ansgar bowed his head slightly. “In the good ways.”

“As opposed to like… the bad ways?”

Ansgar inhaled, his eyes widening. “Oh, there are many, many bad ways, believe me.”

“Like what?”

Ansgar snorted. “Like…,” he blinked, pulling down his lower lip in a slight cringe, “a bizarre obsession with American football and baseball, a love for tiger-piss beer, a craving for over processed foods, hyper-consumerism and and an overt label consciousness,” he frowned, still considering. “Not to mention a need to be considered independent paired with a constant demand to be pampered, kowtowed to, and fawned upon, and a tendency to be offended by the slightest thing and then post a crusade on Facebook about it. That sort of thing.”

She sucked air through her teeth. “Yeah, bad ways. I get it. So, who was she? This American in the good ways who I remind you of.”

“Her name is Kay. Kay Browntree. She’s in the construction business, a flooring contractor. Has her own business, very ambitious. But she has her boots on the ground for all of her work. Very hands-on. Grout under the fingernails and all that. I liked that about her.”

“A girlfriend?”

Ansgar sighed. “A potentiality that never came to fruition, I’m afraid. I was in Chicago on a project, she was one of my subcontractors. Unfortunately, I had to move on to another project across the country.”

“Why do I remind you of her?”

Ansgar lifted his eyes in thought. He crossed his legs as he twisted to face her, one arm draped languidly in his lap, the other remained perched atop the back of the bench. “Many reasons, I suppose. Kay makes me laugh – a rare thing indeed. She’s carefree. She gives zero shits about who I am, about my bank account or about appearances or personal hierarchies or societal proprieties. She speaks her mind, damn the consequences. She’s honest, transparent, hard-working, and driven. There’s nothing false about her. What I see is what I get. Much like you.”

In short, nothing like Faye. Nothing at all like Faye.

“Oh,” she intoned. “Tell me more.”

He laughed again, but his face softened. He reached toward her and brushed a lock of her dark hair away from her eye, drawing the soft strands gently between finger and thumb. “I see… I see a soft sophistication to you– a knowledge of art, a taste for luxury, an appreciation of the beauty in machinery and an admiration of the finer things. I see an innate grace in the way you move – in the way you shook out your hair when you took off your helmet, for example.” He shrugged. “She’s a lot like you in those ways as well.”

Her eyes widened, just that little bit, Ansgar noted, a microexpression of self-conscious surprise, a shiver at his touch. She shifted further on the bench, crossing one leg beneath the other, her booted foot dangling off the edge of the bench. She leaned against the back, her elbow hooked around the wood slat, her hand dangling just near her breast.

Ansgar couldn’t help but look.

And she caught him looking. She peered down at her own chest, and knowingly lifted her eyes back to him, her hand open in an indicative gesture. “Oh, I get it. Really, it’s just that she’s got great tits like mine.”

Ansgar choked, his eyes gone wide, his mouth formed into a hollow ‘o’. He recovered quickly, flipping a sardonic yet appreciative quirk of an eyebrow. “Noooo,” he crooned. “Yours are far better.”

It was her turn to choke. She sat bold upright, staring incredulously at him. “Excusemewhat?”

He formed his features into a comical ‘oops’ face, his eyebrows shot high, his lips puckered, his hand covering his mouth in a gesture of mock delicate prudishness. “Oh, did I say that out loud? Well. Hmmmmm.” His lips curled in a wicked half-grin. “That must mean that I find you sexy as well.”

“We’re doing brilliantly at keeping our partnership purely professional.” She dipped her head back to follow a bird in flight. “Nice alliteration.” “Thanks. It pops out sometimes.” She shifted on the bench, bending the knee under her to bring up to her chest. She tugged her foot as close to her bum, hugging her arms around it. Her other foot swung underneath the bench, her toes scraping an even tempo against the gravel. “Dad’s influence.” Ansgar saw her zealousness turn inward. The curse of loss taught him the same trick. He nearly opened his mouth to say something when she beat him to it. “He was American, you know,” she dropped in conversationally, without truly pausing to ask. “Got my guts, gumption, glory and grin from him.” A faux smile appeared, behind closed lips and a pensive look. “And my alliteration.” “But your surname… Lindberg, is Swedish, yes?” “My mother’s surname. My parents were… unconventional, never married, never lived in the same country. Scandalous!” She jazzhanded past that tidbit expecting outrage and judgement. When none came, she lifted her eyes to her companion. “Do you really want to hear all this? Or will you be reading the backs of your eyelids in sixty seconds?” Despite himself, Ansgar was intrigued by her. “Feel free to tell me as much or as little as you would like.” Jo’s eyes followed as a family of four chattered by, disrupting the atmosphere with all their ruckus. The baby cried, the toddler whined, the mother yelled and the father talked over all of them. “I’ll abbreviate. Dad worked for Zim International, that shipping company–” “I’m familiar with them. I held several contracts with them importing bamboo from Asia." "Oh, figures… all you executive types know each other.” He chuckled at the generalization, not at all offended by the stereotype. “I grew up here, near Gamla stan… until seventeen. I moved to America to go to uni, Norfolk it was, in Virginia. I stayed on there, graduated, worked, travelled…”

“And,” he flipped his hand, palm up in her direction, looking for another handout of information, “what made you move back here?”

Joline looked at him for a long moment, considering for as long as it took to make a decision on how much she should tell, how much was appropriate. She inhaled slowly, reciting the mantra on her arm over and over in her head.

Live life when you have it. Live life when you have it. Live life when you have it.

And so, she did. “I love my family; I needed them. I missed so much, my mother, my brother… He got married and had kids while I was away. I’d never met my sister-in-law. I didn’t meet my nephews until much later. My mother got sick. I missed so much. And then my marriage fell apart while I was living in Florida.”

“You’re married?”

“Was. Right out of uni. We were young and stupid and playing grown-ups, but we weren’t compatible. It was a mistake, one I’m glad to have made only so I don’t repeat it,” she sighed, playing at a rueful smile. “When there was no affection left in it, we went our separate ways. He went off to DC, and the offer for the Globe workshop fell in my lap. The Globe led me back here, put me in the running for the Opera House, and here I am.”

“I’m… I’m sorry,” he couldn’t find any other words to say. His thumb tucked in against his palm to follow that familiar track to the gold band on his ring finger. He didn’t spin it this time, only tapped it, reminding himself it was still there.

She smiled sadly, but there were no hard feelings of resentment or sadness in her features. “No need to apologize.  Sometimes two people aren’t meant to be together. That’s not always tragic or the end of the world.” She stretched out her legs again, unraveling from the coil she’d put herself into. “I loved him once and I remember that. A part of me, my younger self, the overgrown teenager self, still loves Steven… always will. But she’s not all of me and I’m not quite her anymore. I don’t know if it happened suddenly or over time, but one day I just knew. I needed my family… and they needed me.”

Ansgar nodded. “Family, yes…,” he he paused for a moment in thought, his lips pursed. His eyes focused on nothing in particular… a boat in the distance… as the impact of Joline’s story washed over him.

He thought of his own losses. His own journey, the ways in which he’d shed skin after skin, identity over identity over the past few years. The way in which he’d, as Faye had put it, gone soft. Soft in Faye’s estimation, however, was still as prickly as The Iron Throne to the rest of the world. He thought of Magnus, of Rebecka, and of their child. Their children, now, plural. Thought of the way they had welcomed him back into their home, into their arms, into their world – no questions asked, no consternation about him being for all intents and purposes dead for a year and a half.

And to know Joline had lived that, or something like it as well gave him the sense of a kindred pull to her spirit. A knowledge. An understanding, and the weight of it, the warmth of it settled upon him like a blanket.

“Family is everything, isn’t it?” he finished his thought at last. “I mean, when you come down to it, no matter what sort of shit you get into, no matter how much you hurt them, no matter what pain you endure, no matter how long you’re… you’re gone, no matter how much you change, no matter how hard you try to disappear, it’s your family that… that….”

The sound of a screaming child from just to his right yanked him from his reverie. He shook his head, blinking hard, and gave a breathy chuckle, smiling ruefully up at Joline. He sighed. “Well,” he shrugged, “let’s just say it’s a good job you had your family to come home to.”

He pressed his hands to the bench and shifted forward to stand, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Ansgar.”

“What!?” he snapped, but his eyes softened in almost immediate apology. Live life when you have it, right?  “Look, Joline,” he sighed. I’m just going to come right out and say it. I think you’ve sussed by this point that I am rather… intrigued by you. Even more now that we’ve had this talk.”

“Yeah, I think I get that.” She smiled. “And I kind of want to jump your bones, too, so what’s the problem?”

“Complications,” he said, “albeit minor ones.” His lips curved in a melancholy smile. He stayed perched on the end of the bench, his knees spread wide, and he bent forward, elbows rest on his thighs. He clasped his hands together between, his thumbs working one against the other. “Things we should lay out on the table before we continue.”

“With our partnership? You’re not having second thoughts or…?”

“No! Of course not,” Ansgar sat upright. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“But,” she stood then and rest her hands on her hips. “What are you talking about, then? I mean… how can we even think of anything personal when we’re working together?”

“I’m very good at compartmentalizing,” Ansgar declared. “We simply need limits… understandings. I’ve done it before.”

She frowned, cocking her hip. “Done what before?”

“Worked closely with someone,” he took a long breath, his jaw jut forward. “Someone with whom I’d engaged in another sort of relationship.” He stood, then, and stepped nearer, peering down at her, his eyes hooded and intent. “I would like to know if you can do the same.”

She narrowed her eyes, tilting her head and matching his gaze with her own. “I can, I think,” she said slowly. “But, first, I need to know who.”

“Who? What do you mean, who?”

“Who was the someone you worked with? Who were you working with and fucking at the same time?”

He blinked, and his breath caught in his chest at the blunt force of her question. He kept his mask in place, however, his muscles barely moving, his eyes not wavering at all as he said slowly, evenly, “Faye Valentine-Martinsson. My former VP of Security. My wife.”

She lifted her chin, ever so slightly, and her right eye twitched. “Your… wife,” she intoned. She shook her head, her breath hissing from her flared nostrils. “Damn. That ring on your finger you keep playing with…. I should have known.”

“Joline…” Ansgar grasped her arm. “You don’t understand….”

She slapped his hand off, stepping quickly back. “You know, I thought for a minute that maybe you weren’t like that… how silly of me, how stupid! How…ah, fuck all of this… all of it!”  She turned and ran, bolting down the gravel path, her boots kicking up small white rocks in her wake.

“Joline! Wait!” He pelted after her, quickly and easily catching up to her to run beside her. “Joline! Joline!”

…Joline… Joline! Please don’t take him just because you can.

“Leave me the hell alone!”

She increased her speed, but again, he matched, overtaking her. He passed her, cut her off, and quickly turned around, He caught her as she caromed into him, clutching her hard by both of her arms. “Stop,” he commanded. “For fuck’s sake, stop!”

“Let me go, Martinsson!” She writhed, grunting and growling against him, her leathers creaking against his.

“Hey!” He held her fast with an arm around her back. “Come on now! Listen!”

“You can’t…do this,” she seethed. “I won’t… I won’t be that… that woman!”

“What… oof! Ohhhh, fuck!” He groaned, bending over but keeping his grip on her. She’d turned in his arms and threw her elbow sharply backwards into his ribs. “Christ! What… what woman?”

“The other woman!” She gnarled, her teeth grit. “Won’t be your fucking mistress!” She kicked backwards, landing the heavy wooden heel of her boot squarely in the middle of his shin.

“Jesus fuck!” He howled and split his legs wide to avoid more blows. Likewise, he craned his neck to avoid her fists that flew at his face. “You… won’t be! You’re not…. ouch, damn you! Stop hitting me!”

“Fine! Then I’ll do this!” She lifted her foot and slammed it down hard upon his toes. “Fuck! Off!”

“Aargh! Stop that! That fucking hurts!” Ansgar released her, but swiftly whirled her back to face him. He grasped her by the head, one massive hand on either side, and he stilled her. First with a small shake, and then with his gaze, penetrating and sharp. Then with his voice, firm and commanding. “Joline! She left me! I. Am. Not. Married. Anymore!”

… and then, with a growl, he pulled roughly on her, drawing her firmly to him where he silenced her, at last, with his lips.

Joline grunted, her eyes slammed shut, not unexpectedly, but for the control she lost in the situation. All her fight instincts took flight, leaving her defenseless to Ansgar’s kiss. She opened to him, having lost her protestations, denials, angry outbursts of sexual frustration, and let his lips do the caressing, manipulating the last of her vigor.

His tongue swept across her parted lips, a brush against her lower lip, to test her, to make sure she wouldn’t bite as hard as she kicked. Instead she moaned as he tipped her head back to deepen the kiss. Boldly, encouraged by the heady auditory approval, Ansgar plundered her mouth with as much possessive greed as she had entered his office… and his life.

Joline hiked up on her booted toes to erase the last bit of distance between them, wanting for be consumed by the torrential heat blazing off of him. The tangle of tongues sent the sweetest torture of sensation straight to her core, her body heavy with need. One of his hands dug into her hair to hold her captive against his mouth, the other pressed into the small of her back, tipping her hips against his. Dull fingernails scraped along his scalp when she took hold of his curls.

Lust played an undeniable force around them like gravity held them to the Earth’s surface. Slaves to it, but masters of it within their sphere of two. Their friendly jogger, his sights on Ansgar, now making his fifth lap past them, cut his losses and kept going to beat off his own arousal at the picture the two made, a smash of leather, denim and desire.

Ansgar was the one to end the meld of lips and teeth and tongues, regrettably. He knew that if they went on as they were he’d tear her clothes from her body and take her right on the spot, the wandering curious gazes be damned.

Joline herself felt ready to jump into her arms, coil her long legs around him and search out the closest surface to fuck against. He tasted of coffee, sex, danger and she already felt the addictive streams pouring through her body, her pores itching for his fingers and mouth as a balm.

His breath panted against her lips, swollen and pink from the pressure of their passionate kiss and the burn of his goatee. But—Fuck! She was a vision! His influence on her for all to see, he was almost… enchanted by it. He dragged his thumb across her lip, “You’re delicious. I simply cannot wait to taste what other flavors you’re hiding.”

Joline kept her eyes closed, concentrating on the bursts of heated breath spreading over her abused lips and the vibrations from his lips to hers. “God-fucking-damn it, Martinsson!” Only her voice had dropped to a seductive purr instead of the angry tones from moments ago.

He dropped his mouth to her ear, his tongue rasped at the fleshy lobe just once before her murmured, “Search out other art on your skin.”

The five ink decorated skin spots hidden beneath her clothes tingled, sending out a honing signal for him to lock in on. Joline pried her eyes open as he lifted his face to peer into hers. The brassed off woman had been somewhat tamed by temptation, he could see it in the flush of arousal and the relaxed scowl. “If this is what ‘intrigued’gets me, I’m fucked if I ever pique your interest,” she quipped in a delayed response to his comment that led to the heated argument and equally as heated kiss.

The pride and arrogance displayed on him in the forming of a Cheshire grin. “You’re fucked either way, as soon as I get you alone,” he replied confidently.

“I was half hoping you’d be shit at the kissing bit,” she groused. Her hands and the rest of her trembled in her heightened arousal, her libido blaring red to near overload.

He smirked, his fingers playing in her hair once more, wondering at her natural color, “Should I apologize or thank you for the backhanded compliment?”

She sighed dejectedly, “Which drawer have you shoved me into then?” Her words adopted a combative tone but she was still pressed salaciously against him.

The slight didn’t faze him as it would anyone else. He recovered within the blink of an eye, “Joline, I didn’t mean you and you know that’s not what I meant by compartmentalizing.”

She pressed her shaking hands to his chest applying the slightest of pressure to extricate herself from his intoxicating embrace. It didn’t help, she wobbled like a newborn faun, her legs unsure after his seductive kiss. “I just need to know where I fit in your cupboard of playthings. One night stand? Fuckbuddy? Lover? Experiment? Trying me on to see if I fit? Mistress?” She hissed the last word.

Defensively, Ansgar grabbed her arms again, nailing her with his piercing gaze, rooting her to the spot. “I told you. My wife left me,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “You can’t be a mistress when there’s no spouse to cheat.”

She couldn’t explain her petulance. They’d only just met, she had no room to make demands on him. But she felt so strongly about being labeled… “I’m not a homewrecker. I don’t go after other women’s men. That’s not me. I’m not that woman! I won’t be!”

Exasperation colored his sigh of impatience as he dropped his chin to his chest. Women infuriated him at times, tested his limits and busted his balls. Getting laid shouldn’t be this difficult, especially when he reduced the woman to a quivering mess clearly affected by his kiss alone, as he’d done with Joline. “Christ, Joline, you’re not!”

“You’re wearing her ring… still. The one that you promised to love, honor, in sickness and all that rot, yes? It’s still on your finger where she placed it. So are you married or not?” She then crossed her arms under her breasts as if to shield herself from the truth or defend herself from crushing disappointment when he dismissed this thing as not worth the aggravation.

Ansgar’s eyes shifted back and forth between hers, assessing her stake in this. “Why is this so important to you?”

The traffic in the distance had faded, the boats on the water muted, the fragrant breeze that smelled of licorice stuck, even the humans in the ceased to exist. All of that stripped away to leave two souls trying to find common ground to explore their attraction for one another.

“Because when you take me to bed, Ansgar, I want you fucking me. I don’t want you fucking the memory of your wife or ex-wife or whoever she is. I don’t want agendas or schedules or any other person involved.” She stepped into his space again, tucked her forefinger into the belt buckle and tugged him against her until their bodies clashed together, breast to chest, stomach to abdomen, center to groin.

She purred, “Pleasure… adult animal magnetism… orgasms for hours.” Joline nuzzled her hips against his, not quite a graze but something akin to it, a promise of so much more. “Dirty, filthy, raw sex – between two people and we’re the only two people in that room. I want sweat. I want sticky heat. I want shortness of breath. I want my body clamped around your cock.” She bit his lower lip, raking her teeth over the sensitive flesh. “I want the neighbors needing a smoke when we’re sated and too blitzed to fuck again. You can have me when I can have you. You can fuck me when that ring isn’t on your finger.”

[inmyownlittlecorner5]

Moonlight Chapter 25: Osâmbritul

A fanfic Novel by la-topolina Rated for Mature Audiences Warnings: Language, Violence, Sexual Content Chapter 25/26

Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter Twenty-Four+

Chapter Twenty-six+ >>

Draco Malfoy sat rigidly in the chair across from Severus’s desk, silently glaring at the top of the professor’s head. Severus kept the boy waiting on purpose while he completed his notes from Magick Moste Evile, both to give himself time to control his unwieldy temper, and in the hopes that Draco might be made uncomfortable enough by the pregnant silence to betray something. Draco’s pointed face was paler than usual, punctuated by dark smudges under his eyes. Though he draped himself across the chair in an imitation of his incarcerated father, Severus recognized the all-too-familiar signs of the insomnia that was undoubtedly plaguing his protégée. In spite of his promise to Narcissa that he would do all in his power to protect and aid her son in his impossible mission, he had, since the beginning of term, accomplished nothing on that front. The few forays he had made at gaining Draco’s confidence had been sullenly rebuffed; and even his attempts at investigation had brought nothing to light.

Notes completed, Severus slowly closed the book and slid the brown package that had caused today’s disaster across the top of his desk. With deliberate care he unwrapped it before Draco’s eyes, observing the boy for any minute twitch. He was certain that Draco was responsible for this unforgivably sloppy assassination attempt, but he felt a twinge of pride at the way the boy maintained his impassively angry facade, even when the gleaming opal necklace lay completely exposed before him.

“I believe you know what this is, Draco,” Severus said, searching Draco’s face while the boy scrupulously avoided his eyes.

“An early Christmas present, sir?” Draco retorted.

“Detention. Wednesday night. I will not take cheek from you.”

Draco shrugged. “It’s a cursed necklace from Borgin and Burkes and it almost killed that Gryffindor cow, Katie Bell. Everybody in school knows that by now. What’s it got to do with me?”

“You know very well what it has to do with you. If this is your brilliant plan to assassinate one of the greatest wizards in the world, I have truly failed you as a teacher.”

Draco flushed at the rebuke and glared at his mentor. “Sometimes I think Aunt Bella might be right about you, sir. How can you be on the Dark Lord’s side and still call Dumbledore great?”

“I realize you are far too young to grasp this concept, but only fools underestimate their enemies. Unfortunately, at the rate you are going, I doubt you will will live long enough to gain that wisdom.”

“I had nothing to do with it!” Draco insisted. “I wasn’t even in Hogsmeade today, ask Professor McGonagall. And as for the necklace, why don’t you talk to Cassie Borgin about it? It came from her uncle’s shop. She’s more likely to have planted it than me.”

Severus’s eyes narrowed. “Are you accusing a member of your own house?”

Draco retreated and tried to cover his misstep with more anger. “No. I’m only saying that it could have been anybody.”

“Go back to the common room and stay there for the rest of the night. If I hear of you leaving, you will spend enough time in detention to make any other tasks impossible.”

“Yes, sir,” Draco spat, pushing himself noisily out of the chair.

“And send Miss Borgin here when you see her.”

Draco slammed the office door in answer and Severus pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. While Draco was firmly on the path to becoming an angry young man, he was still young enough to be a scared boy as well. It was a dangerous combination, and Severus was beginning to doubt that he would uncover Draco’s plans before the boy managed to kill someone—or himself.

The last grain of black sand in the top of the hourglass on his desk trickled down onto the gleaming heap below, and Severus irritably tore his mind away from the innumerable problems plaguing it at the moment. The antidote he was brewing for Miss Bell hissed and foamed on his private workbench. It was the perfect slate blue color when he went to check its progress, and he began adding bits of unicorn horn, stirring laboriously after each addition to ensure complete emulsification. He did not actually expect this potion to revive her; but he believed it would not hurt her either. Avoiding the tedious trouble of transporting her to St. Mungo’s and dealing with her potentially irrational parents was well worth the attempt.

He had just finished adding the unicorn horn when Miss Borgin’s cautious knock announced her.

“Enter,” he said, returning to his desk and flipping the hourglass.

The door opened quietly to admit Cassandra Borgin, a plain slip of a girl with mousey, but neatly plaited, hair and a smattering of freckles across her upturned nose.

“Draco said you wanted to see me sir?” she said meekly, taking the chair that Draco had vacated without any other indication of nerves. The amount of time she’d spent in detention during her fifth year as a result of her daring to be the lone Slytherin to join Dumbledore’s Army had done much to cure her fear of her Head of House. And the gumption she had displayed by her willingness to learn Defense Against the Dark Arts by any means—even those illicitly provided by Harry Potter—had caused Severus to reexamine her overlooked potential.

“Miss Borgin, am I correct in assuming that you, like the rest of the school, are privy to the details of Miss Bell’s injury?”

“Yes sir. Everyone’s saying that she was cursed by a necklace from Uncle Orestes’s shop.” Her eyes flitted over the opals on his desk and she added, “That necklace, in fact.”

“Do you know anything about this?”

“Sir, the last time I was in this office you warned me not to be caught making trouble again. My memory is not so short that I would be taking chances. Besides, what do I have against Katie Bell? I don’t even like Quidditch.”

“But you were in Hogsmeade today, were you not?”

“Yes, sir. I was with Morgana Mulciber and Freya Flint the entire time.”

“Did you see anything?”

“No, sir. We went to Honeydukes and Madam Puddifoot’s today. We missed the whole thing.”

He steepled his fingers and studied her in silence, and she returned his gaze with a calm, open one. Only the constant clasping and unclasping of her hands betrayed her discomfort, but it was enough to prompt him to continue the interrogation.

“I should think that this unfortunate event will put your uncle under some inconvenient scrutiny.”

“He’s dealt with such things before. Luckily the shop can’t be held responsible for damage done by items after they are sold.”

“How fortunate.” Her busy hands were still—that must not have been her worry. Time to try another direction. “But your uncle is a canny man of business.”

“Yes, sir. He is.”

“From all reports, you are keeping pace with your classwork. Do you still make time for your music, or has that become a casualty of the demands of N.E.W.T preparation?”

Her hands started clasping and unclasping again—good. “I…I still play, sir,”

“And when you play, you must be so enraptured by the music that you are oblivious to whatever conversations may be occurring in the Common Room at the same time.”

“I…I don’t know, sir.”

“Because if you were to happen to overhear anything that I might find interesting I would be most disappointed if you failed to share it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, sir.”

“See that you do. I should hate to see our House pulled down by its own members.”

She was bursting to ask him something—he could see it in her eyes—but he did not attempt to dip into her mind to discover what it was. He would be shocked if she were not at least nominally versed in the arts of Legilimency and Occlumency. Better to have her think she could trust him, and come to him with the information he desired of her own volition.

“I understand, sir.”

“I expect that you do. You may go.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He gave his attention to his book, and he kept his smirk to himself when she paused at the door and turned back to him.

“Sir?”

“Yes, Miss Borgin?”

“I’m not sure if this would at all interest you, but Draco Malfoy has been acting, well, strange since term started.”

“How so?”

“It’s hard to explain…he hasn’t been studying like he used to. I mean, he always used to act like he didn’t have to try to get good marks and like he owned Hogwarts, but he also was always the last one to pack up his books and leave the Common Room at night. I’ve barely seen him open a book this term. At least, not one for class.”

“Miss Borgin, this is exactly the sort of interesting information I wished to hear.”

She nodded once and said firmly, “If I hear anymore, I’ll be sure to pass it on, sir. And I won’t get caught.”

“I would expect no less from you, Miss Borgin. Good night.”

“Good night, sir.”

Cassandra shut the door softly behind her and Severus sat back in his chair, rubbing his aching temples. The worm of conscience turned in the back of his mind, calling into question whether it was justifiable to set a student to spy on her own housemates, but he pushed it away. There were simply too many lives at stake to neglect any possible advantage. He glanced at the hourglass; another twenty minutes before the antidote would be ready. With a sigh of resignation, he pulled his cigarette case out of his pocket, finding the message from Miranda that he had been dreading all day.

WISH ME LUCK the mosaic spelled out. Luck indeed. He wished she’d been free to come back with him after the disaster in the caves, or better, that she had never gone to Romania in the first place.

YOU DO NOT REQUIRE LUCK YOU REQUIRE SKILL WHICH YOU HAVE he sent.

The tiny pieces of cut stone rearranged themselves immediately with a reply; she must have been waiting for him.

I WISH YOU WERE HERE THE FEASTING AND DANCING EARLIER WERE TO DIE FOR AND THERE IS GOING TO BE A PROCESSION TO SEE CATALINA AND ME OFF TO THE LAND OF THE IELE

His stomach twisted uncomfortably and he wondered if he would ever become accustomed to Miranda’s penchant for plunging headlong into danger.

IF I HAD MY WISH YOU WOULD BE HERE RATHER THAN ON A RECKLESSLY DANGEROUS MISSION IN ROMANIA

He could almost hear her roll her eyes in her reply.

BECAUSE THE UK IS SO SAFE AT THE MOMENT DONT FRET I WILL BE BACK THERE WITHIN THE WEEK

SEE THAT YOU ARE OR I WILL COME LOOKING FOR YOU

GOOD

He slid the case back into his pocket and watched the final minutes of sand pouring down through the hourglass. The memory of their parting embrace crashed over him so strongly that he swore he could feel her warm arms wrapped around his neck. And what if that were the last embrace allotted to them?

With an Herculean effort, he pushed this useless sentiment to the back of his mind, to keep his tattered conscience company. He bottled Miss Bell’s potion with a steady hand, and headed to the hospital wing with a heavy heart.

Merlin, he was ready for this whole bloody business to be over.

*****

The midnight procession twisted along the dirt road, stretching through the forest all the way back to the church in the Merry Cemetery from which they had set forth some time ago. Miranda and Catalina were near the front, just behind the icon bearers and the priest, and just before Ileana Lupul, Nicolae Dragnea, and Charlie Weasley. It seemed as though the entire population of magical folk had descended on Săpânța to see the resolution of the long trial. Miranda and Charlie in their dress cloaks were plain in comparison to the sea of colorful embroidery and dyed wool around them. The choir chanted hymns and prayers as they made their way through the chilly autumn night, and Miranda marveled once again at the casual way that the Statute of Secrecy was ignored. The non-magical people of Săpânța had turned out in support of their magical brethren, and Miranda was sure that their good will would do as much as anything else to bring the captive children home safely.

The moon had almost reached her zenith when the clerics and laymen ahead of the champions fanned out around a dusty fork in the road. The trees surrounding them were already naked, and their leafless branches reached out like gnarled fingers towards the little humans below. Doamnă Lupul led Miranda and Catalina forward, and the rest of the procession began to crowd in untidy clusters, whispering and attempting vainly to see the main event.

Miranda and Catalina knelt before the priest, who blessed them both in a voice that rumbled from the depths of the earth. Whether it was from the cold, or the magic, or the excitement; or all of this combined, Miranda shivered deliciously. She had been waiting for this moment since the beginning of the year, and all of her work was about to come to fruition. But no—she was about to step into another world altogether. She had been waiting for this moment for her entire life.

“{The time has come.}” Doamnă Lupul said as the women rose to their feet. “{Remember, you must gather the children and return to us by noon, or you will all be trapped in the Iele’s realm.}”

A ray of moonlight pierced through the trees, so bright and thick Miranda was sure that, if she touched it, she could break a piece of it off to hold in her hands. It shot down into the road, throwing bits of dirt into the air as it plunged into the dry earth. Doamnă Lupul stepped forward, shaking back her wolfskin cloak and rolling up the sleeves of her finely woven blouse. With a manic gleam in her eye, she thrust her hands into the moonbeam, and sucked in her breath through gritted teeth. Her booted feet dug into the ground as she forced her hands apart, tearing open a human-sized gash in the air itself. Task completed, she stepped back with her hands extended, and a thick, black liquid oozed off them, dripping onto the ground with an unappealing plop. Nicolae hurried forward, bearing a bowl of water that the Cezara might cleanse her hands of the primordial glop. The moon continued its celestial arc, and a jagged, pulsating rip remained behind for the adventuresses to pass through.

“{God be with you,}” panted Doamnă Lupul, winded from her effort.

Miranda and Catalina exchanged a glance, gathered their offerings for the Iele, and entered the ragged door together.

*****

The world on the other side of the crossroads was flooded by an unnerving, monotonous steel-blue light that emanated from nowhere that Miranda could ascertain. The usual division of land and sky was likewise absent. The ground upon which they stood blurred into the distance, but no comforting curve denoted the horizon. A tangled mass of brambles covered the covered the ground before them, save for a narrow path that twisted through the uninviting mess to a white castle gleaming in the distance. The air was hot and sticky, and within minutes both Miranda and Catalina had stripped off their cloaks and rolled up their sleeves.

“{That must be the place, yes?}” Miranda said, eyeing the elusive structure that wavered in the heat.

“{It must be,}” Catalina agreed, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand and studying the empty sky above them. “{There are no stars. How will we know the time?}”

“{We’ll just have to go as fast as we can.}”

This was easier said than done. The heat hampered their progress, and they were soon gasping for air even at a walking pace. Miranda’s clothing stuck to her sweaty body, chafing her skin and fraying her temper. As they approached, the castle seemed to recede into the distance rather than become any closer. Miranda wondered if the whole thing were a mirage and they had missed some important point. What if there were some trick or riddle that they needed to understand in order to gain entrance to the Iele’s home? What if it were like in a fairy story where the unappealing bramble actually held the treasure they sought? Would they wonder forever here in this purgatory and never reach either the castle or their home?

All at once, the castle was upon them. Miranda had the wild thought that she and Catalina had been walking in place and the castle had moved instead. Up close, the building was iridescent rather than white. Its walls were formed from dragonfly wings, woven tightly together, and they, like the doorway between the worlds, pulsed like a giant, disembodied organ. As the women approached, the middle of the thing peeled open with a wet, slurping sound, and Miranda was suddenly very thankful that her Papa had insisted she learn to overcome her squeamishness at an early age. Somehow she doubted that the Iele would look favorably on guests that vomited at the sight of their storied home.

The churning in Miranda’s stomach only lasted long enough for she and Catalina to enter the forbidding place. Inside the castle was a lush forest, as cool and green as any earthy paradise. A rainbow of birds played among the branches, and a low, enchanting music washed over the enclosure. The base of each tree was guarded by a burly, jackal-headed man. They stood at silent attention, watching the intruders with dull, disinterested eyes.

“{What do we do now?}” Miranda whispered.

“{We wait. They will come to us,}” Catalina replied.

These words had barely left Catalina’s lips when out of the forest floated a marvel of a woman; so painfully beautiful that it hurt to look at her. Like the Sânziene, her dark hair and her simple white garment flowed out around her as though she were drifting in water. Her feet hovered above the forest floor, and she smiled graciously at the human women with pointed teeth. Miranda’s neck prickled in warning, and she was sure that this creature was far more dangerous than her brawny guards.

When the Iele did not speak, Miranda and Catalina knelt as one, spreading their offerings before the fairy woman; the gilded cage with the sorrowful birds of paradise, the bouquet of flowers from the Sânziene’s mountaintop, and the bottle of water from the river beneath the One Wood Church. The Iele waved her hand indifferently over the treasure, vanishing them with a lack of ceremony that made Miranda bristle. With barely a gesture inviting them to follow, the Iele turned and floated back into the forest, leaving the women to scramble clumsily after her.

The forest was so thick that they had to go single file through it; hurrying after the Iele until Miranda lost all sense of direction. The further they went, the more Miranda’s neck pricked her, and her hands started sweating despite the cool. At last the forest path opened into a wide clearing beneath an undulating dome of dragonfly wings. A little pond sat in the center of the deserted place, ringed with laceflowers and lilies of the valley. The Iele led them up to the edge of the rippling water, and vanished without ever saying a word.

“{I don’t understand,}” Miranda said, frustration creeping into her voice.

“{Look,}” Catalina said grimly, pointing to the pond where twenty silver fish darted beneath the surface of the water. “{The fish are the children.}”

Miranda blew out her breath. “{I take it this is what the Changeover Potion is for?}”

“{No. We will give them that at the doorway between the worlds.}”

“{But how do we change them back into children? I think their parents might object to having them come home in this condition.}”

“{You brought your net, yes?}” Catalina was already pulling her own unicorn hair net from a pocket.

“{I did.}”

“{We will each catch half of them, and pull them out together. Vasile said that should break part of the spell.}”

“{Should break it?}” Miranda circled to the opposite side of the pond, and retrieved her own net from a hook on her belt.

“{Just fish,}” Catalina ordered tersely. “{We’re wasting time.}”

Miranda crouched down amid the beautiful, deadly flowers decorating the shore of the pond and cast her net.

She did not like this. She did not like it at all.

*****

Severus was in a foul temper when he landed at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries early Sunday morning. Minerva had bestowed him with the unenviable task of escorting the still unconscious Katie Bell thither for further treatment. As they spun into the triage station by way of the portkey from the Hogwarts hospital wing, a tall woman in Healer’s robes and a black headscarf was in place to catch Miss Bell and lay her on a waiting bed. By the time Severus’s head had stopped spinning, the Healer was briskly examining her new patient.

“Peace be upon you, Professor Severus,” she said as she gently probed and prodded.

“That is unlikely to happen anytime soon, Healer A’isha,” he replied in a voice scratchy from lack of sleep.

As usual, she was unfazed by his lack of civility. “Has there been any change in her condition?”

“No. Not since she was brought to the hospital wing yesterday.”

“What have you…”

“Katie!”

A shrill cry interrupted the Healer, and Severus turned to see a bull of a woman barreling into the room with a spindly man on her heels. Severus barely had time to brace himself before Mrs Bell accosted him, baying for blood and explanations.

“Let me see her!” Mrs Bell tried unsuccessfully to push past Severus. “How did this happen? What are you going to do about it? Who is responsible?”

“Mrs Bell,” Severus said, breaking her name into several unappealing syllables in order to gain her attention. “We have no further information than was owled to you this morning. It would be best for you and Mr Bell to wait in the lobby until you are called.”

“Like hell we will,” Mrs Bell growled.

“Breathe, Greta,” Mr Bell said, laying a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Let the people do their jobs.”

Mrs Bell shook off her husband’s hand “That’s my baby! And why are you here instead of  Professor McGonagall?”

Merlin preserve him from irrational parents. “Professor McGonagall’s duties as deputy headmistress prevent her from leaving school grounds during Headmaster Dumbledore’s absence,” Severus explained tersely.

“Dumbledore’s not even there? With You Know Who gadding about? No wonder students are getting cursed! Do you even care what happens to them? These are our children that we trusted you to protect!”

“I assure you, madam, we are doing everything within our power to protect them.”

“Well it’s not working, is it?”

“Considering your daughter’s devotion to Quidditch, I would think that you are no stranger to her being injured. Fortunately, Miss Bell is possessed of a remarkably thick skull.”

Mrs Bell went white with rage. “You’re head of Slytherin house, aren’t you? I’d bet my broomstick that one of your students knows all about this.”

How dare she? Severus opened his mouth to give the avenging harpy the set down of her life, but Healer A’isha intervened, leaving Katie’s side to slip between the warring pair.

“Good morning, I am Healer A’isha Shafiq. You are Miss Bell’s mother, am I correct?” she said in a stern, but pleasant tone.

“Yes, I am, Healer Shafiq.” Mrs Bell drew herself up to her full height, but her lower lip was quivering dangerously. Severus assumed that fear of sending Mrs Bell into further hysterics was the only thing that kept Healer A’isha from launching into one of her passionate explanations regarding proper forms of address. Or perhaps she had finally mellowed enough to accept British niceties without protest.

“Then you must be eager for answers, as are we all. I requested Professor Snape accompany your daughter himself. He is an expert in curses…”

“I’m sure he is,” Mrs Bell spat.

“Greta!” Mr Bell cajoled.

“…and I wish to speak to him about what he has attempted thus far,” Healer A’isha continued as though the others had not spoken. “Perhaps you would both be so good as to wait in the lobby or the cafeteria while I make my preliminary examination and settle your daughter in a room. Then I will be able to give you more information than I can at the present time.”

Mrs Bell wavered, tears glistening in her eyes. Mr Bell took her by the arm and she allowed him to start to lead her away, but then she yanked her arm out of his grasp again and turned on the potions master.

“You brought her here by portkey, didn’t you?” she demanded.

“Yes, Mrs Bell. We have a portkey in the hospital wing at Hogwarts that comes directly to triage,” Severus said impatiently.

“Traveling by portkey is dangerous for an injured person!” she all but shrieked. “You probably hurt her even worse!”

“Mrs Bell,” Healer A’isha said sharply, “while you are correct that traveling by portkey is unadvised in the case of broken bones or certain internal injuries, it is perfectly harmless in your daughter’s case. She has not been physically injured. Indeed, it is much better that the professor brought her in this way, rather than lose precious time taking her all the way outside the wards at Hogwarts to Apparate her here. Surely you agree that time is of the essence.”

“I…” Mrs Bell’s voice trailed off and tears started rolling over her cheeks.

“It’s not a Quidditch injury, Greta,” Mr Bell said soothingly. “Why don’t we go upstairs and get a cup of tea.”

“I don’t want any tea,” Mrs Bell protested.

“I know, but they’re terribly slow in the cafeteria, and by the time we’ve had a cuppa, the Healer will be able to tell us something about Katie.”

Mrs Bell eyed Healer A’isha suspiciously.

“I will take good care of your daughter, Mrs Bell. I promise.” Healer A’isha said calmly.

Mrs Bell’s face crumbled as she gave way to tears, and she allowed her husband to lead her off in search of tea—or perhaps something more bracing. Healer A’isha turned back to her patient and resumed her examination as though nothing had happened.

“Merlin, Healer A’isha, how do you stand it?” Severus muttered when the Bells were out of sight.

“It happens all the time, Professor Severus. What good does it do to let fly my temper when I am strong enough to curb it?” she replied. “Now tell me everything you can about this child and the curse.”

*****

“Come on, little guy, you’re the last one,” Miranda coaxed. Her net was full save for one shy straggler who kept darting away from his captured brethren. Catalina was sitting on her heels, waiting impatiently on the other shore, and all of Miranda’s limbs were so stiff that she doubted she would be able to stand up, even when she managed to catch the stray fish.

“{Are you finished yet?}” Catalina demanded, her voice tired and sharp.

Miranda ignored her. “Come on….Gotcha!” With a flick of her wrist, the net scooped up the final changeling. “{I am now. Ready?}”

Catalina shook herself and nodded. “{And…pull!}”

The exhausted pair heaved their nets out of the water together. At first, Miranda’s net lay on the shore, a shining, dripping mass of flopping silver fish. Her mind started racing in panic, but in the space of a blink she was granted a minor miracle. Before her eyes, the net pulled itself into a long rope, and each fish morphed into a solemn faced child, ranging from grammar school age to near adulthood. One by one, the children took hold of the rope and stared at her with bland, impassive faces.

When they did not bolt, she picked up the end of the rope and said, “{This way, little ones.}”

They followed her passively around the pond to Catalina and her matching brood. As Miranda reached her rival’s side, she could see that the younger witch’s face was wet with tears.

“{Gabi!}” Catalina breathed, her eyes riveted on the lanky boy at the head of Miranda’s group. He did not give any indication that he recognized his sister, he merely stared straight ahead, lost in a dream-like trance.

“{We’d better get going,}” Miranda said quietly. “{It’s a long way back.}”

*****

By the time they reached the path through the brambles, Miranda had reached the giddy stage of exhaustion. She had no idea how long they had been in this inhospitable place, but she had slept little before she and Catalina had departed on this final quest. She was fairly confident that they were within their time limit, and she wondered if Catalina would insist on a farcical duel when they returned to the crossroads. God willing, they could call the thing a draw. Perhaps, if Vasile backed them, they would stand a chance of settling matters like reasonable adults.

The trek from the castle to the door between the worlds seemed even hotter and longer than before. Miranda was openly panting by the time they reached the ugly rip, but the children tromped along as placidly as Madeline and her schoolmates strolling through the streets of Paris.

“{The potion,}” Catalina wheezed when they came to a halt at last.

“{I think you should do the honors,}” Miranda said with a tired smile.

She pulled a dark bottle and a metal cup from her bag, and handed them both to her comrade. Catalina’s eyes were shining as she poured the first measure of amber liquid from the bottle. She offered the cup to her brother, but he did not seem to notice the libation. With a grunt of frustration, she held the cup to his lips, helping him drink as though he were a small child. The first drops of the potion dribbled over his chin, but then he trembled, grasped the cup, and drank deep.

“{Catina?}” he asked, blinking his soft brown eyes at his sister.

She pulled him into a fierce embrace, nearly dropping the bottle. “{We’re going home.}”

Miranda’s throat was tight as she watched Catalina go down the lines, offering the potion to each enchanted child. One by one they blinked awake and, while they did not all recognize their liberator, one reassuring nod from Gabi was all that was needed to keep them in their docile lines. A haze of goodwill rushed through Miranda’s body, turning her bones to jelly. She let herself sink to the ground to rest and savor the moment.

A howl that would have put the Hound of Baskervilles to shame shattered the peace of the little band. The children who had already received the potion huddled around Gabi, wide-eyed with terror. Miranda shot to her feet, whirling to face the source of the harrowing cry. A pack of the jackel-headed guards was advancing on them, axes drawn.

“{Hold this,}” she said, handing her rope to Gabi and drawing her pistol.

“{What is it?}” Catalina asked as she distributed the potion to the final child. “{My God…}” She drew her wand, but Miranda waved her off.

“{No. You get the children out of here. I’ll hold them off.}”

“{But you’ll be trapped here!}”

“{No I won’t. I’ll take care of these mongrels and be right behind you. I have excellent timing.}”

“{No you don’t!}”

“{It has to be done. Goodbye Catalina.}” Miranda fumbled in a pocket, searching for her vials of Strengthening Solution.

“{But if I go back alone, Doamnă Lupul will back Voldemort!}” Catalina’s bluster ended with a broken crack.

“{I don’t give a shit about that right now. Just get those children home,}” Miranda replied firmly.

She tossed down one more vial than was prudent and started towards their pursuers at as quick a pace as the heat would allow. The potions and the adrenaline blended into a heady cocktail of berserker rage, and she leveled her pistol at the fiends. They fanned out into ranks as they cleared the bramble patch, and the instant the creatures were in range, Miranda started putting bullets between their eyes. Until the ammunition ran out, she brought them down in rapid succession. Apparently the things possessed no more brains than clay pigeons, for the ones behind trod over their fallen brothers with no concern for themselves.

“At least they’re stupid,” she muttered to herself as she spent her last bullet. She whipped out her wand, planted her feet, and started hexing for her life. “Sectumsempra!”

The curses ripped through the lines, and the jackel-men yelped as their flesh exploded. But, though not one of them made a move to protect himself, the unending stream started to gain on her. She backed away slowly, loathe to give up any ground. As sweat stung her eyes, she risked a glance over her shoulder, hoping that Catalina and the others would be gone, and that she might make a break for freedom.

They were gone. As was the jagged door. All that remained was an endless swath of steel-blue wasteland, an infinite army of drones, and her.

She flew at her enemies like a demon. No sense in making the inevitable easy.

*****

Catalina and Gabi emerged from the pathway between the worlds to a crisp, October day under a cloudless sky. Most of the procession was either still intact, or had reformed, waiting in worried, lethargic groups. As the first child came through, they roused themselves from their torpor into a flurry of chaotic motion, engulfing the bewildered foundlings and pulling them away to be petted and marveled at. Catalina was in an agony of anxiety as she watched the door between the worlds pulse, but the mass of humanity had caught her as well. Before she could start screaming, her father’s hand plucked her out of the crush, pulling her into the shelter of a poplar tree where Doamnă Lupul sat, calmly surveying the reunions, and Charlie paced in nervous agitation.

“{My, Catina! You’ve done it!”} Nicolae exalted. His arm was around Gabi’s shoulders, and his son smiled faintly from father to sister, as though he were still half asleep.

“{Where’s Miranda?}” Charlie demanded.

Catalina grabbed Charlie’s arm. “{She stayed behind. We were attacked and she stayed behind so that we could escape. We have to go back for her!}”

She dragged Charlie through the crowd, barely registering her father’s shout of protest. Her hand was inside the gateway as the sun reached the pinnacle of the sky. A blinding ray of light shot down into the earth, singeing her fingers. With a sharp cry, she jerked her hand away, cradling it to her chest. Tears blurred her vision, but she could tell, even before the sunbeam had dissipated, that it was too late. The door was gone.

“{No!}” Catalina’s strangled cry was lost in the riot of joyful conversation around her.

Vasile appeared, moving through the well-wishers and taking Catalina’s throbbing hand in his. He chanted a healing incantation as he rubbed his fingers lightly over her skin.

“{I take it our American friend is lost?}” he said when he finished his work.

Catalina nodded numbly. “{The Iele sent their guard after us and she fought them. We have to go back for her.}”

“{I’m sorry, Catalina, but that is impossible. It will be another year before we could even hope to reach her.}”

In the midst of the joy around her, Catalina felt like she had a millstone around her neck. Her limbs were like lead and she hardly noticed that Charlie now had her by the arm and was leading her to sit on an unoccupied tree stump. The midday sun beat down on her, a silent, accusing witness to her failure. The events in the other world played through her mind in a sick pantomime. She struggled for another answer, but was at a loss to think what else she might have done. If Miranda had not challenged the căpcăuns, they all would have been recaptured or killed.

Merciful God. What was Professor Snape going to say?

“{Catalina, well done,}” Doamnă Lupul said, dragging the young witch out of her mire of regrets.

“{Thank you,}” Catalina replied automatically. “{But Miranda should be here too.}”

“{Yes. We are sorry to have lost her.}” The Cezara’s voice was low and brittle. “{She will be not forgotten.}”

“{It is truly a blow for your cause, Domnul Weasley.}” Nicolae’s tone was just shy of mocking. As he stood before his daughter, with his son at his side, he looked like a conqueror awaiting his laurel wreath.

“{Am I the victor, then?}” Catalina asked, a spark of inspiration igniting in her darkened thoughts.

“{Who else has brought the children home?}” Doamnă Lupul replied.

Catalina licked her dry lips and lifted her eyes to the Cezara’s. “{Miranda and I have been working together since the day on the mountain. If she had not sacrificed herself today, we would not have escaped. Her cause is now mine. We will back the Order.}”

“Hear, hear,” Charlie said, clapping Catalina on the back.

“{How dare you!}” Nicolae growled, taking a step towards the weary champion.

“{Nicú,}” Doamnă Lupul warned. “{Your son is tired. Take him home.}”

The defeated boyar rounded on the Cezara, but he did not dare to argue.

“{You planned this, didn’t you?}” he spat.

“{Domnul Weasley, be so good as to take this letter to Albus and assure him of our support.}” She placed a roll of parchment into Charlie’s waiting hand, and turned to Nicolae with a wolfish smile. "{Nicú, I am very well pleased with your daughter. And I think that Vera would have been pleased, also.}”

The mention of his late wife’s name knocked the wind out of Nicolae, and he sagged like an empty sail. Gabi, suddenly more alert than Catalina had yet seen him, began looking around eagerly, searching for his mother’s face.

“{Father,}” Gabi ventured, when he could not find the one he sought, “{where is mother?}”

Nicolae avoided his son’s question and ordered brokenly, “{Come, Catalina. We’re going home.}”

“{No, father,}” Catalina objected quietly.

“{Catina?}” Gabi’s frightened voice finally roused Catalina. She dragged herself up from her seat, and went to embrace her brother.

“{Don’t worry Gabi, I’ll be back soon, I promise.}”

“{And where do you think you are going?}” Nicolae demanded.

Catalina looked at her father, her heart weighted down with the sorrowful knowledge of all that he had lost, and all that he might never understand.

“{I am going with Domnul Weasley, if he will allow it. There is someone who should hear the news of Miranda’s death from the lips of one who witnessed it.}”

Nicolae made a gesture of helpless frustration. “{Do as you like.}”

“{And I wish to join the Order.}”

Charlie grasped her hand warmly, and she could see Vasile behind him, hiding a smile.

“{Doamnă Dragnea, we would be honored to have you,} Charlie said earnestly. “{Would tomorrow be too soon to leave for Scotland?}”

Nicolae did not wait for any further humiliations. Gabi looked at his sister with a mixture of sadness and confusion, but hurried after their father, eyes still watching hopefully for the mother he would not find. Soon the pair of them were out of sight, concealed by the crowd and the forest beyond.

“{Are we too late for the afternoon portkey?}” Catalina asked. She did not want to witness her her father breaking the news of their mother’s death to Gabi. Not when she had her own horrible tale to tell.

“{If you hurry, I think you will just make it,}” Doamnă Lupul said gently.

“{Then there is no sense in waiting for tomorrow.}”

“{Agreed,}” Charlie said.

As they set off towards the Merry Cemetery, Catalina’s heart beat with a new vigor, strong and bittersweet. She was different now, and she knew, when she returned home, things would be different there as well. Perhaps, in time, her father would change too, and she could hope it would be for the better. But she was at peace with her choice, regardless of whether or not he decided to approve of it.

Soon the village was in sight, and the cross crowning the top of the church spire hovered over it, like a steadfast guardian. Catalina breathed a silent prayer for her fallen friend; begging that Miranda’s end was swift and painless; begging that her sins were forgiven; begging that she was finally at peace.

*****

If anyone dared to hand him one more wretched form to fill out, Severus was going to consign the whole of St. Mungo’s to the flames. Between consulting with Healer A’isha, placating Miss Bell’s hysterical parents, and fulfilling the demands of the hospital’s bureaucracy, the day was more than half spent. The weather was still abysmal, and he appeared outside the wards of Hogwarts in a cold, driving rain that did its damnedest to soak him before he could say Impervius. As he strode towards the castle, he postponed checking his cigarette case for news of his questing lover. She hadn’t bothered to send a message any of the other thousand times he’d looked already that day; why would there be anything now?

As he approached the gates, he saw a stocky wizard and two witches huddling outside them, waiting for admittance. His heart jumped into his throat when he recognized Charlie Weasley’s unattractive red hair and Catalina Dragnea’s dark bob. Breaking into a run, he reached the trio just as Minerva arrived, tapping the chains to allow them entrance. The second witch turned as she heard his footsteps, and he froze in his tracks at Nymphadora Tonks’s frown.

Charlie was saying something to him, but his blood was pounding in his ears so loudly that he could not hear what it was, nor what he said in reply. The Metamorphmagus and the Weasley followed Minerva towards the castle, and Severus became vaguely aware that Catalina had remained behind, watching him with a mixture of sadness and pity that turned his stomach.

“{There is no sense standing in the rain, Doamnă Dragnea,}” he said flatly.

He set off for the dungeons like a man condemned, astonished that he was able to walk so easily considering he could not feel his limbs. Catalina matched his pace and mercifully held her tongue. His fingers pricked uncomfortably as he unlocked the door to his quarters, sensation returning in the form of pain. Catalina sat down stiffly on the edge of the sofa at his curt invitation. Like an automaton, he procured tea from the shelf above his desk, lost in the memory of the first time had led Miranda here. He had barely been able to keep his countenance then, his heart had been beating so erratically, electrified by her presence. Perhaps, if he shut his eyes very tightly, when he opened them and turned around, she would be sitting there on his sofa instead of the Romanian witch.

Merlin, Severus, pull yourself together. You’re not a schoolboy, and this is hardly a surprising ending for the whole misadventure.

Catalina took the tea he offered her, but didn’t drink it. He sat down in the chair opposite her, and stubbornly forced himself to take a bracing sip, even though it was scalding and his throat was twisted into a knot.

“{Miranda is dead,}” he said after the liquid had burned a path down to his bilious stomach.

Catalina shuddered, and for a moment he was terrified that she would start to cry—not so much because he feared her tears—but because he feared, if he saw them, he would no longer be able to contain his own. But the witch rallied and controlled herself, save for the tremor in her voice when she spoke.

“{Yes. I’m so sorry.}”

He nodded, once again astonished at his capacity for absorbing pain without dying. “{How?}”

“{The Iele’s guard attacked us at the door between the worlds. She fought them while the children and I escaped, but the door closed before I could go back to save her.}” Her tale was tired, like story worn out with telling.

Thoughts ground together in his mind and he struggled to make sense of them as they passed. “{You did…you did not actually see her die?}”

“{No,}” she said slowly. “{When I led the children out she was still alive and fighting,}”

“{Then…she may still be alive.}”

“{I’m sorry, professor, but I think that is impossible. I left her hours ago at the mercy of an army of beasts. And even if she were somehow still alive, we cannot reach her. The door is closed.}”

“{This is Miranda we are talking about. She has more lives than a cat. And if you are unwilling to search for answers, I am not.}”

Severus sprang up from the chair, knocking the teacup and saucer to the floor where it shattered on the stones. He trod over the pieces, heedless of the way they crunched under his feet, and attacked his bookshelves with a violent passion. One after another he tore the books from their places, pouring over the pages before casting them aside, unable to comprehend the slightest notion in his whirlpool of grief. The empty shelves mocked him, and he slashed his wand at them, causing an explosion of splintered wood. By the time the shards settled, his humiliation was complete, and he sat on the back of the sofa, weeping tears that were all the more bitter for having been restrained.

The room was filled with a mortifying silence, punctuated at intervals by his ragged breathing. As he gradually regained some measure of control, he wondered how difficult it would be to Obliviate Doamnă Dragnea without her noticing.

“{She was very brave,}” Catalina said when he had stopped his disgraceful sniveling.

“{She was very foolish,}” he countered petulantly.

Catalina did not dignify that with an answer, and he started flicking his wand at the mess of shelving and books. As the chaos slowly succumbed to order, he made a mental list of items requiring his attention in a vain attempt to prevent the overwhelming flood of memories from drowning him again. He had promised Healer A’isha that he would lend her his copy of Luma’at al-nuraniyya that had been glossed by wizard of Tamerlane’s court. He would have to take it to her himself; it was not the sort of thing he wanted to trust to an owl. There was a stack of essays on Boggarts by the dunderheaded third years that required marking. Miranda had smiled when he’d asked her what her Boggart was, and kissed him until he knew she was not going to answer. If he were to venture a guess now, he would say that it was small, enclosed spaces. He would ask her the next time he saw her.

Except that he wouldn’t. Because he would never see her again.

The books marching through the air to the repaired shelving clattered to the floor a second time. He stormed away from them, grabbing his still-wet cloak and flinging it around his shoulders. Catalina rose from the sofa, fetching her cloak as well.

He had to get rid of her. He had to be alone. He had to be anywhere but here.

As though she had read his thoughts, Catalina offered, “{Domnul Weasley asked me to meet him in Professor McGonagall’s office when we were finished. Perhaps there is someone who could show me the way.}”

“{I will take you,}” he said inhospitably, wrenching the door open and flinging himself into the hallway.

A snitch-sized ball of bright blue light darted towards him, and he recoiled from it to prevent a collision.

“What in Hades are you?” he growled, drawing his wand to threaten the devious thing.

“{Stop!}” Catalina ordered, and she had the gall to grab his hand to push his wand away. “{It’s a Spiridus.}”

“{A what?}” he demanded, for some reason resisting the urge to swat the overgrown, flashing mosquito.

“{A Spiridus. They help people who help them.}”

The witch was staring at the thing as though her mind were addled by it.

“{I can’t imagine what it’s doing here then,}” he sneered.

“{Be quiet, professor,}” she snapped.

“So you may commune with the spirit world? I suppose I better had,” he muttered. But he did fall silent, stacking up a score of insults in his brain, ready to launch them at the slightest provocation. The Romanian nodded to the creature, and it darted away, vanishing through a wall at the end of the passage. She watched it to the last, then turned to Severus, her face fixed with such an idiotic expression of hope that his own halfwitted heart lifted in response.

“{Miranda has a home here, yes?}” Catalina asked quickly.

“{Yes.}”

“{Then lead the way. That is where we will find her.}”

He knew it was futile, but he plunged into the downpour with Catalina at his heels. With every step towards the edge of the wards, his heart beat the refrain:

Merlin let her be there; let her be alive; let her be safe.

*****

End Notes:

Many, many thanks to Mr. Zingarella for Beta-ing this chapter. Any remaining mistakes are mine :)

Osâmbritul is a Romanian festival held during September and October that centers around the preparation of sheep for the winter.

You can read the tale of how Cassandra Borgin came to join the D.A. in my story, Rota Fortunæ.

Cezara= Caesar. This is the title of the leader of the witches and wizards of Romania.

Căpcăuns are dog-headed monsters that capture women and children.

Luma’at al-nuraniyya (Bright Lights) is a twelfth century text by the Sufi mathematician Ahmad ibn Ali al-Buni.

*****

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