#the children aren’t in the same place from one retelling to another

[imthecleric]

Ooc: now people think will is Brenner??? I simply cannot with this fandom and their “media literacy”

[richincolor]

What Souls Are Made Of: A Wuthering Heights Remix by Tasha Suri

As the abandoned son of a Lascar—a sailor from India—Heathcliff has spent most of his young life maligned as an "outsider." Now he's been flung into an alien life in the Yorkshire moors, where he clings to his birth father's language even though it makes the children of the house call him an animal, and the maids claim he speaks gibberish.

Catherine is the younger child of the estate's owner, a daughter with light skin and brown curls and a mother that nobody talks about. Her father is grooming her for a place in proper society, and that's all that matters. Catherine knows she must mold herself into someone pretty and good and marriageable, even though it might destroy her spirit. As they occasionally flee into the moors to escape judgment and share the half-remembered language of their unknown kin, Catherine and Heathcliff come to find solace in each other. Deep down in their souls, they can feel they are the same.

But when Catherine's father dies and the household's treatment of Heathcliff only grows more cruel, their relationship becomes strained and threatens to unravel. For how can they ever be together, when loving each other—and indeed, loving themselves—is as good as throwing themselves into poverty and death?

Review: I'll be the first to admit that I'm not a fan of Wuthering Heights. My primary exposure to it is the Kate Bush song, which my friends and I delighted in screeching ("It's me! I'm Cathyyyyyyy!") while skipping through fields of tall, crackly weeds behind the local park. That, and the Hark! A Vagrant comics by Kate Beaton. But I am a fan of Tasha Suri's The Jasmine Throne (1/3rd of the fabulous Sapphic Trifecta of fantasy books that took the SFF world by storm last year), so of course I was interested in checking out What Souls Are Made Of when it was announced.

I'll make this brief: What Souls Are Made Of is an absolute must-read. It grabs you from page one with the perspectives of Catherine and Heathcliff, and it doesn't let you go for a single moment. It's a poignant and powerfully written take on Wuthering Heights that brings a different lens to this classic. In this particular retelling, the focus turns to people of color in 18th century England, to trauma, to being Othered, to the way people find their way home, to revenge, even when they aren't welcomed.

It's a gorgeous gothic romance. If you're reluctant to read Wuthering Heights like me, then, eh, don't bother. Just read What Souls Are Made Of, a page-turner that will make your heart hurt in all the best ways right up until the last sentence. So far, I've been loving the "remix" series of books, and this one is another hit. I can't wait to see what's next.

Recommendation: Buy it now!

[oh-styles]

A Little Bit of History: I

Alas, the moment roughly five of you have been waiting for. It’s here - half of it - but it’s here. The paternity test chapter! Is Harry the father? Who is her ex-boyfriend? Read more to find out!

26 September 2014 Manchester, UK

The truth can hurt.

It can burn and sting, seer your skin like a hot blade, so it’s little to no surprise when some – much like the protagonist of this story – will do indisputably everything in his power to avoid it; the impending, splintering and crushing truth.

It all began in the fall of 2014, nearly two years before.

We open this story in Manchester, more specifically, Arndale Market. The day was overcast, but she expected nothing less; soon enough the trees will be bare, the ground will be coated in sheets of white, and her favorite time of year will have finally arrived. She prefers the warmer seasons, yes, but once finally the weather drops, she knows its soon her son will be home for Christmas.

It was Robin who first spotted you, standing with your back to the door of Hotel Chocolat. You were stifling through your bag – you knew your phone was in there somewhere – and with a quick glance over your shoulder, Anne stopped in her tracks. She cannot recount the last time she saw you. Your hair had grown, and she swears up and down that you have gotten taller, though, looking back on it now, it could have just been your heels.

Anne is hesitant at first, watching as you laugh with one of the shop assistants, and she turns to Robin with a raise of her brow, as if to say, “Do we dare say hello?”

You were her sons first love – and as far as she was aware, her sons only love – and it was the sixteen months of loving you that made it just as hard for Anne when she learned the news that the love that had been built higher and higher, had finally reached its limit, and came tumbling down.

You weren’t to blame. Quite frankly, you stuck by his side through every immediate corner he turned, from the first audition to the first single. He no longer was yours, but someone who you now shared with the rest of the world. There are some things that you aren’t prepared to take on at such an early age, but you held onto that rope until your palms were bloody. You did everything in your power to keep ahold of that boy, but he was running rampant through his newfound fame, and you were clinging on for dear life.

It was a ticking timebomb, and Anne felt it. She watched the phone calls become few and far between, and even had to listen as you shrugged your way through conversations about how you couldn’t quite recall the last time the two of you spoke.

“A week, maybe?” Give or take a few days.

It was a Sunday morning when it happened, and even Anne felt a piece of her heart chip away. Her son sobbed through tears on the other end of the line, retelling how he wish he could have been better, wishing he could go back and start everything over from the beginning so he wouldn’t have to lose you this way.

And if Anne were being honest, she suspected if anyone were to bite the bullet, it would have been you.

But, if you love someone, you set them free.

She’s certain, even to this day, he holds tightly to the time spent with you. You were the girl who loved him before, and even more so after, and maybe that’s why no relationship now has lasted longer than a few months. She has yet to see the spark in her son’s eye return.

And now, three years later, here you were.

Anne promised herself she would go in, say hello, and wish you well. She knew you moved from Holmes Chapel a couple years ago – rumor has it you found yourself a hunky boyfriend and shared his London flat with him – so she was unsure when she would ever cross paths with you again.

You see, the world is a small place, and its moments like these that remind one of such. The 1975 would be playing back-to-back shows for the next two nights, and you were lucky to score tickets through your friend who worked at the arena. The show wouldn’t start for another few hours, so you decided you could fill your downtime with a little shopping trip, and because most great minds think alike, this is how Anne stumbled upon you whilst you did your chocolate shopping.

Inside the shop, she makes an immediate left, and standing there contemplating the bundles of cookie chocolate, there you were. Your lips were pursed together as you tapped a finger along the boxes, skipping over the boozy chocolates with a defeated sigh, and it was in that moment – after you moved your purse from one shoulder to the other – that Anne saw it; the small, but still perfectly round bump that almost looked out of place on you.

She didn’t mean to stare; hasn’t she already taught this to her two grown children? But truth be told, she was truly caught off guard. Ever since the breakup, and after you fled Holmes Chapel, you slipped away from the public eye, and haven’t been seen since. Any time a rumor that comes around is simply that, and one to take with a grain of salt. And Anne believes that if she had heard that you were with child, she probably would have just shaken her heard to that nonsense.

When she says your name, the same nickname she called you all those years before, she could sense your stature straighten, and your box of chocolates falls limply at your side. The last time she ever said it was in your last shared phone call the day before you vanished from the small town.

She doesn’t know when she’ll ever see you again, and as far as she’s aware, this could be the very last time, and she doesn’t let it slip by her how tightly you clung to her as she leant forward for a hug. You never even said goodbye all those years ago; the only thing you can recount is packing your bags in the middle of the night, and running as fast as you could—aloft, gone with the wind. You ended up being one of the biggest One Direction mysteries: What Ever Happened to Harry’s Childhood Girlfriend?

There were many conspiracy theories, for example: you joined porn. There was never any proof, but some fans claimed to have seen you in an advertisement or two. Some even claimed you shaved your head and joined a cult, and another that you simply died.

It’s been three years now, and fans seem to have let up on your bizarre disappearance, but every now and then does a new “lead” come around, and you question how far they had to go to dig it out of their ass.

“He still talks about you sometimes,” Anne inquired, holding your hands in hers. You couldn’t shake the desire to run at the mention of him, because even now, months after your last encounter, do you wish you could have ended things differently. “I’ll let him know you’re well.”

The last time you saw him was a mere five months ago, a secret rendezvous you are sure his mother has no knowledge of.

“Well, sweetheart, I better get going… Robin is out there probably wondering where I’ve gone to. It was great to see you, love.” She leans over and reels you back in for a final hug, and it’s then you realize that she never mentioned a word about your pronounced bump. “I’ll send Robin your love.”

By the next day, the news of your pregnancy will have made its way all the way to Charlotte, North Carolina where One Direction were set to perform for their Where We Are tour. Anne doesn’t ever mean to prattle, but this wouldn’t be considered gossip, would it? Not when she’s seen with her own eyes that you were with child. She only mentioned it to Gemma in passing, but only after having commented on seeing you before the concert in Manchester.

“She looks well… She’s pregnant, did you know?” And it was that little remark that sent Gemma typing away on her phone to her little brother, who was currently in Hair & Makeup at his show. “You won’t believe what mum told me…”

The last time he saw you was on the 8th of April, and even then, he hadn’t much prepared for such a confrontation. You claimed to have gotten his number from a friend the two of you shared from your childhood, and after he told you he was in London between gigs, you were quick to ask if you could come over. You were never exactly sure why you were so eager to see him, but there was one thing you knew for sure, and that was that you were lonely.

You didn’t realize how much a boy could change in only the few years, but upon stepping in his doorway, you were greeted with someone who could no longer be described as a boy, but man. His hair was longer, pulled up out of his eyes with a bandana, and he was adorned with a couple rings, and a necklace. When he greeted you, he reached out his hand before hesitantly stepping backward and inviting you in for a hug.

The last time you touched him was years before, and you believe it was him leaving once more for another excursion with the band. You probably didn’t realize that would be the last time for a long time, and you probably didn’t think the same for the moment right now. Maybe a part of you believed this would be a new start for the two of you, but has the person in front of you changed in the years since your last meeting? Has he learned to stop letting his world revolve around no one else but him?

He invited you inside and guided you to his sitting room. “Made y’some tea,” he lifted a finger up and scurried off to presumably the kitchen. You could hear mugs lightly hitting together, and it wasn’t a minute before he was back with you, setting your glass on the table in front of you. “Glad y’came… Gives me a reason to pull out the nice glasses.”

You note the fine china and give him a weak smile. “It is nice.”

“Yeah… Someone gave it to me. Can’t remember who.”

Weak small talk. You wish he had given you something stronger instead.

An hour passes, and the two of you talk about his tour, your job, and you can sense him sheepishly shy away from the topic of Holmes Chapel, your childhood, and your sudden burst into the night. He doesn’t ask you how you’ve spent your years away, if you’re seeing anyone, but the idea still makes his palms sweaty and stomach uneasy.

It was another hour before his lips touched yours, and you quickly found yourself melting in the hands of your former lover. He tasted the same, and you couldn’t deny entry as his tongue prodded out your lips, begging for just a little more. That was all it was with him, just wanting a little more than what was given. His touch lingered down your sides and back up under your sweater, and his lips trailed across your jaw and down your neck, leaving no inch of you left untouched.

None of this was your intention, not when you made the phone call, and not when you showed up in the middle of the night. You just needed someone familiar, someone—anyone. It wasn’t your intention to drop your hands into his lap and undo the button of his pants, nor was it to reach inside and pull him out, rubbing him like all the times you had done before.

Like all the times you hid under the covers at his mother’s house, your bodies wrapped together between the sheets, showing each other a love you were only just discovering. It was clear to you now, that maybe that love hadn’t drifted so far away as you thought it had.

You hopped off his lap, undoing the button of your own pants before hastily discarding them on the floor. Like all the times before. His body felt the same; a bit broader, and a litter of tattoos scattered carelessly across his arm and torso. Stories and memories stabbed into his flesh, ones you were never a part of, and ones you might never know the origin. There will be more, you know this, and you know that’ll be a part of him you never touch.

He fit in you like all the times before; it wasn’t much like a memory but more of a nightmare, for you knew this would only become something as such. You would leave in the morning with the print of his hand still red on your ass, and every time you closed your eyes you would be able to feel his cock so deep in you, you would be walking funny until the evening. The stain he leaves on you would haunt you until you found someone else to love, and even then, you weren’t so sure.

Coming here was a mistake.

But he was like a drug; you could never stay away for too long.

*

Henry James Collins was a few months shy of twenty-one when you met him at a pub in Brixton. He played Rugby, had a Pink Floyd tattoo, and was a student at the University of Law. He bought you a pint, called you Sweetheart, and come the late hours of the night, kissed your cheek on your doorstep with the promise to call you in the morning.

It was the summer of 2013, and you were in love.

The fleeting months carried casually on by, and most evenings you spent on the floor of his flat with an open book, his flannels draped over you like a comforting blanket, and an empty spot beside you that questioned his whereabouts.

If it wasn’t one pub, it was another, and if it wasn’t him coming home passed due completely shit-faced, it was him not coming home at all. And it was you drenched in a panic until he finally stumbled in through the front door sometime that next morning.

He called you sweetheart, and kissed your cheek, and promised with putrid breath he would be better. He’d later fuck you, which was a seal to his promise that would always come undone by the weekend.

173 days, and as suddenly as he appeared, you packed your bags in the middle of the night and ran. A week later, you found yourself on your ex-lover’s doorstep, and by the next morning you would be parading a shameful walk to the bus stop, only realizing halfway home that you left your knickers somewhere in his living room. He never reached out to you after that night. You were only to him what he was to you.

*

A month later you found out you were pregnant. Eight weeks, and the size of a kidney bean.

You would find yourself multiple times a day staring at your reflection in the mirror; scrutinizing over every insignificant inch of your body, forcing yourself to see any sign of change. The longer you looked, the more distorted you appeared, and each time you placed your hand over your stomach and cursed.

It was your fault; you put yourself in this situation, but you’d be damned if you didn’t let yourself feel a little remorse for the child who would grow up without a father.

You reached out to Henry twice. One, through a voice message where you pleaded to meet up for lunch, but it only began to become clear to you that he might still be bitter of your surprise exit the month before. The second time, you texted him the words you could still barely say to yourself out loud, and he was quick to reply, “Probably best if you stop calling.”

A thought crossed your mind – brief, but poignant – to swallow your pride and swear the words you clutched in your fist like a hand grenade. It would be a little white lie, a fib, but it would be the best, if not only, shot you had of giving your little Lovebug the chance of a complete family. But after a moments thought, you were doubtful Harry would even buy it; didn’t you have a boyfriend before him? How do you know the baby isn’t his?

And who’s to say Harry even wants to take on that responsibility right now? The impending downfall was tumbling, tumbling down, and you had never felt more alone.

But from miles away in his dressing room, sat a lone lad, that unbeknownst to you was writing in his journal what would be a song that the entire world would know the words to, all relating to the feeling of wanting another person’s love, even if you weren’t the only one.

Just a little bit of your love is all I want.

[missdawnandherdusk]

The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe

Hufflepuff!Reader X Draco

The tricky thing is yesterday we were just children

But now we've stepped into a cruel world

Where everybody stands and keeps score

So here you are, two steps ahead and staying on guard

Every lesson forms a new scar

They never thought you'd make it this far

Chapter 1     Chapter 2    Chapter 3    

Chapter 4     Chapter 5     Chapter 6

Chapter 7    Chapter 8     Chapter 9

Summary: Planning for something in theory is easy... putting it into practice? That’s where the weak are separated from the strong. 

A/n: Hello my lovelies! So here is the second part to the last chapter!! If I had posted it all at once it would have been over 20k words so... yeah. I split them up. Also, this gets pretty dark and well, we all know how HBP ends... so I guess that’s a warning. And to add, this went in a completely different direction than I planned, but now it’s closer to my original idea so... Let me know what you guys think! Seriously, I thrive on your approval. (Also, I’d like to see if someone notices a MAJOR problem for these two kids... because I barely caught it myself) 

“Oh, my darling boy,” Narcissa crooned, nearing Draco’s bedside. She took his hand though he was in a spell induced coma and could not hear her.

“I’m so sorry Narcissa,” I teared up. “I...”

“Snape explained it all my dear,” She consoled, reaching out for me. “You have nothing to apologize for,”

I all but collapsed in her arms, breaking down into tears as she held me. Though Abby and Pansy—as well as many others including Ernie, Blaise, Greg, Vincent, and Hannah—had comforted me and offered me a solace, it was different having a mother there to hold me and tell me it was going to be alright.

“It was awful,” I sniveled. “I thought... I thought...” I began to hiccup with the lack of oxygen due to my tears.

Narcissa shushed me softly and rubbed my back in a soothing rhythm.

“You’re alright darling,” Her voice was gentle. “Everything’s going to be alright,”

She stayed for the remainder of the night and came back the next day. I was only allowed a day off from classes before I had to return though Draco had still not woken. Though I knew there would be rumors and whispers, and though I expected to have to retell the harrowing story again and again, everyone already seemed to know. And more surprisingly, each student I came across was sympathetic and kind to me and even towards Draco, wanting to know how he was faring. Yet the thing that took me back the most was the amount of Gryffindors who offered their sympathies to Draco, rather than siding with their own Golden Boy. Even McGonagall offered her sympathies.

And for the most part, I completely ignored Harry. The best I could. Which... well. I’d like to say that I did, but I can’t. To be fair, he did try to talk to me on my first day back, two days after his attempted murder.

“Y/n,” He rushed out in the Great Hall as I sat down with Pansy and Abby.

“You need to stay away from me,” I gritted out, glowering at him. “You’re a coward!” 

“Look, I didn’t know what the spell would do, okay?”

“No! That’s not okay!” I stood. “You almost killed him! And you would have! Why in Merlin’s name would you use a spell if you didn’t know what it did!?” Bristling, Abby had to place her hand on my arm before I drew my own wand. Her gentle hand allowed me a moment to take a deep breath and cam myself, ever so slightly. “Just get out of here Harry. Don’t... don’t talk to me,”

“Come on, mate, let’s go,” Ron pulled Harry’s arm back, sensing the rising tension in his best friend.

“You’re... you’re not really going to...” Abby asked softly as we sat back down. “About being the bad guy?” She was almost timid to ask.

I sighed and shook my head.

“No,” I admitted. “I just said it because I was mad and scared. I’m not gonna go off and join the Dark Lord,” a sad smile played at my lips. “I... I feel like I have no choice... This path was forced into me because of Precious Potter and I... I don’t want to be angry. I don’t want to be broken... but I don’t want to be walked on,”

“And you don’t have to be,” Pansy encouraged. “We all have your back,” Pansy nodded to the Hall. “We’re on your side,”

“I don’t want there to be sides!” I dismayed, scrubbing my face. “I don’t want to be divided because we still do have the same enemy and...” I let out a sharp breath in defeat. “When did it all become so complicated?”

Abby said nothing but wrapped an arm around me, soothingly rubbing my shoulder.

“It’ll all work out, you’ll see,” She encouraged, sharing a look with Pansy. “For all of us.”

After dinner, as I always did, I went and saw Draco. His steady grey eyes trailed me as I rounded his cot.

“Hey,” He offered softly as I slipped my hand into his. Despite his many blankets and long sleeves, his hands were still ice cold.

“Hey,” I echoed sadly. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” There was little confidence in his voice. “How’s class without me?” I scoffed and stared at the intricate carvings on the pillars of the infirmary.

“It’s not the same... nothing is the same...” The depressing thought left my lips before I could stop it. “I do miss walking to class with you though,” A small smile played at my lips at my gaze returned to him.

Wordlessly I reached out and brushed a few stray hairs from his face, my fingers ghosting over the pale pink scar that ran along the side of his face. Maybe fortune was on our side because though his skin was marred with scars, the spell hadn’t left permanent damage to his senses. His skin was still chilled under my touch.

“You’re still cold,” I murmured. “Do you want tea? Another blanket? I’m sure there’s a warming potion around here somewhere,”

“I’m alright,” His lips tugged upward. “Pomfrey and Snape said that it might happen, because of the Dark Magic...”

Worrying my lip, I nodded and intertwined my fingers with his pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles.

“What’s on your mind?” His question was soft.

“Nothing and everything,” I smiled. “Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing... but loved most of all, when she went to sleep, to hear the Angel of Music...”

“Haven’t read that one in a while,” Draco mused softly. “I think they’re having a show in London over the summer holiday...”

I wanted to snap at him. I wanted to say that it was stupid to think about the summer. It was foolish to think we’d survive the semester. That going to the opera shouldn’t be a plan we made on some false hope that we’d actually make it.

But I didn’t.

Instead I entertained the idea. Just for a while. Even if it would hurt later.

“You’d take me then?” I mused.

“Well, of course,” Draco smiled, enjoying that I was playing along. “Of course, Pansy and Abby would come with us,”

I laughed softly at the thought. The false memory of the four of us in some opera house amidst twinkling lights, dressed lavishly, laughing and having fun. I could see myself on Draco’s arm as he held his head high, smiling soft at my antics. I could almost hear Pansy scolding Abby for her poor etiquette. I could almost feel the thrum of the music in my soul and the magic of the performance before me as I was enraptured again by another story.

“I’d like that,” I whispered softly, tears stinging my eyes. 

“Then think of it done,”

A silence fell between us.

“Can I stay here tonight?” I asked softly.

“Would you expect me to say anything but yes?” He quirked an eyebrow.

Curled up in his arms, again I thought of everything and nothing, utterly exhausted—mentally, emotionally, physically. Draco still offered a sweet comfort that I had never found in anyone else. A comfort that quelled my anxieties and allowed me to sleep soundly.

“Told you she would be here,” I heard Pansy whisper harshly. “It’s not like it’s the first time they’ve done it,”

“Yes, yes, you’re so smart,” Abby said flatly. “They’re still precious, aren’t they? Even now,”

There wasn’t a response. I shifted through my sleep logged thoughts and blinked my eyes open. Draco was still fast asleep beside me, his mouth hanging slightly open as gentle breaths passed through his lips. Abby and Pansy were forgotten as I watched Draco bathed I the soft morning light.

“Hey Feathers, Dumbledore wants to see you,” Abby nudged my arm. “I don’t think it’s good either.”

Fear and dread struck my heart as I froze.

“Did he say why?” I squeaked out, carefully slipping out of the bed, not to rouse Draco. 

“No, just that it was a serious matter,” Abby frowned at me. “Are you okay?”

“Do you really want the answer to that?” I mumbled. “Please stay with him, tell him where I am when he wakes up. And if he tries to come and find me, make sure he doesn’t. He’s still healing,”

Timidly I made my way up to Dumbledore’s office, a list of a thousand things that could go wrong sprinting through my mind, willing them all true. Those thoughts however, changed and funneled when I saw that I wasn’t alone in his office with him. No, Harry, Snape, and McGonagall were all present along with the old headmaster.

“Miss Y/l/n, thank you for joining us,” Dumbledore smiled kindly. 

“Yeah... okay,” I closed the door behind me. “What’s this about?”

“What happened in Myrtle’s bathroom,” Snape informed with a monotone voice. “Though I have thoroughly explained that what Harry did to Mr. Malfoy was much worse and you acted in self- defense,”

“Uh... okay...” My eyebrows furrowed. “What exactly did I do?” 

“What did you do? You used an Unforgivable!” McGonagall dismayed. 

“You tortured me!” Harry exclaimed.

“You attempted to murdered Draco!” I shot back. “What was I supposed to do!?” 

“As I said, she acted in self-defense.” Snape cut the tension with his calmed voice.

“That wasn’t self-defense, that was malicious intent,” Harry growled. “You have to mean the curse for it to do any damage,”

“Oh yes, and I’m sure your use of Dark Magic is completely justified,” I snapped, crossing my arms. “And are you really going to play the victim when I have every right to loathe you?”

“Miss Y/l/n,” Dumbledore interjected. “We are not here to point fingers, but rather here the entire story. Both sides.”

“Why isn’t Sprout here?” I looked around. “She’s my Head of House... shouldn’t she be here?” 

“This isn’t a House matter,” Snape clarified. “This is a matter of the Order,”

“Of which you are a member,” McGonagall finished. “Now please, your side of the story,”

My mind processed this information then I began my tale.

“Draco was having a panic attack, so I led him to the nearest quiet place that I could find—” 

“Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom?” McGonagall clarified and I nodded.

“I was comforting Draco—walking him through grounding and Harry burst into the bathroom. Draco got defensive of me, drawing his wand, and Harry cast a hex at the two of us... I remember telling Draco to stop... there was water everywhere. And then Harry,” I glanced over to the golden boy who was sulking in his chair. “Cast whatever awful spell that was. I didn’t think. The Unforgivable was the first spell that came to mind...” I paused, drawing in a sharp breath. “Then there was so much blood. Merlin...” I wrung my hands together in a desperate attempt to wash my clean hands of blood that was no longer there. “I did cast the spell, and I’m not going to apologize for it. I’m sorry for hurting you, but not for defending Draco,”

“I see,” Dumbledore nodded. “Well, it seems that all’s well that ends well,” 

Harry and I both sputtered, glaring each other down.

“She should be going to Azkaban!” Harry exclaimed.

“Oh, you should really keep your comments to yourself Potter,” I snarled.

“If I remember correctly Mr. Potter, you also cast an Unforgivable at Bellatrix not last year,” Dumbledore raised an ancient eyebrow at a fuming Harry who instantly fizzled out.

“You cast an Unforgivable and you have the nerve to accuse me! Oh, stars above Harry where does it end with you!?”

“That doesn’t count! She was trying to kill me! She killed Sirius!”

I stared at him in quelled anger. “Funny,” My voice was calm and even. “I could have sworn I did it for the same reasons,” I watched the color drain from his face. “But I get it, I’m not the Chosen One, I don’t get free passes, do I?”

“Miss Y/n,” McGonagall warned.

“Am I free to go? I need to get back to Draco,” I looked to Snape.

He gave a seldom and I rushed out of the office, practically running back to the hospital wing. Abby caught me in her arms, stilling me outside the door.

“Hey, talk to me,” She demanded. “What happened?”

“Harry needs to mind his own damn business,” I growled. “He told that I used an Unforgivable against him after he tried to kill Draco. After he already used one last year! And he has the nerve—”

“Y/n?” Draco’s shaky voice was a lot closer than I thought it would be. It had to mean that he was up and walking.

“Dray?” My anger softened to concern and hope. “Draco what are you doing up?”

“You could have given us more of a warning about how much he would fight us after telling him that Dumbledore wanted to speak to you,” Pansy muttered, Draco’s arm slung around her shoulder.

“Sorry?” I offered, taking Draco’s weight, freeing Pansy. “You need to stay in bed,” I scolded him softly.

“How could you think that I would? How could you just leave?” His voice was trembling and uncertain.

“I know, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking,” I led him back to his cot, setting him down gently. “Forgive me?”

He nodded as I pulled the blanket back over him. Pansy and Abby aided me in getting him settled again.

“This is so stupid,” He groaned. “I should be there with you,”

“A few more days, my love,” I comforted softly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Then you’ll be back beside me,”

__________________________________

Draco’s eyes met the plated silver. His reflection mocking him. His pale skin was decorated— was that the right word? Ruined, perhaps—with faded pinkish scars.

Of course, his mother had been livid. Visiting him in the hospital wing more days than not until he was medically cleared to go back to class, she was there, pacing, muttering, threatening, demanding.

Your sentiments matched his mother’s but ever since the fateful day that Harry had taken him inches from death, you had gone silent with a cold ruthless fury. A look that only faded from your eyes when they met his. Then adoration was evident. Love and dedication was evident. Kindness.

As he stared at his reflection, the phantom memory of pain danced along his skin.

“Hey there handsome,” Your gentle voice caught his attention. Catching the sight of you in the mirror he turned, leaning against the vanity.

“I don’t remember you ever calling me that before,” He mused, slightly teasing—part of him wondering if you were just saying it to make him feel better.

“I know you Draco,” You pressed off the doorjamb you were leaning against and took his hands. “Self-assured, confident, absolutely gorgeous,” A smirk hinted at your lips. “But I know you’re unsteady right now.” Gently your fingers traced the scars on his hands trailing up his arm making him shudder.

“And what of you?” He asked softly, bringing your hand to his lips pressing a kiss there softly, reveling in the warmth of your skin; something that he had lost, his skin retaining an icy chill with the dark magic that plagued it.

“What of me?” You countered softly. “I’m quite assured that I’m beautiful to those who matter to me... call it vanity,”

A chuckle escaped his lips, your words reminding him of Pansy. “No, that’s no mystery. You are stunning,” Your arms draped lazily around his shoulders as you waited for him to continue. “Are you okay? I know you, and you’ve been... I don’t know. Withdrawn? Distracted?”

He feared the anger that flashed in your eyes until you seemed to blink it away. With the fluttering of your eyelashes the ire turned to sorrow. Your shoulders rose and fell with the deep breath you took.

“I’m tired of being walked on. I’m tired of people underestimating me. Of thinking I’m harmless or weak.” You paused but then your eyes met his pleading, “I know who I am, I really do. I’m just tired of other people not seeing it.”

Draco smiled at you, reaching up and caressing your cheek delicately. “And?” He knew you had more on your mind.

“I’ve had enough of Harry thinking he can get away with anything.”

Draco nodded. Before his prejudices against Potter had been just that—prejudices. Now? Now they went so much deeper. The hurt and pain that Harry had caused to you and him was something that couldn’t be brushed off. Draco’s anger matched yours when thinking of Potter, but maybe the difference was he had never seen it from the outside looking in.

“He almost killed you Draco,” Your voice wavered. “If Snape hadn’t shown up, you would have...” Tears pricked your eyes and you quickly shut them. “I can’t... I can’t lose you... and I never want to feel helpless like that again,”

Draco cupped your face softly, your eyes meeting his as quiet streams of tears trailed down your cheeks.

“And you won’t have to, but my love,” He sighed softly and pressed a kiss to your forehead before drawing you into his arms, “I don’t want you to lose yourself... I know you’re angry, and I know you’re scared... I know you wish it would all just go away, because I do too,” He sighed deeply. “But we can’t lose focus on who we are,”

“When did you become the wise grounded one?” You pouted into his shoulder, earning a small chuckle from him.

“Some girl brought me back down to Earth,” He mused.

“Must have been some girl,” He could hear the smile in your voice.

“Oh, she’s quite wonderful, I think you’d love her. I know I do,”

“Sap,” You accused, smiling up at him.

“And yet you love me anyway,”

“I do,” You pressed up on your toes, your lips brushing against his softly.

The day that he returned to class, as expected, he got plenty of stares. Students gawking at him and whispering behind his back. Not that it was new for him. But maybe you were right—he was unsteady. You still held his hand in the halls though, and still looked at him as you would a piece of artwork. And whenever he became uncertain about his appearance your gently smile and soft kisses created phantom memories that kept him grounded.

“Ginny and Harry are together,” Hannah gave off hand one day at dinner.

Draco’s eyebrows raised in surprised. Your face soured a bit as your eyes drifted over to the Gryffindor table where sure enough Harry and Ginny were sitting together amidst their friends. He pressed a kiss to your temple, pulling you a bit closer. The pout didn’t leave your face, but your focus reverted back to your friends before you.

Draco hadn’t spoken to or gone near Harry since he had been back to class. The only real struggle was Potions, but Harry seemed content on ignoring him, and with Ernie as Draco’s partner, Draco’s thoughts weren’t consumed with Harry. Ernie was actually quite pleasant in class, Draco had to admit. Though he was a bit reckless and impulsive in a childlike manor, but he wasn’t impossible for Draco to work with. In fact, Draco almost preferred to work with Ernie because Ernie didn’t treat him any differently after his near-death experience. It was a vein of normalcy.

“This should work,” You lowered your wand, running your hand over the mended Vanishing Cabinet. “We should be done,”

His eyes met yours. There was hope in your warm eyes. Draco gave a seldom nod and grabbed an apple from his bag. It was the first test. Though weeks ago, the apple had made it to Borgin and Burkes, the live finches you had sent hadn’t survived. You mourned the small birds and buried them beneath your tree by the lake.

The apple was closed behind the wardrobes doors and after counting to thirty, your hand gripped tightly in his, Draco opened the door again and saw that the apple had a slice cut out of it. You let out a steady breath and went to the golden wire cage, with gentle grace setting down the small bird into the wardrobe. You closed your eyes, refusing to watch as he closed the door this time. Thirty seconds again, he opened the door, and the small finch was there, staring up at the two of you, an apple slice in his mouth.

You let out a scream of excitement and joy as you gathered the bird into your hands and kissing its small head before setting it back in the cage to enjoy its treat.

The next was a crow, easily transfigured from a goblet. Draco ser the bird into the cabinet and closed the door yet again. The ruffling of wings faded for twenty seconds until he heard frantic cawing and agitated movements. Throwing open the door, the crow flew out. With a quick flick of your wand the crow was a goblet once more, falling harmlessly into the piles of rubbish around the two of you.

“I have to go,” You breathed out, words that he had been dreading.

“Y/n,” He refuted. “We don’t know if it’ll work for larger animals, Pinnae might not make it.”

“It worked for the crow,” You pointed out. “Pinnae can make it,”

“It’s too dangerous,”

“Draco,” You gave him a flat look. “I need to go,” You took his hands into yours. “It’ll be okay, I’ll be back. If not, I’ll just fly back here from Diagon Alley.”

“You make it sound so simple,” He nuzzled his nose to yours.

“Because it is,” You smiled, pressing your lips to his fleetingly. “I’ll be back, I promise.”

“Please be careful,” Draco dismayed as your morphed into Pinnae, fluttering into the base of the wardrobe.

Then he closed the door, trapping you in darkness. Thirty seconds had never been so long.

There was a knock on the door then it slowly opened. Your smiling face was shining as you crawled out of the cabinet.

“It works,” You breathed out, amazed.

“By Merlin it works!” Draco exclaimed, spinning you in his arms.

You laughed and held onto him tightly. The two of you celebrated with laughter that turned to tears. When the entire world seemed against you two, at least one thing went right.

“I love you,” You sniffled through tears.

“Stars, I love you too,” He breathed in the scent of you deeply, burying his head in your shoulder. “We’re gonna make it,” He was almost hopeful.

“We’re gonna make it,” You affirmed.

“Who’s there?”

You and Draco froze, staring at each other in paralyzing fear. 

“Hello?” The voice called again.

You sagged and let out an aggravated groan. “It’s Trelawney,” Gritting your teeth you let go of him, sighing. “I’ll go see what she wants. You get to Snape and tell him we do this tonight.” There was fierce determination in your eyes.

Draco nodded and watched as you made your way toward the exit. He could hear your faint conversation with the professor. Giving you five minutes head start, Draco slipped from the Room of Hidden Things undetected.

“It’s done,” Draco panted out, catching his breath after nearly running to Snape’s office. “The raid has to be tonight,”

“I see,” Snape rose. “And you’re certain?”

You burst into the office just then, also out of breath. “Harry and Dumbledore are leaving to go find something called—”

“Silencio!” Snape casted the spell on you, proving you mute. Infuriated, Draco drew his wand, stepping between you and the professor. “Calm down, she’s in no harm,” Snape rolled his eyes and lifted the spell. “But be careful with what you speak. It is wise to hold your tongue.”

Fuming, you nodded still.

Draco lowered his wand and took your hand.

“Now, you both know the task ahead of you?” Snape questioned. Silent nods affirmed the question. “Very well. He will be pleased, Draco. Very pleased indeed.” Another silent moment passed. “You have twenty-three minutes.”

Draco took your hand and pulled you into the hallway and along the corridors.

“Go, find Abby. Warn your friends. Warn your house. No one needs to get hurt. We’re already doing enough damage,” His voice was soft and gentle as unshed tears lingered in his eyes.

“I love you,” Your voice broke as he cupped your face and pressed his lips to yours desperately.

The kiss was hasty and despairing. Though neither of you would admit it, you both knew that it was a kiss goodbye. The warmth of your breath against his was the last of your warmth that he expected. The urgency of your fingers in his hair was the last of your comfort that he sought. The taste of your mouth was the last of your sweetness that he accepted. The softness of your lips was the last of your peace that he pursued.

“Twenty-three minutes,” He breathed out before letting you go and heading down to the murky waters of the Slytherin Common Room.

The Mark on his arm burned and Draco knew that Snape had called the others of the raid. A plan set into motion long ago, now coming to fruition.

____________________________

“Y/n!” Abby called my name as you burst into the common room. “What’s going on?”

My friends were all gathered in the common room as Abby tossed to me something small and shiny. A galleon. My galleon. From D.A. I might have cursed.

“How does he even know?” I chucked the galleon into the fire, watching it ricochet a flurry of ashes. My eyes met Abby’s. “It’s tonight,”

She nodded, knowing what it meant, knowing what was expected of her. A plan made long ago, that was now set into motion.

“Okay, this is going to get very bad, very quickly.” My voice trembled as I looked at all of the horror-struck faces before me. “But please, I need you all to keep the younger years safe. I need you to stay out of the halls until Abby comes and gets you.”

“But what about you?” Ernie asked.

“Look, you’re going to hear things. Awful things about Draco and me. And I can’t deny them, nor should I ask for your forgiveness. But please,” Tears streamed down my face. “Believe that everything I’ve worked for... everything I’ve done has been for this family,” I looked around the room. “I don’t have much of one by blood, but you? All of you... you’ve always been my family. And Hogwarts is my home.”

Abby’s arms wrapped around me and I could no longer hold back my tears. Soon there was a massive comfort pile and I was in the center of it. My friends, my family all there, all holding me close.

“So, what do you need us to do?” Taylor asked. I wiped my eyes and stood tall.

“Someone get word to the Ravenclaws and the Gryffindors that they need to stay in their dorm. You all have about fifteen minutes to be completely locked down. Cast protection spells. Silencing spells. Comfort younger years. Distract them. Do not take an order from anyone unless it’s Abby. Make sure she is not under a spell before you listen to her.” I glanced over at her. “This is a grave matter and lives are on the line tonight. One of which is mine. I don’t know what will happen tonight, but I won’t be coming back. Not for some while.”

“But why?” I didn’t see where the question came from.

“It will all be revealed soon. I love you all. And I hope that you all can forgive me after tonight. No matter what you think of me, please, don’t forget: have courage and be kind.”

They all nodded. I rushed up to my room, changing quickly into dueling robes, pulling my silver cloak on.

“Are you okay?” Abby asked, tying her hair back.

“I’ll be fine,” I drew her in for a hug. “Please just get out alive,”

“You too kid,” Abby smiled weakly, taking my hand. “Sister for life,”

“Hufflepuffs for life,” I finished, looking back one last time before taking off through the window and into the night.

With a soft thud I landed on Draco’s floor. He was expecting me. We didn’t embrace another, but instead got to work.

“The Hufflepuffs?” He asked.

“Warned and locked down. Word was sent to Ravenclaws and Gryffindors. The Slytherins?” 

“Secured.” Draco affirmed. “Seven minutes,”

“Okay,” I nodded. “The Mark,”

Draco looked out his opened window and chanted something short and unfamiliar to my ears and I watched as a snake coiled from the end of his wand in a thick green smoke and into the sky merging with a skull. I took his hand, standing beside him.

“I still don’t want to kill him,” Draco confessed. “But I’ll do anything to keep you safe,”

“Draco don’t worry about me. Your mother and I have a plan if things go wrong.” It was an easy lie as I met his confused grey eyes. I smiled softly. “You don’t have to be afraid.”

“The Astronomy tower,” He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Go,”

I leapt out of his window again and circled the school, patrolling, watching two figures on brooms land on the tower I was destined for. The quiet night was eerily quiet as I landed, perched on a sill, watching Harry and a frail looking Dumbledore. I almost slipped out of Pinnae because of the regret that fluttered in my chest, but it was easily pushed aside.

I watched as Harry hurried over to the door leading to the spiral staircase, his hand just meeting the door as I heard running footsteps from the door opposite to Harry. My eyes trained and waiting for Draco missed whatever had caused Harry to keep fleeing.

“Expelliarmus!” Draco shouted, and I sprang into action, catching the wand in my claws and settling back on the sill.

Standing against the ramparts, very white in the face, Dumbledore still showed no sign of panic or distress. He merely looked across at his disarmer and said, “Good evening, Draco,”

Draco stepped forward glancing over to me then to the empty room. He was making sure that we were alone. I wanted to warn him that Harry was close, but I couldn’t not yet. Draco seemed to figure this out on his own however, as his eyes fell upon the second broom.

“Who else is here?” He demanded.

“A question I might ask you.” Dumbledore eyed me before his attention reverted back to Draco. “Surely you’re not acting alone,”

“No,” Draco said. “I’ve got backup.”

“I see,” Dumbledore said as if Draco’s actions were praiseworthy. “And won’t you join us Miss Y/n?”

Draco glanced to me, panicked. That wasn’t a part of the plan. I wasn’t to be human at all. No one was supposed to know that I was there. Not the Order or the Death Eaters and certainly not Bellatrix.

“I know that it’s you my dear, you might as well join us,”

It was a wildcard neither Draco nor I were expecting. Draco gave a seldom nod, looking utterly defeated. Against my better judgement, I morphed back human, wand in my hand as I took my place at Draco’s side, adrenaline and anxiety threading through my chest.

“You always were such a talented witch,” Dumbledore praised. “I assume you had a hand in this plan, finding a way to get the other Death Eaters into my school?”

“Yes,” I answered, my voice shaking.

“You do complicate things don’t you my dear,” Dumbledore’s eyes fell upon me. “To think if Mr. Malfoy never had you, what would have become of him.”

“I don’t dwell on what might have been,” My eyes narrowed at the frail headmaster. “But rather what is to come,”

“Ah yes, your little job,” A twisted smile curled on his face. “Well, then, you must get on and do it, my dear boy,” said Dumbledore softly.

Confusion flitted across my face. Did Dumbledore know what we were here to do? How long had he known? Why the bloody hell hadn’t he said anything? A tense silence fell between us and I could faintly hear the fighting of Death Eaters and The Order occur somewhere below. I winced at the mental images.

“Draco, you are not a killer.” Dumbledore smiled. The words sounded cruel coming from his mouth rather than mine. Condescending.

“You don’t know what I’m capable of,” Draco snarled, gripping his wand tightly.

“Oh yes, I do,” said Dumbledore mildly. “You almost killed Katie Bell and Ronald Weasley—”

“That wasn’t us,” I interjected. “You really think I’d allow that?”

“Well you are here to kill me, are you not?”

Silently I seethed, gritting my teeth.

“It wasn’t us,” Draco replied coldly. “And we never figured out who it was,”

“Very curious,” Dumbledore mused. “But you were saying . . . yes, you have managed to introduce Death Eaters into my school, which, I admit, I thought impossible...How did you do it?”

Neither of us said anything. The echoes of the fight below were deafening. My blood ran cold, torn between who I needed to win. One to protect Draco and I. One to protect my family.

“Perhaps you ought to get on with the job alone,” Dumbledore taunted. “What if your backup has been thwarted by my guard? As you have perhaps realized, there are members of the Order of the Phoenix here tonight too,”

“The Order is here?” Frowning I met ancient blue eyes. 

“You think I wouldn’t have back up at my own school?”

Betrayal washed through me. I had no idea that the Order was here. That they were the guard against the raid that was merely a plan b. I never wanted them to get hurt. Why wasn’t I told that they were here? Wasn’t I apart of the Order as well? Then it dawned on me.

“You... you manipulated me!” I shouted. “You never wanted me as a part of the Order! You just wanted to keep an eye one me! Never for one moment did you believe in me!”

Draco winced at the realization of my words, as he took my hand, grounding me. 

“Who was I to go against your father’s wishes?”

“My father is dead because he believed in you,” I spat.

“He died for you. Not me.”

I growled dangerously.

“But never mind all of that,” Dumbledore waved the thought as if it were something easily dismissed. “And after all, you don’t really need help... I have no wand at the moment... I cannot defend myself.”

I ran my fingers over Dumbledore’s wand in my hand. It was urging me on, daring me to cast an Unforgivable. Begging me to. If I didn’t get my fury under control, Draco might not have to kill Dumbledore. Because I would.

A silence fell again.

“I see,” said Dumbledore patronizingly. “You are afraid to act until they join you.”

“I’m not afraid!” Draco snarled, though he still made no move to hurt Dumbledore. “It’s you who should be scared!”

“But why? I don’t think you will kill me, Draco. Killing is not nearly as easy as the innocent believe... So, tell me, while we wait for your friends... how did you two smuggle them in here? It seems to have taken you a long time to work out how to do it.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I hissed. “We had the plan since this past summer. We could have easily done it by Christmas, but Draco and I deserved another year together at our home,” My words dripped venom as they met the crisp air.

“We had to mend that broken Vanishing Cabinet that no one’s used for years. The one Montague got lost in last year.” Draco explained because anger claimed my voice, deeming me silent.

“Ah.” Dumbledore’s sigh was half a groan. He closed his eyes for a moment. “That was clever... There is a pair, I take it?”

“We don’t have to explain anything to you,” I whispered, my eyes closed as I tried to reign in my anger.

“I see,” Dumbledore smiled. “But I suppose that I was incorrect when I assumed that you were not sure you would succeed in mending the cabinet and acted rashly? It does leave me to wonder who did almost kill Ms. Bell and Mr. Weasley.”

Draco’s grip on my hand tightened. He didn’t like the loose end any more than I did. “If you suspected us, why didn’t you stop us then?” Draco demanded.

“I tried, Draco. Professor Snape has been keeping watch over you on my orders —” 

“He hasn’t been doing your orders, he promised my mother--”

“Of course, that is what he would tell you, Draco, but—”

“But nothing!” I interrupted. “I think Narcissa means a bit more to Snape than you do,” 

“We must agree to differ on that, my dear. It so happens that I trust Professor Snape —”

“That’s marvelous,” I deadpanned. “But trust isn’t the same as loyalty,”

“Isn’t it though?” The old professor seemed as if he were having a hard time standing on his own without the help of the railing. I almost offered my aid. “But as for being bout to kill me, Draco, you have had several long minutes now, we are quite alone, I am more defenseless than you can have dreamed of finding me, and still you have not acted...”

Draco glanced to me and a gave a soft smile. The fear and uncertainty in his eyes caused my anger to morph into a fierce protection.

“I see,” Dumbledore went on. “I wonder why Voldemort has let you live so long Miss Y/n. You really do hinder Draco from what is expected of him,”

“Shut your mouth!” Draco snapped. “She is the cleverest, most brilliant witch I’ve met! If anything, she pushes me past what I should be and into who I am!”

“And who are you Mr. Malfoy? Are you a killer?” Neither of us answered. “There is little time, one way or another,” said Dumbledore. “So, let us discuss your options, Draco.”

“My options!” Draco scoffed. “I’m standing here with a wand—I’m about to kill you—”

“My dear boy, let us have no more pretense about that. If you were going to kill me, you would have done it when you first disarmed me, you would not have stopped for this pleasant chat about ways and means.”

Draco’s aspiration to kill Dumbledore might be fading, but my desire for it was growing with each moment that passed as I untangled a web of lies and manipulation in silence about the frail headmaster before me.

“I haven’t got any options!” Draco despaired. “I’ve got to do it! He’ll kill me! He’ll kill her! He’ll kill my mother!”

“I appreciate the difficulty of your position,” said Dumbledore. “Why else do you—”

“No,” The fury in my voice was cold and unforgiving. “Don’t. You. Dare. Don’t you dare make yourself the martyr. You have no idea the hell Draco and I have been through together. Your chosen one almost killed him for Merlin’s sake, and you have nerve to offer a false kindness? As if you were blameless? As if you understood?”

“No, you can’t,” Draco agreed to the weight of my words.

“Come over to the right side,” Dumbledore continued as if I had never spoken, “and we can hide you more completely than you can possibly imagine. What is more, I can send members of the Order to your mother tonight to hide her likewise. Your father is safe at the moment in Azkaban...When the time comes, we can protect him too. Come over to the right side, you are not a killer...”

“Like you protected my father?” I whispered softly. “When will you see we are on the side of good. But we’re not on your side.”

Dumbledore did not speak. His mouth was open, still trembling, as if to find the right words to manipulate us back to his side. 

But suddenly footsteps were thundering up the stairs, Draco and I turned, in fear. We were both buffeted out of the way as four black robes burst through the door.

It seemed the Death Eaters had won the fight below.

A lumpy-looking man with an odd lopsided leer gave a wheezy giggle. “Dumbledore cornered!” he said, and he turned to a stocky little woman who looked as though she could be his sister and who was grinning eagerly. “Dumbledore wandless, Dumbledore alone! Well done, Draco, well done!”

“Good evening, Amycus,” said Dumbledore calmly, as though welcoming the man to a tea party. “And you’ve brought Alecto too... Charming...”

The woman gave an angry little titter. “Think your little jokes’ll help you on your deathbed then?” she jeered.

“Jokes? No, no, these are manners,” replied Dumbledore.

“Do it,” said the stranger standing furthest from me. He had a deep raspy voice and almost barked the words. All of my instincts told me to run from this man.

“Is that you, Fenrir?” asked Dumbledore.

“That’s right,” Fenrir barked, and I understood. Fenrir Greyback, the savage werewolf. “Pleased to see me, Dumbledore?”

“No, I cannot say that I am.”

Greyback grinned, showing pointed teeth. Blood trickled down his chin and he licked his lips slowly, obscenely. “But you know how much I like kids, Dumbledore.”

I choked back a sob, struggling to stand upright. Faces of my family flashed through my mind. Whose blood was on my hands and on his teeth? My world spun as I tried to get it back into order. Draco’s arm wrapped around me, trying to keep me upright.

“Ah, the little harlot,” A familiar voice cooed. “I should have known you’d be the one to stop Draco from his task.”

My eyes flashed up, meeting Bellatrix’s.

“She’s actually helped quite a bit,” Dumbledore interjected. “She has my wand, and she’s the one who made your arrival possible,”

“Shut up you old fool!” Bellatrix sneered. “Now come along little prince, we are short on time,” There was an urgency in her voice that made me hopeful that perhaps the Death Eaters hadn’t won but merely escaped.

“Draco, do it or stand aside so one of us—”

I didn’t take note into who was speaking because just then, from the door that Draco had arrived, came Snape, rushing forward and taking in the scene before him. His eyes met mine then went to Draco’s before settling onto Dumbledore’s.

“Severus...” The plead startled me. My eyes turned to Dumbledore who for the first time tonight was begging.

Snape said nothing but walked forward and pushed Draco and I roughly out of the way. Draco steadied me and we both moved to the back wall, watching the other Death Eaters—even Bellatrix fall back without a word.

Snape gazed for a moment at Dumbledore, and there was revulsion and hatred etched in the harsh lines of his face.

“Severus... please...” Snape raised his wand and pointed it directly at Dumbledore. 

“Avada Kedavra!” It wasn’t my voice or Draco’s. But rather Snape’s.

Time around me slowed. Or maybe I could register everything around me all at once.

Dumbledore staggered back, falling, falling, falling down. Bellatrix cackled victoriously. Draco was a solace beside me, clinging to me as if I was his only lifeline.

“Out of here, quickly,” Snape ordered, glaring Draco and I down, a snarled look on his face.

He seized Draco’s cloak and forced him first through the door, with me trailing not far behind Draco. I didn’t bother to look who was behind me. Darkness fell over me and I proved blind. All I could do was cling to Draco’s robe and pray that wherever this darkness led, that there was a light somewhere at the end.

The darkness lifted as the starry night sky stretched before me letting me know that I was on the grounds of Hogwarts, not far from Hagrid’s.

“Go! Off the grounds and disapparate!” Snape ordered. “Go home!”

Draco and I stumbled as we ran through the dark. I wished nothing more than to morph into Pinnae and fly away, but I knew it was impossible. Just as we were at the outskirts of the grounds, Draco had to pull me out of the way of a bright red flash.

“Stop righ’ ‘ere!” A gruff voice called.

“Hagrid!” I called in relief until I realized I was no longer wanted here.

“Y/n?” Hagrid seemed just as confused as I was. “Wah are you doin’ ou’ wiff a bunch o’ Death Eaters?”

“I’m so sorry Hagrid,” I yelled into the darkness as Draco and I kept moving towards our freedom. “Take care of Steve, please!”

The distraction was enough to let a few black robes step foot off campus and disapparate. I turned back, a mistake, and saw Harry sprinting towards us, malice and torture in his eyes.

“I was right about you all along!” He shouted. “Don’t you dare show your face here again!”

Before I could respond, mostly just wanting to scream in frustration, Snape intersected the two of us, allowing Draco to grab my arm and pull me off the grounds.

“Y/n!” He called. “You need to disapparate! Go back to the Manor!” His eyes were wild and wide.

I nodded and wand in hand, I landed softly into the foyer of the Manor.

Of home.

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chapter 11

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[kumkaniudaku]

Understanding

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17

Recommended Listening: Understanding x Xscape, Purple Emoji (ft. J. Cole) x Ty Dolla $ign, My World x Asian

Word Count: 2,137 

If you were going to win an award that afternoon, it’d be for attire, not confidence. Your expertly crafted golf outfit was the only thing willing your feet forward once you parked your car in front of Senior’s golf course.

Black women and men dressed like modern Jet magazine ads waltzed in and out of the clubhouse while you scanned the area for your party. You’d been to your fair share of golf courses, but none as exquisite as The National. Marble accents complemented modern brass finishes and unbeatable views of the city. The desire to take photos for your father was almost too much to shake, but you managed to play it cool. Acting out of place was surely some type of faux pas for the wealthy.

Across the way, Senior sat at the bar sipping a glass of water while thumbing through a newspaper. His furrowed brow was identical to Yahya’s whenever he was knee-deep in work or a good book. The mental comparison made you smile before ushering in a tinge of sadness. For two people so undeniably similar, they were miles apart physically and mentally.

You navigated through groups of young and old alike on the way to the bar.

“You made it on time,” Senior spoke without looking up from a story on education budget cuts.

“I made it with time to spare.”

“You don’t get praise for doing what’s right.”

“Think of how much better things would be if we did.”

Senior paused his reading to take a deep breath and shake his head. You mentally berated yourself for overstepping so soon. Not even five minutes into the outing and you had already committed an avoidable infraction

Yahya I prolonged the unbearable silence as he continued to read through another article, reading each line painstakingly slow while you watched in agony.

“I apologize. That was unnecessary.”

“I’ll ask you again,” he spoke, finally looking away from the newspaper to study your face. “Let’s leave the character right here. We’re here for a purpose, so grab your clubs and follow me to the first hole. I hope your game is as good as you are at running your mouth.” Taking his retort in stride, you quickly grabbed your set of clubs and followed with no objections. “After you.”

Senior found himself immediately impressed though he wouldn’t verbalize his feelings. He watched you breeze through each hole with near expert precision, opening a series of questions at hole 5 during casual small talk.

“Where’d you say you were from again?”

“A tiny town in South Carolina that you probably wouldn’t know.”

“Try me,” he answered while taking stock of his position on the fairway.

“Anderson, South Carolina. Home of Larry Nance and the great Chadwick Boseman.”

“Can’t forget James Kennedy, Young Lady.”

You cocked your head back in surprise. “What you know about Radio? I mean outside of what the movie says?”

Senior remained quiet long enough to take a hard swing. The loud “whiff” of his driver slicing through crisp, clean air didn’t match the stroke’s output. Both of you watch the golf ball sail high into the air before making a landing well short of the intended destination. Senior shook his head at the miscalculation before turning to answer your question.

“Black folks from all over are connected, even without all that Snapgram and Facebook foolishness.”

“I could argue it’s helped, right? How else would you be able to share your granddaughter’s first steps with the whole family?”

“In photo albums. You might not remember those, but they did us just fine.”

“Yeah, but it’s instantaneous conversation and information. Who wouldn’t want that?”

“Maybe instantaneous conversation is the problem. We aren’t making enough time to stop and really think about what we’re saying to each other.”

“Mm.” You let the conversation naturally taper before following Senior to his golf cart. The rolling hills provided enough scenery to keep you interested while you sorted the words in your head.

“I think we may have started off on the wrong foot.” You spoke once the cart came to a full stop. Senior trailed behind in silence, gathering a new club while watching you examine the other golfers in the area.

“You’re rather observant.”

You chuckled and plucked a club from your bag. “I’ve been told. Yahya calls me Eagle Eye when I catch something he’s already talked about ten minutes ago.”

“It’s what his Big Mama used to call his Pop-Pop for the same thing. That man was notoriously late to the punchline.” The nostalgia in Yahya I’s voice caught you off guard though he didn’t see your minor fumble. Something in his retelling appealed to your sense of compassion in a way that you considered long gone when it came to him.

“Let’s not beat around the bush. You have an issue with my presence that we should discuss. Because I can assure you, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Bold,” Senior responded with a sarcastic laugh. He gestured to nothing in particular as you squared up to take a swing and nodded. “And direct. Continue.”

You took a moment to hit a line drive toward the green in the distance, using the movement as an outlet for the unexpected nerves churning your stomach. Both of you quietly watch the golf ball for its final resting place before you turned to speak.

“You are extremely hard to please, and it is literally ruining your family. Yahya does everything in his power, and, excuse my French, you don’t seem to give a fuck. Why is that?”

“What makes you think that my love isn’t what makes me push him to be the best that he can? It may not be the fluff and frills you’re used to in your home, but it’s what he needs to get him to his potential.”

“Did it help you?”

Senior mistakenly allowed a quick moment of confusion to take over his features. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You tell me. When’s the last time you enjoyed a laugh with your family or felt like you could just...be? You’re carrying a weight that is crushing the people around you, and you don’t even see it.”

“You don’t…” Senior caught his words and bottled them behind his lips. He took a deep breath as he approached his golf ball and took a half-hearted swing. Noticing his misstep, he shook his head. “I’m from Baton Rouge, Louisiana. My father, Yahya’s Pop-Pop, moved my mother and me to a shotgun shack to find work when things weren’t quite shaking out back home. He was in and out of trouble and such. Couldn’t get right, but he had a natural knack for building and design.”

A nearby group of golfers erupted into laughter, helping to break up some tension.

“So architecture’s been in the family for a while,” you asked. Yahya I curled the corner of his lips into a far-off smile.

“A long, long time. It got us out of that shack when my siblings came along and into a house with our own rooms and a backyard. But, my father was a hard man. Hard to please, you know,” he laughed, making a reference to your earlier words. “He wanted the best from me, and he made damn sure he got it. I needed that to get my head out of the clouds.”

“You also needed some reassurance.”

“Perhaps. But, what’s done is done. I look at what I’ve built with no complaints, especially when it comes to my boys. I couldn’t be more proud of the men they’ve become.”

Senior’s proud smile almost looked foreign on his face. You’d never seen more than an indifferent expression or the slight twinge of anger smoldering behind his eyes.

Leaning on your club, you kept your eyes forward to gaze out over the course.

“Yahya would love to hear that. I don’t know if you know this, but he is desperately searching for your approval. There is not enough praise from me or anyone else that could replace knowing that you’re proud of him. Yet, as much as he would like to tell you these things himself, he’s afraid that you’ll think less of him for being vulnerable.”

“I could never think less of the boy. Tough love is still love.”

“Maybe for you,” you added, shrugging. “But, what good is continuing this cycle if it’s hurting the children you claim to love and the grandchildren after them?”

Senior dropped his head in thought before looking up with an unreadable expression. “Deuce will be fine. He’s all the best parts of his mother. I...I’m confident he’ll figure out fatherhood on his own despite my shortcomings. We raised him well.”

“Forgive me if I’m overstepping -”

“That has never stopped you before, young lady.” His light-hearted chuckle invited you to follow suit.

“Fair point,” you laughed. “So, let me cut to the chase. Allowing Yahya to just ‘figure things out’ is a passive existence. Yahya says you’re constantly reminding him to take things into his own hands. Sounds like you should take your own advice. Be the parts of your father that you needed at 33.”

Instead of acknowledging your advice, Senior twirled his club in his hand on the way to the golf cart. He maintained an impenetrable poker face that even the most skilled readers couldn’t interpret. You silently hoped that at least some of your words had made it through his thick skull, but you chose to let the discussion meet a natural end.

As he started the cart, Senior turned to you and smiled. “How the hell you learn to swing like that? I know it wasn’t in Anderson.”

“Hey, we play a little golf here and there!”

“Where? Out in the woods?”

“No, out in the Bayou like you did.”

A small smirk crept across your face as Yahya I chuckled at your joke. He sounded identical to Yahya, full of mirth and beautiful melodies.

“The ole Bayou,” he repeated in a thick accent. “You ain’t seen a place more beautiful in your life.”

“Maybe Yahya and I could visit one day.”

He quickly looked over and shrugged. “Maybe. For now, you focus on defending this lead. I think I’m getting back into my rhythm.”

Senior couldn’t make a convincing comeback, but he did show glimpses of a softer, more personable disposition. He cracked jokes on occasion and asked questions that turned the conversation from a therapy session to banter between associates. Your mind traveled to the possibility of civil family dinners or vacations during the ride home. Though it seemed silly to create imaginary scenarios after one conversation, you couldn’t help the urge to see a better future.

Your happiness helped you float into your shared apartment, making Yahya smile when he caught a glimpse of your wide grin and short skirt.

“Damn, girl,” he hollered from the couch with Leche cradled in his arms. “If Tiger was out there cheeked up like that, I might’ve paid a little more attention to the golf network.”

“Oh, really?”

Your raised eyebrow made Yahya kiss his teeth once he caught on to the joke. “You know what I meant. Where you been anyway?”

“Oh, I was just out doing a little golfing...with your dad.”

“Right. That was today, huh?”

Even Yahya’s best attempt at feigning interest, his question came out in a flat drone typically used on annoying coworkers. You dropped your purse and keys against a nearby barstool on the way to his spot on the couch.

“It was today. I think we had a good time,” you answered as you slid your arms around his neck from behind, placing a gentle kiss behind his ear. “He didn’t yell at me.”

“You must’ve kissed his ass the entire time.”

“No. We talked about how great I am at golf. I mean, I kicked his ass.”

“Good on you, baby girl. Bring honor to our house.” In a surprise maneuver, Yahya pulled you over the couch and into the space beside him. “Is that all?”

Silence blanketed the room, allowing the college basketball game in the background to have center stage. You considered your options carefully, weighing the pros of a potential argument against a peaceful Saturday indoors. Yahya turned his attention back to the television as he waited for a response.

“Did you hear me, baby? He didn’t say anything rude to you, did he?”

“No!” You blurted. Taking a deep breath, you slowly slid the remote off the coffee table and pressed the power button. Yahya blinked twice at his reflection on the black television screen before turning to you for answers. Your fingers danced across his thighs to interlock with his long digits.

“I think...I think we need to have a real talk about your dad.”

----

A/N: I hope this is better late than never. Only two more chapters left! Really striving to have those to y’all by the end of the month.

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[tiramisiyu]

Light and Night:  Sariel 【永恒花园】 Eternal Garden Date Translation

Translation Masterlist | Video

I lied about not doing any translations for Light & Night 🤡 Can’t believe this guy grew on me so much that I did this

--

My relaxed, leisurely weekend morning was cut short by Sariel’s message.

Sariel’s Message: Come to the greenhouse behind the studio right now.

After sighing miserably as I clutched onto my blankets, I got up and rushed out towards my destination.

--

That glass greenhouse was surrounded by lush forest, and only its simple contours were visible from far away. A mass of verdant green occupied three rows of plant shelves, with magenta flowers peeking out from them, looking full of life. A woven hammock hung beside the floor-to-ceiling window on the north side, and two cushions had been casually thrown on them. Languor and elegance were evident in every single design detail in the room. Sunlight shone in through the window, making the entire space look bright and open, like a secret garden that could be used to relax under the sun.

I slowed my breathing, following the small sounds of branches being cut as I walked carefully to the front of a shelf row.

Sariel was in the middle of handling a pair of flower arrangement scissors with familiarity. It seemed like a few white roses that he had cut off were blooming in his hands. Light and shadow shifted, shining on his hair and shoulders, becoming colourful with refinement and vigor. The whole picture was so beautiful that it was somewhat dazzling, looking a little unreal.

Did he have me come to clean the greenhouse?

Crunch – in my moment of distraction, I stepped on the dead branches that had fallen on the floor. Sariel lifted his eyes from the blooming flowers, carelessly glancing at me.

Sariel: What are you standing there dumbly for?

MC: I saw that you were busy and didn’t want to disturb you.

Sariel looked at me again.

Sariel: As if you could disturb me.

MC: Oh.

He smirked, tapping his finger on the wooden table in front.

Sariel: These flowers have to be arranged and maintained today.

Sariel: Watch carefully. I’ll only show you once.

MC: Huh?

As I hesitated, he took a few green plants and white roses from the side, trimmed them one by one, then placed them in the vase. Soon, the originally ordinary plants took on a completely new look in his hands. I stared those arranged white roses.

MC: It looks really easy, yet it also doesn’t seem to be that easy.

Sariel scoffed, motioning towards the pile of unarranged plants and fresh flowers on the table.

Sariel: Arrange it yourself.

MC: I’ll try!

I grabbed another empty vase, recalling Sariel’s steps from just now as I carefully held onto the plants. However, no matter how I trimmed or arranged then, they all ended up as a vaseful of failures… Where am I going wrong? I had sunk into thought, looking at the plants in front of me.

Click. A clear sound resonated beside my ear, and I abruptly came back to my senses.

Sariel: You’re supposed to be arranging the flowers. What are you all dazed for?

MC: Huh? I was just conceptualizing!

Sariel: Conceptualizing? Then tell me what you’ve conceptualized.

MC: Uh…

My mind moved at light speed as I looked at the plants and flowers in front of me.

MC: I was thinking, is it possible to put white roses, lavenders, and peonies together without making them clash?

Sariel: …

MC: Why aren’t you talking?

Sariel: Because I was wondering how strange a person’s brain circuits have to be, to think of putting those ones together.

Sariel: Forget it, you can go clean up.

As Sariel spoke, he pointed at the leaves and branches scattered on the floor.

MC: Alright.

I put down the plants in my hands, nimbly collected the discarded branches and leaves into the garbage back, and took them to the greenhouse door.

I had just turned around to return when a strange, long sound suddenly came faintly from the forest.

Woo—

MC: …?!

I turned my gaze towards the depths of the forest instantly.

Woo—woo—

The sound gave no indication of stopping, gloomily burrowing into my heart on the melancholic wind.

In shock, my scalp was tingling as I staggeringly pushed the door open and ran to Sariel’s side, pointing towards the outside.

MC: Sariel, there’s a weird cry coming from outside the greenhouse!

He looked me in my panic, his expression still calm.

Sariel: I only heard you making a big deal out of nothing.

MC: Seriously! It came from the forest! It sounded like the wind, but it also sounded like a child crying…

He paused, rubbing between his eyebrows.

MC: Is there something strange in the forest?

He didn’t respond as he walked straight to a shelf on the side, taking a bamboo basket and tossing it to me. I caught it hurriedly with a face full of question marks – what does he mean by this?

Sariel: Hold onto that and take a large hedge clipper.

MC: Huh? Okay!

As I took the hedge clipper, Sariel grabbed a little shovel on the side.

Sariel: That’s all we need. Come with me.

Clutching on the pile of tools, I followed him quickly.

MC: Sariel, what are we doing with this? The thing in the forest… you’re not going to concern yourself with it?

MC: Could it be dangerous? It sounded a little scary.

MC: Sariel, wait for me!

Sariel, who was walking in front of me, suddenly stopped. I hadn’t come to a stop myself and ran straight into his back.

Sariel: Stop talking for now. You’ll have plenty of chances to expend energy in a moment.

I rubbed my nose and suddenly thought of something.

MC: Are we looking for that sound in the forest?

Sariel: Where else would we be going?

MC: So we’re taking these tools to catch it?

MC: This one is probably more convenient to use… do you want to hold onto it?

I handed the hedge clippers, the most threatening out of the bunch. He looked at me without a word.  

Sariel: Still remember what the second-last thing I said was?

MC: Hmm? I’d have chances to expend energy?

Sariel: One more before that.

MC: Uh… I think it was to stop talking for now.

Sariel: So, drop those pointless thoughts in your head, got it?

I covered my mouth obediently and nodded.

--

I followed Sariel into this forest that I had never stepped in. The straight, tall trees covered the sky, as dappled, sparse patches of light shone in through between the leaves. The dead branches I stepped on made crunching sounds.

Though I was surrounded by an unfamiliar and dark forest, and the strange sobbing sound kept getting closer, seeing Sariel’s straight, wide back made my heart calm down inexplicably.

Sariel: We’re here.

Sariel halted, and the sobbing sounds also stopped suddenly. I scanned the area in curiosity, but I didn’t see any crying children or any unexpected dangers. The only strange thing was a little pit, filled with dead branches and vines.

I looked down past the layers of branches, and was surprised to see peeks of a soft-looking, fiery red bundle between the branches.

It was a poor little fox!

Looked like it was because it had fallen into a trap that it made those pitiful cries for help.

My heart fell, and I decided –

⊳ [Get close] – catch his attention ⊳ [Listen] – undo the trap ⊳ [Heart racing] – ask Sariel what to do

The little fox huddled in the corner, looking like it was afraid of how close we were.

Sariel probably must know nearly everything there is to know about foxes – maybe he had an idea to have to fox relax. As he was examining the trap seriously, I could only tap him to catch his attention.

[insert bit here you tap on Sariel’s sprite and he complains]

Sariel: What are you trying to do?

MC: I just wanted to ask if there were any ways to make the fox not be this afraid.

Sariel: It’s very normal for foxes to fear strangers. It won’t affect you saving it.

Aside from that, Sariel didn’t say anything else. He only focused on starting to dismantle the trap.

Did he feel offended by my actions just now? I waited on the side uneasily, rather than stepping up to help.

It seemed like the fox had also sensed the coldness emanating from Sariel and became even more agitated. The moment a gap appeared in the trap, the fox burrowed out and ran off far from us.

 ⊳ [Get close] – catch his attention ⊳ [Listen] – undo the trap ⊳ [Heart racing] – ask Sariel what to do

 After dealing with the trap, we successfully returned the little fox to the forest.

So the strange cries earlier was just a little fox waiting for help… thinking of this encounter today, I couldn’t help thinking of a fairy-tale.

MC: Sariel, don’t you feel like what we went through was like in The Secret Garden?

MC: Though there are a lot of differences in the plot, it was the fox’s whines that drew us into this forest…

MC: Doesn’t that count as the key to opening this forest area?

MC: Since we’ve saved the fox, maybe it’ll also bring new changes to this forest!

~ASMR Portion ftg. Sariel~

You thought of the story of The Secret Garden from saving the fox?

To link these two things that are as different as heaven and earth together – you really do like to indulge in fantasy.

Although, you are quite like Mary from the story.

Don’t think too much about it. I’m not praising you.

I just feel like you have the same ignorant, fearless curiosity that she has.

What are you muttering about?

I’m like that hunchbacked old man? … And the locked-up boy?

Don’t think that I didn’t hear. You really are daring.

You forgot the rest of the story? … Your ability to come up with excuses is also getting better.

Although I do have a lot of time today, so I can retell the whole story for you.

I remember that the start of the story, the master of a manor buried the key to the secret garden after the death of his wife.

He refused to let anyone come and go from the garden.

As young Mary had no guardians, she was sent to this master, her uncle.

Under the encouragement of her maid, Mary started to try searching for her own happiness in the manor and acquainted herself with a robin.

Under the guidance of the robin, she found the key that had long been covered in dust and opened that secret garden once again.

The secret garden was desolate since no one had taken care of it. Mary thus had found her good friend.

Seeding the garden rejuvenated it once again, bringing it back to life.

If I remember correctly, that’s how the story goes.

Before, I always felt that the secret garden could only be miraculously rejuvenated in fairy tales.

However, I now look forward to what comes next in reality.

After all, someone broke into the secret garden without authorization like Mary. After that, didn’t she also bring new life to that garden?

  ⊳ [Get close] – catch his attention ⊳ [Listen] – undo the trap ⊳ [Heart racing] – ask Sariel what to do

MC: What do we do now? How do we save it?

Sariel leaned on a tree on the side, lazily nodding at the tool basket in my hands.

Sariel: Wear your gloves. First, take out the dead branches and leaves from the pit.

MC Huh? Okay.

I picked out those dried branches and leaves and placed them aside, leaving tangled vines and roots.

MC: Done.

Sariel: Now, untangle the bundled vines.

MC: You sure are gentle with these plants.

Sariel: Are you insinuating that I’m not gentle enough with you?

MC: I wouldn’t dare…

I turned around to hide my sneaky grin, crouched beside the pit, and started to deal with them patiently and slowly.

As these plants had flourished a little too well in the forest, they were still a tangled bundle after a long time spent untangling.

Sariel: You can just cut off the parts that have already withered.

MC: Okay…

MC: How are you this familiar with these? Do you often undo traps like this?

Sariel: Of course this isn’t the first time. After all, there are always idiots running around.

MC: … I feel like there’s something up with what you just said.

Finally, under Sariel’s guidance, we cleared an escape route in the trap. Once the gap appeared, the little fox nimbly burrowed out.

MC: Done!

It didn’t look too injured. It shook its fur, shaking off the leaves on its body, then stretched its body out leisurely. It hadn’t even finished stretching when a pair of hands heartlessly caught it. Sariel held up that fox, looking it over sternly, then stared coldly at that pair of round little eyes.

Sariel: You again.

The fox’s paws struggled for a bit. Seeing that it was no use, it dangled down again, disheartened.

MC: Did you scare it?

Sariel: If scaring it worked, we would not be here right now.

Having confirmed that the fox was alright, Sariel let it go. The fox immediately jumped onto the ground lithely, spinning around happily.

MC: It really doesn’t fear you at all. Haha, it’s so cute.

Maybe it had understood my words, as it suddenly waved its tail at me. After circling the trap a few times, it stuck its paw into the layers of branches. It forcefully dug out a few plants that I couldn’t identify, then pushed it in front of Sariel and me.

MC: Is this for us?

Sariel: Yes. Thank-you gifts.

MC: It’s thanking us for saving it? How cute! Then should we accept?

Sariel: You were the one to save it. Accept it if you want.

MC: Since these are its kind intentions, I’ll accept them.

Smiling, I emptied out one hand and patted the fox’s head.

MC: We’ll accept your gift, then. Thank you!

Seeming like it had understood, the fox held its head high as it shook its tail, then bounded off.

--

When its fiery red body had disappeared into the depths of the forest, Sariel and I returned to the greenhouse.

I organized the plants that the fox had given me and placed them on the table, then realized that the, then realized that most of the plants in front of me weren’t common ones. Among them, there was one that looked a bit like reeds, but its cilia were shorter, it was so white that it was almost transparent, and it dispersed a strange fragrance.

MC: It’s really pretty… I’ll add it in, then.

I quickly combined this plant, the white roses, lavenders, and peonies into a flourishing bouquet. Satisfied, I set up the vase, cleaned up the unneeded stems and leaves, then took them to the greenhouse door.

When I returned to the greenhouse, I saw Sariel holding that vase and looking it over carefully, his expression somewhat serious.

MC: Why are you looking at them now? I was planning to refine it a bit before showing you.

MC: … What do you think?

Sariel turned around and suddenly set down that vase. His indifferent eyes had a sliver of a strange blurredness in it.

Sariel: Take it away.

MC: ?

Sariel: Take it away.

MC: Alright, alright. I’ll take it away now.

I placed the vase aside, feeling half depressed and half dubious. Did these flowers look so ugly that Sariel wasn’t even willing to look at them?

I turned around, saw that Sariel was still staring at that vase. He then immediately pushed that vase even farther, his face still serious.

MC: ???? Sariel?

He pretended to not hear as he continued his work, his expression indifferent – as if nothing had happened just now. Something seemed to be up with him… but I couldn’t place my finger on where.

MC: What’s the matter? You look somewhat off.

He glanced at me, his eyes calm.

Sariel: I’m fine. There’s nothing off about me.

MC: What do you mean? You’re even using repeating terms!

Note: What MC says here refers to how Sariel said 怪怪 (which I translated to “off”), when just one 怪 would suffice. MC also used the doubled version though… so I guess she means that Sariel isn’t the type to double it up like that?

I worriedly felt his forehead, but I didn’t notice anything abnormal.

MC: I just went out for a bit, how did you end up like this?

His eyebrows wrinkled, seeming to be thinking over something. After several seconds, he finally responded, his words short.

Sariel: Foxtail grass.

MC: Foxtail grass?

Was it that white, reed-like plant in the bouquet?

Sariel: Yes. After a fox touches or eats it, it will…

MC: It’ll do what? Will it hurt you?

Sariel: It won’t.

MC: Really?

Sariel: Yes.

He once again turned around indifferently, cutting loudly at the rhizomes in his hand.

MC: Stop bothering with those flowers for now!

Sariel: Okay.

He obediently placed the things in his hands down, turned around, and looked at me earnestly.

MC: Huh, you’re going to be this obedient?

He docilely nodded at me.

MC: If I were to say anything right now, would you obey it all?

Sariel: Yes.

I pondered for a bit, then tentatively showed him a V sign.

MC: Then tell me, how many fingers am I holding up?

Sariel: 2.

I looked at him in shock.

Can foxtail make Sariel become obedient? Then right now, isn’t he…

I emboldened myself, taking advantage of this as I got close and raised an eyebrow.

MC: Do you know who I am?

Sariel: I do. You’re a foolish idiot.

MC: …………

Sariel: You…

MC: You aren’t allowed to call me an idiot! Praise me!

Sariel: ……

MC: ? Looking like you’re at an utter loss is going overboard!

MC: Whatever, you…

I looked at the pile of plants and flowers in front of me and was suddenly inspired.

MC: How about you help me arrange the flowers?

Sariel: Okay.

He stood beside me and started to clean up those plants that had given me such headaches. Only ten minutes later, a vivacious-looking bouquet appeared in the originally empty vase. However, this bouquet was no longer just one type of plant surrounding the white roses; he’d also added lavenders and peonies.

MC: Whoa, so beautiful.

MC: Although, didn’t you just say that only people with strange brain circuits would do this? Why did you…

Sariel looked earnestly at me.

Sariel: You wanted it.

I startled, caught off guard by a wave of emotion.

MC: Thank you! You’re really the skilled one when it comes to flower arrangements. How about arranging a few more for me to take to the office?

MC: One for An An, one for big sis Zheng Lin, and… right! I could also put one at Mao Ge’s place. He’ll like it for sure!

Sariel: Don’t give him one.

MC: … Huh?

I came back to my senses, noticing that Sariel was looking at me somewhat angrily.

Sariel: Don’t give him one.

MC: Eh, why?

Sariel: Don’t give him one!

MC: Alright, alright, I won’t give him one. Then… can I give one to An An and the rest?

Sariel: No.

MC: Then what about Mya? You’ll be able to see it when you go to her office if I give one to her.

Sariel: No!

Sariel: I don’t go to her office.

He stuffed the vase forcefully into my hand, stooping down at me, his expression making it hard to refuse.

Sariel: Don’t give it to anyone.

Sunlight shone in through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, falling on his body, surround him in a gentle and enchanting halo. He looked straight at me, as if in wait for my answer. Those slender eyelashes flickered with light. I looked at him, freezing for half a second, my face somewhat hot. Suddenly, an idea popped up in my chaotic mind.

MC: Sariel, are you…

I agitatedly licked my dry lips.

MC: Are you jealous right now?

Sariel: …

MC: With this sort of expression… did I hit the mark?

He froze, dumped the things in his hands, and walked away, stopping in front of the hammock by the window.

Sariel: I’m going to sleep.

MC: Huh? So suddenly? Should I take you back to your bedroom?

Sariel: I’m sleeping here.

MC: …

Without any explanation, he laid down. He did look somewhat tired.

I pulled out the pillows that he had squashed under him, cushioned them beneath his neck, and helped him adjust his centre of gravity.

MC: Then sleep. I’ll wake you when the sun sets.

He did not speak; instead, he just stared at me. I felt something inexplicable from his stare and could only straight-up ask about it.

MC: Why have you been staring at me?

He still didn’t respond, though he finally looked away, no longer looking straight at me.

I released a breath, intending to leave. Suddenly, his long arm circled from behind around my waist, suddenly dragging me into his warm arms!

MC: !!!

The world flipped around, and I fell into Sariel’s arms as he held onto me tightly. In an instant, a cool breeze wafted over me, overbearingly covering my body.

Sariel: You’re not allowed to go.

MC: You…

I held my breath, wanting to turn around and look at him, yet I didn’t dare do so. My mind was blank, unable to think at all.

MC: Sariel…

MC: L-let me go first.

The only reply I received was a tightening of the arms around my waist.

MC: Sar…

Sariel humphed impatiently, enfolding me in his arms completely. For a moment, the whole world had quieted. There was only the feeling of his warm breath on my neck.

MC: You really are…

When I came back to my senses, I realized I was secretly smiling.

Oh well. After being a “worker” for so long, being a “hug pillow” every now and then wasn’t a big deal.

I was also somewhat tired, but I couldn’t fall asleep at all in his arms at all. Maybe it was because it was too warm in the greenhouse, or because of Sariel’s heartbeat and breath.

--

After a long, peaceful period, by the time the sunset had dyed the sky outside the greenhouse red, Sariel finally started to show signs of waking. His silvery white hair drooped down, a slight flush on his face, showing a sliver of rare docility. The gorgeous sunset fell on his slightly disheveled collar, adding the slightest touch of tenderness.

He gradually opened his drowsy-looking eyes, but the moment he saw me, a flicker of a complicated emotion appeared in his irises.

MC: How do you feel? Are you alright?

Hearing my questions, Sariel froze up, a rare action for him. A few seconds later, he lifted his hand and rubbed at his forehead – maybe he was thinking about what had happened earlier.

Sariel: I’m fine. Just now…

MC: I promise, I’ve completely forgotten what just happened.

Sariel frowned.

MC: Pfft! Although, you really were cute just now. Not only were you docile, but you even got jealous and cottequish!

Sariel’s face instantly darkened.

Sariel: What did you say?!

MC: … I-I didn’t say anything at all.

I immediately covered my mouth, then remembered that I now had his “blackmail material” in my hands. I straightened up and looked at him, putting on a fierce air.

MC: You aren’t allowed to be mean to me in the future!

Sariel: ?

MC: Otherwise, I might just accidentally scatter your yard full of foxtail seeds.

MC: That way, you’ll end up with a whole field of foxtails next spring.

Sariel shut his eyes, his mouth curving up slightly as he stepped near me.

Sariel: Say it again. What are you going to do in the field?

I blinked, staring frozen at the face that had suddenly magnified itself in front of me as my heart missed a beat.

MC: Plant… foxtails?

His mouth curved more, his warm breath scattering over my face. He’s a lot more dangerous right now than he is when creating illusions!

I wanted to escape, but as if he had cast magic, I could only stand in place without moving.

His mouth opened and closed, as his eyes shone with a colour more beautiful than the subset.

Sariel: There’s no need to wait for next year. I do not mind repeating everything that was done just now.

Sariel: Want to try?

 ~COMMON END~

Time passed slowly and quietly, until the setting sun had nearly disappeared from view. Sariel leisurely threw a glance at the vase I was holding, the disgust on his face becoming more and more evident.

Sariel: I really have troubled you by having you do this.

MC: I think it’s alright.

Sariel: You really don’t set any standards for yourself.

I pouted as I thought, quietly taking out the flower arrangement hidden on the side and excitedly placing it in front of him.

MC: Then look at this!

Sariel gave me an indifferent glance.

Sariel: What’s this?

MC: A flower arrangement, of course. I mulled over this for a long time – doesn’t it look pretty decent?

Sariel looked over the flower arrangement skeptically.

Sariel: The greenery is a little too dominant.

Sariel: The withered petals on the white roses haven’t been cleared out.

Sariel: The rhizomes are also trimmed into an utter mess.

MC: …

Sariel: But if I were to lower my expectations, I could say it’s alright.

MC: Huh? I worked really hard on this for you.

Sariel: … For me?

I nodded.

MC: Don’t you feel like this white rose is a lot like you?

MC: Completely indifferent to the plants around it, and only focusing on what’s right in front of it.

He paused, staring at me.

Sariel: … Smart aleck.

MC: I’m not! Either way, this bouquet’s for you. You have to take care of them.

Sariel: Using my flowers to make a bouquet for me? You sure know how to use things to your full advantage.

MC: The flowers are yours, but I’ve added my creativity and design to them too~

MC: So… please accept them, hehe.

Sariel scoffed, took a pink peony from the table, then trimmed it and placed it in that vase.

Though the pink petals did not look like much on their own, the contrast of it against the rose’s white added an elegance and liveliness to it. The two flowers pressed together, the petals layering together like thin wings, glowing with the sunset’s light.

Sariel: You forgot an idiot earlier. Now it looks like me.

MC: Huh?

I stared dazedly at the bouquet, my brain slightly muddled.

Did “idiot” refer to the peony… or… me?

Sariel: That’s not important. Right, flower arrangement is just the first step.

MC: What do you mean?

Sariel: Are you expecting these flowers to change their water themselves?

Sariel: So, you have to come to the greenhouse three times each week from now on.

MC: But I sent this to you.

Sariel: Sending this to me means that you don’t have to pay it any mind anymore? Do I have to teach you what it means to see something to the end?

MC: It’s not that serious…

Sariel: So, do you understand?

MC: Yep, I have! I’ll be here on time, three times a week! I’ll definitely take good care of them!

I looked at the bouquet, giving Sariel a slight smile.

MC: I’ll definitely be here.

Since this was the first bouquet that belonged to Sariel and me, I would take good care of them. I’d do my best to have them become a more beautiful existence in this world.

[doc-pickles]

always free to run home

in which alex's dad shows up post 16x16

hello! i posted this fun little fic on AO3 awhile back but i'm also throwing it over here. shoutout to @mac-andcheeses for letting me use her brain child for this one!

“Hey, it's Alex. Leave me a message.”

“Karev, it's Miranda Bailey. Your dad is being treated at Grey Sloan for injuries he sustained during a car crash and he’s also detoxing from years of heavy drug use. We don’t have any other emergency contact for him, the only reason we knew who he was… That’s not important. I need you to come back to Seattle. I know you’ve got your picket fence and your perfect kids and your blonde ex wife out there in Kansas but you need to come back home.”

+

“Hey Junior. Can’t believe they really dragged your sorry ass out here. Doctor Bailey said I got a couple of grandkids out in Kansas. What the hell are you doing in Kansas?”

Alex rolls his eyes, ignoring his dad as he flips open his chart. Bailey had explained the situation when he had arrived just 30 minutes earlier but he wanted to see for himself just how bad it was looking for his father.

“They’re my kids but you’re not their grandpa. You don’t deserve that title,” Alex answers, not looking up from the chart. “Your liver is failing.”

“I know, that’s what they told me.”

“That doesn’t just happen overnight, you must have been in pain for a while.”

“You’re not giving me any new information, the leggy brunette doctor nearly chewed my ear off when I first came in,” Jimmy lets out a sigh and Alex decides to let his comment about his doctor slide. “I’m dying, it was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“Do you just not care about anything? You’re about to die and all you can do is shrug your shoulders,” when Jimmy doesn’t respond Alex can’t help the frustrated groan that leaves him. “God I don’t even know why I came out here. You’re still the same guy that left us all those years ago aren’t you?”

Alex turns to leave but stops in his tracks when Jimmy speaks up, “Now that’s something you know a thing or two about isn’t it?” He doesn’t know how his dad knows the details of his escape from Seattle but his words make Alex’s blood boil as he turns to face Jimmy again, “Don’t you ever compare me to you. I left my whole life behind the minute I heard about my kids. I left my friends, my wife. Everything! I left the state to be there for my kids, I am nothing like you.”

“Trust me kid, I know all about your wife. Who do you think figured out who I was? Didn’t you see her name all over those tests?”

Alex practically lunges at the chart he’d just discarded. His eyes frantically scan the page, freezing almost immediately as he finds what he’s looking for.

Attending on the case: Doctor J. Karev

“She figured out pretty quick who I was, said we have the same crooked smile,” Jimmy is unphased by Alex’s mild freak out, continuing his story. “Didn’t say it outright but I saw her name on my chart and I knew. Well I pieced it together eventually, I’m not stupid.”

Alex finally looks back at Jimmy, anger still evident in his expression, “I know I fucked up by leaving Jo but you left our family! You left your kids behind!”

“And how exactly do you think I figured out who she was?”

Alex pauses, mind reeling at Jimmy’s words. He thinks he knows what he’s saying but Alex refuses to believe it. His dad was probably high still and trying to guilt trip him.

“I saw her, you ex wife. She was getting coffee and she had a baby, a little boy, all bundled up in his carrier. That’s when I figured it all out, the kid is your clone. Looks just like you did when your mom and I brought you home.

“Anyways the next day I overheard her talking to someone in the hall about how she couldn’t be on my case anymore. And it all made sense, the last name and the baby and everything. She stopped by earlier today and that short doctor told her you were coming. I think she went home to avoid you.”

Standing in a stunned silence Alex stares at the chart in his hands, still trying to fully process what his father is telling him. On the other hand Jimmy is talking a mile a minute but Alex can’t comprehend a word he’s saying.

“I gotta go,” Alex mutters the words as a half assed goodbye, sprinting out of the room and down to his rental car.

The loft is an easy destination, Alex’s body driving almost on autopilot. As he pulls into the back of the lot it occurs to him that in the year he’d been gone Jo might have moved. He’s about to call Meredith when the sleek black Audi he used to drive pulls in. He sits and stares in awe as Jo climbs out, opening the back door to grab a diaper bag and car seat before heading inside. He can’t see the baby from his vantage point but just the knowledge that he and Jo have a child together brings tears to his eyes.

He pulls himself together quickly, locking his car as he takes the steps up to the loft two at a time. It’s not until he’s standing at the door that he pauses, wondering if Jo rebbe wants to see him. Despite his reservations Alex knocks on the door, knowing he never wanted to live a life where he didn’t know all of his children.

The loft door slides open and for a moment the world around Alex is frozen. Jo is standing in front of him, eyes wide as she takes him in. As awestruck as Alex is seeing Jo for the first time in a year he can’t take his eyes off of the little boy in her arms. His dad was right, aside from the bright hazel eyes blinking up at him the kid is his clone, right down to the haphazard curls sticking up on his head.

“I… Bailey called me about my dad. And he said he saw you… I just needed to see for myself,” Alex shakes his head, as if the past year had suddenly come back to him. “I’m sorry I just barged in on you, I know you probably don’t want to see me. I’d really love to get to know him, you know where to reach me.”

Alex turns to leave, getting to the top of the stairs before Jo’s voice rings out, “His name is Blake. You two share a birthday.”

He doesn’t move as he processes what Jo’s just told him. There’s another beat of silence before she speaks again, “I didn’t know I was pregnant, you’d think a doctor of all people would know but I didn’t until I gave birth at home at 2 AM. He’s only three months old and by some miracle he’s perfect.”

Alex finally turns around, staring wordlessly at Jo who has tears streaking down her face. Blake is fading fast in her arms, struggling to keep his eyes open as Jo gently rocks him. It takes everything in him not to surge forward and wrap them both in his arms, but he knows not to push his luck with the woman he left so long ago.

“I’m sorry I haven’t called and told you about him but this has been the longest and scariest three months of my life. I didn’t have nine months to prepare and adjust to being a mom, I had minutes. And every minute since I first held our son in my arms has been full of me second guessing myself and trying to do what’s best for him.”

Jo’s chest is heaving now as she struggles to catch her breath. Her hand comes up to stifle the sob that comes out, Alex moving quickly to wrap her in his arms, “I know you’re a great mom Jo you don’t need to doubt that even for a minute. And I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you.”

“You being here wouldn’t have changed anything, except maybe you freaking out when I went to pee and came back with a baby,” Jo burrows herself further into Alex’s embrace. “We made a baby.”

“A pretty cute one too,” Alex is about to say more when he notices a ring of bruises around Jo’s wrist. She notices too, quickly pulling at her sleeves to cover the fresh black and blue marks. “Jo…”

Jo pulls away from Alex as she walks into the loft and sets Blake down in his crib, “I’m fine, it was just an accident at work last night.”

Alex steps in front of Jo as she attempts to walk away from him. He doesn’t reach out to hold her like he wants to, instead studying her nervous behavior, “You know you can tell me the truth, right?”

Jo nods, still hesitant to look up at Alex as she focuses on her hands, “It was just an altercation with a patient, Hunt stepped in before I could get seriously hurt.”

“Jo-”

“It’s fine!”

“It’s not fine, you were attacked by a patient.”

“And I’m not on the case anymore. So it’s-”

“Not fine! What would’ve happened if-”

“Nothing happened! And I don’t think it’s your place to worry about me.”

“Of course it is, it always will be.”

“Can you stop freaking out?” “You were hurt! Of course I’m going to-”

“It was Jimmy. It was your dad that… hurt me.”

There’s a stifling silence as Alex takes in what Jo’s just told him. She’s watching him nervously, as if he was going to blow his lid at any moment, but he just stays quiet. When she realizes that he’s not going to say anything, Jo breaks their eye contact and continues her story.

“He was detoxing and thought I was your mom,” Jo rolls up her sleeves to show Alex the large hand marks covering the bottom half of her arms. “I’m fine though, I got checked over and Blake was in his car seat the whole time.”

“Blake was with you?!”

“Yeah… I was just checking on Jimmy before I left. He had told me earlier that he wanted to see Blake, that he looked just like you did as a baby,” Jo still refuses to meet Alex’s worried gaze as she retells the events of the previous night. “When I got there things were fine but then I showed him Blake and Jimmy just… He started yelling at me and pushing me around the room. He was calling me Helen and asking why I hadn’t picked you up from school yet. I pushed Blake’s car seat out of the way right before he pinned me up against the wall. Thankfully I was able to reach the code blue button and Owen rushed in right before he punched me.”

Jo finally meets Alex’s eyes and it takes everything in him not to run out of the loft and find his father, to scream at him and kick and punch and make him pay for hurting Jo the way that he had hurt him and his mother. Instead he leans down and cups Jo’s cheeks, wiping the tears pooled there as he fixes her with a gentle look.

“I’m fine, I really am Alex. I was more worried about Blake through the whole thing,” Jo shrugs as Alex’s fingers float across her cheek. “I’m used to-”

Jo cuts her statement short as she realizes what she was about to say. Instead she shakes her head and breaks free from Alex’s hold on her as she walks to what used to be his dresser. She pulls out a pair of his ratty sweatpants and an old t shirt, handing them to him as she walks past him towards her bed, “You can stay on the couch tonight, you know where the blankets are.”

“I can wake up with Blake,” Alex quickly offers. “You have a ton of bottles up by the sink and I’ve made about a thousand of them in the NICU. You need the rest.”

Jo just nods, practically falling into bed with a sigh. By the time Alex comes out of the bathroom her soft snores are echoing through the loft.

+

When Jo wakes up the next morning Alex has scrubbed the kitchen and bathroom and folded the pile of laundry on the couch. He had let Jo sleep in, toting Blake around in his carrier while he cleaned the loft. While Jo was never the neatest person she would always get antsy when the loft started to get too unorganized or cluttered. He could tell just from the state of things that she was completely overwhelmed with the infant that had unexpectedly taken over her life.

“I made coffee,” Alex gestures to the steaming pot on the counter. “And Blake just went down for a nap.” Jo nods in appreciation, silently pouring a cup of coffee for herself before turning to Alex, “When are you going back to Kansas?”

“My flight is scheduled for late tonight,” Alex lets out a sigh as Jo turns away from him. “Jo come on, I didn’t even know about Blake until yesterday.”

Jo turns back towards him, anger replacing the sadness that was just there, “Because you left! You left me Alex! I’m not counting on you sticking around just because we have a baby together.”

“I’m not just going to abandon my kid Jo.”

“Well you abandoned your wife pretty easily so excuse me if I don’t exactly believe you,” Jo scoffs, tears welling in her eyes. “You wanna know why I never called? Because being a single mom sounds a lot easier than shipping my son across the country to see his dad and step mom and their perfect life on a farm. I know you want to be in Blake’s life but I’m not putting him on a plane every other weekend so you can do that.”

“Izzie and I aren’t together.”

“Could’ve fooled me. Your stupid letter-”

“Was a mistake! The biggest mistake that I have ever made and I am so sorry about that Jo, but I would never try to take Blake from you,” Alex pleads. “You have to know that, don’t you?” “I don’t know that, I don’t know anything about you,” Jo’s voice reaches a scream as she faces off with Alex. “You spent years telling me you weren’t leaving, even longer trying to show me that your actions were louder than your words. And you still left me in a freaking letter!”

“Jo-”

Jo finally turns away from Alex, running a hand through her hair, “I’m not arguing with you about this. You left and gave me no say in our divorce.” “I had to leave, I had to be there for my kids.”

“And I would’ve come if you had asked me,” there’s tears in Alex’s eyes as Jo speaks, her voice coming down from it’s roar. “If you want to talk about knowing people, you should’ve known that I would follow you anywhere Alex. Did nine years teach you nothing or are you just extraordinarily stupid?”

Alex’s phone rings and breaks the illusion that they’re alone in the world. He only glances at the text for a moment before he’s shoving his shoes on his feet and grabbing his wallet and keys. When he looks back at Jo she’s staring at him with an anxious expression.

“I’m not leaving, it’s just my dad and-”

“Go Alex.”

“I’m not-”

“Go. We’ll still be here.”

Alex only spares one more look at Jo before he’s rushing out the door to Grey Sloan. He doesn’t know why he feels some sick sense of honor towards the man that abandoned him and gave him more trust issues than he can name, but he knows he needs to see his dad.

“Karev, your dad coded a little while ago,” Bailey begins to explain the situation as soon as Alex walks up to her. “Because of his long term drug use his heart is weak. He’s stable for now but… I would be shocked if he made it through the night.”

Alex nods his thanks to Bailey as he walks into Jimmy’s room. His dad is laying completely still, the slow and steady beeping monitors the only sign that he’s still alive. Alex settles into the seat next to the bed, watching his dad for a long moment. He hated him for years for everything he had put their family through, the way he had abandoned them and hurt his mom beyond repair. In fact Alex couldn’t help but feel a cruel kinship with his father, both men having broken their families into seemingly unfixable pieces.

“Alex.”

The soft voice shocks him but Alex looks up to meet his dad's gaze. He can tell it’s taking everything in him to form words but that doesn’t stop Jimmy.

“Kid, you’re nothin’ like me. That girl loves you more than you know and you’ve got a chance to do right by her and that little boy,” Jimmy lets out a cough and reaches out for Alex’s hand, giving it a tight squeeze. “Don’t make the same mistakes I did. You’re a much better man than I ever was.”

It’s silent after that, Alex sitting and holding his dad's hand until the monitors around him fall silent an hour later. He sits with him for a while more before leaving, going back to the hotel room he had rented instead of the loft like he had wanted to. There’s a million thoughts running through his head but one rings louder than the rest.

Don’t make the same mistakes I did.

+

Logically Alex knows he should’ve called or texted or even sent another letter to Jo. Maybe not the letter, but it had been two weeks since his dad had passed and he had left Seattle without a word to anyone. He feels bad for leaving Jo once again but he also knows that his decision is for the best.

He’s not shocked even a little when Jo opens the loft door and scowls at him. Blake is on the floor of the living room batting at colorful shapes on his playmat and Alex is thankful that he at least seems happy.

“Hi.”

“Hey asshole,” Jo scoffs and turns around, leaving the door open for Alex but not acknowledging him. “You said you were going to the hospital and then you left. You specifically said you weren’t leaving and then you left. Again.”

“I know.”

Jo picks up the laundry basket on the couch and begins to put away the folded clothes, “I’m not really interested in whatever it is you have to say Alex. I’m done believing anything you say because every time I do I just get hurt.”

“l bought a house in Queen Anne,” Alex watches as the laundry basket in Jo’s hands tumbles to the ground, her eyes wide as she stares at him with unwavering attention. “I know you always liked the neighborhood and it’s right around the corner from Meredith. It’s a two story with some extra bedrooms and it’s got a big backyard for Blake to run around in with the twins when they come to visit in the summers. I already talked to Izzie and she said she’s more than happy to let them visit. And uh Bailey gave me my job back, as head of peds.”

Jo’s hand flies up to her mouth as she stares at Alex in shock. He at least has the decency to look somewhat ashamed for having left without a word, but the sight of her so emotional over his return makes him feel slightly better.

“I’m staying in Seattle, I’m going to be here for Blake. I can’t… I’m not my dad. I’m not going to leave my kid or my… you. I’m not letting you do this alone Jo, you don’t deserve that,” Alex takes a deep breath and chances another look at Jo who now has tears running down her cheeks. “I’m sorry I didn’t call but I wanted to wrap things up back in Kansas and have everything lined up here. I promise that anytime you call or text from now on that I’ll answer. I’m not going to make the same mistakes I did before.”

The last word barely slips out of Alex’s mouth before Jo is across the loft, throwing herself into his hold. A sigh of relief leaves Alex as he wraps her in his arms, pressing his lips to her hair. They stay that way for a few minutes, just enjoying being close before Jo pulls back.

“Thank god, the loft is getting crowded and I’m worried Blake is gonna end up electrocuting himself or something when he starts crawling because I never had time to baby proof,” Jo blinks up at Alex, who looks confused at her statement. “What did you think I wasn’t going to come with you?”

“I-“

Before he can say anything in return Jo’s lips are against his and for the first time in months Alex feels well and truly at home.

[pomegranates-and-blood]

νοσταλγία (Chapter 16)

(Gif credit HERE)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: This is a retelling/romantization of the Greek myth of Persephone’s abduction with Ivar as Hades and you as Persephone. The Reader character is a Byzantine woman, follower of the Greek Pantheon/Religion, and a devoted follower of Persephone. This takes place after 5A, but the universe of this is a little changed in relation with the series, of course. Thank you for giving it a chance, hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: The usual

A/N: I’m sorry I uploaded a bit later than usual today, I’m just idk, I think I’m nearing a burnout on this. But anyways, I’m sorry, you’re not here to hear me whine lol. Today as promised there’s a second chapter (17), and schedule will stay as is for now. Thank you, and hope you like it.

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius​ @heavenly1927​ @toe-vind-ek-jou​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @pieces-by-me​ @angelofthorr​

You can certainly say the people of Kattegat have surprised you. A few days since the King’s announcement that you are to be his wife, their queen, and yet the whispers, the curious eyes; they don’t seem to be any louder or more insistent than before they knew of who you’ll become once their King returns.

You are grateful, you cannot pretend otherwise. To be normal, or as normal as can be in these strange times, it is a luxury you do not take for granted.

So, as it is your new normal, you help the women at the apothecary every day, learning more and more, and yet also having opportunities to teach them better ways. The Gods made you smart, and they also made you arrogant, you are not one to deny it, which is why you and a warrior-like woman have been arguing on how to treat a simple but deep wound for quite a while now.

“We have always done it this way.” The blonde woman argues, but you shake your head.

“That doesn’t mean it is the best way,” You stir the boiling water, pour it over the wine mixed with vinegar and offer it to the woman. “Trust me, I was a healer all over the Mediterranean and the Silk Roads. I know what works best.”

“Arrogant little witch, aren’t you?”

You cock your head to the side and curve your mouth downwards, doubtful, “Is it truly arrogance if it’s founded on actual skill?”

She blinks but then softens her expression, and with a rueful smile on her lips she says, “If your tongue is just as wicked when you face the King, I pity the poor fool.”

“Are any of you going to clean this or sho-…” The warrior sitting in the ground grumbles, but the blonde woman silences him with a hit to the top of his head.

“Shush,” Her eyes remain on you and after a breath she extends a hand, “Fine, give me that water.”

“Careful, it’s hot.”

“He’s Viking, he can take it.” She offers with a sly smile, that quickly falls at your mocking glare when the man squirms and groans as the hot mixture is used to clean the wound on his shoulder.

When the man leaves with a dressed wound that will remain clean thanks to your help, the woman brings the big bowl of fresh water so you can both wash your hands.

As you do, she concedes, “Your ways are proving to be useful, witch.”

“I have a name.” You quip quietly, your voice a grumble. The Viking woman chuckles.

“I know. But ‘witch’ is not an insult, at least to us. It’s a title. You wage war, you sit next to the King, you are welcomed in any hearth.”

“I am no Völva.” You argue calmly, recognizing the traits and benefits she lists as those of a traveling Viking Völva.

“What would you be, back in your home?”

“Dead.” You reply dryly, to which the woman laughs. Clasping a heavy hand on your shoulder, she says,

“I’m Valdís, witch.”

You roll your eyes, but accept the title and her offered seat on the table near the hearth. She passes you an apple and a knife, and you start quietly cutting little sticks for you to eat.

Lifting your gaze to her and watching her toy with a pear and a knife in her own hands, you ask, “Fine, I’m a witch. What are you?”

“A mother. I used to be a shieldmaiden, but…”

“You got married?” You supply when her words die, but the blonde shakes her head with another low, raspy laugh.

“As if a cock could keep a Viking woman from her shield,” She boasts crudely, strikingly reminding you of Sieghild for a moment. The doors to the shop open again, and Freydis walks in, empty basket on one arm and coin pouches on the other. You greet her with a smile, and she returns it as she shrugs off the cloak and takes a seat by your side. Valdís continues her explanation quietly, “No, I did not lay down my shield for marriage. I was…captured during a raid in Wessex. They injured my sword arm badly, and I cannot fight anymore.”

“And your child…” You start, but the words die out, like saying it out loud would make her pain real, like you need to let her decide if she voices this.

Valdís squares her shoulders, strong and unmoving as she says, “He is mine, he is Viking. But…yes, he was…the Saxons forced themselves upon me.”

“I’m sorry.” You whisper.

“I don’t need your sympathy.”

“You Varangians are so strange. It’s not an insult to be offered compassion.” You tell her. She narrows her eyes, chewing in silence.

“What about you? You weren’t here last winter.” Valdís asks instead of answering, turning sharp focus to Freydis.

The blond girl shuffles in her seat before giving her answer. You eye her with concern and curiosity.

“I’m-…I used to be a thrall. I was freed by a son of Ragnar.”

Why doesn’t she say it was Ivar?

“Surprising he didn’t ask you to marry him,” Valdís huffs, and at your look shrugs and explains, “Those brothers have always had a thing for blonde thralls.”

“Slaves don’t get their hands asked for, Valdís.” Freydis quips, and you catch sight of her fingers playing with one another nervously where they rest on her lap.

“My personal thrall has a husband I have met, and children of her own. What are you on about, girl?”

Even if Valdís sounds gruff, you catch a genuine silver of concern, of care, in the woman’s eyes when she regards the frail girl that seems unbreakable and fragile at the same time.

You remain silent, and wait for Freydis to speak again. She does so, quietly, cautiously.

“We are not-…Slaves don’t fall in love, we just get husbands, slaves don’t have…families, we just birth children. Like animals.”

You do not try to stop your hand from finding hers, stopping the maddening twisting of her fingers and bringing her blue eyes to you. With certainty, you say, “First of all, you are not a slave anymore. And you were never, and never will be, an animal, Freydis.”

But she shakes her head, resolute like that day she tried convincing you the Gods marked you favorites for having endured a world of pain, “You don’t understand, witch. Slaves are not people, you cannot love them, you cannot trust them.”

“Says who? Men in power?” Valdís spits out, bitter chuckle on her lips, “Just because of the Gods we follow we are not people if you ask the Christians. Will you let them say if you are a person or not?”

“No.” The blonde girl bites out, voice wavering even in such a short vocalization. You squeeze her hand, but don’t know what to say.

 “Then don’t let others, even our own, tell you that because of capture or birth you are not a woman like any other,” She sounds so motherly you have to bite back a smile. With certainty, the woman continues, “We are all children of the Gods, you are a child of Freyja. Don’t forget that.”

“I’m-…If Freyja looks over me, why…why did I suffer like I did?”

“Because suffering is what makes us human, and who we are,” You supply without hesitation, offering her a sad smile at the truth you had a hard time accepting as well, “How else would you be able to stand tall today and heal your own wounds, fight for what you want, enjoy what you have; without knowing what it’s like to hurt without remedy, to want and be left wanting, to lack and have nothing?”

The mangy black cat that belongs to the shop by now jumps swiftly into Freydis’ lap, and she absent-mindedly starts petting it as she talks,

“So the Gods mark us for pain? You said-…”

You interrupt her words, not wanting to argue this again even if you know now that the deluded notion of pain being a badge of pride is not so certain in her mind.

With another squeeze of her hand, you offer, “Suffering is not preordained, no. Pain, scars, misfortune, they are not proof of the favor of the Gods.”

“Then why-…You were born under the sigil of your Goddess, and you told me you almost burned alive,” You flinch slightly at the reminder, the soft touch of the linens of your dress against the scars burning like the Christian’s fire for a moment. You steal a nervous glance to Valdís, who watches you with wide eyes, and return shameful eyes to Freydis. The blonde girl continues, “You should have died then, but your Gods kept you alive, gave you their favor, their love.”

“The scars I bear are not proof of my Goddess’ love.”

“Your Goddess’ love carried you here!” The girl insists, eyes wide, “You stood in chains in front of Ivar the Boneless and had him release you. You stand at his side, you whisper in his ear, you have power.”

Her words make you pause for a moment, feeling you are witness to the darker side of the blonde girl for the first time since you arrived. She talked with you about lying to get your freedom, she asked about you seducing Ivar in exchange for what he gave you, and now she boasts about you being by his side like a conquest, as if nothing but a crown and power make up the Viking King.

You decide not to dwell on it, but you still release her hand and straighten in your seat. She notices, you know she does, but says nothing.

“No one’s love carried me here, Freydis,” Your voice may sound colder than before, and on the edge of your vision you catch Valdis raising her eyebrows and looking away. Still, you continue, “Sometimes pain is just pain. I don’t know about your Gods, but mine are-…In my home wise men said it takes strength greater than that of believing the Gods guide our every step to accept the Gods sometimes look away from their creations.”

“So they let us suffer?” Freydis asks, frowning.

A loud groan interrupts you, and you both turn to see Valdís throwing her head back where she sits, dragging rough hands over her face.

“Enough with this. Leave it to old and boring men to discuss the wills of the Gods.” She grumbles, earning a small laugh from you.

The days moves on slowly, though you notice the elders in the apothecary start ordering all of you to work more and more on healing salves and presses, making you wonder what the aftermath of a raid or a battle is like for the healers of Kattegat.

After a few days since meeting the former shieldmaiden, you are invited to join the women of the apothecary on the baths, and curiosity as to how similar these could be to roman public baths wins over your modesty, and you accept.

As you walk there, hearing Freydis hum a strange tune behind you, you catch Valdís, the dark-haired shieldmaiden stretching her stride to walk at your side as the group approaches the baths.

“So, witch.”

“So, shieldmaiden.” You reply, to which she offers a small smile as she meets your eyes.

“King Ivar said Sieghild Vorsdottir is the woman who raised you, who claims you as her daughter,” You nod slowly, not sure where she is going with this, “But she isn’t here, and you are to be a new bride soon.”

Your eyes narrow, and you steal a glance to Freydis as she moves closer to your side, very obviously wanting to hear this conversation.

“What are you on about?”

“You have no one to help you…shed the title of maiden,” Valdís explains, smirk devilish, “To prepare you to be a wife.”

“Not that any of us can prepare her to be the wife of Ivar the Boneless.” A woman quips from behind you, earning a chuckle from a few others in the group.

“My point is, we could use this time to teach you.”

“Teach me.” You repeat, and her smile only turns much more mischievous.

“Of course!” She turns to one of the elders, gesturing with a muscular arm, “Isn’t that tradition? Aren’t we to share our wisdom?”

The woman considers her in silence, though you could swear there’s a small smile betraying at her lips.

“I’m too old for this.” She mutters in response, but Valdís only laughs.

The baths are warm, warmer than any room you’ve been in, and though your hair hates the humidity, you sigh in pleasure at the almost-suffocating warmth.

You undress with ease, and it is only when you are readying to enter the bath turning your back to them that you realize what they may have seen.

The scars. Burn scars, not as bad as they could have been but still there, still present and marring.

They run over the outside of your right thigh, climbing over your hip into part of your back, almost up to your ribs. A gift from the Byzantines, so that you remember what happens to pagans.

“Are those burn scars, witch?” One of the women asks, and you turn around with gritted teeth.

Offering only a nod in response, but you cannot bring yourself to say anything more.

“Burnt alive for refusing to worship the Christian God, or so they say.” Valdís offers in your place, no hesitation in her voice, and no shame either, you notice, as she sheds her clothing as well and bares her strong yet scarred and marked body for everyone to see as she approaches the large stone tub as well.

It makes you feel much more at ease, even if it wasn’t her intention, seeing she has scars too, she has marks too. Not that the women that traveled with you are without their marks and badges of honor, but…the mark of war on a woman is something to be ashamed of, at least where you come from.

“No different than a scar from a sword or an axe,” She states confidently, bowing her head in recognition with a small smile on her face, “Glory to you, Greek.”

You offer her a small smile of your own, and get into the hot water.

“Thank you.” You offer sincerely, and go under the water to get your hair wet, silently pleading with them that the conversation finds an end. It does.

Conversation diffuses between the women soon enough, and the loud laugh of the shieldmaiden echoes in the walls, but you find yourself…comfortable, safe, even if the weight of what kind of failure this comfort, this ease you feel in this land means sets on your chest and almost keeps you from breathing if you think about it too much.

“So, about what we ought to teach you.” Valdís presses, drawing a groan from you.

“Would you leave the poor girl be?” Someone quips, but she dismisses them with a gesture.

“Witch,” Valdís -who you are noticing more and more has no qualms about keeping her mouth shut, reminding you strikingly of Sieghild- asks, moving closer to you in the large tub, “Do you know how to please a man?”

Oh, Gods.

“Yes.” You bite out, resisting the urge to close your eyes in mortification and hoping to everything there is on this earth, let it be Persephone or Freyja, that she doesn’t push this.

“But do you know how to please a Viking?”

“No matter what I say, you will talk anyways, won’t you?”

She only gives you a look that says you should know the answer already, before laughing. You groan, and lower your face further into the waters, igniting a laugh out of the other women.

_____

The routines of spending the days at the apothecary, exchanging secrets and tales with Freydis and loud laughs with Valdís, sharing short conversations with the other women, watching and learning and teaching; they quickly become a source of warmth and familiarity in this cold and strange land.

Even more now that Ivar is gone. You have no shame in admitting you have…grown used to him. Maybe that’s what hurts the most, what feels the most like failure; the fact that you have grown to enjoy his company, to hope for something more than resentment, to see him not quite as you did in Aneridge, but differently all the same. And the Gods made you too arrogant and proud to admit it to anyone but yourself, but you do miss him while he is gone. His curious eyes, his endless questions, his taunts and his infuriating stubbornness.

Prince Hvitserk has kept you company, and you offer murmured greetings each time you cross paths and maybe exchange a few words during dinner. It is more than you could ask for, and you think is all you should want. You have always had a soft heart, and not even Kattegat’s cold or its cruel King could harden it; and…a soft heart brings forth familiarity, care, affection. You have no use for neither, for you cannot forget the chains set upon you.

If you forget the chains, it will feel like a choice to remain here. And this is not a choice you can make.

You keep reminding yourself not to forget what brought you here, not to forget the chains set upon you, not to forget that you do not belong here; even as you occupy your day with a foolish and sentimental project.

You run into Hvitserk as you are carrying an armful of wooden planks -that you may or may not have exchanged a necklace for- to your rooms.

“What are you doing, woman?” He asks, and when he offers you, not demands, to take the heavy wood and carry it for you, you accept with a smile.

“I’m…making planters in my rooms,” The Prince still looks at you like you grew a second head, so you add, “I like plants. Herbs and flowers.” You offer as your sole answer, shrugging your shoulders.

When you reach the doors to your rooms, you hesitate, and the Prince offers you a smile.

“I can help you make them.”

“Is that…proper? For a man to be in a woman’s rooms?” You ask lowly, but the laugh you startle out of the young man takes away any secrecy you expected to get.

He pushes open the door with his shoulder and walks in, you trailing behind him.

“‘Proper’. You spent too much time with Christians, witch,” He chuckles, and drops the planks where you point him to. Crossing his legs underneath him as he sits on your floor, he motions for you to do the same. “If it’s my brother you are worried about, I’ll handle him.”

You thank him with a smile, tremulous as it is, and help him as you both work in amicable company, exchanging snippets of stories, quiet laughs and easy smiles.

“The King,” You start cautiously, and the Prince nods, giving you permission to talk, “Has he always been so…?”

“Usually worse,” He bites out when your words die, hitting particularly harder than needed at a nail as he does so. “You keep him preoccupied.”

“Should I be worried?” You say with a smile, scooting as you reach your favorite window and measuring for the perfect length of a planter to set there.

“He listens to you more than me, witch, I wouldn’t worry if I were you.”

“You don’t get along?” You ask even if you already know the answer, readying a few nails to start forming an angle for a planter.

“My brother and I…we are bound to kill each other, I think.” He says, and you lift your gaze in surprise as your hand already moves the hammer down.

The hammer falls down on your finger with all your strength.

“No! Why would you say that!?” You say, sticking the hurt digit into your mouth as you frown at the Prince.

He laughs in response to your clumsiness, but there’s a burden in his eyes. Hvitserk shrugs,

“I risked it all to stand by his side when Ubbe almost turned his back on him, Odin knows if there’s a reason why our brother is not with Lagertha wherever she has run off to now is because of me,” He mutters, and you stay silent, thinking to yourself it seems like it has been too long since someone sat to hear him speak, “Ivar wouldn’t have held on to Kattegat for this long if it wasn’t for me.”

“But you do not want to take Kattegat from him.” You offer quietly, not even a question. Hvitserk presses his lips into a line, seemingly overwhelmed.

“I never wanted to be King. Neither does Ubbe, the throne…Even if you don’t agree and he doesn’t believe I think so, I know Ivar is the best choice to be King of Kattegat,” The young man shakes his head, and he looks much more fragile than you ever thought he could look. You get closer and lay a hand on his arm, as comforting you can be without feeling like you are being ‘too touchy’ like Sieghild used to chastise you for. Hvitserk furrows his lips with no little anger, and continues, “Ivar is my brother and I will always stand with him, I just want the arrogant little fuck to acknowledge what I have done and continue to do for him.”

You have no idea what happened between the three brothers, you assume whatever it was caused the breach and struggle for dominance that permeates the air every time Ubbe and Ivar discuss battle or matters of the city; but you listen to Hvitserk with a compassionate smile on your lips and offer the best you can.

“If you want to talk, my Prince, I am always here.”

Surprisingly enough, he does.

He tells you of their allegiance with Bjorn Ironside and others to avenge the death of Ragnar Lothbrok. You needn’t be told of the Great Heathen Army and the fear and awe it inspired in its enemies and allies, for the words reached all the way to Carthage when the Vikings moved against Aelle. But Hvitserk tells you, and he tells you of the struggles of the men at the helm of the forces and how as the eldest son of Ragnar sailed South, their brother Sigurd married to warrant a degree of peace, and King Harald moved back to Norway with a new Queen; the three sons of Aslaug where left to be the leaders.

He tells you of Ivar pushing to take control from his brothers, of Ubbe being at the brink of breaking away from Ivar and turn against him if needed. He tells you of facing both of his brothers and reminding them of their blood shared, even if vows made, if ambitions clashing, if old pain and rancor, threatened to pull them apart.

He tells you of the marches for York, of many cities raided and pillaged. He tells you of the land granted for a settlement, of the funding of Dublin and the struggles for power that took place there. He tells you of the battles and blood that got Ivar to be King of Kattegat, and he confides that even if he appreciates and sees the change in his younger brother and how he is trying to appease him with by making both his and Ubbe’s voices heard when it comes to matters of war and the Kingdom; Ivar still treats him like nothing more than a dog, always mistrusting and always cold towards him.

“I’m sure he loves you.” You offer quietly, but the Prince does not look at you, instead toying with a piece of wood between his fingers.

“Ivar loves nothing.” He corrects quickly.

You shake your head, the hand on his arm squeezing to call for his attention. When he looks up at you he looks young and open, but his expression speaks of tiredness and resentment.

“You don’t believe that.” You promise quietly, to which he answers with a chuckle and a shake of his head.

Soon enough you both finish the planters, and you both bring the earth and branches needed to make the layers. Whispering prayers you carry in your heart alongside the secrets of the Thesmophoria, you water the earth and promise it care and seeds for growth.

The seeds will have to wait until you can get some, but the knowledge that fertile earth surrounds you fills you with a certain degree of peace. Even if this cold city kills you, you will force life and spring upon it. If you have to feed the flowers with your blood then so be it.

Hvitserk calls for your attention telling you he thinks he knows a little bit of Greek, and as you start getting horrified by his attempts at your language while he butchers it unwillingly, you both walk outside side by side.

Conversation starts on other topics soon after, and he tells you of the strange people he has met while handling Kattegat’s commerce influx and trade deals, which, paired with the way he recalls the stories with gestures and voices and expressions, makes your laugh louder than you have released it in so long.

Your giggles die down as you take a sip from your tea, and the Prince leans forward on the balcony railing, sighing.

“For all your strange ways, you seem…honest, witch.” He says, eyes on the horizon. You join him quietly, overlooking the cold city.

“If you were to ask the woman who raised me, she would say it is due to my arrogance that keeps me from being able to shut up,” You offer with a smile, “But thank you, my Prince.”

___

I know this chapter was kinda filler and kinda boring, I’m sorry. I promise the next one is hopefully more exciting. As I said last saturday, I’ll be uploading two chapters instead of one today. Chapter 17 will be up shortly after this one. :)

Thank you for reading <3

[guiltysecretpasttime]

Adversity - 13-A

Fanfic update

I’ve decided to utilize this tumblr space to put in WIPs/partial chapters/unedited stories from my end. Then I’ll post it somewhere in Ao3 or FF.net. Maybe.

 In the meantime, here’s an installment of Adversity (the chapters here in tumblr aren’t updated – it would make much more sense if you check it out on Ao3 first before coming back here). In essence this is part of Chapter 13.

Keen to hear what you think about this portion :)

-

Adversity details

Multi-chapter, work in progress, AU, pre-LoK,

Latest status: up to Chapter 12 uploaded in A03

Blurb: Lin and Tenzin are both at the height of their respective     careers – she with the Metalbending Police and he with the Air Nation.     Questions about their future begin to arise and things come to a head when     Lin responded to an emergency call. Would her job take them from each     other forever? Eventual happy ending. Alternatively: The one where Lin and     Tenzin had to go through adversity like Lin’s dangerous job, a near-death     experience, temporary separation and memory loss, unplanned pregnancy and     Tenzin’s responsibilities before they end up with a family.

Tumblr chapters 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Ao3 link |   Ff.net link

---

Adversity – 13-A

 Tenzin clutches a warm towel and wipes it across her forehead. He did not know why and if it would help but he thought it might make her feel better.

Her chest rose and fell with each breath, no longer laborious or irregular. Nonetheless, he kept vigil and held one of her hands. It reminded him of incidents in the past years where he kept watch over her – that night in the Fire Nation Royal Compound when they first found her alive, those nights after missions that might have gone fatally wrong…

The day had started promising. But as always with the two of them, it never was easy…

Once he had the cabana in his view, he should have known that Izumi would have pulled something like this.

---

Tenzin received a message from one of the staff that the princess requested for lunch to be served at one of the beach cabanas. He did not think much about it; it has happened before and figured that maybe Izumi was being a good host.

There was only one person else in the cabana – Lin, who was looking puzzled and was frowning at something on the table.

His feet hit the sand and the earthbender turned to him. “Oh, it’s you.” She looked at him incredulously.

“Sorry to disappoint.” He deadpanned, seating across her. He did not ask questions, assuming that she was led to the cabana using the same ruse.

"I had no idea that you were the man that Izumi said that I'll be meeting for lunch." Lin flicked a note towards him. “Why is she doing this? I found that upon arriving here.”

He caught the paper that slid on the table.

It was in Izumi’s handwriting – informing Lin to please consider (consider – the word was underlined heavily, the insinuation not lost to the reader) this man that she has invited for her. And that they would be left to their own devices as the princess has taken the entire family off for a scenic tour of the island on Druk, Appa and Oogi.

Trust that Izumi would have connived with the rest of the family to pull something like this off.

Tenzin felt the need to apologize for their meddling family and did just that.

Lin shrugged, seemingly uninterested. “Is this supposed to be a test?”

“A test?” What does she mean?

“For me – or for you?” Lin asked back.

“Like for your memory?” To the airbender, it seemed like they were having a different conversation.

The earthbender looked vaguely uncomfortable now, hand lightly patting her belly. “Um no – I mean, for you – is Izumi…?” She trailed off.

For the life of him, Tenzin could not think of what the continuation was.

“Your partner?” Lin finally asked.

What.

“No!” Tenzin’s voice rose, surprised by the question that he did not even consider that the response might have sounded rude. “Of course not!”

“Don’t you protest too much?” Lin was amused. “It’s fine really – or is it a matter of security?” She was being nonchalant about it though Tenzin could have sworn there was a tiny bit of relief in her voice.

“What. No – it’s not like that.” Tenzin had to disabuse her of this ludicrous idea she had. “They’re all just meddling – they mean well – look, Izumi – she’s not my type -!”

Now you just sounded like a whiny teenager.

He cleared his throat and tugged at his collar. “Well, seems like they’re setting us up.”

“Whatever for,” She rolled her eyes then grinned. “Let’s not waste the food then.”

He found himself chuckling at that as Lin proceeded to scoop some food on her plate. “Joke’s on them though.”

Lin’s only response was a raised eyebrow.

“I actually intend to ask you out for dinner today.”

She paused and left her chopstick hanging in the air. “Dinner.”

He wet his dry lips. “Yes.”

“I take it you haven’t told them yet?” Lin examined the other dishes available to them. “What time do we need to get ready or we don’t know yet, depending on how soon they get back?”

Tenzin held the back of his neck as the heat crept up. “I mean, dinner – just us, you and me?”

As much as he did not want to admit, maybe Bumi was right – he did not have game.

Lin’s face was unreadable.

He was able to back-pedal when he heard it.

“Okay.”

 ---

The rest of their lunch went a smoother.

They talked about the mundane things – he talked about Republic City, she talked about the Fire Nation. She asked about what he does in the council and how the RCPD was when they left. He was more than happy to oblige and took the time to answer her questions in great detail.

Before long, when she declared that she felt too full for dessert, he invited her to walk along the shore. He pointed out a cluster of rock formations at the edge of the island.

Lin looked intrigued and they set forth.

He explained that Lord Zuko had told them when they were children that the rocks were formed when the volcano used to be active. It made for an impressive sight, tall and a bit forbidding.

That did not stop them though, Tenzin shared, as they would keep going back there to play when they were younger.

They stood beside the rocks, sandals soaked by the sea, small waves lapping at their legs.

He was in the middle of a retelling of the time Bumi had dared Su to race him to the top (not knowing that the kid can earthbend really well by then) when rather large wave crashed against the rock formation, spraying and drenching them with salt water.

He was laughing, saying he probably should have warned that that usually happens. His eyes alighted on her and was caught mid-laugh.

Lin stood stiffly, her eyes wild. One hand on her cheek (her scars), another on her chest - breathing erratically gulping air.

“Lin!” He immediately held her by the shoulders; she was shaking. “Lin!”

A panic attack.

Each breath rattled against chest as she started blankly, unseeing. Lin was insensible to her surroundings.

Tenzin scooped her up and ran as it all clicked.

Captain Tomasu did say that they had found Lin in the water.

Damn.

The minutes it took him to the rest house felt like hours. With the family away on whatever excursion Izumi and Iroh planned, he had to rely on the staff to come to their aid. Fortunately, the in-house healer was at hand.

The rest was a blur.

 He felt the moment she regained consciousness. Her breathing shifted yet her eyes remained close.

Tenzin continued to run his fingers on her knuckles, whether to comfort her or himself was unclear.

Lin blinked slowly, her breathing sped up. Her hand quickly slapped to her cheek, tracing the scar with shaking fingers.

The airbender could hear her murmuring softly.

“My name is Lin. I’m in Ember Island. I’m okay. I’m safe. We’re -.” Her eyes focused and saw Tenzin at the periphery. “The baby?”

Tenzin leaned forward, grasping both of her hands and placing them on her stomach. “Is okay. You’re both okay – I had you both checked. You just had a little panic attack.”

There was no use alarming her.

“Panic attack…” She whispered to herself. “I used to black out before…”

“I’m sorry,” Tenzin said quietly. “I should have paid more attention to you.”

“You couldn’t have known.” Lin said in an equally soft tone. To his astonishment, she pulled his hand up to her cheek and leaned on it. “You couldn’t have done anything.”

He extended his fingers, gingerly touching her cheek. There were still times in the past weeks when he could not believe that she was here and she was alive. Little touches like these were rare and he savored the moments to remind himself that she was truly there.

“The rice granary,” Lin began, staring at the ceiling, actively avoiding Tenzin’s gaze. “It exploded, you know, the man – the firebender –.”

The airbender waited, this was in the papers and the reports that he was very familiar with.

“He knew what he was doing,” Lin held on his fingers tightly. “He saw me and he set fire – I fell to the water. I felt like drowning – maybe I did.” Tenzin gripped her hand back. “It was really hot and there was a lot of metal scraps. I remember sinking and maybe removing my armor…” Her face scrunched, obviously thinking. “The current was fast, rapidly swept me away – it was so cold. I thought I was going to die.” She resolutely focused on the ceiling when she heard Tenzin’s gasp. “I don’t know how long it was – it was dark, then there was light. My lungs – they burned so bad. Next thing I knew – I was aboard Captain Tomasu’s ship.”

Tenzin’s own breath caught.

Could it be… her memories have returned?

“Don’t force it.” He rubbed her wrist back and forth, hoping to sooth her.

“It’s still blank.” Her face was troubled and eyes were shiny with unshed tears. “I don’t remember what happened before the explosion.”

Feeling her get distressed, Tenzin moved closer to tuck her hair behind her ear. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m Lin Beifong, my mother is Toph – we grew up together in Republic City.” She now turned to him. “I live in Republic City now…”

His stomach churned. “What’s the last thing you remember from before?” He asked cautiously, afraid of triggering something.

“I’m deputy chief, I think.” She racked her brains. “There’s this small apartment. I think I live there.”

Tenzin swallowed. This was from a time before they lived together, when they were still exploring their relationship.

“I’m not losing it, am I? That really happened?” Her green eyes wide, seeing reassurance.

He nodded, still silently contemplating what this meant.

“After that – it’s blank.” She released a breath. “Did something significant happen during that missing period?”

“You got promoted to Chief of Police.”

“Maybe that’s it…something to do with work.” Lin guessed absentmindedly, biting her lip.

He added tentatively. “We’ve also decided to move in together.”

The way she looked at him now – it was as if she was seeing him for the first time.

“You’re the father.” She stated it so plaintively with a hint of caution.

“That’s the first time you’ve told me that.” Tenzin attempted to downplay the significance of the revelation. “Don’t worry about it – you probably didn’t know you were pregnant back then before –.” He waved a hand around, at a loss for words on how to explain the situation.

“You’re not even questioning it?” Her voice was tight and her posture tense.

“Not at all.”

She finally let tears flow.

 ---

He embraced her, murmuring reassurances that he will be there for her and the child. He will be involved.

But somehow – there was still that gap in her memory. She was missing something crucial, she can feel it - it was about the Air Nation. The gut feel was of hesitation and wariness. What was it about?

She had talked to Aang the previous days and there were no mentions of issues with the Air Nation.

Maybe it had something to do with crime? With her promotion as Chief of Police?

If only her mother were around… Maybe she could help her piece her memory together.

Lin pulled back from the airbender, who suddenly looked at her with apprehension.

“What happens now – what if I don’t remember?” Now that she had part of her memories back – she hated the feeling of uncertainty.

“We’ll take it one day at a time.” Tenzin inched closer to her, gently cupping her face in his hands, wiping her tears. “Just know that you’re never alone.”

The sincerity in his eyes was enough for her. She did not even need to employ her seismic sense to know he was telling the truth.

She closed her eyes as he moved. She felt his lips on her forehead.

The airbender sat back down, a soft smile on his face.

She looked at their entwined fingers.

She will take this chance.

This was for her child. All for their child. And it will be enough.

[zrtranscripts]

Home Front, Mission 22: Red Riding Hood

What's the time, Mr. Wolf?

~

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Hello again, ci-ti-zens, and welcome back to Radio Lock-In. Zoe’s still waiting out the super horde in an animal shelter and talking to me via ROFFLEnet, but she and I have a special treat for you today. We are going outside. Not literally outside. While the horde seems a bit smaller than it used to be, two-thirds of way too many zoms are still way, way too many zoms. No. Instead, we are going outside through the power of storytelling.

So start warming up because you are in for a treat... possibly. Anyway, Zoe and I had such a good time bringing you Cinderella that we're going to retell another fairy tale classic, complete with ministry workouts and our own spin on the story. We thought about doing Rapunzel, but being trapped in a tower seems a bit too on the nose at the moment, so instead, we've gone with Little Red Riding Hood. I never cared for it much myself, but uh, Zoe insists it's great and it's actually all about a young girl coming to terms with her burgeoning sexuality. I'd fill you in on the explanation, but we haven't got two hours.

Anyway, it's definitely a story that features two things we are both very sorely missing at the moment: fresh air and delicious baked goods. And with that, let's begin with an imaginary skip down a peaceful forest path. Your riding hood is beautiful and uh, red. Your basket is full of goodies, and you're enjoying the scenery. So saunter along to this track made for the perfect summer day.

~

[PHIL alternates between different voices for characters and his own voice for narration and exercise instructions]

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Ah, the smell of imaginary oak and blackberry jam. But wait, is that a big bad wolf further up the forest path? Let's listen in on the conversation between him and Red Riding Hood, which was written by Zoe and yours truly. Zoe wrote the wolf and I wrote Red Riding Hood, which you'd probably never be able to guess if I hadn't told you. Zoe's wolf speaks first, obviously.

“Hello, little boy, I mean, little girl. Aren't you bored of staying on the forest path like mother New Canton taught you? Life's much more fun if you stray.” “Is that why you're out here in the forest, for fun? Or is it because you went for a walk and got lost and then when the zombie horde descended, you ended up stuck miles away from home, sleeping in a nest made of old jumpers? You know, hypothetically speaking.” “Oh, maybe, but just think, straying off the beaten track could lead you to a shelter full of adorable animals, one of whom is now named Snuffle McCheeseman because he bears a strong resemblance to a man named Phil whom you haven't seen in ages. Also hypothetically speaking, of course.”

It went on like that for a bit, but we should skip ahead. So Red Riding Hood decides to take a detour from the path through a bramble patch to reach a beautiful field of wild daisies, carefully squirming away through the undergrowth to avoid being prickled by the thorns. Let's do the same and inch our way through with some inchworms.

Start in a standing position, feet hip-width apart and knees slightly bent. Now bend over and put your hands on the floor in front of your feet as close as you can get, then walk your hands forward until your back is flat and you look like you're at the top of a push-up. Once you're there, walk your hands back to your feet. Perfect! If you were near a bramble patch right now, you'd be getting through scratch-free.

All right, let's do a minute of inchworms. Go! 15 seconds in. Red Riding Hood can see the daisies through a gap in the bushes, but they're not quite in reach. Halfway there. Now she's nibbled on a few wild blackberries and composed a short limerick that begins, "There once was a red hood for riding." 15 seconds left to go. The daisies are almost close enough to touch. Keep going! All done!

And wow, absolutely worth it! Red Riding Hood is surrounded by the biggest and most beautiful daisies she's ever seen. Now she just has to inch her way back to the path and skip along to Granny's. Feel free to continue doing inchworms during this next song along with her, or use it to rest and smell the imaginary flowers.

~

[PHIL alternates between different voices for characters and his own voice for narration and exercise instructions]

PHIL CHEESEMAN: With sweets and flowers in hand, Red Riding Hood has now reached Granny's cottage. Finding the door ajar, she creeps down the hallway to find a suspiciously furry grandmother who says, "Hello, little girl whose name I definitely remember because she is my granddaughter. Come here and hug me." "How convincing. You are definitely not a wolf trying to eat me, I'm sure."

"Of course not! Would I lie to you and say, try to convince you that the radio studio was haunted until you tossed salt over your shoulder whenever you stepped over the threshold every day for a month?" "Obviously not, and if I'm backing away right now, it's absolutely not because I'm beating you at your own game by say, making you think I'm going to stage an elaborate studio spirit cleansing ritual until you admit your wrongdoing." Um, but of course, Red Riding Hood is backing away as fast as she can.

Let's join her with some backward lunges. Start by standing with your feet hip-width apart again, then take a big step backwards with your right foot. Now bend both knees to lower yourself to the floor. Your left shin should stay vertical and your left knee should stay behind your toes. Once you've got as far down as you can, rise back up. Step that right foot forward so your feet are parallel, and then do the whole thing again on your left side.

Ready? Let's do this for one minute. Go! 15 seconds in. "Granny, what a lot of fur you have all over your body. Perhaps you should have that looked at." Halfway done. "An unfortunate side effect of my blood pressure medication, my dear." Only 15 seconds left. "The same medication that seems to have given you fangs and a tail?" And done!

Red Riding Hood has made it all the way back to the front door, but the wolf, who's sensing that she's not falling for his nonsense, gets out of the bed and starts charging forward. Fortunately, I have the perfect song for this moment of dramatic tension. While it plays, you can keep lunging your way backwards or practice your favorite fighting stance as you get ready for a showdown!

~

[PHIL alternates between different voices for characters and his own voice for narration and exercise instructions]

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I have some bad news for you. While we were listening to that track, the wolf ate Red Riding Hood. "So rude." "I agree, my dear. I thought the same thing when he gobbled me up not an hour ago." "Granny, how are you still..." Look, sorry, losing track of the voices a bit there. I meant to say, "Granny, how are you still alive?" I don't know much about biology, but this seems a bit far-fetched, like that time I told my mum that I had a separate stomach compartment for sweets, which is why I could be full from dinner and still want pudding. Uh, but that's not the point.

Right now, we're gonna help Red Riding Hood and Granny get out of their furry food prison with some wolf fighting uppercuts! Begin by getting into boxing stance by standing with your feet shoulder-width apart, stepping back with your right foot and bending your elbows to put your fists up, left fist in front of your face as a guard and right closer to your body. Now to do an uppercut, bend your knees, rotate your right shoulder forward and push off with your right calf as you punch upwards with your right arm. Your right heel should rotate and release as you're punching. Now return to your starting position and you're ready for the next uppercut.

We're going to give the wolf what for, first with 30 seconds of right-handed punches, then 30 from the left. Let's go! 15 seconds in. Give that wolf what for! Halfway there, and Granny's joined in with some well-placed jabs. Now switch sides to put your left leg behind and get ready to finish the job with your left fist. Only 15 seconds left. The wolf is ready to let you free, just keep going! And done. Back out the way you came? Disgusting, but better than the alternative. Take a minute to wipe that pretend wolf slime off, or um... or keep practicing your punches in preparation for any future wolves during this next song.

~

[PHIL alternates between different voices for characters and his own voice for narration and exercise instructions]

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Great job! Red Riding Hood has all dried off and the wolf has passed out from what has got to be the world's least pleasant meal. Red Riding Hood and Granny could slip away, but Red has an idea. Which, in case you think means ‘oh, we have sick minds,’ it’s actually part of the original story.

So Red's idea is, "Grandma, let's fill the wolf's stomach with heavy rocks so he can't chase any more people and eat them." "Are you serious? Where'd you come up with these cockamamie ideas? What's next, we build a house of gingerbread and cook small children for fun?" "That's... oddly specific, Grandma, but no. I just know how our story is supposed to go. Trust me, I know a lot about this particular tale. I once played a wolf in a children's troupe. I am an expert." So the two agree to fill the wolf with rocks, and we'll be helping them out with some squats.

Stand upright like before, with your arms out in front and your feet hip-width apart. Now sit backwards as if you were gonna sit into a chair, taking care that your knees stay behind your feet, just like you did when we were lunging. Go down as low as feels comfortable, and then stand back up, and there you have it.

Ready? Begin. 15 seconds in. Picture yourself picking a big rock out of the pile and lifting it up with each squat. Halfway through. Pile those rocks in the wolf's stomach. He'll be feeling that when he wakes up. 15 seconds of rock piling left to go. Take that, wolfie! Done! You've dumped every rock in sight into the wolf. Now all you have to do is wait to see what happens next, either by shaking out your legs or by squatting your way through this next song.

~

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Great work. Now if we were in the original version of Red Riding Hood, the wolf would chase after Red and Granny across a river, where the rocks would weigh him down until he drowned. Well, as Zoe points out, you really can't be that mad at a talking wolf for doing what talking wolves do. So our wolf, after waking up with a belly full of rocks, realizes that eating people is way too dangerous a lifestyle choice and decides to go to culinary school to learn how to cook plant-based food instead, eventually becoming an acclaimed vegan chef who releases several cookbooks about big, bad, bold flavors, the end.

It's nice being able to rewrite a story like this so it works out better for all the characters involved. I think with so much outside our control right now, it's good to remember that our imaginations are still our own and in them, we can make everything work out for the best. We may not know what comes next in our world, but I believe the spirit of optimism and invention can still help us all reach our own happy ever afters.

~

[lunaseongs]

eternities ago // self para

location: several tbh timeline: luna’s birthday over the course of her life triggers: abuse mentions, death mentions, drug mentions mentioned: frank, max, aidan, jas, aylin, bash, skylar, bea, reese, aria, jerome

The first birthday she has any memories beyond vague recollections of cake and balloons is her sixth. Her current literary obsession is Alice in Wonderland and she doesn’t even have to tell her parents that she wants to have a tea party, because they just know.

It’s heavily themed, Luna the center of attention in her lovingly crafted Alice costume, silly hats and party favors supplied for her guests. They’re children, so they don’t have a taste for tea, so instead they’re served iced tea, the glasses sweating in the warmth of her home on a cold Connecticut October day. 

It’s a bit awkward at first, nobody but Frank willing to jump right in and enthusiastically participate in the riddles she’s invented, in her retellings of the story that veer a little off course, but once everyone has warmed up to the idea, the table is full of laughter and ridiculous jokes that only make sense to six year olds.

Frank is the last guest to leave and she falls asleep on his shoulder while they sit on the front steps and wait for someone to cross the yards to walk him home.

----------

Her tenth birthday is her last with her father alive, and she doesn’t throw a party this time. She’s become a bit more introverted as she’s gotten older, not quite shy yet, not the level she’ll become over the years, and instead she asks for a day with just her parents. 

She keeps a list of libraries she wants to visit in her diary, a page dedicated to each, and while she doesn’t dare ask if they can go overseas for some of the ones at the top of her list, a library in New Haven seems like an easy enough day trip. The Yale University Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library isn’t one she can just wander through and take books off the shelves but that doesn’t matter to her, too tempted by the idea of seeing some of the rarest books in the world, even if it’s only behind protective glass.

She’s full of nervous energy that’s only stilled when her father takes her hand as they’re approaching the front door after lunch. She loves both of her parents more than she knows how to express at this age, but Luna connects with her father in a way that she knows he’s just as excited about this as she is, her mother loitering a bit behind with a fond smile on her lips.

Luna doesn’t know she’ll watch him fall to the ground in their kitchen in exactly 19 days, that he’ll never get back up again and that it will start a mountain of misfortune that she’ll carry around on her back, and it doesn’t matter because for now his hand is in hers and her entire world is this library and her parents.

-----------

It’s her fifteenth birthday and it’s one of her worst.

There are finger shaped bruises on her arm, thinner than usual, quicker to bruise with less weight on her. It’s been a bad month for her and her mother, meals harder to come by than usual. She’s gone to bed hungry all week, and she’s trying not to be irritable about it because then she snaps back at her boyfriend, and then he grabs her just a little too hard, threatens her with just a little too much sincerity.

Luna’s starting to realize how stupid this is when she blames the bruises on her arm on her lack of food as opposed to his anger.

He’s strung out on the couch beside her and her knees are pulled into her chest as she reads The Dwarf for the third time, no particular reason for the book choice aside from the fact that the copy was in her backpack. She has a hard time reading new books when she’s this hungry, unable to focus, as she’s just read the same page three times in a row now.

He doesn’t wish her a happy birthday, but she doesn’t particularly want to hear it, either.

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

It’s her 18th birthday and Luna is supposed to be dead, so what’s the point of celebrating?

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

Luna knows that in theory twenty-one is supposed to be a milestone birthday, but she can’t remember the last time she’s associated her birthday with overwhelmingly positive memories as opposed to all the negative ones she has now. Even Frank’s best efforts over the years to cut through the grief she carries aren’t quite enough to make them feel worth anything.

She blinks herself awake slowly, not feeling any different, as if she’s only vaguely aware that she’s another year older today. She’s already awake when there’s a knock at the door, and she pulls herself out of bed as if she’s eighty years old today and not just barely past twenty.

It’s Frank at the door, and she’s not surprised, not in the slightest. She’s always hated the happy birthday song, feeling awkward having people sing to her, but it’s okay when it’s just the two of them. It almost makes her want to cry though she’s not sure why, focusing on the soft glow the candle casts onto his chin from the cupcake, and then he’s telling her to make a wish.

There’s a long pause, far longer than it needs to be, because there are so many things to wish for. The most childish, wishing her father back from the grave, every child’s dream after losing a parent early in life. The simplest and perhaps most realistic, to have her mother back in her life. And of course the wish that’s already granted, to have Frank in front of her, whole and in one piece and alive, like she can sense his heartbeat the moment they’re in the same place.

So she settles, keeps it simple, wishing for him to stay as she blows out the candle. 

Luna figures that might be it, and she’s okay with that. It’s already far more of a gift than she’s ever dared hope for, but as she goes about her day, and the gifts pile up both in extravagance and amount, Luna is suddenly aware of how many people are aware of her, and not only that, seem to care. It’s jarring, unsettling, it makes her feel off balance and none of those feelings should be positive but she thinks they are.

A laptop from Aidan, because he’s noticed she’s been handwriting her notes for the last two years. Clothes from Max, Jas, and Aylin because they notice how many holes she’s patched in some of her current wardrobe. Non-necessities like baked goods and spicy ramen and bags from Skylar, Bash, Bea, Jerome, and others.

It’s hard to keep track of the list. She catches herself forgetting who’s approached her with a gift until suddenly she remembers the candy from Aria and the card from Reese. She spends the whole day feeling strange, like she’s still unhappy because why does she feel so strange? Is there something wrong with her that she’s having a negative reaction to so much love?

Luna thanks everyone excessively, obnoxiously, smile threatening to leave her cheeks sore for days, and yet she still can’t process how she feels, can’t understand why it’s not overwhelming happiness that floods her. 

But when she gets into bed that night, stomach absolutely aching from the amount of sweets she’s consumed despite not having much of a sweet tooth, Luna realizes it’s actually happiness she’s felt all day, she’s just completely forgotten what it feels like.

It’s almost overwhelming, like she’s filled to the brim with so much emotion that she can’t handle it. She has a bed, and her stomach is full, too full, nobody’s laid a hand on her beyond hugs, and so many people love her that she can’t believe she’s just now noticing.

It’s the first time in years that she cries from happiness, She’s far too young to feel the way that she does, like things are never going to get better, and she realizes that now, that things have gotten better, she just hasn’t noticed.

Luna falls asleep with tears still wet on her cheeks, Frank’s rendition of the happy birthday song on loop in her head.

[dothegravitybounce]

Well here* it is my review for The Queen's Weapon

*that is a goodreads link by the way

This book was a good addition to the Black Jewels Series and I'm here to prove it.

For that, I have to first say that I'm on Surreal's side always will and always will be. The first time I ever read Daughter of the Blood I hated it, and I mostly hated Surreal. The story and its basic concepts stayed with me, at the back of my head, always singing for me to come back, enough that 2 years later I picked it up again and fell in love with it. At my second read the first thought that went through my mind was how similar I was to Surreal, we talk the same way, have somewhat similar backgrounds, react to the world the same way, we're physically described similarly as well. That's when I knew this book had a message for me.

I feel like a lot of fans of the series, even the ones who proclaim to have Surreal as a favorite, undermine her role in the books. She is a lot of the times a driving force, a catalyst for the plot to move forward. In the first book only, she is the second point of view we're introduced, she is Dorothea granddaughter, she finds Briarwood before everyone else, she gets to meet every sigle one of the girls in there, and the end culminates with her saving Jaenelle Angelline (and Daemon). This is no small part, she's not our main character of course, that's clearly Daemon (if after 11 books you still think it's Jaenelle, then please there's no way to be discussing the book then), but she clearly has great importance to the story and that's why I'm convinced, at the end of The Queen's Weapons, that Anne Bishop wasn't actually trying to undo any of what's happened before.

And there's reasons to it. Anne Bishop's first published work is a short story called "Match Girl", published in a collection book before The Black Jewels existed. If you're a snoopy like me, you'll probably get around to reading it. The story is a retelling of the fairy tale "The little match girl", but beyond that, it's a suspiciously familiar story of a orphaned girl who has to roam the streets and ends up in prostitution to be able to survive, at all times she dreams of crossing a suspiciously familiar mountain where things are right and she could finally be happy. Reminds you of anything?

After 11 books things are not different. All of the short stories for The Black Jewels are centered around Surreal. I feel like a lot of the fans haven't read them, but my favorite is "The Price" and it should be available in the main books, it's very very short but in its few words it tells a lot about what happens inside Surreal's mind and tells a lot about her relationship with Daemon as well, if you haven't read it you should. Lots of people say they've skipped Tangled Webs when they shouldn't. That book is relevant, all of them are there's no skipping if you want to truly understand this story. But that one is relevant to Twilight's Dawn and following.

The Queen's Weapons is an answer to a fan favorite question of how Dorothea came to be. And it does provides an aswer, I'll be nice and resume it for you now: it's convenience. Dorothea, and now Delora are convenient people in which evil can hide. "If she can do it, why can I not?" This is a phrase constantly repeated by Jaenelle Saetien throughout the book. "Everyone else can do it".

Oh Jaenelle Satien... this was a master play by Anne, honestly. Who's better to go through this journey of discovering how Dorothea came to be then her own offspring. The Black Jewels have always worked by telling the story with parallels, you need to understand them to understand its message. In result, a lot is left in between the lines and the reader has to put the work in. This is something that I've always criticized about the books, even though in this one I feel like Anne tried to be as direct and clear as she could without treating the audience as idiots. In Queen's Weapon though, characters lines are usually followed by a piece of thought or narrative that explains exactly the intention and the feelings behind. That's not something that happens in the previous books, so readers do come with misjudgements to this one.

And misjudgements is the one word for this experience. Before the book released, we were all bombarded with the news that things weren't going to go smoothly and that, sadly, the child we all thought would be the most precious ever, was in the center of trouble. We wanted to hate her, we already hated her but I don't think Anne will let us. Having read it now, I'm glad that Jaenelle Satien is the person she is and that she committed the mistakes she did. An incredible character and another very brave choice from our author. Make her be the perfect follow up for Jaenelle Angelline, be an angel with no mistakes? No, why would you choose the boring path? Make her powerful, curious and inquisitive like Jaenelle Angelline, make her tenacious, stubborn, self reliant and a free spirit like her mother Surreal, and make her ambitious and rebellious like her grandmother Dorothea. This is honestly an amazing combination, I came out of this book wanting to know who Saeti will become and what she'll go through. This is a story worth telling, I know that Titian and Daemonar will be okay in the future because they see themselves as extensions of the family. Saeti, on the other hand knows she's not and she has to become something that is only hers.

And that's the most brilliant of it all. Jaenelle Saetien is Daemon, Surreal AND Jaenelle Angelline's dreams made flesh. What these 3 have in common? The whish to be themselves fully. This is a common thing between Daemon and Surreal through these lasts books, and is said by Jaenelle Angelline to Saeti: "you're me but without the pain". And it's true, if Jaenelle Angelline had never seen the horrors that people under Dorothea's wing could do she'd become like her or even worse. "Everyone one else can do it" why can't she not? She's more powerful isn't she? This is a perfect parallel. Jaenelle Satien is Jaenelle Angelline without the pain but also without the burden and responsibilities that comes with her jewel and position. The lesson with The Black Jewels was always that with power and privilege, responsibility and care are necessary, otherwise it brews corruption, it's not a coincidence that our heroes and villains are rulers. And the lesson is still the same here. Isn't that exactly what we've been seeing in the world in these lasts times? Well I digress.

For Jaenelle Satien her way to find herself and be fully herself was to disconnect from her family. Isn't that exactly Jaenelle Angelline's journey? That she chose again and again to sacrifice herself even after death to stand up for her responsibilities and take care of her loved ones? From not leaving Chaillot before being hurt because she had to protect Wilhemina, to all the way coming back from her existence solely on the Misty Place to take care of the family. She cannot be herself fully, she has always to be Queen, to be Witch so the realms can be reminded of the right ways. That's her burden, and without that burden Jaenelle Satien falls into Delora's trap. That was Dorothea's plan in the first book: find who was the special girl, take her from her family and raise her under her control.

Jaenelle Satien doesn't come out wrong because of her parents misdoings, Daemon and Surreal aren't bad parents AT ALL. They did and gave her the best, they just didn't want her to have the same nightmares as they did. She does what she does because she doesn't want to embrace those who came before her, because she wants something that is solely hers. Then why Lucivar's children don't come out like that? At first, I was also thinking they were narratively privileged, that Anne was on their side and not on JS side, trying to demonize her, but in truth it's none of that. It's on these characters essences, they WANT to be their families follow up, so they ask for guidance and help when needed. Jaenelle Satien simply doesn't, it's not on her nature, she's a free spirit, curious, stubborn, ambitious like her predecessors. She wants to discover the world by herself and only by herself and by that she cuts her family and hurts them. She had countless of times to talk about what was going on, about her insecurities, to doubt Delora and her friends, even at the house party at the end she had at least 3 different times to come around, but because she felt like a shadow she chose not to.

Isn't that exactly what happened with Surreal in the Queen's Bargain? Thinking that she had to solve everything by herself, alone and refuse help? At the time I read that book, I honestly thought that it was trying to undermine Surreal like a lot of readers thought too, making a villain of an adored character. After a re-read and specially after reading this one, I understand everything so much better. Surreal was making her family a burden to herself because she thought she had to, "isn't that what everyone else does?", she thought she had to be absolutely perfect to be married to Daemon, to erase her past. Isn't that the lesson she learned in the last book? That like everyone else in the family she could ask for help, she could lean on the others and on Witch, she didn't have to forget who she was and what she went through, she just had to actively make the choice to ask? And again, I talked about it in my last review, the one thing that would make me give up my love for The Black Jewels was if the relationship between Surreal and Jaenelle Angelline was destroyed. And this book just strengthens it, every single interaction between them made me cry tears of joy. Witch made sure she wasn't something between Surreal's family, but something that could bring it together. Even then, she gives Surreal the choice to leave if she didn't feel like that's enough, if she didn't feel like she's being done right and she'll not be judged if she decides to leave. And Surreal doesn't leave, after all this is her family and her love, why would she give up everything when she can have a nice relationship with Daemon the rest of his life (like literally, he promised), be with friends and family? Why would she choose loneliness? Some of us even thought that she would commit suicide, or die or be written off, but why? That would be the bad choice from Anne Bishop. That is the ending villains get, actual characters we're supposed to hate. Our heros learn their lessons and find happiness in their own way, isn't it? And that's how I know that Surreal and Saeti are treasured characters just like everyone else, they're just the catalysts, the things that make the story move forward and they're important.

And oh Daemon and Surreal.... I think I can not put into words how much I love these two. Together and separate. Before coming to this book, I thought that the events would drive them apart. It doesn't happen, they actually have never been this love dovey in any other books! Not even when Jaenelle Saetien goes against Surreal, not even when Daemon is told he'd have to kill JS. They were always there for each other, from discovering all the atrocities being done in Dhemlam to parting ways from their daughter.  And mostly important, something that bothered me and others in the last book, HE comes for her, he never dismisses her, acknowledges all her grievances stays by her side and respects all their boundaries. After all wasn't that exactly what they were for each other back in the first book when they still lived in Terreille? Friends, true partners. It's a beautiful love story honestly, from the very first book they have a beautiful love story. I feel like everyone always sees their love story as beginning in Twilight's Dawn, but after countless rereads of the entire series, I know their love story has been told little by little since the first book. Paralleling and intertwined with Daemon's love with Jaenelle Angelline but always there, and The Queen's Weapons just reinforces this. It's not your easy rom-com romance, this is a love story that goes beyond husband and wife and that makes it even more special. The same way Daemon and Jaenelle's love story goes beyond life and death. I love these two, I love what Anne Bishop built with them, I have never found a couple I adored this much in any piece of media, romance or not, that equals the strength that exists here. It's unparalleled and I would choose to go through it all again.

Some people finished the book thinking they're going to live a separate life but that's not what's is implied at all. Surreal talks about and is involved in the school at the Hall, she specifically talks about the tutors joining the family table for dinner, and she's involved in the organization of the students house settling like choosing their dorms and all. She's clearly involved, she's not going anywhere people lol. I think everyone interpreted that way because of her conversation with Jaenelle, she metions getting a house away from Daemon. But I saw it as a direct response to her knowing that he'll die sooner than she thought and before her. He's a constant on her life, the person she trusts the most and is mostly familiar with since always. She'll have to eventually learn how to live without him, get used to the idea so it doesn't happen like Saetan or Rainier whom she lost suddenly.

Wich brings me back to her broken motherly bond with Jaenelle Saetien. I think people are misinterpreting that as well. Do you honestly think she stopped loving her daughter? Is that what you actually read? Did she not cry because her daughter words hurt, and because Jaenelle Saetien was being blind to her mistakes, like a mother does? Did she not cry when she found out that Jaenelle Saetien was going to be executed? Was she not scared of whatever punishment Witch put over JS? Didn't she care for Jaenelle Satien's body all the days she was stuck in the Briarwood nightmare, like a mother? Didn't she, after all that happened, welcome Jaenelle Saetien to the sanctuary she founded because she thought it would be a good way for the girl to overcome her mistakes and the things she saw at Briarwood, the same way it was for herself?? Are none of these motherly actions? Is this what someone that never cared for that role, for the child would do? Isn't it unfair to say their relationship was shallow, fake? Because that's not what I read. She gives up the title of Mother yes, because that's what Jaenelle Saetien wants, and she knows she'll regret. She tells Daemon exactly that, Jaenelle Saetien will regret judging her mother because that's what she did with Titian, and she regrets it. Doesn't she talk specifically about how similar they are? She'll never stop loving her like a mother, never stop caring.

That is exactly what Daemon's says on his last interaction with Jaenelle Saetien at the end of the book when he says that yes they can exchange letters, he'll never stop caring for her even if she decides to distance herself. And oh my god in this part I ugly cried like never before, it wasn't tears while reading it was full on bawling, I actually had to put my phone (yay expensive ebook gang!!) away. The Black Jewels is very comforting because to me and a lot of the other fans it touches on scars and helps heal them. Maybe that's why I can't see the wrongs people are seeing in this one. But this moment was a treasure to me, absolutely special.

And oh Daemon... Can we ever love you any less?? Do we love you too much?? Will we have to, like Surreal, start to brace ourselves to let go of you because your time is coming? Will you, like your father leave us with only the memories of the love we had for you? Are we ever going to find comfort elsewhere or are you truly the perfect hero?

I never liked male protagonists. I would actually avoid them at all costs. Maybe if I never had come into The Black Jewels thinking it was a story about Jaenelle and Daemon would solely be her tag along, I wouldn't be able to like him as much as I do now. Everyday I get impressed on how much of a perfect fantasy he is from beginning to end. On the facebook group we get posts about actors people think could have his face, we go from radom male models, to the newest (and best imo) addition Rege-Jean Page, to people who refuse to give him a face because no real beauty would suit him. A perfect fantasy inside and out of the book. Before coming into this I thought this book would finally spoil Daemon for me. In my last review I said I didn't want him to regress into who he was at the Trilogy, a messy, lost, purposeless man who lived to chase something he thought was lost. And that's not what he gets, if not he learns once again that he has to stay and be connected to the living, pass on his knowledge, take care of the realm and love his family until his body can't stay alive anymore. Different from his father that spent centuries locked out in hell, who lost a son (Peyton, the favorite before Daemon came along) to Dorothea and Hekatah's interferences. He refuses to give up on Jaenelle Saetien, I don't know if the parallels between Peyton and her were intentional, but they're certainly there. It's such a simple lesson for him that it makes me wonder if being simple is exactly what makes Daemon as a character so good. I KNOW this is not the end to The Black Jewels, because we'll have to see Daemon's final moments. And I'm honestly not sad, like him I don't want to rush that moment, but I know it will be a beautiful ending to a beautiful journey and I'll happily wait.

To end this infinite wall of text. Zoey is a nice addition and brings representation to a series that had almost none. I love her relationship with Titian, I think they'll grow up well and there's a lot of world and lore exploration that could be done with this so I'd like to see them in the future. Daemonar is like Lucivar the voice of reason, I don't like him as much as I like Lucivar but Anne Bishop clearly has plans for him (as said in Tersa's vision) so we'll see what's going to come. In the last book I felt like Lucivar was a bit tossed to the side as well, but I'm happy in this one he and Daemonar could get closer to Witch, but then again it's just the character essence, he's simply not prone to drama so it's hard to not get overshadowed by everything else going on. Marian is surprisingly always funny, I did thought she'd get a bit more scenes, but it's nothing really important or that hindered my enjoyment.

I feel like this book required a lot of maturity to deal with expectations and attachments to characters, from the author and from the readers. And I'm pleased with the results, messing with your characters happy endings and still coming out with a good story that reinforces the thematic outline of the entire series, calls back and resolves past issues and events and delivers even more interesting characters is not an easy task, you have to be a brave author to face the fact your reader might have different interpretations that'll result in them disliking your book. And to me Anne Bishop dealt with this perfectly, I feared I was going to be manipulated into a story and that's not how I came out of it all, despite already judging the story badly from spoilers and early reviews. I came to this book expecting to hate it and say goodbye to the series. She convinced me to fall in love with the Black Jewels again, after 11 books nonetheless!!!! This is no easy task at all, it requires a lot of skill. I admire her work a lot. If you've been saddened and disappointed by either The Twilight's Dawn or The Queen's Weapon give this book a chance. A fair one, read it for what it is and not what you idealize it to be. You'll catch yourself feeling very similarly to when you first read Daughter of the Blood, whatever that might mean to you personally.

Anyway, this book was ridiculously long for a Black Jewels book, so this review is ridiculously long as well, also I paid R$100 on this so I'll write a wall of text if I want to. I actually ended up liking that it was long, it had space for the necessary scenes to happen in a well told way, so I'm not complaining. Except for the Scelties, I hate them, have always hated them and will forever hate them. (I'm zoophobic animals as pets is not a reality to me they're just beasts, but I guess they're cute ones lol)

See y'all in the next one 😘 (or in the comments section, or in the next reread idk)

[aradias-crypt]

BH with a hero s/o headcanons

He would try killing you at first

Surely this one was obvious, no one is disillusioned enough to believe the source of all evil in the world would not attempt to off all heroes he sees.

And as a hero, it would be your ultimate goal to free the people from the dangers of villains, especially Black Hat. While you normally patrol your designated city, there has been the occasional meeting with Black Hat himself (usually when he is out collecting debts or working with contemporaries).

“If it isn’t my favorite little nuisance,” Black Hat grins, waving away his subordinates. He didn't need them for this. “Did my last attack teach you nothing? I may enjoy this little game of ours but I will not hold back any one.”

You land on the ground softly, “Should I take that as a compliment?”

“Of course, it is an honor for any human scum to be acknowledged by me.” He steps to the side, blocking your path as his soldiers enter the building behind him.

“What are you up to?”

“I would go on about my magnificent plans but that would be quite silly of me, don’t you think?”

“It would make my life so much easier.” Crystals grow from your arms, forming a shield and sword.

He smirks, shadows spilling from his body.

“But I enjoy w̴̘̲̻͈̌̀́͗͑̂̇͝at̸̢̟͓̗͓̥͈̮̼̃̄̔̄̊c̷͔̪̺̘͓̪͙͈̅͐̀̀͛͗̋̓̊̎͠h̸̡̟̞̖͍̲͊̋̀in̵͈͖͇̜̱̮̑̋̍͂͂̚g̷̮͐ ̵̧̧̧͈͍̜̫̜̬̫̮̮̔͝ỹ̵͕̗̤̍̍̊ő̷̡͕̻͙̤̤̮̣̉̂̂̂́͜ͅù̸̠̟̜̳̩̠̫̗̼̩͇̐͌͒̈́̊̍͆̑͊̚̕͜ ̵̼̲̗͓̖̒́s̵̨̢̼̟̼̬̳͇͍̩̙̓̅͒̏͌̓͂͆͜ư̷̪̞̟͖̓̒̂͂͊̓̔̇̀͜f̷̡̺̦̭̺̩͎̤̯̣̝̫̄͐̋f̶̛̫̗̺̟͖̓̉̀̋̓͆̕e̶̛̺̻̫̫̩̱̺͕͎̲͍̺͋̌͗̎̑̊͊́̃r̸̰͓̳̹͈̹̖͌̒̋̑͒͘~̵͎̯̳̓̆!̴̦̹͔̖̞̠̱̘̪̿̓͝”

He would protect you from other villains

It isn’t because he *shudders* likes you, but because you are the only hero who can amuse him. If another villain were to kill you, not only would you shame him for dying at such a lower villains hands and not his own, but because he would be bored.

You brace yourself for impact, forming a thick shell of diamond around you as the villain on the outside blasts you with gamma rays. You herded the civilians in the area far away, propping up lead walls to try and shield them from the radiation, but it left you with little energy and proper material to protect yourself.

‘They’re safe,’ you think to yourself, ‘That’s what matters.’

Slowly, you begin to feel nauseating waves pierce through your barrier.

You squeeze your eyes shut, not wanting to the the damage that will soon be done to your body.

‘This is it.’

“I’m starting to believe you truly have a death wish little hero.” A gravelly voice rasps from outside.

You look up, eyes wide as the light shining through disappears for a moment.

The villain screams, their attack ending abruptly.

You wait in silence.

The light slowly shines through again, but a shadow approaches from the outside. The outline of a hand reaches out and raps on your barrier.

“You can come out now,” Black Hat chuckles, his voice full of arrogance, “I took care of that pathetic trash. You’ve nothing to fear out here but me.”

Slowly, you would stop fighting

Eventually, you would get used to each other, no longer fighting like before. Meeting in public, you’d bicker more than swap fists. It would come to the point where other heroes would fight with his lackeys while you two debate whether the import taxes and tariffs war is good for anyone. Though Black Hat is rather relaxed seeing as how he isn’t “required” to pay them.

“I don’t understand how you can be so calm about this,” you blow on your cup of hot chocolate as you walk beside the ageless being, “you’re a businessman, this would cut your profits if people don’t pay for your goods right?”

He places a hand on his chest, “A being like me is exempt from such mortal affairs little one; I don’t need to hand over my money to anyone.” He hisses at the children gawking at him, his eye flashing red.

You shake your head, sipping your drink slowly. “You know, I forget you’re like this sometimes.”

“Powerful, awe inspiring, nightmare inducing?” He grins.

“Petty.”

You wouldn’t officially end your rival status

Black Hat is the paragon of evil and the standard all villains should strive towards almost being, it would not look good for him to be so... civil with a hero. The same thing goes for you, you may be used to him and a bit.. fond of him, but you couldn’t leave the League of Heroes! You were one of their top heroes! And you still were drawn to justice, no matter how much you enjoyed Black Hats satirical humor and general company, you didn’t believe villains were right.

This was something you two could agree on. Neither of you could afford to ruin your public appearance.

A secret relationship

Not that either of you ever made it “official” or anything, but you both agree to keeping your public and private lives separate. On the outside, you both would resume your fights and do your own things, but away from the public you could act however you wanted. This leads t the more domestic side of your “courting”.

Visiting your home

After a faux battle leaving you with a stinging gash, you decide to finally show bring your.. partner? Friend? Beau?? to your home.

“Its smaller than I expected.” Black Hat surveys the room around him, lifting up a bottle of mineral water from your table, “Do they not pay their heroes enough?”

You snatch the bottle from him, and swap it for a bottle of disinfectant, “They aren’t cheap like you. I just prefer something cozier.” You stick your tongue at him before drinking. The water soothes the building fever in your body and eases some of the aches and soreness you received from getting smacked around by him.

He clicks his tongue in distaste, “I could heal you ten times faster than mortal medicine.”

“You don’t seem like the healer type. And definitely not for free.” You walk to your bathroom and pull out your medical kit, taking out a roll of gauze, needle and wire. Turning around, you bump into Black Hat who steals the needle from your hand.

“You won’t be needing any of that,” he snaps his fingers, causing the items in your arms to disappear. “Except this.” He holds the needle in his mouth like a toothpick,”I will heal you in exchange for dinner. A good bargain considering the wasted use of my talent.”

You smile, “I’ll cook, as long as the hole in my arm doesn’t grow teeth due to your healing.”

He smirks and stalks down the hall to the kitchen, “That’s not a bad idea, I quite like it.”

You follow after him, “Do it and the first thing it eats is that car of yours.”

“I have plenty to spare.”

Visiting the manor

It doesn’t take much to convince Black Hat into taking you to the manor. Ever the show off, Black Hat makes sure the house is in its top condition before bringing you along with him. Seeing how Hat Island is stock full of villains and is home of Black Hat himself, no hero has ever gotten close to the island and come out unscathed. Until you.

This means you are wholly unprepared for the sight awaiting you.

“This sums you up pretty well.” You stifle a laugh. Before you is the home of evil incarnate. The lair of the monster children are told of at night. The domain of something so evil, he could destroy the planet and dust himself off as if nothing ever happened.

That entity’s home. Is a hat.

He sweeps you inside,”Of course, everything I own must have my stamp of approval.”

“Is the airplane also your stamp of approval?”

He grumbles,”Ignore that.”

- - -

“Your home feels a bit more like a museum and you the curator, but I admit it is very interesting.” You sit at his desk, admiring the artifacts lining the walls. You were especially interested in a piece of what seemed to be a spear.

Noticing your gaze Black Hat chuckles, “I take pieces of history, much of what you see now is because of me.”

“Including the plague?”

A sigh, “Good times.”

The rest of your time is full of questions and his retelling of history (though you take the stories of heroes with a grain of salt).

Final piece to the puzzle

There is no sound of wedding bells- and you highly doubt you could convince him to enter a Church or going to the government for that- so the two of you never truly get “married”. But along the way of your partnership, you both begin to realize that you are very, very fragile. So Black Hat creates a solution. No need to thank him~.

You lift a brow at the small box Black Hat has slid across his desk to you. Picking it up, you pause before opening it.

“Is this another shrunken head because I still haven’t gotten over the last one you gave me.”

He doesn’t look up from his newspaper, “Open it.”

“If something springs out I’m not making dinner.” You open the box.

A signet ring lay inside with the black hat symbol on the top.

“I..assume there is a reason behind this?” You take the ring out, twirling it between your fingers.

He folds his paper and approaches you. You look at him quizzically as he grasps your hand and holds the ring up for you to see.

“This, my little mortal, will keep you from harm.”

He slips the band onto your finger and pats your head, “I cant have you dying on me just yet.”

You lean forward on your palm, “With you here, what could hurt me?”

He leans in with a wicked, vulgar grin and eyes ablaze with want.

“Me.”

[veinsandknuckles]

Long hard road, pt 2

So, this is a new part 2, making what used to be part 2 part 3. Makes total sense, right?

Vimes/f!Reader Slow burn AU where Vimes isn’t married. Will definitely become hard R down the line. Content warnings: none Read part 1 here, part 3 here One sunny day about two weeks after Stone’s arrival, you found him lurking in a shady corner of the courtyard, leaning against a crate with an amused expression on his face. Today you were shirking so you followed his gaze to see what he was seeing.

It was Conrad and one of the local boys, around thirteen or so, engaged in a mock battle with a stick each for a sword. They weren’t playing, either. Conrad stopped every other minute to give minute advice with an air of great authority. Stone nodded to you when you joined him. “He’s always fancied himself a bit of a strongman, I think,” you said by way of a greeting. Conrad did have endless stories about his adventures, and it was fun to keep track of the details he got wrong with each retelling. “He’s got the posture down, I’ll give him that.”  It really was the kind of form you’d see in an instructional engraving; shoulders drawn back, chin in the air and his free hand behind his back. The boy caught him a blow on the outside of the thigh and Conrad loudly discounted it as unsportsmanlike. It was hard to tell if the kid was actually holding on to his every word, or just playing along for the excuse to beat a grown man and get away with it.

“Could you do better?”

Stone looked over at you with a suspicious frown. Then he shook his head. “You can’t bait me that easily.”

You nodded to the sword at his side. He never left the inn without it, and as plain as it was, it couldn’t be because he worried about it going missing. “So, what, you just carry that thing to impress the ladies?”

“Good grief.” But he must be in a good mood because then he smiled with a faraway look in his eye. “You know, I did try that for a time in my youth. When things grew desperate.”

“Did it work?”

“Nope.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure where that idea came from in the first place.” Conrad had backed the kid up against a wall with the point of the stick at his chest and looked a little too pleased about his victory. “In my experience, any excited talk between women about a big sword and the like is usually intended as a humorous metaphor.”

“You give men too much credit if you think we can tell the difference.” Stone still smiled, but you knew his words were a little too true for comfort. It was interesting that he could join in with this kind of talk so easily as long as it remained impersonal.

When Conrad turned his back to return to his starting position, the kid whacked him with his full strength across the leg. Conrad howled and nearly lost his balance. You couldn’t help laughing and the two knights in training finally discovered their audience. The boy bolted, Conrad scowled and limped off towards the kitchen, throwing the stick to the ground as he went.

“Show’s over,” said Stone and stood up straight. “Suppose I’d better get my own exercise in while there’s some daylight left.”

“Want some company?”

He sighed with an expression that was half amused, half irritated. “Do I have a choice?”

Of course he did, but if you said so he’d feel obligated to turn you down. He had to be able to tell himself he was being befriended against his will. After all, if he really wanted to avoid you, you knew he was more than capable of being impolite enough to say so. “What do you think?”

“Fine. A short walk, then.” Stone gestured for you to choose a direction and you headed out through the gates with him beside you, falling quickly into his leisurely pace.

The thaw had gotten an early start this year and everyone was fooled by it into hoping it would last, despite years of experience to the contrary. Every winter it was the same way - half a week of mild, sunny weather and not even the born locals could help thinking that this time it might be different, this time spring might arrive a month before it was due. Perhaps it was just human nature to talk big about expecting the worst and getting suckered despite of it.

Stone seemed a wonderful exception to this rule. There didn’t seem to be a silence thick enough to tempt him into speaking of the weather. He walked beside you, occupied with his own thoughts, completely at his ease.

“How long do you think you’ll be staying with us, mr Stone?”

He snorted. “Not a moment longer than I have to.”

The road you followed clung to the side of the mountain and bordered on the other side to dense pine forest growing from almost vertical ground. The little buildings of the inn huddled together on one of the wider plateaus and marked the edge of real vegetation before the path continued up towards the pass. You had just reached a bend in the road, a perfect vantage point to take in the stunning view of the mountain range to the side and the valleys below. On such a clear day, you could see the wide river even from here, snaking through the landscape like a silver inlay.

“How is it possible to tire of all this?”

Stone raised his eyebrows and regarded it dispassionately. “It’s just nature.”

You laughed. “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

“Since when are you so in love with the place? Thought you were bored to tears.”

“I’m not,” you conceded and tore yourself away from the view. “Just making the best of it.”

Stone took the lead now and followed the next trail leading in between the trees.

“Why not leave?”

“And go where? To do what?”

“I don’t know,” Stone shrugged. “You must want more than this, surely. You could settle down, start a family...” His ears caught up with his mouth and you saw him screw his eyes shut and shake his head.

Because of course the height of every woman’s ambition is a husband and children. You laughed and elbowed him in the side. “Mr Stone, are you offering to take me away from all of this?”

“Hah!” For once, he looked more amused than uncomfortable with the suggestion. “That’s me, walking model of fairy tale prince.”

“I’d say you’re more like the dangerous, good-for-nothing rogues that my mother should have warned me about. I’m sure you’ve left a few broken hearts in your wake.”

Stone snorted. “Right. You’ve really got me pegged.”

You bit your lip and kept watching him, but he was resolutely focused on the trail ahead. It didn’t seem like false modesty; he really did seem completely ignorant of his own charms. How could he not be, if he mistook every kind of flirtation for a joke?

Perhaps you weren’t his type. It happened. Not every man was ready to pounce on every opportunity that presented itself. Perhaps he didn’t want to pounce on anything in the first place.

But if that were the case, surely he would say so, instead of sarcastically playing along or pretending to misunderstand you. Whatever other obstacles may present themselves, the first and largest was that he wouldn’t believe you.

“Oh well,” you said. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

“No, I suppose I can’t,” he said, as if wishing he could. “But I can judge you for having poor taste.”

That was exactly the kind of comment you could hardly interpret as anything other than encouragement for you to continue.

“Are you asking to be complimented?”

Stone half turned towards you with a look of startled dread. “Absolutely not.”

Exasperated, you rolled your eyes and decided to drop it for the time being. “Fine. You pick a subject, then.”

For a moment, it seemed as if Stone couldn’t pull himself back together. The silence was thick and uncomfortable and you could have sworn you saw him, out of the corner of your eye, looking at you with some earnestness.

“Do you... er. Have you lived here long?”

“A few years.” The poor man really was ready to scrape the bottom of the barrel, but you felt like you owed him a little help in steering back into safer waters. “You’re from Ankh-Morpork, aren’t you?”

The little path forked up ahead and Stone chose the path that looped around to the other side of the inn. He really had explored his surroundings. “I suppose that’s not much of a secret.”

“The accent is pretty strong.”

“Huh.” He sniffed. “Your Morporkian is, er... it’s very good.”

“Thank you.”

“Must be from reading all those books.” He’d seen you read once, but apparently that was enough to set you down as a confirmed book worm.

For a while, you walked together in silence and slowly his ruffled feathers seemed to settle down. It was beautiful out here, every shadow in the snow a rich blue, every dapple of sunshine glowing peach and gold as the afternoon wore on. Your footfalls made a pleasant, hypnotising creaking sound with each step you took.

Before you could think it through, you asked a question that had been weighing on you for some time. “Is it safe for you to be here?”

There was a pause. “...for me or for you?”

Oh gods. “Either, I suppose.”

Stone thought this through. He looked very weary.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I suppose we’ll find out.”

You tried to smile. “I guess I wasn’t too far off with the ‘dangerous rogue’ thing, then.”

“Well, you knew that already.”

“Yeah... next time you should have a backstory and name picked out before you introduce yourself.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” he replied drily.

Despite everything he’d said (and failed to say) and despite how incredibly intimidating he could be, it was impossible for you to view Stone as a threat. If he had tried to make himself likeable or if he’d tried harder to bullshit an excuse for being here in the first place, it would have been another thing altogether. He didn’t seem as if he wanted anyone to like him very much and that indifference was predictably irresistible.

He was just so... self-contained. He seemed perfectly content on his own and perfectly careless of his reputation. His attitude towards whatever danger he was in seemed to consist mostly of boredom, as if he was just waiting to get it over with and wasn’t all that invested in the outcome. In many ways, he was untouchable, and of course that only made you more desperate to try. It was also very difficult to believe he didn’t have to fight people off with a stick.

You should really know better. So far everything had gone his way, which meant he could afford to be a gentleman, but who knew what desperation could drive him to do? When his reality caught up with him, you might all be acceptable casualties - to him as well as to whoever, or whatever, was chasing him. Somehow, all these facts were trumped by a strong gut feeling in his favour and here you were, walking beside him feeling as safe as if you’d known him for years.

The inn was coming back into view. Stone was deep in thought, but when the climb to get back onto the road got a little steep, he scaled it ahead of you, turned and offered his hand to help pull you up.

It was big, rough and warm - you felt the heat of his skin even through your mittens - and yours seemed almost to disappear into his grip. With a slowly creeping flush you realised that your attraction to him had grown much quicker than you had intended it to. Soon, if he kept deflecting your advances, you might find yourself too shy to continue them or, if you were very careless, growing lovesick.

“Thank you,” you said as you stepped onto the road and he immediately let go. You worried that you might have sounded a little too breathless and sincere.

“Course.” Stone cleared his throat and walked briskly towards the stables. “And, er. Thank you for the company. Although,” and he shot you a glance, “it shouldn’t become a habit. Seems all people do round here is gossip.”

“Of course.” You couldn’t deny it even if you wanted to, but it was very sweet of him to care about your reputation. “We wouldn’t want anyone to think you were a loose man.”

The shadow of the house crossed your path and Stone immediately seemed more at ease when he stepped into it. You could sense that he wanted to be alone with his thoughts now and so you forced a little smile and waved him off. A curt nod, and then he slunk in among the buildings, off to do whatever mysterious things usually filled his time.

[bookscone]

To Kill A Mockingbird - Review

SPOILERS

This review includes spoilers to the book “To Kill A Mockingbird”, read at your own expense.

So, I have recently read “To Kill A Mockingbird” by Harper Lee after I saw many people reading it. Lately, I was doubting how trustworthy the “Pulitzer Prize” is but after reading this book, I got reassured that we can trust Pulitzer Prize” and read the books that won it.

I rarely rate books 5 stars because I am very good at nit-picking and finding aspects to lower my rating but “To Kill A Mockingbird” is really a ride. It touches upon all of the serious social issues of history and today, exploring some of them in-depth and discussing some briefly. I think we can truly feel To Kill A Mockingbird because some of the problems in the book are so real to us. Plus, they are much more open and blatant, so it is easier for us to spot the problem in the novel than in real society.

In this review, I will briefly discuss things that I liked, that I wasn’t a big fan of and what I thought about this book.

First, let’s start with the opening quote. I really like how the book starts with “Lawyers, I suppose, were children once.” because that quote in on itself is stating a problem. Lawyers, since the time this book was published, have always been seen as cunning, apologists of heinous crimes, unapologetic liars and professional manipulators. Even though some of these were true for some lawyers, grossly generalizing a vital branch of society is never good. Through the book, showing the lawyer from a positive perspective and making him the “hero” of the story, Harper Lee is trying to break prejudices. Also, as a young person aspiring to be a lawyer, this quote is special to me.

Most importantly, I think retelling this story from the perspective of a child is brilliant. Children always grow and change, therefore showing the change of society and what society imposes on people through the mind of a child is a genius idea. As Scout grows and matures, we see her opinions shift, her start to think more freely and she becomes more tolerant. The forever changing mind of a child is the easiest place to insert the first sparks of tolerance. In my opinion, here Harper Lee tries to show us how important it is to teach children tolerance, and even if success seems impossible, try anyways for the sake of teaching your child a lesson of accepting and helping. I think the message is meant to be “Children are our future, and even if now we cannot succeed, teaching them will make them succeed in the matters we couldn’t in the future” - and if that was the intended message, it was conveyed brilliantly.

I want to mention that it is relatively easy to read also. Many books in the 50s and 60s have a really hard language which is used unnecessarily, and yes, I do think to Kill A Mockingbird could have adopted an easier writing style but compared to other novels of its time, it is really easy. The writing flows pretty well too.

“To Kill A Mockingbird” makes you think but more than anything it plays to the feelings. As you read the book, you are supposed to feel their anger, their joy, their hate, their love, their fear, their hope, and hopelessness. And yes, I want to say it does flow well enough that you can have strong feelings while reading, but for a book which is written to make you feel, it has too complicated a language. Okay, maybe I am just uneducated and am not able to understand quick enough to process the book and feel at the same time, but I think it could have been written more descriptive rather than trying to make the plot proceed at all times. I just think more description and lingering on important scenes could have helped this book a lot. Not that I think the book needs any help to shine.

I love that the book is realistic - the characters are realistic. There aren’t only black and white characters who are only evil and only great. On the contrary, I also like that not all characters are total “grey” and written to be not-that-not-this, forcibly “realistic” and “humane’. There are grey characters, there are characters that overwhelmingly are evil and kind of feel like Disney villains (because some people are just like Disney villains); there are characters who always do good, at least inside the book and are the angelic mentors (even though very few, there are such people also). We can love a character unconditionally, we can hate the other with all of our heart, relate to another, be frustrated over the other but also like some things that one did. Such characters make the world of the book more realistic, making you not be frustrated over all the bad decisions they make, because most people also make normal decisions.

The last thing that I like, and am very grateful to happen in the book is that it did not have a fairytale sweet and happy ending. If it had a good ending that was joyful for everybody, then the book wouldn’t stay with us as much as it does now that the ending was not happy. The thoughts and feelings we had would not last long, we wouldn’t take much of the book with us when we made the covers meet and leave it on our shelves. However, the ending isn’t completely sad. It actually ends pretty happily for the main characters, but when we remember what happened to the person who was the reason this story happened, it makes us sad. Even though the story ended with the main characters learning new things, becoming more accepting of the people around them and maturing emotionally, we still feel the sorrow of Tom Robinson in the aura of the book. the fact that the ending we have and expected but did not want was the reality of the 50s, is hitting and effective. I like the storyline choice.

I want to finish the brief review here. I think the book deserves a 9/10. I overwhelmingly enjoyed most parts of the book, enjoyed the premise, liked the themes featured in it and was engrossed in reading it. However, I personally cannot give it a 10/10 because it just is not one of the best books I have read. The flow was not one of the best I have seen and that is probably the only flaw of this book.  If I have to convert my rating to a star rating (I just like star ratings) then it would definitely be a 5-star book.

Thank you for reading!

[swishandflickwit]

my weary heart has come to rest in yours (i found my way home) — 1/1

Summary: "I don't get it," Katara purses her lips, befuddlement clear in the furrow of her brows as she turns to him. "You'd think the Fire Nation would know such an important detail about their own prince."

The Gaang wonders why the Fire Nation doesn't seem to know much about Zuko, like maybe where his scar should be? It opens up a lot of questions that they want answered. Zuko, on the other hand, just wants to sleep.

Rating: General Audiences

Words: 5.7k

Warnings:  unbeta’d, zuko-centric, post-ember island players, pre-sozin's comet, zuko gets a hug (as he deserves), non-canon compliant (more like canon adjacent lol), ember island

AN: working title: obligatory the gaang finds out about zuko's scar fic // alt title: a pocket of happiness for my children

title from: Ride Home by Ben&Ben

Also on: ff.net | AO3

Other writing

The atmosphere amongst the occupants of the beach house is sullen and cross following their night out in the theater. 

It isn’t lost on them that the edifice they have come to know as their solace belongs to the very monster man who brought upon their 'deaths'. The certainty that it had all been a fictionalized retelling was not enough to temper even the echo of the crowd’s rabid enthusiasm as they cheered the demise of the Avatar and his friends, nor erase the visceral image of the thespian Fire Lord standing before his adoring subjects—triumphant in his accomplishment of world domination. 

They step through the threshold of the tyrant’s once home. The air grows thicker in acerbity.

Zuko wants to snark at them, I told you they’d butcher it. If he had been the person he was even a month ago perhaps he would have, but the words wither in his throat. The scene of him engulfed in Azula’s flames, however fake or fantasized, sears across his mind on relentless repeat so that it is more selfish entreaty than consideration that has him abstaining from permeating the burdensome silence with his signature brand of pessimism—realism.

Dinner is an equally stilted affair, the only sound to be heard is the clob of chopsticks against wooden bowls and the crackling of the campfire solemnly harmonizing with the occasional sigh of dejection.

This, however, does not last too long.

He supposes he should have seen it coming. This is the boy who offered his friendship at the slightest show of goodness from him. The Avatar is as buoyant in his movements as his element. Though Zuko has come to learn when it comes to his disposition, it is more alacrity than air that has him flitting from one emotion to another, ensuring he never dallies in his worries for too long.

So when Aang bellows, "That's it!" as he discards his bowl with a careless flick, the remains of his uneaten congee spilling carelessly across the cobblestones of the courtyard, Zuko doesn't so much as blink at his latest antics.

He is more surprised at Sokka's indignant huff seeing as it is the first sound he's made in the past two hours (which is subsequently also the quietest he's ever witnessed the other boy to be in all the time he's known him) since they've arrived. 

"I would have eaten that," Sokka mutters irately.

(It is fitting however, that this should be the commentary to break his speechless strike.)

"I mean, what's the big deal? It was just a stupid play!” Aang exclaims emphatically, his voice cracking in his vehemence. “If anything, we should be laughing our butts off—that writer obviously didn't know what he was talking about!"

"Speak for yourself, Twinkletoes," Toph chuckles. "I happened to enjoy my portrayal. It was wrong, sure, but what did you expect from a patchwork of second-hand accounts combined with your regular sprinkling of Fire Nation propaganda? It was dumb, but that was the point. You all know the truth, don't you? Quit being such wet blankets about it already."

After having heard a similar iteration from Toph earlier, Zuko finds no offense from the jibe. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the rest of his companions, save Aang—though even his propensity for optimism appears ready to float away on the next gust of wind.

"At least you were in the play," Suki offers, good-naturedly, if not a bit feebly.

"I think I'd rather just not be in it altogether, if it means I'd have to be depicted like—" Katara shudders before grumbling, as if there truly are no words for that disaster of a parody, "...that."

Zuko wholeheartedly seconds her sentiments.

"Toph's right though!" Aang blusters on, and it all seems rather void but he admires the kid's pluck. "In fact, I think we should all take this opportunity to look back on our adventures—"

Zuko groans. Frankly, he doesn't want to think too much about what it said about him that the Avatar's evasion tactics had relied mostly on improvisation and sheer, dumb luck than calculated military strategy and cunning.

"Or maybe we should just not."

"But Zuko," Aang turns big, round, pleading eyes at him. "Aren't you at least a little curious about what really happened? Not even Toph's heard about half of what we were up to before she joined up with us!"

"You were idiots then, and you're only just a little bit now," Toph snarks. "What else is there to know?"

"Toph," warns Katara just as Sokka sputters, "Hey!"

"It might be good for morale," Suki suggests gently. "I know I could use a pick-me-up."

Zuko gets along with Suki—at least, as well as he is able to get along with anyone. Still, he can't help but shoot her a betrayed glance following her pronouncement. Zuko just wants to sleep, but he should have known better. The minute he starts wanting things is usually the moment they float out of reach.

Suki smiles back unrepentantly, so he sighs in resignation and straps himself down for a long night of reliving his failures (again) and listening to their tales.

"I am a pretty gifted storyteller," Sokka puffs his chest then starts stroking oddly at his face, particularly the area at the sides of his mouth.

Okay? he ponders with a large heaping of confusion.

"That's the spirit, Sokka!" Aang exclaims, but before Sokka can thank him much less get a word in, Aang launches into the story of how the Water Tribe siblings actually found him. Unsurprisingly, it involves less tears—"By which Sokka means no tears!"—and an infuriated Katara and that, he can believe.

Zuko doesn't anticipate being spoken to for the rest of the night. At best, he is a mere purveyor of their communal fire. At worst, an engaged and enthusiastic reaction to the boys' avid narration will be expected of him. And as socially inept as he may be, he has enough tact to refrain from volunteering his side of the events. Even with the amends he's made, he hardly thinks it would encourage rapport to rhapsodize about a time they had been on separate sides at all, no matter how early it had been in their acquaintance. Zuko would (very much) like to retire at some point in the evening without having to worry about suffocating in his sleep.

(He hasn't had that concern for two weeks now, it was practically a new record.)

So imagine his surprise when the focus shifts to him. Toph, much to his mortification, recounts his outburst at being told by a child decked out in derisory Avatar robes (that had to be illegal, right?) that the scar on his 'Prince Zuko costume' was on the wrong side.

"I don't get it," Katara purses her lips, befuddlement clear in the furrow of her brows as she turns to him. "You'd think the Fire Nation would know such an important detail about their own prince."

"Yeah, Sparky." Toph stomps over from the opposite side of their circle to plop down beside him with all the grace of a landslide. "I didn't even know you had a scar until tonight!" She pokes aimlessly at his right cheek. "What gives?"

He stares at her agog before realizing she has no way of deciphering his countenance. So, he responds by addressing Katara's comment instead.

"I don't see why they would," he shrugs. "I'm sure by the time they heard, if they heard about it at all, I had long been banished."

"I'm confused," Aang rubs his head contemplatively. "If you're banished, what's with all the wanted posters? I thought being banished meant you had to stay away, but then they also want to imprison you? You're their prince, it doesn't make sense!"

"Come to think of it," Suki muses, "Why were you banished in the first place?"

"Hold up," Sokka did that thing where he stroked the sides of his face again—seriously, what was up with that?—"I've always wondered, how come you were branded a traitor way before you even joined us? Reading your poster wasn't exactly at the top of our to-do list."

Katara interjects with, "And what were you doing so far out in the South Pole that day we found Aang, anyway?" while Toph reminds him, "Plus, that still doesn't explain why your people don't seem to know anything about you or your scar." 

A headache begins forming at his temples from the barrage of questions. He sighs in vexation before regarding Katara.

"Isn't it obvious? What did you think I was doing? I wasn't exactly sailing around for a vacation destination." Then lowly, somberly, at Toph, "And they haven't been my people," he rubs subconsciously at his marred flesh—mind flitting to that war room—always, always there—and to a whole division of loyal soldiers that in the end, he arrogantly assumed he could defend yet ultimately failed to protect. "Not for a long time."

There is silence in the wake of his disclosure, punctuated by the crackle of the tinder as it is disturbed by the gale gusting in from the beach, and an unnameable terseness that fills the air.

"Why—" he's not sure why he whispers, but it feels appropriate given their stricken expressions. "Why are you all looking at me like that?"

Suki ultimately is the one to brave breaking the taut stillness, staring at him with purpose.

"Zuko, when—who—" she stutters with what he speculates is an uncharacteristic timidity. That is until she gathers herself with a deep breath, the query crystallizing on her exhalation.

"How did you get your scar?"

It occurs to him, belatedly, that he may have said too much.

"I don't see how it matters," he retorts, hoping the curtness in his delivery puts an end to this inquisition.

But Zuko never did have much luck getting what he wanted.

(No, he broods with a bitterness he wishes he didn't harbor so much, Azula made sure of that.)

"We don't want to upset you—"

"So don't."

Undeterred, Katara finishes in tonalities as soothing as the morning tide, "But it helps to talk about things that might have hurt you."

Around him, the pressure builds. A deadly gas awaiting a fuse.

"Oh, 'it helps,' does it?" he snarls, rage thrumming like wildfire in his veins—igniting his body, and detonating through his next words. "And who exactly does it help, huh? You sure it's my best interests you have at heart? Or—I know! You wanna know my weaknesses, keep the big, bad fire bender on a leash!" He throws his head back, some facsimile of a laugh escaping his lips. "Unless, of course, you're just saying that to satisfy your insatiable need to mother everyone."

Boom.

"Please, I haven't had a mother in years," and he hates it, he hates how it is his voice now that breaks and his body wilts as the violent cloud of his fury dissipates—all the rancorous contention leaking out of him. "I don't need your ridicule or your pity. I've been fine on my own."

And this is the moment he loses everything, he is convinced. Because this is what Zuko does, and what he is best at. His fingers are but sieves from which good things slip. All of him is a razor blade destined to pierce any that would dare come close. He is downfall personified, he is a plague.

This is how it should be, he reasons, cut him now as they would a festering infection.

(As his father, his sister, his mother, would.)

For broken things beget broken things, and they deserve better than to have him bring ruin upon them all.

But then a hand—hands—ground him, keep him rooted, keep him still.

"Well then," Sokka avers, with his special brand of genial but no less poignant solemnity. "It's a good thing we aren't in the business of dishing out pity. Isn't that right, gang?" He clasps his right shoulder, the gesture teeming with meaning though Zuko is the last person to decode it.

"Ridicule, on the other hand…" Toph snickers. Katara sends her an affronted glare before realizing the futility of such an action. She sighs her discontent instead, before returning her attention to him.

"And you're not anymore," Katara says with an earnestness that confounds Zuko to discover is directed at him. "On your own, that is."

"I don't understand," and truly he doesn't. He knows it is not their way to spill blood (barring Katara's commimation during his early days in the Western Air Temple, which was more than fair), but this is the first he's lost his temper in front of them for no valid reason. His choleric speech had their bonfire flaring with every harsh and erratic breath he expelled, sure signs of his waning control. "Aren't you going to kick me out? At least put me in chains!"

Katara's hand joins Sokka's on his opposite side as she approaches him from behind. He has to crane his neck to ascertain her aghast mien. "For what? For being angry? For talking out of turn?"

(It always boils down to this, doesn't it? Agni, why couldn't he ever just keep his mouth shut for once in his miserable life?)

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, because he is and he doesn't know what the right thing to do or say is.

"I know," Katara smiles, but there is something desolate in the curl of her lips. "You always are," she sighs. "I'm sorry, too."

Her thumb brushes back and forth across the nape of his neck and he would have started at the unfamiliar touch if her apology hadn't already caught him off guard. In truth, this entire night has been an anomaly with how quickly they all have made his head spin in the last few minutes alone.

"You're sorry?" he gapes, genuine bafflement coloring his articulation. "Why?"

"For pushing you to talk about what I should have known was a sensitive topic." It's her turn to squeeze his shoulder. "I really am sorry."

"There's nothing to forgive," he stammers, for there honestly isn't. He's still trying to get over the fact he received an apology, let alone that anyone sought a dispension of forgiveness. From him.

"Katara's maternal instincts and overbearing need to talk about one's feelings can be annoying. Believe me, I know."

"Gee. Thanks, Toph," Katara deadpans.

"But she's right," Toph's roughened hands encircle his left forearm. Compared to the siblings, her grip is near painful, as if to dig in her point. "Bottling it up, burying your emotions… it'll only hurt you more."

"But it doesn't hurt," he insists, stubbornly ignoring the waver in his importunity as his palm spans the breadth of his ragged scar. "It doesn't."

"We're not talking about the hurt there," Katara grazes cool fingers from his back to his front, before placing it prostrate and precise. "We're talking about the one here."

Right atop his heart.

"The monks have a saying," Aang has since nestled on his knees in front of Zuko. Without him noticing, their entire circle has gotten closer so that he is at the center—warm bodies surrounding him from all sides, little planets orbiting the sun.

"Holding onto anger is a lot like holding onto hot coals that you mean to throw at someone else. In the end, you're the one who gets burned."

"What do you want from me?" he questions wearily though he knows the answer.

"Nothing," Katara assuages. "Nothing you aren't willing to give."

"And we know you're a fire bender, buddy, but don't you think a fire shared is a village warmed?" Sokka grins encouragingly before sobering. "Maybe you don't want to, but I think you may need this. You've got all this—this—pent-up frustration inside you. I can't believe we never noticed it before, it's practically oozing out of you! Like pus from a boil!"

Zuko grimaces. "Thanks, Sokka."

Unfazed, he goes on. "Don't tell me you've had someone to talk about this with. I can't imagine you and Azula sitting round a campfire having a heart-to-heart."

You'd be surprised, Zuko thinks, if that night of confessions at the beachside counted at all.

"There's still so much we don't know about you," Aang adds. "We just want to understand."

"But, why?" he blurts, frustration mounting again like a forest fire. He is desperate to fathom their persistence, to decipher the motives behind their inexplicably lambent eyes, their magnanimous looks and their delicate tones. 

"Because we're your friends, Zuko," Suki murmurs while everyone makes their approval known one way or another. "Sharing burdens is kinda what we do."

Oh, he thinks dumbly, Oh.

"It doesn't make for a pleasant bedtime story," he states with an almost believable clinical detachment, steadfastly ignoring the pounding of his heart at her proclamation of friendship. "And it's heavy. This is a load I wouldn't wish on anyone."

"All the better," Katara chirps, settling with her knees aside behind him, "that there's five of us then, right?"

Perhaps it is the security found amongst the shadows of the eventide that loosens his tongue. Perhaps it is that Zuko is just too exhausted, figuring that the fastest way to reach his bed is to simply not argue. It might even be the contentment that Aang and Sokka's adage brings him, the closest taste of home he's had since his separation from the person whom he now knows, without question, he loves most in this world. Or maybe it is simply time , here, on this island, the ghost of dual timbres wisened with age—and it can help you understand yourselves—ringing in his ears. And so beneath a collective scrutiny of ingrained amity and determined tolerance and encouragement and just… goodness.

He begins his tale.

He speaks until his already hoarse voice grows even hoarser, the words clumsy and stilted on his tongue, unused as he is to telling his story—along with the extensive range of sensations that come with it, and the illimitable memories it incites within him, some sentimental while others he would rather forget altogether. 

He speaks of a mother's love lending him both strength and weakness, of how it should have been enough yet still could never outweigh his longing for the love of a father who scorns him, of a sister he adored until she, too, eventually saw him as nothing more than a hindrance, then an enemy. He speaks of an uncle whose favor brought him places he knew he ought to be but secretly did not think he deserved, of advice dispensed wisely and discarded carelessly, of a compassion that flamed so bright within him a King saw it as too untamable to remain, and so he snuffed it out with a fiery hand to his face. He spoke of lonely years with nothing but sky and sea and the musings of an old man over tea as his only company, of a path he knew deep down had been aimless yet it was all he could hold on to because it was a reminder that he was still real.

"Three years," Suki mouths, devastation written so plainly upon her profile Zuko couldn't bear to look at her. "He had you chasing a ghost for three years."

"So… so what you said… about losing your honor?" Katara mutters wetly, and if that isn't evidence enough of her sorrow then surely, the unceasingly dampening spots between his shoulder blades are.

He winces at the flashback her inquest incites, shaking his head in internal, forlorn reproach. His shame galvanizes him enough to want to explicate his reasonings out loud, for if there is absolution to be found in his ramblings then all the more reason to try.

"For so long, I fooled myself into believing that finding the Avatar meant regaining my honor. It never occurred to me until recently that honor wasn't something that could be taken away from you. It's something you earn for yourself," he sighs despondently. "Some days though, it wasn't even about honor—I just wanted to go home. But more than anything, my father led me to believe that if I captured you then I would finally, finally have his approval—his love," he shakes his head before releasing a hollow chuckle. "What a stupid thought."

"No, no it wasn't stupid!" Toph exclaims. "It's a parent's job to love their kid. And even then it's not supposed to be conditional!"

"I can't believe he would—that he'd bur—" Aang cuts himself off with a jerk, as if the word, burn, is a most foul curse that would be invoked at the slightest whisp. Zuko doesn't dissuade him. There was a time when he felt the same way, too.

"His own son," Aang finishes dazedly, his face a river of tears, a torrent with no signs of abating.

"I'm sorry," Zuko tries again, a little alarmed now at the frequency of watery displays before him. "I didn't mean to make you sad. Oh," in his panic, he thumbs impetuously at the stray droplets coursing down the arch of Toph's cheeks. In this light, she looks exactly her age, so young and slight, yet so contrary to what he knows of the mighty and unflappable earth bender. A pang goes through his chest that he could ever be cause for her melancholy, for any of theirs. "Please don't cry."

"You first," Toph replies, inconceivably subdued and gentle as she reaches up to frame his face. Zuko holds his breath when he assumes she will palm at his scar, which she does. But there is no judgement there, only indubitable acceptance, and comfort, as she brushes roughly at the tears he didn't even know he's shed.

"Oh," he repeats, not for the first, and certainly not for the last, time tonight.

Suki sniffs. "He doesn’t deserve you."

Sokka abruptly declares in hard intonations, "I'm gonna kill him—" 

Before he can completely swear his intent, the water in the fountain behind them solidifies into menacingly pointy shards while the earth underneath them trembles dangerously.

"Get in line," Katara hisses darkly at the same time Toph grunts, "Not if I get to him first!"

Sokka's eyes are red-rimmed and gleaming. Still, he announces with a fair amount of acid in his inflection, "I know how you feel about this Aang, but you better hold me back when the time comes cause if I get my hands on that crazy, stupid, son-of-a—"

Zuko lurches forward to cover Aang's ears.

"Sokka!"

It seems the contact is all the incentive Aang needs to throw his arms around Zuko. The fire bender isn't expecting the extra ninety pounds and for all four, gangly limbs to wrap around him like a pentapus so he has no choice but to fall back to accommodate the extra weight, his head landing on Katara's lap as Aang does his utmost to actually meld himself onto his body. 

"Slothdog pile?" Toph asks unnecessarily and with a gargantuan amount of glee that the shift in mood gives him whiplash. "No way I'm not getting in on this!"

Toph burrows her head onto his hip, knocking Aang's leg aside as she commandeers Zuko's own left leg like a body pillow. It appears to be all the permission everyone else has been seeking as well, for like dominoes they begin falling into place around him. Katara tucks his head a little more securely on her thigh before leaning her upper body against the lip of the fountain at her back while Suki lists against Sokka who leans his head onto Zuko's right shoulder. 

"What—what's happening right now?" he doesn't want to appear too scandalized but he is at a loss for what to do with his limbs, outstretched as they are on either side of him. The Royal family didn't do touch, much less hug. The gesture became even more scarce when his mother… when she was gone, and though his uncle was a lot more free with his affections, it still hadn't warranted familiarity. His muscles contract at the overwhelming amount of contact.

"I wouldn't think too hard." Above him, there are traces of moisture on her visage but Katara chuckles, fond and ebullient now, much to his relief. "Just go with the flow."

"Says the water bender to the fire bender," he bites back weakly, which only fuels Katara's amusement.

Aang fastens his hold around the prince's torso, and he tenses even more.

"You know your dad's wrong, right, Zuko?"

"About what?" he quips sarcastically, but is surprised by the ardency in their antiphon.

"About everything," Aang counters fiercely. "Like, yeah, you chased us all over the world but you never aimed to kill!"

With his lineage it feels like a low bar but he nods his acknowledgement and his gratitude.

"You didn't save me from the pirates, but you kept them from… touching me," her tone is as algid as the glaciers of her homeland, but the rattle of Katara's bones is so prominent that he shakes along with her. "It could have gone a lot worse."

"I wouldn't do you that dishonor," he whispers brokenly, sick at the scenarios he can so acutely guess is conquering her imagination, it's own horrific play dancing along her features.

"I know," she reciprocates, just as gravely, "I know that now."

"You kept your promise. You could have come back, razed our village—"

"And mine," Suki joins Sokka.

"But you didn't."

He frowns. "Those days, my word was the only currency I had that was worth trading." 

He doesn't like how they make it—him—sound. Every decent deed he had fulfilled in pursuit of the Avatar was done so as a courtesy mostly to himself. If he was to regain his honor, he had to act with as much honor as his, admittedly dastardly-to-begin-with, mission could provide. Now, Zuko isn't exactly an authority—even on his good days—on altruism but he could at least recognize that in those moments, any clemency administered had been the right thing to do.

"Anyone would have done the same," he defends faintly, then immediately wishes he could take it back when Katara growls.

"No, Zuko," she clenches quivering fingers around the ubiquitous pendant adorning her neck. "No, they wouldn't."

"It's more than that, though," Aang asserts imploringly. "It's just you. It's so obvious, how did we ever not see it before now? It's who you are," he takes a deep breath, the wisdom of a thousand others before him laying siege in his every movement, every syllable. "And who you are is the most honorable guy we know."

He does a double-take.

"You… you really think that?" He shakes his head in frantic incredulity, blood roaring like a storm through his veins. "All of you?"

He looks at each of them in bewilderment—lingers especially on Aang, at the roundness of his cheeks that should be testament to his naiveté yet so contrary to the maturity shadowing his bearing—as if he can divine their rationale through sight alone. He doubts them, and it makes him feel older than sixteen, his cynicism a pallium shackled to his shoulders. But there is a chorus of devout agreeance, Aang's hope a living, tangible thing that he gives to Zuko freely. He fumbles. He doesn't trust the fervor with which it sets him aglow (metaphorically and physically, it would seem, as Sokka comments mildly, "Wow, you're like a heated blanket with how warm you are. Hey, why didn't we think of doing this before?"), but Zuko—even with his infinite skepticism—cannot find it in his fractured heart to reject it.

"Zuko?" Aang prompts, raising his head so he can catch his eye, gray and gold colliding in an affable display of security. "You believe us, don't you?"

"Yeah," Zuko reassures, albeit timorously. He takes a bracing, meditative breath before releasing it, sinking into the downy cosset of their affections as he turns his head to Katara's stomach, lowers his arms to clutch Suki and Sokka closer, bundles Aang on his chest with his heated breath, and secures Toph to his side with a hand to her back. Then, stronger, "Yeah, I guess I do."

When he decided to share his tumultuous past, he thought that he might shatter and they would rejoice at the gravity of his turmoil. But he should have known better than to assume his friends—and how marvelous a notion, to think that he of all people would have a group he is honored to name as such his own—will let him. He knows Suki had called themselves so earlier, but he doesn't quite believe it. Not until now.

"We won't let him touch you again."

It is said through a yawn as one by one, they nod off, until only Zuko and Katara are left to drift close to the edge of lethargy. She strokes tenderly at his hair, so reminiscent of his mother that he feels a familiar burning in his eyes and a lump at the back of his throat once more, all from the simple motion—or so he tells himself.

"Sleep, Zuko," she sweeps away the strands at his forehead before impressing upon it a tender kiss. "No one will hurt you. Not anymore, not ever."

Zuko can take care of himself. The way he's brought up, he's had to. Beyond that, they are at the very front lines of a war—any day, any second, could mean the last for them and they would have no way of knowing until it is upon them, so Katara's asseveration should not have brought him the relief it did. If anything, he should have denied it with the same dose of pessimism realism he approaches most everything in his life. 

But perhaps, just this once, he will allow himself the privilege of their refuge. He will allow himself to believe in the vehemency of their promise.

I just wanted to go home, he had said. And this is not a place he pictured himself ever being in, trivialized to a mere furnace, yet strangely he finds he does not mind it (not that he would ever divulge this forthright), not even a little bit. The struggle and strife of his history, of his present, are unchanged, but an effervescence envelops him in spite of the five bodies weighing him down.

Maybe even because of them.

He closes his eyes when Katara has another go at running her fingers through his hair. He can almost conjure the ghost of his mother's smile when she used to employ the same tactics to lull him to slumber. He thinks of his uncle, mistifying and genteel and terrifying and loving all at once, sitting vigil at his bedside when fever and delirium took him during those early days of recovery, and long after then, whether or not he admitted to his desire for him to stay. He compares this house and everything it represents—a relic to his family's happiness—to this strangely colorful and caring mismatch of a rugged group that someway, somehow, just manages to fit perfectly into his arms. He tightens his embrace, and it suddenly hits him.

He supposes home was something he could carry with him all along.

"Sleep," Katara hums.

And so he does.

-//////-

Later, much later, when the power from the comet has receded to the faintest of throbs, and his sister is sedated and heavily guarded while his father is in chains at the bottom of the most isolated prison in the Fire Nation, their fates to be decided in the coming weeks by a tribunal composed of the remaining leaders from all nations—when he retires to his room in lieu of that of the Fire Lord's (despite the mantle and all it entails, both the sordid and the noble, falling solely onto his shoulders), and he sports yet another scar, a burn, that he will bear just as proudly as the first and more fiercely than even his eminent title, for there was no higher honor than protecting a friend—when his uncle has resumed his seat, snoring soundly and deservedly on an armchair at the side of his vast four-poster, always at his side as if they had never parted for even one second, and he is sandwiched between his two most favorite twelve-year olds in the world, Toph as unmindful of his injury as one would expect her to be when she plants her sleep-dead body right atop his chest, and Aang entirely all too much, curled into a ball that hardly breaches his space, apart from his head as he dozes lightly on his shoulder—when Sokka and Suki are passed out at the foot of his bed, his leg a pillow for their weary heads and their bodies as tangled onto each other despite Sokka's own bandaged leg (like the kindred souls he knows them to be, like magnets helpless against each other's pull), and Katara has expelled the last of her curative waters on him, much to his insistence that he doesn't need it any longer, before she sinks into the only unoccupied space above him on his bed—when they lie there in the first quiet they've achieved since they all adjourned here, their heads touching and their breathing in sync—he opens his eyes.

"You did it, Zuko," Katara's voice is a susurrant trill tinged with exaltation and pride. "You're home."

As he does then, he does again now, and tightens his hold—a hand to steady Aang's lolling head, another at Toph's back to still her fitful body, his leg pushing to burrow the blanket further into Suki's side, and the fireplace flaring with his breath to heat the figures he cannot reach. The difference in this embrace, however, is in the absence of doubt and the lack of fear, replaced with all the affluence of his adoration—unhindered and abounding.

"Yeah."

It is his turn to press a kiss onto her forehead, lips moving tired but no less grateful and indulgent. 

Cradled in the warmth of everyone he loves and cares about, he is quite inclined to agree.

"I am home."

-//////-

AN: "Holding on to anger is like grasping on hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets hurt." —Buddha

i feel like you aren't part of the atla fandom and the zuko nation until you crank out one of these lmao. listen, listen, the beach gets cold at night so i just always picture these kids a pile of tired, sleeping limbs at the end of every day and all huddling into the only free source of heat, no fire required. let me live in this world.

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