#I still remember my illustration teacher saying that noses and ears were the only parts of the face that were interchangeable bw characters

[taniushka12]

Sorry I know art styles are a very personal thing but as a person who loves drawing noses whenever I see an art style w/ either a minimalistic nose (some animes) or no noses at all I can't help but be pissed off. like how dare you leave out the best part of the face?

[inmyownlittlecorner5]

Severus Snape and the Midnight Tea

A One-Shot by la-topolina

Rated for Teen Audiences

Warnings: Death of a parent

Written for the Severus Snape Bigbang 2019+

Summary: Luna Lovegood is a most curious child.

Author’s Note: For the Snape Bigbang 2019, we were asked to write a story starring our favorite potions master to be illustrated by an fan artist. I was very fortunate to be paired with @owlswithfins​; and you can see their absolutely perfect artwork for this tale here: Poppies+

(picspam by the author)

The first time Severus Snape met Luna Lovegood was at her mother’s funeral. He’d been unsurprised by the news that Pandora Lovegood, née  Nott, had managed to kill herself during a disastrous spell experiment; but he had been sorry all the same. Pandora had possessed a rare quality of unfailing good will and, wild as her imagination would sometimes run, her presence in the Slytherin common room had been a welcome breath of fresh air. 

And so it was, on a atrociously lovely day in May, Severus found himself counted among the flock of Pandora’s mourners, balancing a teacup and saucer and a plate of cold meat and cake in the furthest recesses of the Lovegoods’ garden that he could respectably maintain. The gloriously blue sky was a heartless backdrop to the red-eyed and frequently sniveling guests, as was the riot of greens, blues, pinks, and purples that had burst forth in the freshness of spring around them. Only the crumbling stone wall enclosing the lawn had the decency to display a touch of melancholy decay, and Severus tenaciously clung to his haven in the corner; trusting that his dour expression and ability to avoid eye contact would protect him from the unpleasant task of making conversation.

“You’ve a Wrackspurt in your ear,” piped a small voice near his elbow.

He tensed at the disturbance, and looked down his nose to behold the now motherless Lovegood girl, decked in a white chiffon dress and a crown of violently red poppy flowers.

“I beg your pardon?” he replied stiffly, returning the child’s vague smile with a frown.

“A Wrackspurt. I can tell because you were staring off and not talking to anybody. But don’t worry, it’s to be expected. They’re everywhere today.”

“Are they? I don’t believe I am familiar with that particular creature.”

“Oh, they’re pesky little brutes. They float in people’s ears and make their thoughts get all fuzzy. And they like funerals. Everyone is so sad and distracted you know, so it’s easy for them to get in. They’re sure to have gotten me by now too, since Daddy made me leave off my spectrespecs.”

Severus was beginning to feel mildly dizzy from the speed of the girl’s prattle. 

“Spectrespecs?”

“They help you see the Wrackspurts coming. But Daddy said that there would be too many today to bother with the spectrespecs, especially since they would upset Grandmama Nott. And he can always take care of them during the nightly de-Wrackspurting before bedtime stories.”

“I see.” He did not see.

“Now I know who you are! You’re Professor Severus Snape. I’m Luna Lovegood and you’ll be my teacher in two years.”

She held out her hand to him with a poise that belied her age, her weedy frame, and her odd lexicon. Her manner was so airy that he wondered if she were perhaps as moonstruck as her name implied; but he took her hand and bent over it as though she were a pureblood matron to command such courtesies.

“Miss Lovegood, I am sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you, Professor Snape. That’s nice of you to say, and Daddy says you’re usually not nice to anyone.”

He smirked in spite of himself. “That is true. I am not nice to anyone.”

“Did you know that being mean to people attracts Wrackspurts?”

“I was not aware of that.”

“They like to latch onto the purpleness of it all.”

“Ah.” He was not sure whether he was amused or insulted—but he was in no way bored, which was a novel feeling. He eyed her closely, noting the jagged cut of her hair and asked pointedly, “Was it a Wrackspurt that got hold of your hair today?”

She shook her locks carelessly. “No. A Dirigible Leafhopper. It found the scissors, and when Dirigible Leafhoppers get scissors, they will cut hair.”

“Naturally.” Severus wondered if all children this age were so easy to talk to.

She climbed up to perch on the edge of the garden wall and helped herself to the uneaten slice of lemon cake from his plate.

“I saw Mummy die, you know.”

“I did not know. How terrible for you.”

“It was, and it wasn’t.” She cocked her head to one side and her eyes slid slightly out of focus. “I don’t really remember it now. Six o’clock is the hour for remembering. At six I’ll be sad, but at seven I’ll be glad. Your Daddy died too.”

He grit his teeth to keep his jaw from falling open.

“Don’t worry,” she continued, crumbs from the cake clinging to the corners of her mouth, “the Mealytoes were telling me this morning. They went down the whole list of party guests and told me which ones had lost someone.”

“So you would know who to pester?” The child no longer seemed entertaining.

“So I would know who to give a poppy to.”

She finished his cake and plucked a poppy from her crown. Before he could retreat, she had tucked it behind his ear, and his hands were so encumbered by refreshments that he could only muster a glare to protect himself. Admittedly, it was a superior glare. One might say it was a glare sufficient to strike a grown man dead in his tracks. 

It was a glare that did not affect this little wisp of a girl in the least.

“Poppies are very useful,” she explained, wiping her hands on her dress. “They suck up all the bile that gets stuck in your veins when someone dies, and they hold it for you so that you can still remember—but not so brightly that it hurts. Good day professor! Thank you for coming to Mummy’s party. I can’t wait to be in your class at school.”

Hopping down from the wall, Luna twirled about three times and skipped away in a flurry of floating skirts, her effervescent voice trailing after her.

“One for sorrow, two for joy

Three for a girl, four for a boy, boy, boy.

Five is for silver, six is for gold,

Seven for a secret that’s ne’er to be told, told told!”

Severus immediately deposited his plate and teacup on the toadstool table nearby and snatched the poppy from behind his ear. He felt vaguely nauseous, like he’d been sitting too long on a merry-go-round. The urge to crush the life from the hapless flower coursed through him, and only Xenophilius’s untimely interruption prevented it.

“Oh, my Luna has given you a poppy!” Xenophilius blubbered, clapping Severus on the shoulder. “She is such a good girl. I am so fortunate that she is safe. I do not know what I would do if I had lost both her and my Pandora.”

Here the man burst into fresh tears, and it was some time before Severus managed to extract himself from the embarrassing and unnatural position of sympathetic listener. By the time he effected his escape, the poppy was no longer as offensive, and he tucked it into a pocket as he slipped away from the Lovegood house into the freedom of the afternoon.

That evening, for some damned fool reason he could never later explain, he placed the poppy in a vase on the shelf over the desk in his sitting room at Hogwarts.

And it never wilted.

*****

The next time that Severus Snape met Luna Lovegood was on September first of 1992, long after the newly-minted Ravenclaw should have been in bed. He was walking his rounds, stalking through the darkened corridors and soaking in the somnolent atmosphere. He would never admit it, but Hogwarts without its students in residence was a dismal place. A week—or two at most—was as long as his spirits could stand the lack of human contact; especially after an entire summer spent alone in the despondent home of his childhood. 

He had reached the entry hall, and was intending to retire to his rooms for reading and bed, when he saw her. The girl had not grown much since that unfortunate day two years prior. Her hair was scragglier, and her fingernails were ragged and dirty. She was wearing pink and green unicorn pajamas, and there were red trainers on her feet. Drifting through the hallway like a specter, she paid him no attention. Her small, white hands floated out in front of her, and when she reached the oaken door she started pushing at it, scrunching up her face with the effort.

“Ten points from Ravenclaw, Miss Lovegood. Go back to your tower immediately,” he said, stifling a yawn. 

She didn’t answer—she merely kept wrestling with the locked door.

“And detention tomorrow evening. Miss Lovegood, classes have not even begun. This may be a new record.”

The silly child was beating on the unforgiving wood, completely ignoring him. He snarled and grabbed her by her thin shoulder; whipping her around to face him. Her eyes were rolling beneath her half-closed eyelids. The sight was so strange that he drew back at first, before realizing that she was asleep and dreaming. Disgruntled, he took her by the shoulders again and shook her once.

Her eyes snapped open instantly, and she started to shriek.

“Mummy! No Mummy, no!”

Severus clamped his hand over her mouth and she bit him, drawing blood. As he withdrew his hand, she started raining weak blows on him, like a kitten wrestling a tiger. He held her firmly by the shoulders until she ceased to fight; dissolving into tears and wetting the front of his robes. When the child’s fury had spent itself, he took her firmly under the arm and marched her down the stairs to the potions room.

Luna’s teeth started chattering as they descended, and her breathing was still punctuated by periodic sniffles. The dank chill of the lower part of the castle was uncomfortable at night, but he did not bother to light any of the fires, even when they came at last to his meticulously ordered classroom. 

“Is it time for lessons now?” she asked, perking up despite the tears still seeping out of the corners of her doleful eyes. “I thought it was still night. Do we have classes under the moon?”

“Silence Miss Lovegood,” he ordered, “And sit down.”

As docile now as she had been disobedient earlier, she did as he asked, taking a seat at one of the empty work benches and running her hands over the smooth wood. He risked leaving her there long enough to retrieve a Calming Draught from the store closet, breathing a sigh of relief when he returned to find her where he had left her.

“Drink this,” he said, handing her the vial.

“A Calming Draught!” she said, beaming. She drank it without complaint, and then began hopping the empty vial over the top of the work bench, singing, “A Calming Draught, a Calming Draught, five knuts for a Calming Draught! A Calming Draught for me!”

“Cease that nonsense immediately, Miss Lovegood!” he snapped. “It is well past midnight, and, in case you have forgotten, classes begin in the morning.”

She stopped singing, but continued hopping the vial. “Yes, sir. But I think you’d best come with me up to the tower so that a Thistle-toed Night Creeper doesn’t catch me. I saw some of them skittering through the hallways.”

“To my understanding you were asleep whilst you were traipsing through the hallways. It must have been a dream,” he countered; but he was already leading her out of the dungeons on the long journey home.

“I was,” she agreed, tossing the empty vial up and down as they walked. “But you can see some things better when you are sleeping. I thought you knew. Don’t you see things more clearly in your dreams?”

He snatched the vial out of the air and shoved it irritably in his pocket. “One more word out of you, and I will deduct enough points from Ravenclaw to make Professor Flitwick sorry he ever saw you.”

She shrugged, but contented herself with whistling merrily as thy climbed. As stairwell after stairwell passed under their feet and failed to wind her, Severus mused that Luna was a truly strange child. He wondered how much of her mother’s daring curiosity she had inherited, and he began to tremble inwardly for the safety of his potions class.

By the time they reached the top of Ravenclaw tower, Severus’s calves were screaming. The eyes on the carved eagle head guarding the door flamed to life, and it posed its evening riddle.

“Nails and straw, cabbage and thee; all are longing—at last—for me,” it said.

“A bed,” Luna replied almost before the knocker had finished speaking.

“A paltry riddle,” Severus remarked.

“It’s only the first day. Good night, professor. Watch out for the Creepers!”

“Miss Lovegood.”

When the door was safely closed after the little Ravenclaw, Severus began the long trek back to his quarters. The castle whispered around him, but the night-time noises were old friends to him, settling his nerves rather than setting them on edge. 

He did notice the flicker of something out of the corner of his eye as he unlocked his door. It was a winged shadow of sorts; and the edges of its form could be called thistle-like in structure. He turned his head to catch sight of the creature, but it vanished into the shadows like a puff of itinerant smoke. 

Humbug and nonsense, he thought; and let himself in to bed.

*****

By the next afternoon, he was ready to kill her.

He’d begun the class with his usual lecture meant to impress upon the students the gravitas of the subject they were about to undertake—not that any of the dunderheads were capable of grasping the concepts he was placing before them. Once again the first year class was predictably dull, staring at him with stunned expressions due no doubt both to their confusion, and to their awe of him. All were staring, save one. 

Luna had claimed a seat on the front bench, in the exact spot she’d taken during the small hours of the morning, dancing her empty vial over the wooden table before her. Now she was tapping her fingers on the wood in what Severus assumed was a disrespectful show of boredom. With a dark expression fixed on his face, he stalked through the aisles towards her as the students around him ducked their heads in expectation of the rebuke. But as he approached, he began counting the erratic movements without realizing what he was doing; and before long a familiar pattern emerged.

1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21…

Perhaps the girl was not as lost as she appeared. Nevertheless, he hovered over her, scowling, until she deigned to turn her attention from Fibonacci to her disgruntled teacher.

“I love spirals, sir, don’t you? They’re so very spiral-y,” she said, blinking up at him nonplused.

“Miss Lovegood,” he replied, allowing a trace of snarl to color his tone. “I expect strictest attention to the task at hand at all times in this class. Even a concoction so simple as a Fog Potion can cause considerable damage when mishandled.”

“Yes, sir. Is it not the time for spirals?”

He let the question pass unanswered. “I also expect silence.”

She gave him an airy smile, and he glared back at her for an embarrassingly long time before he realized that she was not going to respond.

“Five points from Ravenclaw, Miss Lovegood,” he growled as he turned back to the rest of the class. “There are thirty minutes left. You will use them to prepare the ingredients for the Fog Potion that you will brew on Wednesday. Precision is more important than speed at this point in your education, but you will not use that as an opportunity for laziness. The instructions are on the board. Begin.”

He flicked his wand and a list of ingredients and their preparations appeared on the black wall behind him. As the students began to nervously chop and crush their hollyhock and toadstools, he took a final circuit of the room, before retiring to his desk to review his notes for the next period’s lecture. He fully expected someone to make an idiotic mistake within ten minutes, but he felt it best to give them some time to fail on their own. Holding their metaphorical hands while they worked would only create dependency. Better to allow them to experience the humiliation of failure in the hopes that the lesson would stick.

“Oh dear…”

Miss Lovegood’s mild voice was the only warning he had; even as he glanced up from his parchment the explosion was erupting. He slashed his wand through the air, containing much of the damage within a hastily cast Shield Charm, but the students directly beside and behind Luna were already mewling like wounded kittens. Luna herself seemed unconcerned, staring at the ugly red welts on her arms as though they were a new problem to solve.

“What in Merlin’s name were you doing, Miss Lovegood?” he demanded, as he began slapping dittany, none too gently, on the injured parties. “You were told to prepare ingredients only. Did you misunderstand me?”

“No sir,” she replied. “But I’d finished, and I had some extra bilious solution, and I wanted to test what would happen if I added some asphodel to it.”

“Ten more points from Ravenclaw, and a foot of parchment on the importance of  following instructions due next class.”

“Yes sir.”

He had no idea how she managed to maintain such an innocent and blameless expression under the black look he knew he was giving her, but he did not trust her penitence in the least.

It was a most inauspicious beginning to Miss Lovegood’s Hogwarts career.

*****

Severus was well and truly at the end of his rope come the beginning of October. He muttered darkly to himself as he strode through the halls one Sunday evening, irritated beyond measure by the sweet autumnal breeze and the glorious sunset streaming in the windows, lighting up the inner beauty of the castle just so. Students scattered as he cut through the groups of them where they gathered, frolicking and playing Exploding Snap. He had no time to bother with disciplining any of them, however, and he kept to his course until it led him to Filius Flitwick’s office high in Ravenclaw Tower. 

A sharp rap on the door brought the diminutive professor immediately, and Severus glared down at the man until the older professor raised his bushy eyebrows in question.

“Good evening, Severus,” Filius said, puffing on his pipe. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company tonight?”

“That Lovegood girl is a menace,” Severus pronounced, eschewing all pleasantries with the intention of coming to the purpose at once.

“Is she? I find her charming. But do come in, and we’ll see what’s to be done about the matter.”

Severus swept into the office behind Filius, but refused to sit when the other man indicated the eagle-headed arm chair before the fire. Unperturbed, the charms professor shrugged and climbed into his own little rocking chair, still smoking his pipe.

“Now what seems to be the trouble?” Filius asked, watching Severus as the younger man paced through the chamber, dodging floating books and models of various magical destinations to which the Ravenclaw head had had the pleasure of visiting.

“Since the beginning of term, Miss Lovegood has caused no less than a dozen explosions in my class due to her refusal to follow direct orders. Her insubordination is endangering the lives of everyone in the room—nay every one in the castle itself!” 

Severus emphasized the severity of his accusations with a sharp gesture that sent a miniature Sphinx toppling through the air and bouncing off the opposite wall. 

“That is serious,” Filius agreed mildly.

“I’ve deducted house points,” Severus went on.

“Ah, I had wondered about that,” Filius murmured.

“I’ve given her extra essays. I’ve given her detention. I’ve set her to remedial tasks. Nothing deters her from her willful misbehavior. She will go her own way and damn the consequences. Most of the time she appears to be in another world altogether!” 

Severus’s heart rate rose, along with his temper, as he enumerated the girl’s crimes.

“Perhaps she is. Have you asked her?”

“Of course not!” Severus spat. “Why would I do such a foolish thing?”

“You might learn something,” Filius replied, his eyes twinkling with something suspiciously like merriment.

“I beg your pardon!” This was not a laughing matter.

“Severus, when was the last time you ate?”

At the mention of food, Severus’s stomach started to rumble, and he growled, “I don’t see how that has any bearing on the subject at hand.”

“Humor me.”

“I…seem to recall eating breakfast…”

“Better than I’d guessed.”

“Yesterday morning.”

“Ah. In that case,” Filius hopped down from his chair and scurried over to a rope-and-pulley system lined with tiny bells near the fire. The top of the contraption stretched up to the domed ceiling, and the bottom extended through a small hole in the floor and out of sight. The charms professor quickly tapped out a ringing tune, and a moment later the rope started moving, sending the bells into an obnoxious bout of tinkling. “Tell me, is there anything else our Miss Lovegood is doing to trouble you besides her classroom difficulties?”

“She is your Miss Lovegood and I will thank you for keeping her.”

“I shall, happily. And here we are.”

A tray of mackerel pâté with pickles on rye, and a steaming cup of earl grey with milk came up through the floor, attached to the rope by an oversized clothespin, and Filius pressed the sustenance into Severus’s unwilling hands.

“I didn’t ask you for tea, Filius,” Severus grumbled, even as he settled himself into the armchair and fell on the sandwiches like a ravenous beast.

“I know, but I find that one tends to think more clearly when one’s energy is not diverted to the task of keeping one upright in the face of starvation,” Filius replied jovially. He sat back down in his rocking chair, and went about the task of refilling his pipe while Severus demolished his food.

“Why is it, do you think, that Miss Lovegood is so troublesome to manage?” asked Filius, tapping his pipe against his chin.

“Because she’s a defiant brat,” was Severus’s quick reply as he took a bracing sip of the perfectly brewed and balanced mixture in his teacup.

Filius shrugged. “I have not found this to be so.”

“Why would you? She’s in your house.”

“Severus, be fair.” Filius’s tone took on a hint of warning. “I think you are aware that I am perfectly willing to discipline when required, and I am always open to constructive criticism from my colleagues. You do remember Mr Whitehouse and the lacewing fly theft?”

“I suppose you did deal with that,” Severus admitted. The food and the tea were slowly robbing him of some of his foul temper. 

“Thank you.” Filius puffed in silence and then remarked, “I have found Miss Lovegood to be a delight in class. She is light-years ahead of her fellows in terms of grasping the potential of charmwork.”

“In potions I am afraid she is a disaster.”

“Why is that, do you think?”

Severus’s temper started to flare again. “Filius, I hope you are not insinuating that I am the problem.”

“No. But perhaps your methodology might be examined. You mentioned that you’ve tried all the usual things; detentions, deducting points, extra homework, et cetera?”

“Yes, weren’t you listening?”

“I was. It is difficult not to listen when you are in a snit. What was the purpose of the punishments you’ve meted out thus far?”

“To inspire remorse and respect in the student, of course.”

“I would have said shame and fear.”

“One and the same.”

“Not so,” Filius countered, blowing a trail of smoke rings that danced in and out of each other through the room. “But for the sake of the experiment, let us assume that they are. I would venture to guess that the reason these tactics did not work in this case is because Miss Lovegood cannot be motivated by either shame or fear.”

“I see. She is an ungovernable dunderhead, isn’t she?”

“This brings me to my next point. The remedial work you are torturing her with may be making her behavior even more trying than it needs to be.”

Severus’s eyes narrowed at the other professor. If anything, Filius’s mild expression aggravated him more than if the man had been raging in defense of his silly student.

“Filius, I will give you half a minute to explain what you mean before I take serious exception with you.”

“I thank you, even for that.” A set of rotating orbs descended from on high, and Filius examined their glowing depths as he expounded his theory. “Some students become bored easily, and when they become bored they make all sorts of trouble, because their minds cannot cease being busy. If these minds are not properly directed, they will take their own, sometimes destructive, paths.”

“Are you saying that Lovegood is being impossible simply because she is bored?”

“I am.”

Severus stalked over to return his tray to the kitchens via the pulley system, and tugged at his sleeve irritably as he resumed his pacing.

“Even supposing you were correct, what am I expected to do about her problem?”

“It seems to me that it is your problem as much as hers. Challenge her. Give her more interesting work rather than less.”

“And I am to have yet more work thrust upon me? Is she to be rewarded for misbehavior in such a way?”

“It need not be overly complicated. Something as simple as variations on the potion at hand should suffice.”

“I don’t like it, Filius. It goes against the grain.”

Filius tucked a vibrant magenta ball into his breast pocket, and sent the rest of the mobile floating back up towards heaven.

“Sometimes the most challenging students are the most rewarding, when we reach them.”

“I would dispute that conclusion in general, and in this case in particular.”

The Ravenclaw looked up at the Slytherin with a pointed gaze, and observed, “It would seem to me that you have nothing to lose by trying. How much time are you already wasting with Shield Charms, disasters, and injuries?”

A hot retort beat its way to Severus’s tongue, but he knew Filius well enough to glean when he was within an inch of pushing the man too far. It was rarely worth pushing the charms professor too far.

“Very well. I will put your plan to the test for the next week. But if I do not see immediate improvement, your Miss Lovegood will spend the rest of term cleaning bedpans in the hospital wing.”

The merry gleam returned to Filius’s eyes, and Severus felt his shoulders relax a tick. 

“You must do as you see fit, Severus. But I would wager that you will not be disappointed. Now, is there anything further?”

Severus frowned, debating whether he should mention the child’s other problem.

“I see that there is. Come now, what else is the lass doing?” Filius prompted.

“She sleepwalks. At least once a week I see her out of the Tower during my rounds,” Severus said, leaning on the back of the armchair. 

“My goodness,” Filius replied, his merry look replaced with one of concern. “I was not aware of that. Are you certain?”

“Of course I’m certain! And it’s a damned nuisance to wake her, calm her infernal screaming, and escort her back to her dormitory.” 

“All that and you not being as young as you used to be.” Severus opened his mouth to take the bait, but Filius continued without allowing him the time. “Waking her is what is causing the trouble.”

“I should think that her sleepwalking is what is causing the trouble.”

Filius shook his head firmly. “Not so. She is attempting to accomplish something; something her subconscious mind finds of highest import. The next time someone finds her in this situation, he would do better to help her accomplish whatever her task may be, and lead her back to bed without waking her.”

“This child becomes more bothersome by the second!” Severus exclaimed. “First I must make new lesson plans, and now I am expected to aid her on some sleep-addled, featherbrained quest?”

“If I am the one to catch her in the act, I will do the same.”

“I don’t like it.”

“I didn’t expect you to. The subconscious mind is sometimes more insightful than the conscious one. Why don’t you give it a try. If it doesn’t work, we’ll talk to Madam Pomfrey about other options, but I would rather avoid giving the child more potions than absolutely necessary. I don’t need to tell you how habit forming they can become.”

“No. You don’t.” Severus flicked an invisible piece of lint from his sleeve and started for the door. “Good night, Filius. I shall take my leave of you before you add any other tasks to my already considerable workload.”

“Good night, Severus. I look forward to hearing the results of our experiments.”

Severus gave the Ravenclaw a short bow and started the journey back towards the dungeons; unsure as to whether he wished for Filius to be right, and thus save him further troubles—or wrong, and thus give him the pleasure of telling the man so.

Either way, it appeared he had little to lose.

*****

A week into the experiment produced such improvement in Miss Lovegood’s behavior, that Severus had merely smirked at Filius when the head of Ravenclaw had asked him about it. The potions master had taken the trouble of reseating the Lovegood girl as far away from the potentially explosive supply cabinet as possible, and he had partnered her with Margaret Baskerville at Filius’s suggestion. Miss Baskerville had demonstrated a remarkable affinity to the Shield Charm, as the Ravenclaws had discovered one evening during an overexcited match of Exploding Snap. Severus had even begun to hope that the moon child’s sleepwalking days had ended when he passed several nights of patrol without encountering her. Perhaps she had merely required a period of time to acclimate to her new surroundings.

One mild night in mid-October, Severus’s hopes were dashed—yet again—when he discovered Miss Lovegood, willowy arms heavy laden with a checked picnic blanket wrapped around some unwieldy burden, attempting to escape from the castle by the locked front door. He silently approached her, his hand ready to shake her awake even as he braced himself for her inevitable screaming.

Just before his hand reached her shoulder, he recalled Filius’s advice to help the sleeping child rather than hinder her. Cursing himself for a fool, he murmured the incantation to unlock the latch, and pushed the door open to the night air. She shuffled through it without waking, her red trainers crunching fallen leaves beneath them, and her fluffy yellow bathrobe flapping in the light breeze. The full moon bathed the grounds in silver-blue light as he followed the girl all the way to the shadowy edge of the Forbidden Forest. Doxies and nightwings flocked to them, and far off an owl hooted a warning. Severus drew his wand and swatted at the pests until they flurried away; and Miss Lovegood continued on the forest path, still firmly asleep. 

As they progressed deeper into the forest, the darkness pressed in on them; the half-dressed arms of the trees blocking out the moonlight overhead. The lumos from Severus’s wand gave him enough light to see the girl’s eyelids flickering, and he wondered briefly how exactly she was able to walk over the uneven ground without stumbling in this state. Once or twice he thought he caught a glimpse of red eyes peering at them from behind some gnarled shape; and more often than that, he contemplated waking the child and dragging her screaming back to the castle. He fully intended to give Filius a set down after the antics tonight.

At the moment he had firmly decided to abort this fool’s mission, they came to a large clearing, guarded by towering evergreens. The moon was hanging overhead, smiling down at them like some idiot dreamer, and Severus crossed his arms, watching the girl pad her way to the middle of the brown grass and drop her heavy load. She started struggling to untie the many knots holding the bundle together, until Severus scoffed impatiently, and flicked his wand at the mess. Instantly, the blanket unfolded itself to reveal a lovely spread of strawberry sandwiches, lemon cakes, and steaming tea; along with a mishmash of tea cups, bowls, plates, and brightly colored napkins. Luna settled herself, tailor style, in the midst of this unorthodox tea party, a most serene expression on her now obviously awake face.

“Oh, Professor!” she said, yawning up at him. “Was I sleepwalking again?”

“You were,” he replied irritably.

“Won’t you sit down? Have I been very much trouble?”

“You have.”

“I’m so sorry. But it was time for tea, and I didn’t want my friends to think I’d forgotten them.”

“Your what?”

“Look.”

She made a fanciful gesture with her hands in a northerly direction, and as Severus turned his aggravated glare towards the exterior darkness, he beheld half a dozen thestrals gliding into the clearing. Their serpentine tails curved and swished, leaving a trail of silvery ash behind them, and their skeletal, equine bodies moved in an undulating fashion that was disorienting to witness. As they slid up to the blanket, they dropped to their boney knees and wrapped their inky tails around them, their eyes of chartreuse flame sparking as Luna babbled happily; pouring tea into bowls and arranging morsels on plates for her cadaverous guests.

“Hello there!” she bubbled. “I’m so happy to finally see you when we can talk, aren’t you? Things have been monstrous busy since I came to school, and it’s been awful trying to find the way out to the clearing. But here I am at last!”

Severus stared at the morbid production with the horrid fascination of one watching a Quidditch accident. The beasts stank of talcum powder and formaldehyde; and he shut his eyes against their reptilian forms. There, in the darkness of his mind, he was assaulted by death; as memories of Lily’s body, lifeless and beautiful, mingled with those of his father’s corpse; poisoned by drink and by every venomous word that had tripped like water off the bastard’s vile tongue.

His eyes snapped open and he sneered at the mad princess and her deathly court. “Miss Lovegood, as you have regained whatever senses you possess, I insist that you return to the castle immediately.”

One of the younger thestrals reared up and bounded to him. Before Severus could react, it had its head in the small of his back, and was pushing him onto the blanket with enough force that he stumbled and fell to his knees.

“I think they’ll be angry if we leave just now, professor,” Luna whispered loudly, passing a teacup to him.

He snatched it and flung it across the clearing, where it shattered against a tree trunk. Another thestral snorted at him and pawed the ground with a dusty hoof.

“It’s no matter, I’ve another,” Luna said, unfazed.

“I don’t want any tea!” Severus spat.

“But you shall have some all the same.”

She set another cup before him—a black one, painted with a whimsical bat curving in flight over the porcelain interior—and filled it to the brim with steaming tea from her poppy covered teapot. 

“I’m having a lovely time at school,” she chattered to the thestrals while the beasts snorted and lapped at the tea and the victuals. “Charms is my favorite so far, but after that is potions. Professor Snape has been setting me all sorts of tests and dreams to try, and I like it ever so much better than Professor McGonagall who makes me do everything one slow step at a time.”

His anger was choking him, and he knew that Miss Lovegood’s words were worthless, but he scooped up the cup and drank some of the scalding liquid, desperate to cover the bilious taste in his mouth. The concoction was not proper tea; but rather a tincture of lavender and chamomile, steeped exactly so. The talcum powder and formaldehyde receded into the background, as did the sound of Miss Lovegood’s chattering. He must have been more tired than he’d realized, for the next thing he remembered, he was jerking awake, and the last of the thestrals was disappearing into the forest. The dishes were all packed away, and Luna was watching him with a patient and pleased smile on her face.

“I’m ready to go back to the castle now, sir,” she said cheerfully.

“If you’re ready then, please, by all means,” he sarcastically replied.

She hummed to herself all the way up to Ravenclaw tower and, while he wanted to fume at her, he found that he was too uncomfortably relaxed to do so. When they gained the top of the tower stairs, she turned to him, her eyes shining in the moonlight that ghosted in through the windows.

“Thank you for helping me tonight, sir. I think I’ll be able to get there on my own from now on,” she said.

“Need I remind you, Miss Lovegood, that the Forbidden Forest is off limits to students?” he chastised.

“I know it is. But don’t worry, that doesn’t bother me.”

“Obviously.” 

“And it’s important I go,” she said earnestly.

“Why ever would you think that?”

“So the thestrals will help me with my mother.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “If her spirit is troubling you, there are better ways to deal with it than breaking curfew and risking life and limb in the Forest.”

“No, not her spirit, she’s gone on. It’s the memories. The poppies can’t hold enough; but if I go to the thestrals, they’ll help me hold enough. I’ll still remember, but I won’t get lost.” She broke the seriousness of the subject by twirling like a top and adding, “You can join me anytime you like.”

“I shall not take you up on that offer, and if I catch  you out of bed, you may be sure that I will punish you for it. Good night, Miss Lovegood,” he snapped.

He whirled away and descended the stairs in a swirl of his black robes. Merlin, this moon child was turning out to be as much trouble as the Potter brat.

“Midnight teas And thank you please, Moonlight, wand light, All sleep tight!”

Luna’s ethereal voice and her nonsense song haunted him all the way down to the dungeons.

But he slept better that night than he had in ages. And in the morning, the memories of his dead did not wake with him. He was halfway through his morning class before he first recalled the sprawled form and the spray of auburn hair. Even when it came upon him, the memory did not cause his blood to run cold or his heart to pound.

Luna looked up from her work and smiled at him, as though she sensed the moment that the unwanted recollection sprang up in his mind. He restrained himself from giving her the satisfaction of a response, and turned his attention to his marking.

And the next time he caught her on her way to tea, he docked Ravenclaw ten points—and carried the blanket bundle to the clearing for her. 

*****

End Notes:

Luna is tapping out the Fibonacci sequence; in which each number is the sum of the two numbers prior, and relates to spirals.

I head-canon that thestrals smell different to each person, depending on that person's experiences aand beliefs about death.

[everlarkficexchange]

Written by: @savvylark

Prompt 48: “You’re an Art student and I’m an English major and you keep stealing the papers for my assignment to doodle and I would kill you but you’re really cute and hey that’s actually a really nice sketch.” [Submitted by: @katnissdoesnotfollowback]

Rate: Mature for mild smut.

AN: Thank you to the lovely and talented @javistg​ and @xerxia31​ for putting this exchange in motion. @javistg​ thank you so much for being my beta, this story would be pitiful at best without your help. @katnissdoesnotfollowback​ I appreciate this prompt, I just couldn’t resist! 

I tried to sit somewhere else today. Still near the back of the lecture hall where I like to disappear, but not in the very back where the late losers like to sneak in.

  I’m not avoiding him, per se, I just don’t want to owe him, I have to admit that he helped me.

  I might as well admit that I’m avoiding the longing I feel too.

  His blue eyes meet mine. He takes the seat next to me –his unofficial spot since the semester began.

  I shake my head. I was trying to avoid him but, as he sits down, I can’t help the desire to smile from the inside out.

He’s so annoying! With a wavy mop of unruly hair, a wild side, a stark contrast to his classic All-American boy looks and tidy, smart attire. His sunny disposition is especially difficult to palate. Who’s friends with this many people? Unheard of.

  Of course I thought he was shallow, but the more I learn about Peeta Mellark the more he surprises me. His depths could fill an ocean. The color of his eyes match the soul inside. Depth. Swirling of emotions.

  The beauty he sees in the world, he commits to paper so profoundly. It’s soul-stirring.

  Upon smiling at him, Peeta gives me a knowing smirk. “Trying to ditch me, Everdeen?”

  “Didn’t work.” I fake a scowl, then laugh.

  Hmm, I’ve been laughing a lot around him. It’s unsettling.

  He grabs my papers, and shifts through them while we wait for class.

  I roll my eyes as he uses a pen to draw on the final draft of the poem I have to turn in next class.

  A beautiful dandelion to go along with my poem. It’s breathtaking.

  The first time he did this I was furious. For a moment, I let myself get I lost in the memory.

  Peeta sat next to me for our first class of the semester in Professor Crane’s lecture period.

After Peeta sat next to me 3 lectures in a row, I remained indifferent. I pretended I didn’t notice. Apart from the “bless you” I uttered when he sneezed, I never spoke to him.

I have a feeling Peeta is not used to being ignored because his attempts at communication increased. I don’t really do small talk, so his every attempt fell flat. Yet, he continued to sit by me. I gave him short answers or shrugs.

I’m focused on my degree. Junior year as an English major is no walk in the park.

“What are you, a writer?” he asked as he observed just how many pages and pages of my notebook were filled with my penmanship.

“Mhmm, English major,” I mumbled.

I’m not fond of people raffling through my stuff but, I also don’t really care what he reads.

He started reading some of my original work and his eyes widened.

I briefly panicked, ‘that wasn’t the erotic one was it?’ Then I reminded myself that that particular notebook is tucked away in my apartment.

“Woah, this is really good! You’re a decent writer, Everdeen!” He announced.

I shrugged. ‘Good’ is relatively subjective. Especially when it comes to the written word.

Peeta takes his pencil and starts doodling, which he often does. I used to think he was kind of a slacker because of this, but he gets good grades. I also noticed that at times he has paint splatters or a rogue charcoal smudge.

I remember my roommate, Madge, who is a psych major, once explaining that highly creative children and adults are often active learners. I assume Peeta is the same and it helps him absorb the boring information.

This professor in particular is especially fond of the sound of his own voice.

I look over and he’s drawing in the margin of my notebook. The nerve of this guy! As class ends, I snatch my notebook from him, and scowl.

How dare he?

What kind of person grafitis all over someone else’s hard work?

I was livid.

Seething.

Until I looked at what he’d drawn.

It gave me pause.

Peeta’s good. He’s really good!

I look back up at him, I hadn’t looked at him face to face until this moment.

His blue eyes are gorgeous and they shine. The intense masculine gaze I’m met with makes me sweat a little.  I take a moment to observe his strong jawline and the light stubble he’s rocking. The way his hair sweeps over his forehead in a disheveled rockstar kind of way. Something in my stomach did a flip.

This might actually be the hottest guy I’ve ever talked to.

“This is really good! You’re a decent artist, Mellark,” I echo his words, but my praise was sincere.

Peeta’s smile brightened. Near perfect teeth, and a dimple. If I wasn’t sitting I think I would have gone weak in the knees.

I don’t think a guy has ever had this effect on me before.

“Art major,” he stated simply.

  So I might have a crush on him, that I’m only slightly aware of and definitely NOT acknowledging…

  Unless he feels the same.

  I sigh to myself.

  Since I can’t avoid him, I have to admit how much he helped me with a class I was struggling to keep an A in.

  I whip out a few of my graded papers from moronic Professor Venia who previously felt that my poetry was “far too serious.”

  To be fair, I’m indifferent about flowery poetry.

  On the last 4 poems I turned in, Peeta drew an illustration. As a result, my poems have increased an entire letter grade.

  Professor Venia prattled on and on about how I must have found some new inspiration.

  “Look.” I point to the papers just as class gets out.

  “Great job, Katniss!”

  “My grade went up after you started illustrating my poems,” I state with a smile.

  I bit my lip and meet his eyes.

  “So, thank you. I thought this teacher had it out for me, but your magical illustrations convinced her that I have more feeling and depth and um, hope, I think she said? ” I explain.

  Peeta lifts one of the poems and reads it. A warm smile spreads on his face. He looks up at me. I’m momentarily captivated in his gaze.

  “That’s all you. This one in particular is beautiful,” he says and, for some reason, I get the feeling he’s not just talking about the poem I wrote about my favorite pond as a child.

  Back to the subject at hand. “What, suddenly my poetry improved?” I ask Peeta.

  He slowly moves toward me.

  “I’m saying.” Peeta’s arms plant themselves on either of me on the table I’m leaning against. “Maybe you found new inspiration?” His voice gets softer as he speaks. His face is so close to mine our noses almost touch.

  I’m lost in his eyes, and the way our bodies are mere inches from touching. My heart beats erratically as his cheek brushes mine. His lips graze my ear as he whispers, “A muse, maybe? I know I’ve found mine.”

  I’m breathless at I slowly take in his words.

  He’s right. He figured it out. Peeta is my muse, my new inspiration. He’s the male lead in all my new stories. A noticeable optimism has brightened the tone of everything I’ve written since Peeta Mellark first doodled on my notebook.

  It takes me a moment to register the last part of what he said to me.

  “Who’s your muse?” I wonder out loud.

  He pulls back so our eyes meet again. The intensity in his blue irises seek out my very soul. ‘You’ they speak without words.

  The smile that follows could eclipse the sun.

  Peeta reaches into his backpack for his sketchbook.

  I squint my eyes in curiosity.

  He bites his lip to fight the small laugh emerging. Then flips a few pages and hands me his artwork.

  Gray eyes, a scowl, a long braid; petite, feminine but calloused hands holding a pencil. My profile, my neck, my collarbone, the back of my head. Pages and pages of my eyes in various states of expression.

  And in every single one I’m not just beautiful, I’m radiant! I feel something hot burn the corner of my eye and find a tear there.

  I tend to be unusually apathetic by nature, but I’m overcome by emotion looking at these sketches, and how Peeta sees me.

  Me.

  Ordinary, average, easily overlooked Katniss Everdeen.

  “It’s always been you, Katniss. You don’t know the effect you can have,” Peeta confesses.

  If he had more to say, his words are cut off by my lips. I grip his shirt and pull Peeta into a kiss.

  Oh, what a kiss! His lips are surprisingly soft and powerful. The strength and intensity with which they respond makes me dizzy.

  I wonder if he can feel how manically my heart beats in my chest.

  I didn’t know a kiss could feel like this.

  I’m a goner.

  Peeta Mellark has me, I’m putty in his hands.

  His strong fingers –the fingers that create such beauty with the pen, pencil, and paint– weave through my hair at the nape of my neck and pull me closer.

  A moan escapes my throat.

  Bliss. It feels like we’re dancing or riding a rollercoaster. I feel like I’m free-falling as his lips dive in again and take possession of mine. The passion and vigour he kisses me with whispers to my heart loudly, words best expressed in prose or a painting.

  An elbow strikes my shoulder and breaks us out of our bubble where fantasies are real.

  Johanna Mason flashes a shit-eating grin as I catch my breath and try to stand up right. I wobble, and steady myself with the support of the table.

  Peeta just kissed me senseless.

  Amazing!

  “Can’t you take this to your dorm? And also, it’s about time! All of us have had enough with the sexual tension filling the entire room. It’s ridiculous!” Johanna blurted out.

  She turns to Peeta and slaps him on the back.

  “Good going, Blondie! You wouldn’t believe how many of us have been trying to get in her pants. To no avail, we would have gotten the same response from a dead slug. Only around you… she’s a girl on fire!” She leaves Peeta with a wink.

  For the second time today I’m speechless.

  I don’t know why I feel embarrassed. The words ‘dead slug’ being used to describe myself are a pretty awful thing to hear, but ‘girl on fire’ is a little over the top.

  I shyly look up at Peeta, his grin actually makes me laugh.

  Peeta has bright smiles but this one takes the cake, he’s over the moon. His lips are red and his cheeks are flushed.

  ‘I did that.’ I think to myself and can’t contain my own smile.

  Peeta clears his throat and nervously rubs the back of his neck. “So, uh, what are you doing Friday? Do you want to go out with me, Katniss?” he asks me with a voice that’s more raspy than usual, dangerously arousing.

  Instead of answering right away, I just want his lips again. I stand up in my top toes and take his bottom lip in mine. I inhale deeply through my nose, lost in the feel of his wet soft lips. The euphoria surges in waves, leaving a buzz in its wake from my head to my toes.

  I pull away and whisper, “Yes, I do.”

 ————————————————-

“All of us need to be in touch with a mysterious, tantalizing source of inspiration that teases our sense of wonder and goads us on to life’s next adventure.” -Rob Brezsny

“Thanks!” I give a grateful nod to the barista as she hands me two steaming oversized mugs of hot chocolate. I take in the cozy atmosphere at this uptown coffee shop and bookstore my boyfriend just had to show me.

  I settle into a cozy reading nook in the corner as steam bellows off the top of my hot chocolate. I lightly blow on it and glance over the rim to enjoy the view. I’m not talking about out the window, I’m talking about that broad-shouldered hot blond man perusing the bookshelves just in my vision.

  Just from general observation, I can see that this man keeps up an active lifestyle. His t-shirt does little to hide his muscular back and triceps. Any woman could appreciate a nicely shaped backside in those jeans. I find the air caught in my throat as I take in the masculine specimen before me. Mentally taking note to describe every detail for future writing purposes.  

  The man turns and I’m immediately captivated by his deep blue eyes.

  “Come here often?” I flirtatiously approach the handsome man.

  By nature I’m not this forward or coquettish, but there’s something about this man that pulls me out of my shell. Time and time again.  

  He smirks and licks his lips. I try to ignore the effect he has on me.

  He’s debating what to say, finally answering, “Ah, no I don’t, but I heard that this new author was in town, and I just had to be here for this. Take a look?”

  In his hands, Peeta holds a book from the “Best Sellers” section of the store.

  My jaw drops. I tear my eyes from the beautifully designed book cover, up to his handsome earnest expression, his blue eyes dancing with happiness. The excitement on his face surely matches my own.

  I launch myself into his arms and give an uncharacteristic shriek as Peeta dramatically  spins me in a circle. The deep abiding happiness that radiates through me every time his comforting arms wrap around me returns.

  Before placing me back on my feet, he places a sweet peck on my cheek.

  “How did–?” I’m baffled.

  Peeta waves me over to the reading nook where we settle in with our hot chocolate.

  “Your publisher, Effie, called me yesterday and told me you were making the bestseller list today!! It was her idea to surprise you!” he rushes his explanation in is his excitement.

  “You mean WE made the bestseller list!” I correct him.

  He looks skeptical.

  “Together?” I reinforce my point, echoing the words he used before we committed to this journey. I reach out my hand for his, Peeta Mellark, my inspiration.

  He smiles at my open palm, placing his hand where it belongs, in mine.

  “Together,” he answers, a little breathless.

  Our eyes meet as we share a moment, the room is filled with electric energy.

  There’s no way I would have done this without him. I stare down at our best selling young adult novel, written by Katniss Everdeen, illustrations by award-winning indie artist Peeta Mellark.

  I’m taken back to a time when it was just a pipe dream.

  I remember it so vividly…

  I love watching him when he gets that “mad scientist” look while he paints the most brilliant creations.

  I love when the waves on his forehead slip into his vision, forcing him to carelessly jerk his head to the side while he continues his work.

  I love his impossibly long eyelashes, I don’t understand how they don’t get all tangled up.

  I love the light in his eyes when he explains a particular art concept that excites him.

  How shading just right creates the depth he desired. Echoing the depths of his soul. His incredible vision of the world, committed to canvas and paint.

  My heart skips a beat as he explains the joy of capturing the sunset just right with an angled brush. Mixing the contrasting colors, yet keeping the vibrancy derived from the very sun.

  Upon finishing his latest masterpiece, his presence, demeanor, and expression are especially contagious.

  I’m so drawn to this man. He’s addicting.

  I can’t get enough of Peeta Mellark.

  After placing his paintbrush down, he catches me staring.

  I blush and look away, trying to pretend that I haven’t been studying him.

  Peeta smirks at me and joins me on the couch. When he pulls me into his lap my heart starts to race. I so easily get lost in his kisses. His tongue deliciously roams past my lips and meets my tongue, making my toes curl. His kisses make their journey down my neck where he finds that particular spot that makes me hum.

  My hands sneak under his shirt, they roam over every plane and slope on his muscular back and broad shoulders.

  His hand travels up my ribcage and lightly cups my left breast while his lips seem to find my cleavage. The moan that escapes me when he squeezes my nipple is louder than I expected.

  I’ve never needed anyone like I need Peeta. I could definitely get lost in this man for decades to come.

  Our clothes fall away. A feverish desire for one another takes over.

  I’m dizzy with happiness and lust. I’m not sure where I end and he begins at this point. We fit together perfectly, like a puzzle.

  As the waves of pleasure wash over me, Peeta grunts and sputters with whispers of affection and admiration in my ear at the point his own release. I find myself overcome with an overwhelming, life changing fact that I just can’t deny any longer.

  I love him.

  I love Peeta Mellark, with everything that I am.

  I find tears in my eyes as I cling to him. Silently chanting the truth I’m terrified to hear out loud from my own voice, ‘I love you, I love you, I love you.’ I tell him silently. The words stay in my mind.

  We fall asleep holding each other. Waking up in his arms seems to be the most natural haven in the world, one that brings the best sleep of my entire life.

  Grateful doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of how I feel to have this man in my life, to be able to call him mine.

  I have to tell him that we have come to a crossroads. A decision has to be made.

  The thought  this taunts and nags at me throughout the day, and my mood becomes more sour.

  Peeta catches on before I even realized what I’m doing.

  He furrows his brow and crosses his arms over his chest to addresses my concerns, “Katniss, honestly, I can pick up my art corner, and I don’t have to buy groceries. I know this isn’t my apartment, but you’ve never ever indicated that it bothered you before!”

  He looks at me suspiciously and waits for an explanation that never comes.

  I feel his eyes as he studies me for a moment. I try to remain indifferent to his scrutiny, but it appears Peeta can read me all too well.

  He smiles for a moment, which only builds my frustration.

  I’m immune to his charms, I tell myself.

  He leans in closer, and holds my gaze.

  I know what he’s doing, it won’t work.

  Then, he makes me laugh and, before I realize it, I’m kissing him with an unusual degree of aggression. As I nip and scrape at his bottom lip, I feel a tremble roll down Peeta’s back, and a shuttering exhale from his lips. I try to hold in a smile as I realize the effect I have on him.

  This is part of the trouble, I don’t know what to do. What would I do without him?

  My confusion comes to a head and I shove him away. “You drive me crazy!”

  Peeta laughs, then sobers when he sees my expression.

  My fearful reaction to the look on his face morphs into a more manageable emotion, anger. I start ranting about how I don’t understand why he would want me when I’m a mess, and trail off into all the reasons he would be better off without me, and why we’re so different. It’s glaringly obvious.

  I’m shy and quiet, he’s outgoing, the life of the party.

  I’m a concrete thinker, my thoughts are more linear and tangible. He thinks in abstract concepts, he understands emotion and keeps this in balance.

  I’m a writer, creative in my own right, but everything fits in neat little boxes, there’s a framework.

  Over time, I’ve also learned that there is a framework, a structure and planning, to creating a successful artwork. The feeling and emotion that goes into his creations is a process I can’t even begin to grasp.

When I actually take a moment to look at his face his hurt expression guts me. He’s pulling his hair in frustration as he tries to make sense of everything I’m saying.

  Then he takes a step towards me and asks, “Why are you pushing me away, Katniss?”

  “Because I’m just going to hurt you. You deserve so much better than me…” As I speak the words, I find my eyes pooling with tears. I stare at the ceiling, willing them not to fall.  

  He looks stunned for a moment, then I feel his warm and comforting hand in mine. “Let me be the judge of that, Katniss. I think I get to decide where my heart belongs.”

  His heart.

  I just stare at him, jaw slack, for a moment.

  Then I listen to him, let his words sink in. He’s right. I guess I should tell Peeta and let him decide.

  “I… I have to show you something.” I tell him, giving his hand a squeeze before releasing it and retrieving the letter from Effie Trinket, my uncle’s friend, the publisher who’s very interested in my writing.

  If I move there.

  She would set me up with an apartment, and I would have to commit to living there for more than a year.

  Uncle Haymitch assured me that this is an amazing opportunity. Ms. Trinket goes to great lengths to be formal and show decorum. Once I arrive, she will take me under her wing, as she takes a personal interest in the success of her chosen few.

  Peeta reads the letter once, then twice, before looking up at me.

  “Milan, Italy,” is all he says.

  “I don’t know why I feel this way, why I’m so torn, why I feel so confused…” I start pacing and muttering all kinds of things that don’t matter at all.

  Peeta interrupts me, “Katniss, Katniss! Why are you upset?”

  I bury face with my hands and yell angrily, “Because I LOVE YOU! This is my dream, but I don’t think I can do this without you!”

  I feel the tears pour out of my eyes onto my hands.

  I hate feeling this vulnerable.

  I don’t want to need another person.

  His warm comforting arms envelop me, and I sigh in his embrace. He kisses the top of my head and rubs my back, soothing my fears. He waits for me to stop crying before he speaks, his low timbre is just above a whisper, “What if we go together? I would love to move to Italy with you, Katniss, because I love you too!”

  I never ever imagined this best case scenario, but Peeta Mellark continues to surprise me. I pull away just so I can look him in the eye.

  “What would I do without muse? I can do my artwork from anywhere, if anything, a change of scenery can bring entirely new points of inspiration. Italy, Katniss!” he further explains, excitement raising in his voice as he speaks.

  Instantly, I realize he is dead serious. My expression softens as I read the love written all over his face. My lips find his. This is just as breathtaking and mind blowing as our first kiss, but with this kiss I know this is love.

  The kind of love you fight for.

  “So I might be publishing my original work, with a world-renowned publisher, and we’re moving to Italy together?” I lose my confidence at the end of my question, and it shows in my tone and the expression on my face.

  Peeta clasps his hand in mine and answers with unwavering support, “Together.”

 ———————— 

Peeta’s strong muscular arms wrap around my waist and barely noticeable baby bump as he pulls me flush to his broad chest, hugging me from behind. This is his new favorite way to snuggle me close. His hands cradle the mound where our unborn child grows.

  Every single time he does something like this I find myself a little choked up. Not a lot, I’m still the same practical, level-headed Katniss. But, damn it! These pregnancy hormones have gripped me with emotion in these tender moments we share.

  The tear I willed away rebelliously escapes my eye and trails down my cheek.

  Peeta Mellark gets to be a daddy. If anyone should have children and bring more hope in this world it should be him.

  We need more Peeta Mellarks in this world.

  I’m so incredibly lucky I get to be on this journey with him. Another petulant tear escapes despite my protests.

  I wipe it away hoping Peeta and anyone else around didn’t notice.

  “What are we going to tell our children when they find the erotic literature we write together?” I whisper in his ear.

  His warm laugh rumbles in his chest against my back. I find myself turning my head to the side, inviting Peeta’s lips to graze my neck. He obliges, my husband knows me so well.

  I sigh. His kisses are like sweet honey.

  “That’s why we wrote them under a pen name, dear wife,” he reminds me. “God! You look so HOT in this dress!”

  “Cinna,” I answer with a shrug. Despite living in the epicenter of fashion for over 2 years, being dragged to every fashion week with Effie Trinket, and my friendship with the award-winning it designer Cinna, I still don’t care much for it and am grateful he choses my wardrobe for events like this one.

  “No, Cinna made the dress, but you’ve always been the smoking hot Girl on Fire,” Peeta says, referencing the nickname I was called in college, completely unbeknownst to me for years.

  I can’t contain the laugh that bursts forth. Peeta joins me, maybe out of pity, because it wasn’t that funny. The whole thing is still absurd to me.

  Effie makes her appearance, eyeing us with curiosity at our laughter.

  The affectionate smile Effie gives me reminds me of one a mother gives a daughter. She’s thrilled do be this child’s “Nonna.”

  As “extra” as she can be, I’m extremely lucky to have found favor in her eyes. I loathe to admit, Effie also holds a maternal place in my life that I hold dear.

  I clutch Peeta’s like a lifeline. My love. My muse. My husband.

  With the squeeze of my hand Effie leads us, “Eyes bright, chins up, smiles on. I’m talking to you, Katniss! It’s showtime!”

[iwritehorsethings]

Sunset Shimmer Doesn’t Want to Play Tag - MLP One Shot

Cross-post from FimFiction. If you enjoy, please consider following and giving a thumbs up!

Summary: Twilight thinks Sunset would benefit from a game of tag. Sunset thinks she needs this about as much as she needs food poisoning.

Rating: Everyone

Genre: Slice of Life, General

Art by Suramii.

Sunset Shimmer was visiting Twilight Sparkle, and it was the first either had seen each other in a long while. They were in a meadow just east of Ponyville, where the tall yellow oat grass swayed and danced to the sweet song of a nearby meadowlark. The poor thing sounded a little lonely, though Sunset couldn’t reason why.

A soft blanket had been laid out on the grass, a picnic basket open and emptied of Spike’s skilled cooking. There were chocolate chip cookies, daffodil sandwiches, and even some blueberry tea. It was all very lovely, and the pair chatted amicably as they sipped at teacups.

Sunset expected to have any number of stimulating conversations with the Princess of Friendship–

“Sunset, have you ever played a game of tag?”

But this was not one of them.

A teacup halted on its way to Sunset’s lips and she batted her eyes at the alicorn. The meadowlark chirped in the absence of her answer. “Uh, no?” she said eventually. “I don’t think I have.” She took a sip of tea, if only because her admission left her feeling self-conscious. If there was one thing she had learned from tea parties in the human world, it was that action served as the best way to conceal uncertainty.

This might have worked, had Twilight Sparkle not leaned over to peer studiously into Sunset’s eyes.

Sunset leaned back, her face tense with apprehension. “T-Twilight, what is it?” she asked nervously.

“Sun, I think you’ve spent too much time as a human,” Twilight declared with a frown.

The other mare let out a startled laugh. “What?”

“What I mean is, you’re losing your pony spirit.”

“Yeaaah, that doesn’t make me feel better.”

“Sunset, I’ve noticed you seem rather…” Twilight’s mouth slanted as she wheeled a hoof through the air. “Stiff in your pony body?”

Sunset’s tail swished in agitation as her muzzle scrunched in moue like she’d just discovered gum on the bottom of one of her shoes. Stiff? This was rich coming from Twilight Sparkle! “Stiff how?” she asked. The unseen meadowlark seemed to sing her question, a note of strain entering into its dulcet voice.

Twilight shrugged, her wings fidgeting on her back before resettling. “It’s in how you carry yourself. I noticed it the last time you visited, but this time it feels more pronounced.” She smiled teasingly. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you trying to pick up a quill with your hoof this morning!”

Her companion’s sunny coat ruffled as it gained a sweaty sheen. “I-I was distracted!”

“What about that time when you sat on the park bench with your hind legs dangling over the edge?”

Sunset huffed hard through her nose. “Other ponies do that too! I’m not the only one Twilight Sparkle!”

Twilight hummed, her eyes turned up innocently in thought. “There is also the matter of how you come back through the portal every time… It always takes you a full minute before you realize walking upright isn’t suited to a pony!”

Sunset Shimmer’s face illuminated with hot red embarrassment. Her mouth hinged open to shoot off some retort, only to snap shut again. The meadowlark half-chirped. She slouched and blew a gust of air through her loose lips. “Inter-dimensional travel is confusing,” she admitted with reluctance.

Twilight raised an eyebrow. “Sunset, there’s no reason to be ashamed!”

“I’m not ashamed!” Sunset snapped. Then she felt bad for snapping and muttered with a flinch, “Sorry,” before she levitated a sandwich off the serving platter. “I just don’t see your point,” she went on with an agitated flick of her ears. “So I’ve picked up a few quirks here and there… That doesn’t mean I’m too human!” She took an aggressive bite of her sandwich before setting it on her personal dish.

“True,” Twilight mused with a thoughtful frown. “Or maybe your nature has something to do with it as well.”

Sunset Shimmer stamped her hooves a little, her eyes squeezing shut. “Twilight, I’m not really up for being picked apart today!” she whined. “I thought we were going to talk about the finer points of friendship magic!” She raised a notepad and quill in her magical aura, thrusting it at her company with desperate insistence. “See!? I even brought things to take notes!”

“Well that’s just it, Sun,” Twilight returned, gently using her magic to ease the items back to their places on the blanket. Her voice was tinged with just the barest hints of admonishment. Avoiding learning opportunities was like trying to hold your breath to get one’s way, in her eyes. “You’d have an easier time of it if you’d just reconnect with your inner foal!”

This earned Twilight a dry look from her companion. Choo choo, sweet! the meadowlark sang out, its voice ringing.

“My inner foal?” Sunset repeated flatly.

The princess nodded, completely unfazed. “Yes. That was part of the reason I brought up the increase in your human behavior. I think being in your alternate form for so long is starting to affect your thought patterns.” Then came a wistful sigh. “It would make a great study if only we had the time and means to observe the effects safely!”

Sunset’s mouth screwed up and she just managed to keep from turning her eyes up to the sky. It figured the only thing saving her from becoming Twi’s latest science experiment was scheduling conflicts. She really was the true equal of her interdimensional twin.

The princess paused to take a prim sip of tea before continuing: “One thing I’ve observed in the human world is that their lack of magic leaves them without a way to readily access their better natures like us ponies do.”

Sunset’s ears drooped as her spine curved. “And you think I’ve become too much like them? What about the friends we made there? I… I thought I was doing better!”

Twilight whinnied and nuzzled her friend, a soft smile on her lips. “You are doing better. Amazing, in fact! Our human friends are very dear to my heart, as I’m sure they are to yours, and I certainly don’t think ponies are superior to them in any way. Humans simply have a unique obstacle to overcome, and that can have different consequences than we’re used to encountering.” She smiled sheepishly. “Ponies, as far as I observed, are more prone to self-delusion. And we aren’t immune to succumbing to our own magic, either!”

Sunset could feel her eyes mist up. ‘Self-delusion’ and 'succumbing to magic’… Been there. Done that.. As if she needed a reminder that she had suffered such crucial flaws.

Exhausted from its efforts at calling for its brethren, the meadowlark gave a single low chirp and fell silent.

Maybe I still do have those flaws? Why else is Twilight bringing this up? Sunset wondered as a dull gleam overtook her cyan eyes.

Twilight’s gaze widened at Sunset’s wilting form and she rushed to say with fluffed wings half-spread in panic: “Sunset, I’m not trying to say you’ve got the worst of both worlds! I only mean that, currently, you might be denying parts of yourself in a subconscious attempt to adapt to your new home!”

“You also mentioned my personality might be the problem too,” Sunset replied with a sigh. “What is it about me that you think makes me susceptible to acting more human?”

“Honestly? The same issue I had.” Twilight tried and failed to conceal a giggle behind a hoof. Grinning, she asked, “Remember the story I told you of how I met my friends in Ponyville?”

A little smile blossomed on Sunset’s features, a warm break in her chilly gloom. “Princess Celestia tasked you with making friends. I remember.” Then she snorted into a short laugh and said next, “You hid in your room while Ponyville partied in your library all night!”

Twilight accepted this recollection of a less-than-stellar moment with all the grace Rarity had begged of her new royal station. The unicorn would have clopped hooves in glee if she’d seen it. “Then you’ll recall how no-nonsense I said I was,” she said, happy for the uplift in her audience, but not to be distracted from her point. “The only things that mattered to me were my studies. It didn’t just keep me from making friends, it kept me from relaxing and having fun!”

Sunset groaned and squeezed her eyes shut. “Celestia help me, I think I’m finally starting to see where you’re going with this…”

Twilight nudged her friend with a foreleg. In what her companion thought was a grating lilt, the princess said, “So I thought, 'What’s a good way to illustrate to Sunset the power of friendship magic, while getting her to reconnect with her pony side?’”

Sunset straightened, a fixed smile appearing on her muzzle and a glazed look in her eyes. “'Oh I know! I’ll play tag with her!’” she said with mock cheer.

“Exactly,” Twilight said with pep, unperturbed by her friend’s sarcasm.

Sunset’s brow furrowed as she resumed her slouch. “Can’t we do something less…foalish?”

The meadowlark sang again, questioningly. Choo choo? Sweet sweet?

“Well, we wouldn’t really be connecting you with your inner foal if you weren’t doing something foalish, now would we?” Twilight countered with a small tilt of her head.

The simplicity of this logic made Sunset want to slam her face into the nearest tree.

It was so infuriatingly difficult to counter. Just what did one say in response? “NO,” seemed the first and most obvious answer… But Sunset had wanted this. Well, not this per se, but the personal in-pony instruction. A refresher on the basic essence that was friendship magic. She realized, with a sense of doom, that to refuse this guidance from Twilight (the bucking Princess of Friendship) was as self-defeating as it was rude.

That didn’t make her any more eager. As rumors went, Twilight’s other pupil, Starlight Glimmer, tried to find shortcuts in her teacher’s lessons all the time.

“But don’t we need more ponies to play with?” Sunset asked with some strain evident in her voice. Before she returned home, she’d need a visit to the Ponyville Day Spa to work out the horrible knot in her withers…

Twilight smirked. “Oh is that all you’re worried about?” She lifted and turned her head. With a royal volume Luna would approve of, she hollered (making Sunset’s ears pin back in alarm), “Who wants to play taaaaag?”

Five seconds of ringing silence followed. Sunset peered around, utterly bewildered that Twilight honestly thought somepony would come running to join them all the way out there for–

She squeaked and covered her head when two colorful blurs zipped past her–one pink, the other a rainbow streak–stirring her mane and rattling the dishware of their quaint picnic.

“Me! Me, me, me, me, meeeee!” Pinkie Pie squealed at Twilight Sparkle’s side, her voluminous hair bouncing merrily with each energetic hop.

At Pinkie’s other side, Rainbow Dash folded her wings against her back, grinning cockily and striking a daring pose. “Tag? Now you know it’s practically a Ponville law that I play! Count me in! I’m the best at it!”

Both newcomers turned, blinking as if just seeing Sunset Shimmer for the first time.

“Oh! Heya Sunset,” Rainbow snickered behind a hoof.

Pinkie Pie just threw her head back and laughed, little snorts and squeals punctuating her humor as she fell amidst the grass and rolled.

Sunset squinted one eye at them. “Um. Hi?”

Twilight gave her a smug look. “See? We’re never lacking in tag opponents here at Ponyville.” She giggled. “By the way. You should probably fix your mane!”

Sunset felt her blush return with a vengeance and hastily ran her hooves over her hair. “All right,” she said with acerbic frustration. “So how do you play…” she closed her eyes in suffering. “Tag?”

Pinkie hopped with an eager squeal, one hoofed raised in the air like she were in school. “Oooh! Ooh! Me! I wanna say it!”

“Go ahead, Pinkie,” Twilight said with affectionate patience.

Pinkie took a giant breath and began. “One pony is picked to be 'it’. Then–”

“What is 'it’?” Sunset interjected hurriedly. Maybe if I can reveal how silly this is, I can argue my way out of it!? Nevermind that she really didn’t know what 'it’ was.

Pinkie Pie blinked, her flow effectively thwarted. “Um…” she shrugged. “A pony who’s 'it’ is just…it!”

“What Pinkie means to say,” Twilight said, her voice tense with hidden amusement, “Is that the pony designated as 'it’ is the one who chases the others, hoping to tag them.”

“Then what?” Sunset asked, her head tilting to one side.

“The pony who is tagged then becomes 'it’ and they start chasing the others around.”

Sunset Shimmer squinted her eyes. “But… How do you win?” Twilight, Rainbow, and Pinkie exchanged looks. Then they started to laugh. Sunset blushed all over again, harder than before. She imagined she must have looked like a hot dog with ketchup and mustard on one end. “Come on, it’s a serious question!” she protested with a small whine.

Rainbow and Pinkie only laughed harder at her mortification, with the pegasus stomping a hoof on the ground, and the earth pony holding onto Rainbow in a limp effort to keep upright. Twilight was the only one who managed to compose herself enough to respond, and even then, it was while she wiped tears from her eyes.

“Sunset…there is no winner in tag! You just sort of keep playing until you stop!” She smirked. “There is, however, no tag-backs. Meaning–if you just tagged someone, then you’re safe from being tagged until the new 'it’ pony tags somepony else.”

“Oh,” Sunset muttered. Well that was maddeningly simple. Was there really no other point to stall with? Then one struck her on the head like a basketball from P.E. “Are there no boundaries?” she blurted, wild-eyed. “What’s stopping me from teleporting to another city!?”

Somewhere further off than before, the meadowlark chirped again in its urgent song.

One of Twilight’s ears drooped in bemusement. “Er… Well, sportsmanship? For one thing.” She raised an eyebrow and added in a flat tone, “For another, you wouldn’t really be playing tag then! Sunset, honestly, it’s just a game! Not detention!”

“Detention would be preferable,” Sunset muttered to the picnic blanket.

“She kinda raises a good point, though,” Rainbow said thoughtfully.

Sunset looked up to see the pegasus rubbing her chin with one hoof. “We’ve all played with each other so we all sorta know the rules already! It’s not fair to assume Sunset knows them all too!”

Twilight puckered her lips, considering this appeal on Sunset’s behalf. Eventually, she bobbed her head and let out a meh! She pointed a hoof at her horn. “Okay. So the first rule is no magic! Second is that only hoof tags count. So if you tackle somepony but you don’t deliberately tag them with a forehoof, then you’re still it!”

Pinkie pulled one of Rainbow Dash’s wings out and exclaimed, “Third is no flying!” She smiled apologetically as Rainbow snapped her wing out of Pinkie’s hooves with a mild glare.

Twilight made a sweeping gesture with her foreleg. “Last rule is to stay in the field!” Then after a thoughtful squint at Sunset’s anxious face, she added, “And since we’re playing with a beginner, the picnic blanket is base… meaning if any pony touches it, then you are safe! This gives you a chance to catch your breath. But you’re only safe as long as you’re in contact with the blanket, you can only stay there for five seconds, and only one pony can be there at a time!”

Rainbow groaned. “Aw, man! Are we playing with a base? I hate base.”

Twilight levied a disapproving stare at her brash friend. “Oh really? If I recall correctly, half the reason we stopped using a base in our games was because you kept using it as a herding tactic!”

“Herding tactic?” Sunset repeated. There are tactics to this game?

Pinkie sighed like she were bored, her way of expressing mild disapproval of something. “Yeeeah. Rainbow used to feint us into thinking we could run to base, but she’d cut us off enough times that we’d end up huddled together and she’d have her pick of who she wanted to tag.” Then she pouted. “It wasn’t fun!”

Rainbow Dash grinned unapologetically. “Whaaat? That was only because I was getting so fed up with everypony hiding there when I was about to get 'em! It’s called adapting tactics guys. And anyway, I got the idea off of Applejack!”

Sunset blinked. “Applejack did it too?”

Twilight smiled wearily. “She was the other reason we had to stop incorporating base.” The princess pointed a warning hoof at Rainbow. “No herding!”

Rainbow rolled her eyes and shrugged a silent, Whatever.

Sunset’s ears swiveled as she thought she heard that meadowlark once again… but he sounded distant. Had he finally flown off in search of his friends?

“So who is going to be 'it’ first?” she asked, feeling her attempt at stalling collapse on itself. When it came down to it, Twilight Sparkle had probably chosen this exercise precisely because it was next to impossible to pick apart. Her stomach lurched unhappily.

What if I’m horrible at this game? What if I don’t have fun? What will they think of me? Will they stop looking at me as a pony?

“I’ll be it!” Rainbow said eagerly. Her wings spread wide and she grinned cockily at the others. “For just a few seconds, that is…”

“Okay!” Twilight said, her wings also spreading. “Rainbow, please count to ten while the rest of us gain some distance. Sunset? I recommend you stay close to me.”

Sunset nickered half-heartedly, resigned to her fate as Pinkie Pie bounced merrily past her through the tall grass.

Other than what would no doubt be a beleaguered rant on tag’s potential applications as a model on the stark socioeconomic state of Equestria, Sunset Shimmer reasoned that…she had no arrows left in her quiver. She really had no good reason not to play. Twilight really thought this would help. Not just to distract her from some stress carried over from the other world (Sunset did have a paper due in History class, which… now that she thought about it… maybe her now discarded rant could still be used?) she honestly felt this would unleash some youthful energy that Sunset was apparently losing.

Wasn’t her human friends in the other world always encouraging her to get out of her shell and just have fun? To leave the past in the past and to smile in the present? Was she really stopping herself from engaging in a frivolous activity because she was afraid of how she would look, or because she was afraid that her innocence was simply no longer inside her? And that she was lesser for it?

Sunset Shimmer took a deep breath.

Maybe the point… is just doing it?

To Twilight Sparkle’s recommendation, Sunset asked with the gravity of a general acquiescing to terms of surrender, “What do I need to stay close for?”

Rainbow had already covered her eyes with her wings and was counting. “Three! Four–!”

Twilight smiled at her like a foal who had just said something sweet and naive. She took her friend under her wing and led her away in a brisk trot. “Because whatever happens, we’re in this together.” Then she winked. “Until either you or I get tagged that is.”

Sunset smiled and hurried to keep up, feeling her spirit lift a little under her friend’s warm wing. “So the point of this again is–?”

She felt Twilight’s wing lightly bop her on the back of the head.

“The point!” Twilight said archly. “Is to stop bucking thinking, and have fun!”

“Eight! Nine!” Rainbow counted relentlessly.

Sunset batted her eyes as she fell a step behind, her intellect crawling hastily over this idea like ants did a picnic. Her head snapped round suddenly as this particular image took hold. “Wait!” she cried out. “We should put the food awa-aaaay!” Her voice morphed into a shriek of surprise as she beheld the rushing form of Rainbow Dash hot on their hooves.

Twilight squealed. “Run! Run Sunset, run!”

Sunset didn’t need telling twice. She broke into a full gallop, her heartbeat drumming to a matched pace as she and Twilight crested a small hill, the tall yellow oat grass teasing their sides. To the side, Pinkie Pie could be seen bobbing in and out of view as she bounced along. Behind her, a rapid force shook the grass violently, almost like something was parting it–

Sunset jumped when Rainbow leaped into a view like a shark out of the water, her hoof tapping Pinkie Pie’s flank smartly mid-bounce. “Tag, you’re it!” the pegasus cried with triumph upon landing.

Pinkie Pie took a second to process this, one curly lock askew in her mane, before suddenly throwing her hooves up into the air and screaming, “Whoo hoo!”

Maybe it was the adrenaline that coursed through Sunset, making her feel giddy. Or maybe it was just the unexpected and ludicrous joy Pinkie exhibited at having been crowned 'it’. Or maybe it was the way the grass teased her sides as they continued to run free and wild.

Regardless of the reason, Sunset Shimmer couldn’t hear the meadowlark’s song anymore. She was fairly certain the little creature had taken matters into his own wings and flew off for a less lonely afternoon. But even if he was still nearby singing, she wouldn’t have been able to hear him.

The air was thick with laughter, not least of which was her own.

[writerspink]

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capture remark western outcome risk current bold compare resident ambition arrest furthermore desire confuse accurate disclose considerable contribute calculate baggage literacy noble era benefit orchard shabby content precious manufacture dusk afford assist demonstrate instant concentrate sturdy severe blend vacant weary carefree host limb pointless prepare inspire shallow chamber vast ease attentive source frantic lack recent distress basic permit threat analyze distract meadow mistrust jagged prefer sole envy hail reduce arena tour annual apparent recognize captivity burrow proceed develop humble resist peculiar response communicate circular variety frequent reveal essential disaster plead mature appropriate attractive request congratulate address destructive fragile modest attempt tradition ancestor focus flexible conclude venture impact generosity routine tragic crafty furious blossom concern ascend awkward master queasy release portion plentiful alert heroic extraordinary frontier descend invisible coax entrance capable peer terror mock outstanding valiant typical competition hardship entertain eager limp survive tidy antonym duplicate abolish approach approve glory magnificent meek prompt revive watchful wreckage audible consume glide origin prevent punctuate representative scorn stout woe arch authentic clarify declare grant grave opponent valid yearn admirable automatic devotion distant dreary exhaust kindle predict separation stunt

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evade debate dedicate budge available miniature petrify pasture banquet pedestrian solitary decline reassure nonchalant exhibit realistic exert abuse dictate minor monarch concept character strategy soar beverage tropical withdraw challenge kin navigate purchase reliable mischief solo combine vivid aroma spurt illuminate narrator retain excavate avalanche preserve suspend accomplish exasperate obsolete occasion myth reign sparse gorge intense revert antagonist talon aggressive alternate retire cautiously blizzard require endanger luxurious senseless portable sever compensate companion visual immense slither guardian compassion escalate detect protagonist oasis altitude assume seldom courteous absurd edible identical pardon approximate taunt achievement homonym hearty convert wilderness industrious sluggish thrifty deprive independent bland confident anxious astound numerous resemble route access jubilation saunter hazy impressive document moral crave gigantic bungle prefix summit overthrow perish visible translate comply intercept feeble exult compose negative suffocate frigid synonym appeal dominate deplete abundant economy desperate diligent commend boycott jovial onset burden fixture objective siege barrier conceive formal inquire penalize picturesque predator privilege slumber advantage ambition defiant fearsome imply merit negotiate purify revoke wretched absorb amateur channel elegant grace inspect lame tiresome tranquil boast eloquent glisten ideal infectious invest locate ripple sufficient uproar

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apprehensive dialogue prejudice marvel eligible accommodate arrogant distinct knack deposit liberate cumulative consequence strive salvage chronological unique vow concise influence lure poverty priority legislation significant conserve verdict leisure erupt beacon stationary generate provoke efficient campaign paraphrase swarm adhere eerie mere mimic deteriorate literal preliminary solar soothe expanse ignite verge recount apparel terrain ample quest composure majority collide prominent duration pursue innovation omniscient resolute unruly optimist restrain agony convenient constant prosper elaborate genre retrieve exploit continuous dissolve dwell persecute abandon meager elude rural retaliate primitive remote blunder propel vital designate cultivate loathe consent drastic fuse maximum negotiate barren transform conspicuous possess allegiance beneficial former factor deluge vibrant intimidate idiom dense awe rigorous manipulate transport discretion hostile clarity arid parody boisterous capacity massive prosecute declare stifle remorse refuge predicament treacherous inevitable ingenious plummet adapt monotonous accumulate reinforce extract reluctant vacate hazardous inept diminish domestic linger context excel cancel distribute document fragile myth reject scuffle solitary temporary veteran assault convert dispute impressive justify misleading numerous productive shrewd strategy villain bluff cautious consist despise haven miniature monarch obstacle postpone straggle vivid aggressive associate deceive emigrate flexible glamour hazy luxurious mishap overwhelm span blemish blunt capable conclude detect fatigue festive hospitality nomad supreme

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exclude civic compact painstaking supplement habitat leeway minute hoax contaminate likeness migration commentary extinct tangible originate urban unanimous subordinate collaborate obstacle esteem encounter futile cordial trait improvises superior exaggerate anticipate cope evolve eclipse dissent anguish subsequent sanctuary formulates makeshift controversy diversity terminate precise equivalent pamper prior potential obnoxious radiant predatory presume permanent pending simultaneously tamper supervise perceived vicious patronize trickle stodgy rant oration preview species poised perturb vista wince yearn persist shirk status tragedy trivial snare vindictive wrath recede peevish rupture unscathed random toxic void orthodox subtle resume sequel upright wary overwhelm perjury uncertainty prowess utmost throb pluck pique vengeance pelt urgent substantial robust sullen retort ponder whim saga sham reprimand vocation assimilate dub defect accord embark desist dialect chastise banter inaugurate ovation barter muse blasé stamina atrocity deter principal liberal epoch preposterous advocate audacious dispatch incense deplore institute deceptive component subside spontaneous bonanza ultimate wrangle clarify hindrance irascible plausible profound infinite accomplish apparent capacity civilian conceal duplicate keen provoke spurt undoing vast withdraw barrier calculate compose considerable deputy industrious jolt loot rejoice reliable senseless shrivel alternate demolish energetic enforce feat hearty mature observant primary resign strive verdict brisk cherish considerate displace downfall estimate humiliate identical improper poll soothe vicinity abolish appeal brittle condemn descend dictator expand famine portable prey thrifty visual

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stance vie instill exceptional avail strident formidable rebuke enhance benign perspective tedious aloof encroach memoir mien desolate inventive prodigy staple stint fallacy grope vilify recur assail tirade antics recourse clad jurisdiction caption pseudonym reception humane ornate sage ungainly overt sedative amiss convey connoisseur rational enigma fortify servile fastidious contagious elite disgruntled eccentric pioneer abet luminous era sleek serene proficient rue articulate awry pungent wage deploy anarchy culminate inventory commemorate muster adept durable foreboding lucrative modify authority transition confiscate pivotal analogy avid flair ferret decree voracious imperative grapple deface augment shackle legendary trepidation discern glut cache endeavor attribute phenomenon balmy bizarre gullible loll rankle decipher sublime rubble renounce porous turbulent heritage hover pithy allot minimize agile renown fend revenue versa gaunt haven dire doctrine intricate conservative exotic facilitate bountiful cite panorama swelter foster indifferent millennium gingerly conscientious intervene mercenary citadel obviously rely supportive sympathy weakling atmosphere decay gradual impact noticeable recede stability variation approximately astronomical calculation criterion diameter evaluate orbit sphere agricultural decline disorder identify probable thrive expected widespread bulletin contribution diversity enlist intercept operation recruit survival abruptly ally collide confident conflict protective taunt adaptation dormant forage frigid hibernate insulate export glisten influence landscape native plantation restore urge blare connection errand exchange

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feasible teem pang vice tycoon succumb capacious onslaught excerpt eventful forfeit crusade tract haggard susceptible exemplify ardent crucial excruciating embargo disdain apprehend surpass sporadic flustered languish conventional disposition theme plunder ignore project complaint title dramatic delivery litter experimental clinic arrogance preparation remind atomic occasional conscious deny maturity closure stressed translator animate observation physical further gently registration suppress combination amazing constructive allied poetry passion ecstasy mystery cheerful contribution spirit failed gummy commerce prove disagreement raid consume embarrass preference migrant devour encouragement quote mythology destined destination illuminating struggle accent ungrateful giggle approval confidence expose scientist operation superstitious emergency manners absolutely swallow readily mutual bound crisp orient stress sort stare comfort verbal heel challenging advertisement envious sex scar astonish basis accuracy enviable alliance specific chef embarrassed counter tolerable sympathetic gradually vanish informative amaze royal furry insist jealousy simplify quiver collaborate dedicated flexible function mimic obstacle technique archaeologist fragment historian intact preserve reconstruct remnant commence deed exaggeration heroic impress pose saunter wring astound concealed inquisitive interpret perplexed precise reconsider suspicious anticipation defy entitled neutral outspoken reserved sought equal absorb affect circulate conserve cycle necessity seep barren expression meaningful plume focused genius perspective prospect stunned superb transition assume guarantee nominate

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install reticent corroborate regretfully strength murder concise cunning intention holy satire query confused progression disillusion background mundane abrupt multiple enormously introduce emulate harmful pragmatic pity rebut liberate enthusiastic elucidate camaraderie disparage nature creep profitability impression racist sobriety occupy autonomy currently amiable reiterate reproduce cripple modest offer atom provincial augment ungratefully expansion yield rashly allude immigration silence epitome exacerbate somber avid dispute vindicate collaborate manufacturer embellish superficial propaganda incompetent objective diminish statistics endure ambivalent perpetuate illuminate phenomenon exasperate originality restrict anxiety anthropology circumstances aesthetic manufacturing conventional dubious vulnerable reality precedent entity success term critical repair underscore stepmother republican hesitantly classic wary contents prediction immediate invoke notorious implicit excluding input skeptical foster element punish frank humanity profound dessert orthodox substance disappear encourage neighborhood elder superfluous naive ascertain complacent resilient deafening military tend prudent glare acceptance skillfully induce monster beam gullible conciliate vessel petty cantankerous disclose archaeology anecdote disdain electronics substantiate subjective tourism advisable joyful incredible provocative psychological ruins discipline condone indifferent misfortune judgmental industrialize tasty assume astute mission mar protective definitely escape oppress shocked virtual zealous endorse qualification hostile eccentric abstract disparate geographical scrutinize generalization tolerate activity claim dogmatic influential obsolete extol implausible subsequent resource chronic benevolent improve confidential ambiguous seriously dearth perplex hatred throughout dine contemporary evoke essentially economic flagrant obscure alleviate eloquent dreaadful clumsy sympathy victim condemn vigor condescend spontaneous quell reprehensible substantially sleeve equivocal ironic decry errand articulate progressive eradicate refreshments elicit aspiration recently exemplary bribery theoretical disingenuous partisan revere particle nostalgia self-aggrandizement debunk tyranny rhetoric hierarchy warning whimsical venerate commend assert miserable awful vibe constrain undermine explicit differentiate compliment scrupulous contempt erroneous ideal refute imply cynical rash presume insight revival vary delay renounce indignant offensive temperate circumstantial export peep logo advertise suppress distort chunk convoluted denounce overwhelming fertility rigorous acquire arrogant university antagonize profitable indulgent strategic breathing idiosyncrasy profession frugal discern accommodation adversary incredulous disturbance digress social belie roam smug continual pertinent voluntarily elite subtle blame sincerity lick horror censure involvement candid infer futile impetuous exploit bewilder sustain diligent sincere protect sealed musical empathy callous parenthetical insure acorn sarcasm seize sacrificially allege emphatic irrelevant progress diplomatic stunned improvise deride reconcile meticulous deject scientifically incontrovertible pressure justify gloomy depict supplant endurance analogous diary bolster slip contemplate pesticide glow religious advocate negligent creator lament fundamental embrace throne inherent inferior valuable thrive trivial pretense reserved capricious refresh refusal flight boost explanation coherent prevalent tenacious official royalty assassin rub poach delete

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warrant circumscribed somewhat explosive optimistic mandate previously detract opinion intuitive feasible intimate persistent humble simplicity tempt deliberate painful unethical fundamentals discrepancy remorse pessimistic possibility conclusion acknowledge impregnate soberly creation paralyze suitability oblige tranquil medal arbitrate pacify illusory susceptible vibrate vengeance infection democratic stressful grave speculative sample identification stifle obligation revenge organization namely mediocre practical scream weaken consensus affectionate deficient treacherous console isolation ingenious memory melodrama despair awestruck composition regret recommendation celebrity decision devoid opaque ornamentation longevity participate dread restore interrogate aid accordingly mislead embarrassment optimism domestic apt funds virtue geography fundamentally thoroughly press despite horrible chilling rental esteemed disappointment innovative contemplation assign popularize haunt deafen serene percent estrangement suffer extravagant throng estimate comment priesthood mass dreadfully promote periphery animated saying relate clarity triple derivative succeed distortion register suicide improvement discreet inquisition probable curative incident praise convenience baffle covet dreadful genuinely weary undisturbed disgruntled humility renown nonchalant monopoly comedy vague decisive inconsequential announcement fabricated nevertheless vigilant scarce neglectful hushed attainment tedious explode snatch pslm agency sentimental tension adhere meanwhile sacred avert conformity likewise challenger accessible responsibility peril contact event roast fallible catastrophic competitor violate resolute deceive exaggeration discredit intolerable approve paste dimly novelist demeanor norm politician satisfaction obvious vehicle reservation defer involve restoration crush audible assistant backpack attain inanimate commemorate confrontation emigration parasite disperse quantitative laughter policy vulgar occasionally repay effective eulogy starvation empty therapeutic overall immortal encompass inappropriate opportune engagement illustrate turmoil observatory classification expression reminiscence comedian invention depress remedy protagonist gesture texture diplomatic election prolong conducive emotional invigorate curiosity expressive %

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