#because that is Hazel Dente's house and she does not live there

[aondaneedles]

That one time I recreated Deadtree...

[mylightsatnight]

And they say Love will come.

And they are right. Love does come. But unexpectedly, un-assuredly, it doesn't rush, doesn't plan. It acts on it's own accord, with it's own priorities, just wanting to bring joy into the lives of these strange humans that have made this place home.

Love will come to her. Maybe her heart got a little dented while studying in Camrose. Her art degree has proved useful in refining her craft. But does she have a dependable job now? Does that matter as little to her as it always did to me? I'm sorry for the way I broke up with you all those years ago. I was young, dumb, and providing excuses won't make the healing any easier. But you learned to pick up the pieces like hair getting swept into the dustpan after your mother cut your hair in the kitchen. The hairdresser was closed that winter break, so she offered to do her best. You said some unkind things because she made your bangs shorter than you wanted them to be, and I should have texted you that night, to see if you were ok. But I didn't, I just asked if you had a haircut when we returned from break, you said yes, in quite a shy way, and then I looked directly into your...beautiful, (but I hate beautiful because it was never specific enough, so I will say more.) I looked into your deep brown eyes, no flecks of hazel, but like a perfectly assimilated cup of hot cocoa, like the warm earth that is one consistent shade around the forest spruce trees, needles all scattered around in cryptic, mythical combinations. Your eyes, which were always one shade, and I never saw any other. But they looked of comfort, of safety, of satisfaction and sunlight, despite their lack of yellow hue. I bet they shone with delight on August lake days, and they warmed the cafe's in the dead of the 40 below winter. Your eyes with no reflection, because you saw the world with a unique advantage. You are brave, strong, independent, and without even a hint of indoctrination of modern trends. You are such a star, happily orbiting your own ellipsis, unaffected by the centre star of your galaxy's pull. I hope Amelia is well, I hope your father didn't hate me too much after all I had done. I hope you know that I drove by your house on occasion, I never leered, never tried to spy through your window or anything. But I just pulled into the loop, and remembered that time we played piano, those times of backyard birthday parties, the bonfires, the harry potter marathon, the jokes, the laughs, and the number of times I couldn't feel my face because I smiled in your happy, happy home. I'm sitting in a cafe, as I always do, at 6pm on a Thursday night, and I saw a picture you posted on Instagram. You don't get nearly the attention you should, and you don't require half the attention that you deserve. You are an unbelievably special person, and it feels like an obese elephant crushing my chest, knowing that you won't read these words, and you might go through life not knowing how many people do have love from you from afar. I hope your horses lived long and healthy lives, despite my personal problems with the creatures. I hope your parents got to keep their house while so many others had to downsize. I hope you had drunken bohemian nights that made your idols of Bowie and Cleese so damn proud. My tears are welling in the corners of my eyes now, but I don't have time to concern myself whether you'd think me weak, brave, or all-together a mess. Some of my high school days I spent with you were the best I ever had, and though our time was short, both dandelions and dark-eyes juncos never stay as long as they should when the cold comes. So now my cold has come, my drink is no longer warm, and I just want you to know one last thing.

That time, I noticed that you got a haircut over the break, and I commented and said that it looked good. ... I saw this glimmer in your eye that I haven't seen in any other person since. Man or woman, child or adult, Lover or friend. Your soul is so bright, that I got to see a fraction of it escape through those...fire-warm brown eyes.

If nothing else in life matters...I'm glad I got to keep that with me.

Keep warm out there, C. Here's wishing you well.

[danny-chase]

wait selina had her own protege? Tell me more 🥺

[Image ID: A young girl (maybe like 13-15) with hazel (yellowish) eyes and short brown hair. She's wearing a lot of eye makeup, a little hat with cat ears, and goggles. She wears a tie, pink vest, and grey t-shirt with pawprints. End ID]

Batman (1940) #642

Kitrina Falcone - link to wiki

She was a Catwoman copy cat (haha sorry i couldn't help it) who grew up with her abusive uncle (Mario Falcone - he literally tries to kill her in the arc she's in, she calls him uncle - but others claim she's his little sister and she claims she's Carmine's daughter) and lived on the streets for a while. She looked up to Catwoman and imitated her, but Selina steals some of her maps (i think like blueprints for heists or smth idk) so she breaks in to Selina's house to steal them back.

At this point she was working for Penguin (she bombed a place it was a whole thing) - her map making skills are vital for taking down/locating Black Mask so she's vital (she's doing this for the bounty). And she and Selina get on and Selina gives her a costume and she becomes Catgirl.

[Image ID: Selina Kyle as Catwoman and Kitrina Falcone as Catgirl stand on a rooftop next to each other with the moon illuminating them. The Catgirl costume has a studded silver belt and collar, black claw-like gloves, black leggings, and a black tank. There are pink zagging stripes on the side of the torso and back of her calf that have silver behind them. She also wears pink ankle high converse with a purple cat icon patch on the side. She has a mini cowl with cat ears that are pink on the inside and pink scale-like bracelets/ruffles at the end of her gloves. Narration boxes (Dick): Or in this case, in the reflection I catch out of the corner of my eye - the swift and agile movement in the reflection of the windows across the street. Selina: He's gone, Catgirl. Kitrina: I want to follow him. I bet he has a cool hideout. Selina: No. You have much to learn... and lesson one starts tonight. End ID]

Batman (1940) #697

Idk if she has any appearances as Catgirl, but following her appearances listed in the wiki she lives with Selina for a while until Dick tries to talk her into going to boarding school (with Selina also on board) on orders from Bruce.

[Image ID: Dick and Kitrina argue on a rooftop, Dick as Batman and Kitrina in a white tank top and pink pajama pants. Narration box: I don't have much time to spare on a night like tonight. But Bruce wants Kitrina Falcone out of Gotham. I can't say I disagree. Dick: The Aldridge Boarding School for girls is one of the best in the country, Kitrina. It's everything you need. Kitrina: And nothing I want. Dick: You can't have what you want. I'm taking that away from you. Kitrina Why are you acting like such a dork? I've proven myself. I helped you. Are you forgetting all the - Dick: You're young enough... smart enough to have a normal life. And you're an opportunist... take the one I'm giving yo - Kitrina: No one gives me anything. I take. I have everything I need here. Support. Training. Selina (off panel): Listen to him, Kitrina. End ID]

Batman (1940) #710

Dick lecturing a kid about not being a child vigilante is just jdfklajdkfla hypocrite XD

Anyways from here on, she runs ahead on the case they're working on (i skimmed didn't actually read it) leaving him clues and such it's like the typical young vigilante storyline of being over confident. She gets in over her head, Dick catches up and bails her out - she runs (because this one actually has self preservation instincts unlike the 934758 other batfam characters). Dick gets shot in the head (again - but don't worry the cowl redistributed its impact *sigh* this man has so much head trauma, but comic book logic) by Harvey Dent's wife Gilda no less and wakes up later and finds this letter.

[Image ID: Dick looks down at a paper, bandages are wrapped around his forehead. He's drawn with blocky features there art style isn't doing him any favors. Dick: A letter from Kitrina Flacone. The note reads: Dear Batman, I am writing to keep you from worrying about what became of me. I wouldn't want you to think that "Catgirl" got in over her head. Or was kidnapped, or killed. They show the side of a travelling bus. Note: I'm leaving voluntarily. In fact, I'm going to try out that school you signed me up for. It's probably a dumb idea... but I'm a girl who likes challenges. Kitrina sits looking into the window, seeing her reflection as Catgirl, earbuds in her ears. Note: And putting up with a bunch of rich prissy debutantes will be a challenge. I'm sure I'll put a few of them on their rears by the time it's over. But the point I'm making is, don't count me out. I'll be back. And I will be bad-assed. - Sincerely, K End ID]

Batman (1940) #712

The arc itself is pretty dry and follows a pattern we've already seen from DC comics. Also she's like "I'll be back" and DC just went sike. So. Yeah. Reboot messed her stuff up. It's annoying to me that they made Lian Selina's new protégé or whatever when they already had this storyline right here, and to have Jade drop her off like that is ooc, especially because Roy was right there as well. And while Kitrina might not be for everyone personality wise, I personally would love to see her kick rich kids asses at boarding school. Or just have her train under Selina - because at the least she already grew up watching Selina and trying to emulate her, both in personality and in the skills she taught herself - so the connection for this character is already there - whereas "Shoes" just came out of nowhere.

Another thing I find kind of funny is the popularity of "Stray" fics, because she hits some of the same beats I've heard about (i haven't read any though this is second hand knowledge). To my understanding, when someone (Tim or Jason) is stray, they grow up on the streets trying to escape familial abuse (which she does) and eventually is taken in by Catwoman (which she is) and becomes her protégé (again which canonically happened to this character). Though she doesn't interact with her respective Robin (Damian at the time) too much which i think is also usually a part of said fics.

Anyways here's her being called a stray lakdfjaslfdj

[Image ID: Kitrina as Catgirl slams into a car, Riddler's daughter following after her. Riddler's daughter: I need to warn you. I hate cats. Kitrina is kicked through the cars windshield. Riddler's daughter: Especially strays. Kitrina: Oofh! End ID]

Batman (1940) #711

I have no idea if this is a coincidence or not - this character has very few appearances, which date back to the Dick!Bats era - so i assume most of this fandom doesn't actually know who she is, but it's possible one of the first "Stray" fics used her as inspiration.

Also she freaking bit Dick as Batman which i find hilarious - i know fandom makes a big thing about Damian being a biter but like:

[Image ID: Kitrina bites someone's gloved forearm - it's Dick as Batman but you can't tell from the panel, forcing him to drop a knife. There's a chomp sound effect. Kitrina: What're ya? Crazy?! You're not killing him! Dick: Umff!]

Batman (1940) #696

*CHOMP*

[beeezie]

Straight On ‘Til Morning

James I's parents tend to overcomplicate just about everything, including "the most basic standards of respectability."

In my defense, neither of us was taking off our clothes, which had to count for something. Probably not much - inviting a man I wasn’t even engaged to into my bed wasn’t the wisest choice I had ever made in the first place, let alone repeatedly made for months - but something.

*not pottermore-compliant

I was in my potions workroom finishing up a sleep potion for Elizabeth Bones in the village when the door blew open.

“Not now,” I told Tristan Potter as he trudged in.

“Iz -”

“It can wait. Give me ten minutes.” I gestured toward the door that led to my sitting room. “Go.”

He let out a snort, kicked off his snow covered boots, and slumped toward the thick wooden door.

When I followed him a few minutes later, he was lounging on the floor, his back to the warmth of the wooden wall. My workroom had to be kept cool so the potions didn’t congeal, but there was a spell laid evenly throughout the walls surrounding my living space that kept it pleasantly warm during even the coldest winter months.

Tristan had already stripped off his outerwear and was lounging in front of the fireplace; his deep red coat and scarf were both draped over a stand nearby fireplace, and his hat and clothes were spread out on the floor.

“Hello, darling,” he said as I locked the door behind me.

I didn’t bother to hold back my giggle, and he grinned as soon as my lips turned upward. He liked it when I laughed at him; in fact, he often phrased things specifically to induce it. It was one of the many things I liked about him. When I made to sit down next to him, sweeping my skirt out, he grabbed my waist and pulled me into his lap before I hit the floor.

“Tristan!”

He kissed my neck. “I missed you.”

“You saw me yesterday.”

“But yesterday was so long ago. Are you ready to make an honest man of me yet? That would make things so much easier.”

I twisted around to study him. Tristan Potter was very handsome, even if his nose and cheeks were still a little red from the cold and his dark hair was flattened from his thick woolen hat. His high cheekbones made his face light up whenever he smiled, which was often; his hazel eyes often twinkled from an untold joke; and his touch could be intoxicating.

Absurd though he undoubtedly was, I really was very fond of him.

“Not quite yet,” I told him, nuzzling up against his very warm and comforting body. After minimal internal conflict, I had come down on the side of not caring about the impropriety. “My mother invited me by for tea tomorrow. Would you like to come with me?”

“Only if you’ll make an honest man of me,” he said again. Before I could pull back to glare at him, his arms circled around me. “Oh, stop it. Yes, of course. You know that. Did you tell her you were going to invite me?”

I hesitated. “I didn’t not tell her,” I said finally. He let out a chuckle. “Well, it won’t surprise her.”

He considered that. “No, likely not. Do you think she’ll ever forgive me for my imprudent failure to observe even the most basic standards of respectability?”

“Probably before she forgives me for lying about it.”

My mother had spent months trying to convince me to meet Tristan Potter after he’d moved to Godric’s Hollow. In fairness, everyone else in the village was mad about him, too, but since I’ve never really been the sort of person to swoon over good-looking rich men with egos the size of Hogwarts, I’d avoided him on principle.

And then he’d cornered me while I was buying potions supplies and made me laugh. I do have a soft spot for men who can make me laugh. I don’t meet many of them.

One thing had led to another, and then my mother had walked in on him lounging on the floor of my sitting room far too late in the evening for a proper social visit. It had taken quite a lot to convince her that the impropriety was indicative of youthful foolhardiness rather than a secret pregnancy. She still hadn’t quite forgiven me for lying about not knowing him, and her previous high opinion of him had been left severely dented.

I steered the conversation onto less uncomfortable subjects. Tristan followed my lead.

When we next looked up at the clock, we had a very unwelcome surprise. “Is it that late already?” he asked no one in particular. “What time did your mother tell you to come by at?”

“Late morning. I should probably go to sleep.”

“I should probably let you.”

I didn’t move, and neither did he. His grip around me tightened a little, and when I swiveled around to look at him, he leaned down to kiss me.

I liked kissing Tristan Potter.

When we pulled apart, he rested his forehead on mine. “You should go to sleep,” he said.

“Yes.” I took a deep breath. “Are you - are you staying?”

I’m still not quite sure how Tristan came to spend quite so much time alone with me in my sitting room until all hours of the night. I’m even less sure how he came to spend some of those nights in my bed. I remember it being my idea, of course; I’m just not sure how I’d gotten to the point where I had such an improper idea in the first place.

“If you’d like me to,” he said.

There was a part of me that was very aware that this ritual was a little ridiculous - he never said no when I asked, and if I asked, it was obviously because I wanted him to. I suppose the vestiges of propriety made us both feel better, even if it always ended at the same very improper place.

I shifted my weight to one hand to push myself to my feet. He kissed my head before I could rise. “Would you like me to?” he asked.

I could feel the color start to flood my cheeks as I nodded. It was becoming harder to sleep when he wasn’t here with me, which I should have taken as a sure sign that I was in well, well over my head.

But Tristan Potter had been robbing me of my good sense since he’d first made me laugh in McKinnon’s potions shop.

“I’m going to - to change. You should…” I trailed off. We’d first done this more than three months before, but I still felt a little strange speaking about it.

He grabbed his bag off the floor and headed to the washroom.

I didn’t let him keep his pyjamas here - that somehow made it feel more real, and besides, the best explanation I’d possibly be able to give if someone saw them was that at least they indicated that he didn’t sleep in my bed naked. I didn’t think that that defense would get me very far, especially if the person who saw it was my mother. People usually didn’t wander into my bedroom, but one could never be too careful.

I grabbed the pyjama shirt and trousers I wore when he was here out of my top drawer - the knee-length sleeping gown I usually preferred had a tendency to edge up my legs as I slept, which seemed like it should probably be avoided in mixed company.

When we were cuddled against each other in my bed, covered by the knitted blanket and matching quilt my grandmother had given me as a gift for finishing Hogwarts and moving into my own house, I couldn’t stop a giggle from slipping out. “Why do we keep doing this?”

He pressed his lips against the back of my neck. “Because you keep asking, and I’m absolutely helpless to resist you.” I could hear the smile in his voice.

“That’s not a very good answer.”

He pulled my messy braid aside and started to kiss my neck in earnest. “Clearly it’s good enough, since you keep asking me to stay. Did you know that people keep asking me whether Isolda Winters has frozen me solid yet? They say you’re an ice queen.”

“Do you agree with them?” I teased, rolling over to stare at his silhouette in the darkness.

Rather than going back to my neck, he pressed his lips against mine. I felt his hand slip beneath my shirt to rest on the small of my back. When I gasped - I still hadn’t quite gotten used to the feel of his bare skin - he brushed his tongue against mine. I wound my arms around his neck and deepened his kiss.

“No, I find you to be exceedingly warm,” he said when we’d finally pulled back from each other. His lips brushed against my forehead. “Though I can’t say I’m sorry that no one else seems to see that quite like I do.”

“I hope no one else ever does. My reputation would be in tatters.”

“I’ll take it to my grave,” he breathed. “Kiss me again.”

In my defense, neither of us was taking off our clothes, which had to count for something. Probably not much - inviting a man I wasn’t even engaged to into my bed wasn’t the wisest choice I had ever made in the first place, let alone repeatedly made for months - but something.

I shuffled closer to him as we kissed. He pulled his hand around to rest on my hip. “Wait,” he said. “I - ah - you might not want to get too close right now.” I felt my face start to get warm. “Sorry. I can’t help it.”

He sounded embarrassed. The vestiges of my good sense told me to listen to him, and that ignoring him was going to start us down a path we weren’t going to be able to backtrack from later.

I ignored them.

“I don’t mind,” I said. “If - if you don’t.”

He didn’t move his hand. “Sorry,” he said again. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

The real answer was that there were many things I wasn’t sure of where he was involved, but I didn’t tell him that. Instead, I said, “I want to find out.”

After another moment of hesitation, his hand returned to my back, and I tentatively moved my body against his. The bulge between his legs pressed against me, and when I didn’t object, he pressed his lips to mine again.

“Is that all right?” he asked, resting his forehead against mine.

I nodded. “I - is it for you?”

“Yes.” His voice sounded a little strained, and I could feel his heart starting to race beneath my hand.

His hand pushed me a little closer to him, and I heard a noise escape me that I didn’t even know I could make. Heat flooded my face.

“Don’t worry,” he said softly.

Our lips met again, and most of the embarassment floated away. Feeling him pressed up against me felt good in a way that I hadn’t realized it would, and there was a tingling coming from where we were touching that was starting to overwhelm my other senses. I closed my eyes and distantly heard him say my name.

Then it exploded, and I felt vibrations unlike any sensation I’d ever experienced before course through my body.

When I came back to myself, I realized that my hand was still clenched around his shirt. “I love you,” I whispered as we started moving together again.

His touch was still gentle, but I could feel a growing sense of urgency coming from him, and I was surprised at how gratifying I found it.

***

It wasn’t as though I didn’t recognize where our relationship was going before that, of course. I’d known that if he was regularly sleeping in my bed, we weren’t going to stop with kisses or my sitting in his lap. I knew that we were probably going to continue to do increasingly improper things unless I stopped inviting him to stay overnight.

And I knew that I wasn’t going to stop inviting him.

We hadn’t done very well at keeping our sometimes-sleeping arrangements a secret, either. My potions partner, Beatrice, had gotten to the workshop unusually early one morning and come across Tristan in his pyjamas. I didn’t think she’d told anyone, but several of the village gossips had recently noticed that there were nights where the lights in his house never turned on.

And, of course, my mother had been suspicious about how far we were overstepping the limits of propriety since she’d discovered our relationship in the first place.

She seemed neither surprised nor particularly pleased to see Tristan with me the following morning. Her greeting was nearly as frosty as the air outside, and she almost immediately pulled me into the kitchen to “help her” with tea. “There’s gossip all over the village,” she said as she gathered a pile of biscuits on a plate. I wasn’t sure how to respond, and eventually decided on a vague shrug. “It’s about you and Mr. Potter.”

“Mm.” I put the teacups down on the tray and reached out to grab the plate. I wanted to escape the conversation as quickly as possible, and I was hoping she wouldn’t want to have it in front of him.

“Isolda, there’s a rumor that he never went home three nights ago.”

“How would anyone even know that?” I asked. When her eyes narrowed, I quickly shut my mouth. My mother had always viewed logical answers as proof that I’d thought something out and was therefore probably lying about it.

She was often correct.

“Do you know anything about that?” she pressed.

I picked up the tray. “How would I know about it?”

I left the room before she’d formulated an answer.

Unfortunately, her irritation at Tristan’s “imprudent failure to observe even the most basic standards of respectability” was even deeper than I’d realized; by the time I’d set the tray down and looked back at her, she had fixed him with a stare. “Have you been intimate with my daughter?” she asked.

My entire body suddenly felt uncomfortably warm. I wasn’t entirely shocked that she would try to probe him for some information - he was a bad liar, which she’d exploited in the past - but I hadn’t been expecting her to ask him that.

To my surprise, his face stayed neutral; it seemed like he had been expecting it. “I don’t think that’s any of your business,” he said pleasantly.

No matter how pleasant his tone was, though, the words themselves were a sharp rebuke of her admittedly very rude question, and it took her a moment to process how to respond. “Isolda is my daughter -” she started to say, but Tristan cut her off.

“Then you should ask her. I don’t like being used as her veritaserum.”

My mother had often accused me of being willful, but there was no universe in which I would ever have considered talking to her like that. I supposed that that was where being a rich handsome young man came in.

She was so taken aback that she dropped the subject entirely. I wasn’t entirely sure whether he’d done further damage to her impression of him or taken a step toward redeeming himself by sticking up for me - knowing my mother, it could really have been either. Regardless, she didn’t bring it up again, and she and Tristan were perfectly cordial for the rest of the visit.

“I can’t believe you said that to my mother,” I said after we’d gotten back to my cottage. Our snow boots were sitting in a puddle of ice cold water in my workroom, and our outerwear was strewn in front of the crackling fire he’d just set in my fireplace. My braid was now hanging over my shoulder rather than pinned up on the top of my head, and the heat washing over me was just starting to warm my bones back up.

He was sitting with his back to the wall, head resting against it. He grinned without opening his eyes. “As I said to her: I don’t like being used like your veritaserum.” I settled next to him. “Anyway,” he added, “I don’t know how to answer that question even if I wanted to.”

I shifted uncomfortably. “She meant -”

He saved me from having to spell it out. “I know what she meant, but…” He opened his eyes and looked at me. “I know last night wasn’t that, but it wasn’t nothing, either.” I was a little disconcerted to find that I couldn’t read his expression, and after a minute or two of silence, he sighed. “And she’s not wrong, you know,” he said reluctantly. “About us, I mean.”

I felt a jolt in my stomach. “How so?”

He rubbed his face with his hand. “She’s objecting to the idea of you sharing a bed and having sex with a man you’re not married to.” There was a tinge of red in his cheeks, and I could feel my face starting to burn. “Those are both reasonable objections, and they’re not coming out of nowhere.”

“I’m sorry,” I said after a minute. “About last night. I shouldn’t have -”

“No,” he interjected quickly. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I…” He swallowed hard. “I liked it. But… Iz, in the most respectful way possible, why don’t you want to marry me?”

I stared at him. After a moment, I said, “You haven’t asked me. I assumed if you were serious, you would.”

“Are you joking?” he asked incredulously. “I got a ring months ago and I’ve brought it up at least half a dozen times since then, and each time, you’ve just deflected it. Of course I’m serious. I wouldn’t joke about something like that if I didn’t mean it. You know me better than that.”

I stared at him. “You have a ring?”

“That’s not the point.” He studied my face for a minute. “Did you want me to ask you?”

I stared at him, not quite sure what to say. Silence was clearly not what he was looking for; as it began to stretch out and become actively uncomfortable, he pushed himself up and grabbed his coat and hat.

My heart was hammering in my ears. As he vanished into my workroom, my mind started to work again, and I realized that he was genuinely hurt. I struggled to my feet and rushed after him. He was yanking open the door, snowboots still unlaced, when I reached the doorway. “Trist -” He started to turn, and I realized that he was about to apparate. “Tristan, wait.”

There was a loud crack, and then he was gone.

I knew I’d be able to find him later, and I suspected that we’d be able to patch things up.

Still. The empty space he’d been standing in still felt frightening and demoralizing, especially since I wasn’t really sure why I kept changing the subject when he brought it up. I really did adore him; Beatrice and my friend Cicily had both pointed out on multiple occasions that just saying his name brought an unconscious smile to my lips, and there was nowhere I felt more comfortable and safe than in his arms.

Marriage would also effectively address everything I’d come to hate about our relationship - the lip service to propriety, the lies, the nights that he wasn’t in my bed…

But marriage had never seemed to make anyone else happy. My friend Cicily had married six months prior, and now far too much of her life revolved around making her husband comfortable. It wasn’t that he was a brute - we’d grown up together, and knew that he wasn’t. It was just what was expected. From what I could tell, Cicily’s life had been turned upside down, and his had barely changed at all.

And she wasn’t the only one. I’d seen women I knew had never been eager to have children end up occupied by two of them within a few years of marriage. It wasn’t that they’d changed - I knew, because they’d come to me begging for a potion to prevent a third. It was just what was expected.

I’d even seen it in my own family. My mother would swear to her grave that my father had been taken from her far too early and that she missed him every day. I believed that she did, but I’d also seen her become more outspoken and engaged in the world around her after my father’s death.

I had no reason to believe that I would be the excception to that. Once you were formally attached to a man, people stopped treating you as a person, and ‘love’ seemed to have more strings attached.

Through that lens, I supposed my avoidance shouldn’t have puzzled me at all.

After a minute or two of waiting for him to reappear, I pushed the door closed, slid down the cold wooden wall across from one of the potions stations, and buried my face in my knees. I’d been crying long enough to look like a wreck - puffy eyes, hiccups, runny nose and all - when I heard a soft knock on my door. I didn’t answer, and after a moment, the handle turned.

“Isolda?” he asked softly through the crack. “Can I come in?”

“Yes,” I sniffed.

He slid inside and closed the door behind him. “Sorry,” he said. “I was already apparating when you called out, and I had to walk back - I didn’t trust myself to apparate again without splinching myself.” He stopped in front of me and knelt down. His eyes were also red and puffy, which was gratifying. “Isolda, I’m very serious,” he said without preamble. “If you’re just… not ready, that’s fine, and if you just don’t want it with me…” He swallowed hard. “Then I can respect that, too. But I’m serious. I want to marry you. I got that ring before I even started spending the night here.”

“That was months ago.”

“Like I said.”

“You’ve only ever made jokes.”

“You’ve always brushed them off. I was afraid that if I said anything more without any encouragement from you, you’d think twice about having me in your life at all.” He sighed and straightened up. “It’s cold out here,” he said. “Let’s go inside.” I was gratified when he kicked off his snow boots again before following me - it seemed like a decent sign that he was at least intending to stay.

I settled into the corner closest to the fireplace while he closed and locked the workshop door behind us. After he’d droppd his coat and hat back in front of the fireplace, he hovered in front of me, clearly not sure to sit. I was about to suggest he sit next to me when he dropped down to settle in across from me.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his voice hesitant. I nodded, and he put his hand out without touching mine. His fingers were still red from the cold.

He hadn’t been this tenative around touching me and using my nickname since the very early days of our relationship. I drew my knees up to bury my face in them; he’d become a huge part of my life over the past year, and friction with him hurt even more than I’d expected it to.

After a moment, he said, in a very strained tone, “Isolda, I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do right now. It feels like there’s something about me that’s making you uncomfortable, and I don’t want to touch you and make it worse… but at this point, I don’t really know how to make you feel better without hugging you.”

I reached out blindly without picking my head up. When fingers found his sleeve, I pulled on it; after a moment, he shifted over to sit next to me. After another moment of hesitation, I felt his arm settle over my shoulders.

“Is this okay?” he asked. I nodded, still in tears, and his grip tightened a little. “Isolda -” I stiffened a little, and he sighed. “Iz, please talk to me. I don’t understand what’s going on - I just know that I’m hurt and that you’re upset.”

I focused on the one part of what he’d said that didn’t require me to articulate anything. “Why are you hurt?”

He sighed. “Because I love you and want to be with you, and I feel like you don’t like me enough to marry me.”

His voice wavered as he spoke, and his words hit me like a dagger in the stomach. If I’d needed confirmation that the issue truly wasn’t not liking him enough, I would have had my answer there.

Before I could reply, he added, “And I feel guilty that I may have destroyed your reputation too much for you to find someone you do.” His eyes were still puffy and red.

“It’s not about not loving you,” I told him after a moment. “Or not liking you enough. But all the women I know who have gotten married have been less happy for it.”

“And you don’t want that.” I shook my head. “Did they know their husbands first, though?” he pressed. “When you don’t -”

He stopped talking when I sighed. “Tristan, I don’t think that this is about that. Men never lose much when they marry. It can be different for women. Marriage takes away our freedom to make us more secure.” He opened his mouth to protest and then shut it again, looking distinctly off kilter. “If you married me, would you want me to keep making potions?”

“I hadn’t thought about it,” he said after a minute. “But I’d let you do whatever you wanted.”

“I don’t want you to let me do anything.”

He winced at the sharpness in my voice. “I didn’t mean it what way.”

“Didn’t you?”

To his credit, he took a moment to think about it. “I didn’t intend to mean it that way,” he said. “I don’t want you to stop being yourself.”

I caught his gaze and held it. “If people mocked you about your wife working, would it bother you?” He hesitated, and I added, “You have an ego. I bet it would.”

He looked away from me. “Not because of that,” he said. “I would never want anyone to think that I can’t take care of my own family.”

“I don’t want to be taken care of,” I told him. “That’s why people call me an ice queen.”

As we talked, it became clear to me that there were things he hadn’t considered at at all - including the idea that I might not want to leave my cottage to live somewhere else just then or that I actively didn’t like the idea of servants. That didn’t inspire confidence, and my heart was starting to sink when his response to my pointed question about what his parents would think of his marrying a potioneer without an overflowing Gringotts vault surprised me.

“I don’t care,” he said flatly. “I don’t think they do, either - my mother asked me last week why I hadn’t proposed to you yet - but even if they did, they would have to get over it.” My skepticism must have been apparent on my face, because he added, “Iz, I don’t want to trap you. If we disagreed about something, we’d talk about it, and I’d never sit there and listen to people attack you for who you are.”

An enormous knot in my chest loosened. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

Suddenly, I could feel my heartbeat pulsing through my body. It was deafening, and the twinge in my stomach made me feel like I was genuinely in danger of throwing up from sheer nerves. “Ask me again.”

He froze. He was so motionless he could have been a statue. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, during which my nerves fell to pieces. Then he took a deep, shaky breath in. “Will you marry me?”

His hands were shaking, which made me feel oddly better.

“Yes.” My voice was too soft, and I cleared my throat. “Yes,” I said again.

He let out a sigh of relief and leaned down to kiss me. “I love you,” he said after we’d pulled apart. “I - do you mind if I go ask your mother for her permission now? So I can at least pretend I’m doing it properly?”

The truth was that I would have preferred to have him stay with me, but he was clearly anxious to go through the motions, so I told him to go ahead.

She would probably be gratified, at any rate.

It took longer than I’d expected for him to get back, though, and when he finally walked in two and a half hours later, I’d just started to worry that my mother had told him no. The smile on his face assuaged that particular fear, but I still asked him what had held him up with a fair amount of trepidation.

“She said yes. That’s all the matters.”

I snapped my book shut and put it aside. “Tristan.”

He stripped his coat off again and plopped down in front of my chair. After a moment, I reached out to start running my fingers through his snow-speckled hair - he’d been too excited to remember his hat - and he let his head fall back to rest against my knee. “She insisted that I answer her question from this morning.” My hand stilled, and he quickly added, “I told her not in the way she meant, but probably more than she’d like.”

I felt my face get hot as I started twining his hair through my fingers again. “Does she know you’ve slept here?” I sighed when he said yes. “I’m surprised she’s not already here to lecture me.”

“She was expecting worse, I think. Her first question was whether you were pregnant.”

That didn’t surprise me, at least. “You would think I didn’t make potions for a living.” He laughed, slipped his hand under my skirt, and began to tickle the back of my calf through my tights. “Tristan!”

“I’m your fiance, it’s not improper anymore,” he said through my giggles.

“Yes, it is,” I mentioned to gasp. He sighed and slid his hand down to run his thumb along my ankle. When I’d regained my ability to breath, I added, “We’ve never been proper, though.”

He took my hand and pulled on it. “Come down here,” he said. I slid off the chair and into his arms, and he kissed me. “You’re sure?” he asked when we pulled apart.

“If you’re sure about what we talked about.”

“I promise.”

“Then yes,” I said. “I’m sure. I do love you, Tristan.” His hold on me tightened a lot, and I saw a smile spread across his face that I wasn’t sure he was even aware of. “I miss you when you aren’t here. I just don’t want to lose myself.”

“I don’t want to lose you, either.” He kissed me again. “Can I stay again tonight?”

“I’d like that,” I said. “I’m your fiancee, it’s not improper anymore.”

He smiled widened. “Yes, it is. We’ve never been proper, though.” He nudged me. “Let’s eat something and then go to bed.”

I glanced at the clock. It was just past eight. “It’s still early,” I pointed out.

He kissed me again. “I know,” he said softly. I felt one of hands at the small of my back, and a very pleasant shiver ran up my spine. The memory of the sensations I’d felt the previous night, which had been driven out of my mind amidst all my emotional turmoil, came rushing back to the fore.

Suddenly, going to bed early made all the sense in the world.

+series on hpft

[deadseeing]

 “What do you mean Mom attacked you?!”

“I don’t know, it looked like her but it w-wasn’t her!”

“S-Shh, it might be coming back!”

The sound of feet dragging across the wooden floor is prominent outside her bedroom. The footsteps are loud, as they pace back and forth up and down the hall. Raine can hear the jingling of the lock where she’s hiding, probably the worst places she could ever be. The closet was one of the places people got killed if they were found in horror movies. Where did she even go wrong? She holds the receiver close to her mouth. Her service dog downstairs asleep – and Ren and Ran could only do so much to help her. 

“Hold on, Raine–– I’m almost home.....!” She hears her brother Lars say, and she firmly closes her eyelids shut. The lines goes dead and she bites her lip. 

She didn’t have supernatural powers like the rest of her family did. She was the only normal one, with the exception where either of her friends would utilize her body when she allowed them but she was still one hundred percent human. 

She wasn’t a super hero, like her brother promoted himself to be. She wasn’t an illusionist like her older sibling was, she was just Raine. A human detective to be. A scared thirteen year old that didn’t want any of these fancy powers to see the dead.

That thing that posed as her mother was horrifying. It was like the shadowy formless ghosts who sucked life energy out of the living. It had her mother’s face, her smile, her dark locks of hair that usually cascaded a little underneath her shoulders. She mistaken her for it at first, but that was her own naïvety. It was an unexpected turn of events – the thing didn’t have a reflection. When she looked again, the face was largely disproportioned, with dislocated jaw and no eyes. It’s form became shadowy once she noticed past the illusion it presented itself with. Hugging her knees, she holds her breath when hearing the door being forcibly opened.

Oh god, oh god, oh god–

The dragging of feet is heard outside of the closet, and she hears it rummaging throughout her room. Her stuffed animals pound against the wall, and she hears her bed’s mattress being moved and tossed across the room. It falls with a loud thump which causes Raine to cover her mouth immediately. She watches as her friends look at her helplessly then fade into darkness when hearing something else topple over.

It’s when the room grows silent Raine’s anxiety spikes up.

The only thing Raine does is close her eyes. She can’t think rationally now, if she panicked she’d out herself to the monster and the last thing she wanted to do.

All she had to do was wait for Lars to get home. 

And she waits, and waits and waits some more, she doesn’t know for how long but it’s a long time. She’s tempted to pull out her cellphone but the light of her smartphone may even alert the monster that she’s inside the closet. The silence is disrupted by something that goes on outside and down the hallway. She hears the squeaking of sneakers that pound across their wooden stair case.

“Raine! Raine! Where the hell are you?” It’s Lars, she’s saved–– but she doesn’t dare leave from the closet just yet.

But god damn him and his reckless nature, because at that moment she hears the hissing of the creature in the room. The pounding of shoes across carpet and she hears a crash. It never had left? Was it anticipating her to leave the closet the entire time? She hears Lars yelling from down the hall and she’s tempted to go out toward him. Something tells her not too. Seeing that the monster was distracted, she tries to squint in the darkness.

It’s then Ran and Ren emerge again and they huddle close to her. “Ren, go help Lars...”

The flaxen haired ghost boy nods then disappears from sight. She looks toward Ran and frowns deeply.

“W...we gotta go out there.”

“But what if you get hurt too?” 

“We have t-to-take risks...if I don’t, Lars could get...hurt...”

Seeing her friend’s conviction, Ran nods back toward her friend in understanding and Raine slowly opens the closet door. They leave the closet side by side, and she looks back into the darkness to make sure nothing else is lurking. Seeing nothing, she closes it while Ran looks on ahead. Once looking forward, Raine sees the mess in her room; everything is in disarray. She hears Lars yelling down the hallway and she rushes toward the hall where everything had fallen from the wall. 

“Lars!” She cries and she hears his voice further down the hall near their mother’s room. She sees her brother combating the creature alongside Ren who summons water from the nearby bathroom to try to subdue it. It lets out a ugly laugh and attempts to pounce on her brother who side steps and slices through it with his ghostly blade.

It falls back to the ground, but it makes eye contact with her again with a crooked smile on it’s lips.

“F̐͛ͮ͋͌e̍̓ͨ͒̓̅̓̅̚a͐ͪ̀͂rͨͥ̑ ̃͆͆̀̄ͫ̊̚t̽͆ͫ̈́̐̓̀ͧ̎hͯe̎̾ͫ̈ ̐̆͊s̑̾̀ḧ́ͫ͌̇̊̽͂̚aͪ̏̾̀̔ͦͩ́dͤͥ̀̈ͬ́̉͊o͆̿̾ͥ͗̊wͣ̉͒͆́̑ͭ̎̂sͯ,̽̽̒ͥͬͭͧͦ̊ ͭ͌̆́ͧf̔̏͊ͬoͮ̀̓̅͛r̆̏̈́̚ ̓͛͗̎ͥ͑ṫ̽h͋̔̎ͣͮ̋̋͋ė̅̅ͭ͂̇ͮyͭ͂ͦͤ ͂̔̋͊̓ͭ̾̐ẇ̍́ͯͪ̿ͨ̎h͛̆ͬͪͮ̑ͯi͆͗ͪͪ̃s̏̀͆̀͂́̈́̆̇ṕͥ̄̃ͥeͯ̽̔ͮ̀r̍̽ ̽̈́͋̈̆̊a͐ͬͩ̉͋̌̈́̂̐mͮ̂̾̿̂̿oͧ͆̐͗ͦ̍n̉ͤg̿̍̌́̀̄ͭͬs̃̾̌̋ͤ̏̒t͐ͩ ͭ͐t́͌̒̒̀͂̍hͬ͋ͯ̇̋̉͂e̔͗̓̆̽̿ͯ̄̌ḿ̓ͭsͥͮͤͨ͌͆ͦͯeͯ͗͒ͬ͛͂̀̚lͥͩͪ̃̾ͫ̽v̉ͤě̈̿ͮ̑̊͒̓̈s͛.̀̍́ͥ̽̏̏̅̆ ̏̆̐͆͗̄̾̏Ďͬi̒̂̽̐͋ͭͬͩ̚s͒͛tͤ̀ͩ̚r̈ͤ̅̋ͨuͣ̚s͂̓̄ͬ͋͂̎̚t̃̋ͪ ͬ̆̽ỳ͛̊o͆͒̊͗̈̅uͫ̒rͦ̿ͭ̃ͦ̔̌ͤ ͒͛ͧ̔̋̎mͧ̄̇̑̓o͐̉ͤ̀ͦ̀͂̓̚tͯͩ͛ḧ̄̌̐ͥͥ̊ėͧ̓̈ͨ̎r͐̂,ͣ ͛͑fͩ͗ȯ̈́ͫ͌̈ͫ̎r͒ͮ ͊̂̂ͪ̇̌s̔ͩ̅͛h͑̈eͣͯͦ̈ͯͯ ̽ͧͤͨh͆ͥͭa͂͑s̍̒̓̑��ͧ̽͋͒ ͯ͑̚c̊̑͑ͫͭ̏̑͗u̒ͭ̔͆r̾͆̂ͬͬͮšͫ́e͑͆d̿͊̊̽ ͮeͩͬ̓͑̋ͣvͥ̉́̃̇͒ẻ̈́̐͛̑̍̚r̀́͒̌̀ͩẏ̊̀ͧͪ̉͒̚ ̀͆͊ͧ͆͊sͫ̾î͛n̿̚gͦ̎ͫ͗ͩͬ̉͒l̊̿e̋͌̏ͨ̒̈́ͭ̉ͣ ͧo̊̿́n͑ͬ́̊͐̂̿ͤͤe̓̋̂̀ͪ́̾ ͥ̚ö͑͑̒̀̅f͑͂͐ ̔̊ͬ̿ͯͦ̓ỳͦo͐ͣͭ͂ͨ͒̓ͩ̑ů̇!̀̈́ͩ ͊̚L̐͗a̐ͭ͗̌͒ͧm̓̈́͊ë́̉̾͋͛̐͛̚ńͫ̈̊ťͪ͌ͥ ̐ͯoͣͤͯ̐ͪṽeͨͭ̒̂r̉̎͋ͤ̐ ͫͬͨ͑yͩͣ͒o̿̏̋͒ͩ̌û̐̄̃̈ͨͥrͦ̌ͭͮͨ́̚ ͒̓͑͋͑͛͌̌̆b̋̍ͮ̐̉͐ͤ̎ï̀̿ͥŕ̍̉̈̓̂̉t̓̇̈̈́̂͊ͦ͐̑h̊̂͆̔,̊͗͊ ͤ͐̔͗̓ͬ͒ͪf̏ͯ̃͊̚oͫ̓ͩr͋̋ͪ ̅̔͆̉yͨ̑o̾̓ͪu̿ͯͤ̈́͑ ͣͪ̌̉ͩ̽wͣ̿ͫͦ̏͆͆̽eͭ̉̅rͬ͋͂͊̊̉͐̍eͧ̽̌̑̈̓̃ ̊̾̑̊̓̚̚m̒̓̉̔̈ͪĩ̌s͛ͬ̾ͫ̏͛͗ͩ̐t̿ͯ̚ä́ͨͯ̐̎ͪ̿̓k͊̂̈́́͗̒̆̀ͮeͪ̂̓n̽̉̀ͥ̀̆̚lͦ̏y̒ͧ͛̀̽ ͒̀ͭ̿̆̆b̎̆r̃͂̎̍ͦo͌u̇ͣ̓̈́̾̏g͛h̐̅͑̍̈́ͫͬ͑ͮt̓̊̽̃͂͛ ͫ̄h̋̏e͌̅̊̇̾̂̓̿͌r̈̆̊e͋ͣͯ̽̐̃̄̾.͒ ́̾ͪ̐̂͋Y̏oͯ̒́ͩ̎uͥͬ̓͐ ̓̿̇͊̐ͮ͌͑bͫͧeͨ̊lͪ͐̔ô̈́ͦn̂̔g̏̾̿̆͗̎̏ ͊ͤ́ͥ̂ͮtͮo̓̓̋ͨ͑ͩ̈́ͪ.̏̿́̎ͬͮͬ.͐̂̈ͯ̐͛͛.͋ͥ͛͑ͦ.ͤ͛̀̌͊̉̆.̾ͮ̓̏ͨ̈́̐.ͭ͊ͣ̓̃ͦͯ͒.̍͗ͫ̅̄ͣ͊!ͬ̅͗ͪͦ̓̀̚̚”

And it bleeds into the floor, with a wicked laugh echoing through the hall. They all stand a moment waiting for something else to occur, then she watches Lars put away his sword and rush over to her and embracing her into his arms.

“Are ya okay, it didn’t hurt ya did it?!?” She watches her brother’s hazel eyes looking down at her concerned.

“I-I’m fine now that you’re here,” Raine mutters into his chest, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks. “But...bu-but are you okay? You dumbass ! You should’ve been more careful with coming upstairs. Letting yourself be known immediately put you into danger!”

“Yeah, and it saved me the trouble of looking for it, y’see? I’m a big boy, no spooky ghost got nothin’ on me!”

“Says Mr. Careless!”

“Is that what you say to the guy who just saved you!?”

“Um, guys––”

“Y-Yeah! Why didn’t you get here sooner!?”

“LARS. RAINE.” 

The siblings turn back to Ren and Ran who look at them with concern. “....Sorry for yelling, but...Ran went downstairs to look at those things fake Auntie Marissa had with her and they’re still there.”

“W-What?!”

“I hacked into her phone,” Ran admits and summons it forth. It floats in her hands as she presents it to the siblings. “But there are a bunch of missed calls from a couple of days ago.”

“When?”

“The last text message she sent out were to someone she works with and...to big sis Laurent.”

Furrowing his eyebrows, Lars then snatches the phone that floats midair. “What’s the code?”

“8754.” Raine watches as her brother inputs the number and she watches him open it up. He goes through it, to the messages in particular. She watches as his face fall and grow intense for a moment. 

“Well?”

“Ma would never leave her phone left alone.” Lars says, “these are ... all from last weekend.”

“Do you think the scary ghost had something to do with it?” Ren asks with a frown.

“Could be,” Lars says while scrolling through more, “But we should talk with Laurent first, when she gets home––”

“Talk to me about what? And why’s the house trashed?” Their sibling Laurent stood at the end of the hallway.

“It’s about Mom!” Raine cries out, “she–– her phone has a bunch of unanswered––!!”

“What about me?” Another voice rings out which leaves Raine and Lars frozen solid. A woman appears from behind their eldest sibling, who gives them both a pointed look. “Why does the wall have dents in it? I told you before Lars not to play basketball inside....”

“B-But Ma, y’see–– Raine got attacked by a lookalike ghost!” Lars makes an attempt to ease the situation now, but it didn’t look like their mother believed it.

“Yeah! And she looked just like you, Auntie!” Ran cries out now approaching her ‘Aunt’ now who looks down to her. “She turned into a spooky ghost!”

“Spooky ghost? Is that why the house looks wrecked?” Their mother asks with a frown, “you better not be lying to me.”

“Ma, I wouldn’t lie ‘bout somethin’ like this!”

“And we found your phone with a bunch of unanswer––”

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you found it!” Their mother says now moving past Laurent and grabbing onto the phone Lars holds onto. “I lost it a couple days ago for some reason. I had left it out to charge during the weekend but it disappeared before I left for work.”

“I can swear to it,” Laurent pipes up from the back, now advancing forward to the rest of the family. “We kinda looked Monday morning before I left for University, but couldn’t find the damn thing.”

Raine frowns to herself now while the rest of her family chatters about. There were too many pieces of this puzzle unanswered. And what did that ghost mean that their mother was distrustful? What was there to distrust? No, no she didn’t–– she couldn’t think of her mother in bad light. 

The situation put an awfully bad taste in her mouth. There was this foreboding, insidious feeling that clawed at her back and she was too afraid to turn around. Little did she know that the past was going to unravel in front of her eyes.