#but cannot for the life of her brew tea properly

[cafemasterhugo]

4 hours into the long day.

had a relaxed hour, then the hectic morning rush, now it's calmed down again. i might take my pokemon for a stroll on my break. abraxas is behaving better thanks to bede's advice, so he will be coming with.

[still-breathing-au-p3r]

Mitsuru has taken the same seat at the same table enough times now that it can properly be called a habit. It feels like a shameful waste of a Sunday to spend it like this, but what other option does she have, truly? She runs through a list of every potential distraction she can think of, and one by one dismisses them all: her homework is finished, business with the company is out of her hands at the moment, and there are no student council tasks to attend to over the weekend.

The idea of doing something pleasurable simply for its own sake has of course occurred to her, but she finds herself stymied there as well. None of the things she normally turns to for pure enjoyment hold any appeal.

A thick, rimy fog mires her thoughts, dulling them down into vague, creeping shapes that she can barely recognize or identify. The haze feels so vast; feels on the cusp of spilling over and flooding the whole dorm. Perhaps it would be best to retreat to her room, and not burden the others with her presence, but…

She had ventured to the lounge area precisely because her room had felt so intolerably, stiflingly lonesome. Reaching out to socialize is beyond her strength, but the idea of locking herself away into isolation again is abhorrent. She could drown that way, sinking to irretrievable, miasmatic depths. She cannot imagine a worse hell in this moment than solitude. 

There are footsteps coming up the stairs behind her. Mitsuru pays them no mind, nor to whomever they belong. It’s probably just one of the other girls going back to their room.

A hand appears from beyond the edge of her peripheral vision and gently places a mug on the table in front of her. Mitsuru startles and looks up, her thoughts and senses snapping suddenly back into clarity. To her surprise, it’s Aragaki she finds looking back at her, a second mug held in his other hand.

Mitsuru blinks down at the mug and its pale amber contents, breathes in the faintly floral steam.

It’s tea. Something herbal, based on the scent.

He… made this? She can hardly picture Aragaki brewing tea. He doesn’t even like tea, as he’s made clear to her numerous times.

And yet, he had really gone out of his way to do this for her…

He slouches into the chair across from her and sets his own cup down, looking as unperturbed as ever as he wraps his hands around it.

Mitsuru breathes a sharp sigh out through her nose.

Of course he would remember that. Woe be unto her, in all honesty, for imagining that Aragaki might ever forget an argument, no matter how inane. Especially this particular disagreement, which is one they had revisited several times in the past. So often, in fact, that Mitsuru had even begun to consider it something of an old favorite. She’s never once budged on the matter, and– despite his stance being patently ridiculous–  neither has Aragaki.

Until now, it seems.

Mitsuru sighs again, but she can’t find it in herself to be truly annoyed.

After all, while he may have said it in jest, his statement is entirely correct. Little gestures like this one have been Aragaki’s modus operandi for as long as she’s known him. So has downplaying those small kindnesses and dodging the credit for them as though his life depended on it. She smiles ever so slightly– she can’t help it.

Clearly, sincerity isn’t what Aragaki had been anticipating from her. He clears his throat and looks down, suddenly keenly interested in the faint patterns of steam swirling over his drink.

He really is as terrible as ever when it comes to receiving compliments, isn’t he?

Mitsuru laughs softly, just once, and allows him that sliver of saved face.

She picks up her cup and takes a delicate sip. 

The taste is exquisite. It’s neither weak nor scalded; every subtle note of the flavor in elegant and harmonious balance. A far cry from the disaster he had preemptively apologized for, he had brewed this cup with a level of skill that rivals her own. And on top of all that–

It’s her favorite blend.

When was the last time Mitsuru had even mentioned her tea preferences to him? She can’t recall. It could simply be a coincidence, of course, but she has a feeling that isn’t the case. Aragaki is too attentive to detail for his selection to be anything other than deliberate.

She takes another sip, savoring. She had almost forgotten how much she enjoys it.

How long has it been since she last treated herself to this? How long would she have gone without, if Aragaki hadn’t chosen to go out of his way to do it for her?

A small and slightly watery smile trembles on her lips as she sets the mug back down.

[smilingshields]

[  lap  ]  sender  puts  their  feet  in  receiver’s  lap

She doesn't think before doing it. Why would she? It's tea time with Louis, and she does her best to try not to think too hard during tea time, as her own way of thanking him for avoiding the questions she doesn't want to answer.

With her tea cup in hand, she leans back comfortably against the arm of the couch. Only once her feet have settled does she realize just what she just did, and the short story she's in the middle of telling stutters to a pause. She stares at her own feet in surprise for a moment - it would be way weirder to snatch them back after literally just settling there, right?

Her cheeks are a little red. She laughs loudly, awkwardly, and turns her head to look somewhere else. "S-so yeah, like I was saying...there was, uh...this guy..." After a moment, she coughs awkwardly. "I forgot what I was saying..."

[ NON-VERBAL MEMES ] // Accepting!

IT'S A POINT OF PRIDE FOR THE FORMER KNIGHT THAT SHE HAS BECOME COMFORTABLE ENOUGH TO DO SUCH WITH HIM. So there is only one thing for him to do in such a scenario, refuse to acknowledge whatever awkwardness may hang in the air, it is, after all, outside his office hours, and students have long learned not to attempt to intrude lest they wish to find themselves carrying shields and lances through the mountain passes until the sun rises. And so he merely reaches to shift her feet to a more comfortable position before turning his attention back to the delightful lavender tea.

"I believe you were telling me about someone failing to hold their blade properly?" In truth, he cannot exactly remember the details of her story, and so he makes up a fabrication that will easily lead the conversation away from any nervousness she may be feeling from the subconscious action. "It's a truly dreadful state of affairs, if you ask me, that they're more interested in showing off than attempting to uphold the standards we strive to set for them." Louis is not entirely sure where he own train of thought is leading him, and yet that he finds is all the better, painting a picture with his words to distract the woman attempting to sink into his precious sofa.

"Just last week I saw someone attempt to brew the most undesirable cup of tea I've seen in my life, had I attempted to serve that to her majesty, no doubt she would have ordered me to the dungeons there and then!" Ranting and raving before he's bringing the tea to his lips, using the cup to hide the smile as he feels the awkwardness in the air begin to fade at his antics. Another success in his mission to ensure his dear Yunaka remains comfortable in his presence.

-> @dcggersedge

[stankycowboy]

By her wistful reaction to his recollection of the past, Severen realizes he may not have properly emphasized both the rarity of these “treats”, but the simplicity with which they were made. He forgets sometimes that others grew up with a jar of sugar at hand, more than one shirt, and not having more to do in a day than leisurely finish a newly printed book. If it had not been so long ago he may have felt some derision at the vast difference in the way their youths had been spent, but there would be little point now. Both their histories had been wiped clean, his more so considering his parents were long rotted away in the unmarked earth. “Nice of you to say so about my mama, but she had more use of a hammer than a skillet”. Thinking of Mrs. Van Sickle as a humble housewife was laughable to her son. Her corded arms and callused hands a far cry from the ladies in town who powdered their noses and coiffed their hair. “Never was too keen on tea, strong coffee in the mornin’ what got us workin’ all day”. He snickers, twirling the the toothpick between thumb and forefinger. “Mama had tea some toward the end”, he stares at the table top as if it were displaying the memory to him, “Natives gave her some kinda brew, helped take the edge off the pain”. The toothpick snaps and he tosses both pieces beside the other dead soldiers. “Dunno if it helped any, she was always a hard one to figure”.

Peaceful was not the word the man of America's western frontier would have used to describe his life. Sure there were moments where his ma or pa would sit him down to study what books they had so he could know his letters. ‘No point in having a fool to run the ranch’ his daddy would chide, but when there wasn’t school there were chores, and without many hands on the ranch it could mean shoveling stalls or wrangling wild horses; and more besides as he grew. It had its moments, out on the open plain, only the sound of sleeping herd animals and the predators seeking them out to break the vast stillness. Certainly it had been a more picturesque time. Humanity had not quite left its stain over as much of the world, there was a wild quality to it still. Yet, with all he could reflect upon about the beauty he had known as a child, Severen felt he might prefer the modern age. It provided him with far more opportunities now then as it had been in his earlier years. Nowadays, he would just as likely trip over his next meal, in the past he had known starvation, as both human and beast.

“You miss that then? Bein’ a proper English lady?”

He couldn’t stop the grin on his face. It is not quite mocking, not toward her directly, but the boy who grew up in the dirt cannot hide the edge of scorn for the upper crust elite that creeps in; regardless how far their circumstances have now changed.

Her question prompts an unusual response from her usually destructive friend. There is a softness in his expression, something distant and far away from the room they’re seated in. Mary watches the way he’s drawn back into a time long before even she graced this earth. Simpler times, she imagines, but she can barely conceptualize growing up in the country or living off of the bare minimum. The Reids were well off and highly esteemed among their friends. Money kept them comfortable and a naive, young Mary once thought because of that she’d never have to worry about her future. 

“That sounds peaceful,” she tells him honestly. “I bet your mother was a fine cook.” 

A sharpened nail draws lazy lines in the wooden table, unintentionally scraping against the varnish, as she considers his question. 

“Hm. I’ll admit I miss a fair bit - fresh pears, almonds coated in chocolate, scones filled with lemon zest… But what I miss most of all is tea.” She grins at him. “Like a proper British lady. But truly I do miss it. I would’ve drunk a pot a day if Avery hadn’t stopped me.” 

A sigh. 

“Nothing compared to a cup of tea early in the afternoon - a slight breeze in my hair, clouds gathering on the horizon as I was seated on my balcony, overlooking the bustling street below.”  

[mozzaremi]

got too silly, made omori magic au, that i'm calling MAGIKOMORI indodump in read more! (it's long)

Magikomori (Infodump)

The whole premise of the au is that the world of omori takes place in an alternate universe where magic is real

Magic and witchery have only recently become a viable career choice in this world, with magic academies popping up to help other witches to properly hone their craft in their efforts to make a living profit from doing what they love and are passionate about.

Both Sunny and Mari come from a bloodline of witches, making them generally talented in magic and spellcasting. Their mother isa witch, while their dad is just a regular guy who doesn't have the best outlook on magic users. 

Mari develop a people-pleaser side of herself that oftentimes is directed at her father, always trying her best to receive validation from him, resulting in Mari dropping all thoughts of becoming a professional witch in the future to instead focus more on her regular school studies and perfecting her skills on the piano.

Sunny, being the opposite, fully embraces the magic side of himself. The specific type of witch ability he's good at being illusions. He can summon lifelike recreations of entities from his dreams without much trouble. His summons are able to interact with the real world around them while also having a mind of their own. Although with Sunny being a less-experienced illusionist, he cannot control them or summon many at a time (he works around this problem by being able to conjure chibi versions of his dream entities into the real world).

While Mewo is still the pet of the family and she is recognised as Mrs. Suzuki's familiar. At the time of Sunny and Mari being toddlers, they would happens to accidentally cast spells and it was Mewo's job to reverse them and babysit the children when the parents were busy.

Other noteworthy magic users from the friend group is Aubrey. While she’s not from a family that's magically inclined, after seeing all the cool stuff Mari and Sunny are able to do with their witch heritage, saying that she became inspired to dabble in magic would be an understatement! 

The particular magic Aubrey specializes in is alchemy! She’s able to use spells to conjure, combine and transform items. One of her first successful alchemy attempts was being able to transform a simple wooden broomstick into a wooden bat 

The other magic user of the group is Basil. 

His family is part of an ancient bloodline of seers, and are able to see visions of the future. On top of that, Basil's lineage are bearers of a curse of being subjected to frequent nightmares, taking away any semblance of peace in their day to day life, leaving them with restless nights of poor sleep, night terrors, and insomnia. This curse also affects Basil's abilities to see visions, as it's hard to separate possible future events from a bad dream.

With the help of his grandma, Basil combats the curse by creating magical potions to suppress the nightmares and give himself a better night's sleep. 

Potion making becoming his speciality, he contemplates joining a magic academy to get a permit to sell his very own potions to the public! His brews range from tea- like elixirs that help with staying calm, helping with concentration, and clearing up general sickness (so basically like the stuff you can find at a regular pharmacy but make it magical)

Both Hero and Kel staying fairly faithful to their canon counterparts, both not having that many ties to magic, but still appreciating the craft! The brothers often contemplate on learning spells for their daily use, whether it's to help with chores or to enhance the taste of a special valentine's treat for a special someone! 

Now here's the deal breaker question... does Mari die in the au?

Well... yes and no. The accident does occur, but after Sunny pushes Mari, instead of freezing up, he attempts to cast a spell to save her from the fall, but instead he fumbles the spell so bad, that Mari phases between the world of the living and the dead, Sunny and basil being the only ones who can see her.

Their dad was already showing slight agitation from the witchery mischief that that family takes part in and the accident is the last straw for him. He leaves the family right after, convinced that the spell cannot be reversed and that mari was basically murdered by Sunny's hands and magic. 

Their mom tries her hardest to reverse the spell that might as well have been a curse. But without being able to detect mari, and with Sunny and Basil being the only ones to see her, it's their responsibility to attempt to undo the spell.

Instead of framing it as a suicide, Sunny's mom filed it as a missing person's case just so nothing bad happens to the two boys. Since magic has only been recently integrated into daily life, there weren't any good sources to turn to for help, so all trust was put into basil and Sunny to fix this.

Attempts to find a way to reverse their mistake were made with the two worried boys collecting countless books on spells and curses in effort to find a solution to their problem. After months of research, things were looking hopeless. Sunny, not being able to deal with the pressure, falls into a depressive state, barely leaving his own headspace while sleeping all day and night.

After the incident, he develops the headspace that we know, though with more magical elements sprinkled in, alongside Omori and his headspace friends. Omori is almost a stand-in for Sunny's own familiar, being able to effortlessly enter the real world and also disguise himself as his cat form. Omori would cause the young witch to procrastinate on finding the right spell to bring Mari back, ensuring that Sunny doesn't become too stressed or depressed when his attempts lead him nowhere. While not doing it out of any evil reasons to keep mari stuck between planes of existence, he just wants to protect Sunny and make sure that he gets some semblance of rest and peace in his life.

Basil's mental state also worsens alongside his best friend. With his best friend shutting him out and not having that much spare time to brew potions for his nightmares, all his time is devotedto finding a way to bring back Mari even without Sunny's help.

After the disappearance of Mari, instead of Hero becoming a chef or a doctor in the future, he chooses the career path of a detective, even purchasing a very expensive crystal ball to try to contact Mari if she were to be dead. Coincidentally he has no luck with being able to contact her, leaving Hero with some hope that he might find her someday. 

Aubrey still ends up becoming a delinquent, while also using her alchemy abilities for mischief. She forms a friend group of other delinquent magic users, causing occasional acts of misbehavior in faraway town.

She still owns Bun-Bun as her pet bunny, and while not having any magical abilities, Aubrey still refers to him as her familiar companion.

Kel is still... same-old Kel, still into basketball and a personification of a ball of sunshine. He still attempts knocking at Sunny's door to see him again, with things not going well until Sunny has to move. Kel also pitched in to get Hero the crystal ball for some closure, even being surprised as well when nothing came up. 

Being stuck between being dead and alive, after the four years Mari loses any resentment she might have had for Sunny and instead feels bad for her dear little brother. While Sunny can still see Mari, it's almost as if after Omori came into the picture Sunny started ignoring Mari's presence. Noticing this, Mari would attempt invading the boy's dreams to talk to him, causing all the headspace reset shenanigans.

When it comes to magic being used to cause other people harm, it all follows the "rule of three". Whatever energy a person puts out into the world, be it positive or negative, will be returned to that person three times. Being aware of this magical law does help with preventing any possible person using magic for evil. 

In Sunny's case, while it was accidental, he did cause his sister and his friends a lot of grief, so it all returned back at him, the negative energy being a lot of emotional turmoil. This feeling of physical and mental unwellness is what helped develop Omori as his supposed familiar to help him cope. 

The plot of omori would still play out as it normally would withthe main difference being that people think that mari went missing instead of her committing suicide. 

Bad and neutral omori endings are still plausible options for the plot. But in the good ending, once the friend group forgives Sunny and Basil for keeping up the lie of Mari's disappearance, they attempt to work together to undo the spell keeping Mari in limbo.

[wellpresseddaisy]

Long Ago (and far away) Part 16

He'd made a terrible mistake. He couldn't, wouldn't expose himself in such a public manner. It had all gone to his head, clearly, that had to be it. Changing his clothing, his hair, and for what? A man? How had it come to this...this unbearable exposure?

Wasn't writing to Narcissa enough? Merlin…there'd be newspaper advertisements. He'd even started calling him Dare. He'd been made too comfortable, too…oh, he didn't know.

"Severus, I only asked what you had decided for your surname?" Minerva asked gently. 

"Best stick with Snape, for now." Dare answered for him. "Please breathe, Severus. You won't do anyone any good if you faint into your eggs."

"I...yes." He pulled himself together. "I am sorry, Minerva. Snape will remain my surname for the moment."

"The door will open when it's time. Most students should be at breakfast by now." And Minerva was gone from the anteroom. 

"Second thoughts?" Dare asked gently.

"I've kept my personal life absolutely private for so many years. This is...an adjustment." Though his Slytherins seemed thrilled by his new status, and promised to behave perfectly after extracting a promise of Dare as a visitor for tea on Saturday.

The door popped open and Severus took Dare's proffered arm. 

"We'll get through this, pet. Together."

"Of course." Severus breathed deeply and stepped through the door to stunned silence and a new chapter.

Perhaps seeing the headmaster choke on his toast was worth the near panic, all things considered.

--------------------------

"You will not need cauldrons today." Severus strode through the door to the Potions classroom, robes flowing behind him. The door slammed behind him; half the class jumped. "You will need your preparation kit available. Have them out and unrolled. We are having an inspection."

The second year Slytherin/Gryffindor class stared at him. With Malfoy away and Potter still tucked up in the infirmary, he expected more compliance than rebellion.

"Now." He was not in the mood for rebellion. Not after his NEWT class spent their two hours laboratory period surreptitiously checking him for compulsions.

A general rustling greeted his command as his students unrolled their kits. He stepped up to the platform where his desk sat and paced the length of it, just watching. 

"There are going to be some…" he began, sweeping across the front of the platform. Two steps to the far end while the silence stretched, pivot, and, "changes in our curriculum. I have the...pleasure...of a class that includes children who will be leaders in our world in a terrifyingly few years. I will not send you out into the world ignorant of the difference between a mince and a dice or ground and powdered. This year, we will make a thorough study of ingredient preparation, how that preparation influences the properties in a potion, and why keeping your kit in good order is vital to your success."

He stepped down to sweep through the aisles, appreciating the way his new robes twisted and flared with each pivot.

"Miss Parkinson." He stopped at the station she shared with Greengrass. 

"Yes sir?" She pushed her kit forward a bit, clearly expecting praise in the absence of Draco.

"Why does your kit look as if it were last maintained in June?" She deflated a bit. "Why does everyone's kit look as if it were last maintained in June? Except Granger's." He added the last grudgingly. Of course hers looked pristine and properly maintained.

A general shuffling and looking at the benchtops commenced. Some had the excuse of living in the non-magical world, at least.

"This class period will be spent cleaning and sharpening your tools. Once your tools are in an acceptable state, we will begin making the caps which will be mandatory whilst we brew later this term. I will also assign you your new partner. I will not have you leave Hogwarts unable to work together. If you cannot, after this year, successfully brew a potion with your assigned partner, then I weep for the future of our world. For what will happen in our halls of commerce, the Wizengamot, and the Wizard's Council if all you do is argue?"

Further general shuffling greeted his words. He wondered for a moment if any of them had heard such a speech before. Dumbledore would prattle on about cooperation and letting rivalries go, and then hand a few hundred points to Gryffindor. Perhaps a miserable bastard goading them into cooperation would have better luck. Children were a perverse lot. 

"I asked a question of you." They jumped at his emphasis. 

Granger put up her hand because of course she did. 

"Miss Bulstrode, can you give an answer?" For all her organizational abilities and leadership qualities, Millicent remained quiet in most classes. 

"We will fail as a society if we can't work together toward a common goal and a common good."

"Thank you, Miss Bulstrode, that was a thoughtful answer. Miss Granger, do you wish to add something?" Best let her get it out of her system.

"I agree with Bulstrode. We see the same thing in the Muggle world, people not working together. It deadlocks everything. But in a smaller world, on a smaller scale, it could be disastrous."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Theo Nott turned in his seat to glare at her. 

Severus leaned back against his desk and watched. He hadn't meant to start this so soon, but it was encouraging to see Bulstrode and Granger agree. Given both sets of parents actually worked, it seemed they had a grasp on economics. At least of a sort.

"Well, who supplies the grain for the food supply? Or the vegetables? Or livestock? Who provides cloth and leather for clothing and shoes? Or wood pulp for paper manufacture? Who does the manufacturing? If one of those things is done by one family or one small group, then you get a monopoly. If the people with the monopoly disagree with the Ministry, then perhaps some goods or materials won't make it to market." Granger's questions held the pent-up frustration of a child who never got the answers she wanted. At least on this topic.

"Well, yes." Nott agreed. "But it isn't a small world. Merlin's sake, don't you know about the Great Workings?"

"The what?" Granger asked. "The wizarding world is tucked into spaces the muggle one doesn't know about. That's what we were told."

"We live in an exact copy of the non-magical world, Granger. Places like Diagon are entry points. It's a shopping arcade to make the transition easier, not the whole. And we say magical and non-magical. Wizardry is a branch of magical study, not a gender." Nott explained. "Although you wouldn't know that with the way some carry on."

Granger went white. "No one…we weren't…there weren't any books…"

"Come to the library with me after class." Nott offered, long-suffering. "We'll get that sorted out. It's a general offer for anyone who'd like to come and I'm only making it once."

"If my family took offense to the way much of the English Wizarding community treats my mother and withheld goods from market, there would be precious little cloth available." Bulstrode turned the topic to something very slightly less fraught. "My family supplies, either through end-to-end manufacture or import, the majority of the wool, linen, and silk available in England and Scotland."

"And...and the Longbottoms supply a g...great deal of the potions ingredients t...to market." Longbottom stuttered. "Mostly through cultivation, but also through wild collection. Also, P-Professor, Gryffindor wishes you very happy. So does House Longbottom, I'm sure."

And wasn't that a turn up for the books. Longbottom actually remembering and using what his family did. 

"Two points to Gryffindor, Mr. Longbottom, for a pertinent and timely addition to a class discussion. And thank you for the well wishes." He awarded points rarely, and usually to make a point. His Slytherins and Longbottom gaped. "And you can work on your kit as you talk. I will allow this discussion."

"Why don't we learn any of this? If I'm expected to live in the Wiz—magical world as a productive member of society, why am I not learning how any of it works? Beyond 'oh, well, we have a Ministry'. What does it all do?" Granger, thankfully, put the attention of all back to the discussion.

He'd thought it would be Granger who brought the appalling ignorance of the non-magical students to light, in re: the magical world, and the other Heads now owed him three free evenings and an extra free weekend.

And four galleons, but the free time was worth much more than that.

"What do you mean you don't…" Bulstrode began, running one of her knives over a whetstone as she spoke. "Please don't tell me that you come to Hogwarts ignorant of the entire magical world?"

"We didn't even get a pamphlet. Professor Vector visited my family to explain, and told us it was a great deal like Eton, but more old fashioned. That was it." Dean Thomas backed Granger. 

"What's an Eton?" Parkinson asked.

"It's a traditional non-magical boarding school for boys. A lot of them go on to government posts." Thomas explained, polishing a newly sharpened knife. 

"But there's so much we don't know! And when you ask older students, you just get fobbed off to the library or told you'll pick it up as you go. How is anyone supposed to 'pick it up' if--"

"Miss Granger! Kindly cease windmilling your arms. I will not have my record of no serious injuries besmirched by your carelessness!" He interrupted when it looked like her passionate speech would have Weasley's eye out.

"Sorry, sir. Sorry, Ron." Granger hunched over her desk, cheeks pink.

"But I think the class would like to hear the rest of your question." Severus prompted.

"Well, if no one will even tell me what's wrong with the uniform or anything, how am I supposed to get any other information about magical culture? I hear the whispers after all the girls like me. We're not deaf to gossip. And there isn't anything helpful in the library. I've looked." 

"The skirts are indecent." Parkinson answered. "They're too short with an open robe, to start with, since we're twelve…"

"Thirteen, actually." Granger interrupted.

"Well, that's even more reason for longer clothes, then, especially since you've not even got a petticoat on, if you're going to wear skirts. And the kneesocks. No one wanders about with their knees out, no matter their gender."

"Whyever not?"

"Because any part of you can be used in a potion, even the tiniest bits. That's why we all wear long sleeves and high collars and long whatever you might wear on your bottom half. Which, Patil and Brown, why didn't you explain any of this?" And there was the Pansy Slytherin knew and felt variably about.

"She wasn't interested and 'it was the school-issued kit'." Brown let her voice go shrill and mocking at the last bit.

"That's no reason to be appallingly rude, you know." Parkinson shot back. "If it's not knowing because neither the school nor any of the other Houses explain, then it's not them trying to rub their ways in our faces. I'm certain Mother will wish to know of this lapse on Hogwart's part."

"And I'll take a point, Miss Brown, for your rudeness." Severus cut in. "I will take up the matter of the woeful preparation of those raised in the non-magical world with the other house heads."

"It would have been nice to know before we got here, so we weren't offending anyone without even knowing how or why. Thought it was my skin color for ages." Thomas reorganized his kit.

"The current approach, Mr. Thomas, will change. I will speak to the other heads regarding a tutorial for those raised in the non-magical world. Now, before we move on to less fraught topics, and yes, Miss Granger, your questions will be answered, I will inspect your work. Mr. Weasley, you will remain behind at the end of class, please."

With that bombshell dropped, he swept among the rows of students with much to consider. He'd gone through his career thinking that only the Halfbloods received no information regarding the magical world. Inwardly, he sighed and added 'write a primer on the magical world geared towards the non-magically raised' to his ever-growing list of things to do. 

"Now that you have done what you ought to have been doing, we will move on. From now until the last NEWT exam, you will wear a brewing cap. These are to keep your hair out of the cauldron and the fumes off your hair. I've brought one for each of you to get you started. Part of your preparation for the next class includes putting your own cap together. You will find everything you need to make a cap in the bag, including instructions." He moved through the room, passing a cap and a bag of supplies to each student. "You may wish to work on these with your new partners."

Severus returned to the dais and steeled himself. This part could be touchy. At least Nott and Parkinson seemed inclined to behave. That should keep the rest of them quiet. He hoped. 

"For the last item of the day, I am assigning your partners for this year. This may not be easy for you, but I expect each and every one of you to work with your partner and without complaint. Pair up and stand at the side of the room when I call your names."

[daevastanner]

Goodnight, my Angel

Azriel cannot sleep when Gwyn is away… and neither can his daughter

Read it on ao3

Sleep, singer… Azriel’s shadows begged as he plunked down onto the piano bench.

“Doubtful,” the Illyrian murmured.

With his mate away on assignment in the Illyrian Steppes, sleep eluded him. He never slept well while Gwyn was away. He cursed himself for relying on her so heavily. He really ought to have taken Madja up on her offer to brew him a sleeping potion last week…

Silvery moonlight reflected off the surface of the piano, casting shadows across the sharp angles of Azriel’s face. Dawn was a long way off.

He would play a little music. Take his mind off of the threat of nightmares and instead pursue a nice melody.

With one hand, Azriel lazily let his fingers dance across the ivory keys. A soft, sorrowful song filled the thick night air of the house. Their house. The one Azriel and Gwyn had built together.

A house that over the decades was full of love and music and late nights and most importantly, their fam—

“Papa?”

Azriel’s fingers stilled over the keys, his brows lifting slightly as he looked towards the hallway.

In the darkened doorway stood seven year old Catrin, she rubbed her bleary eyes, hugging her arms sleepily.

Azriel braced his palms on his knees, grimacing, “Did I wake you, my love?”

Catrin shook her head, long auburn hair swaying like the branches of a willow tree.

“Did you have a nightmare?” he tried.

Catrin shook her head again, approaching him with heavy feet, her wings drooped slightly towards the ground. It had been a few years since she’d been able to properly fly with them, and by five she’d gotten much better about tucking them in. But when she was tired and slumped those little shoulders, they nearly dragged.

The horns on the edges were little more than nubs, but the mahogany floors of their home had plenty of scuff marks from her toddling days.

“I can’t sleep,” she yawned, coming to stand beside him. Sitting on the bench, he was still barely above her eye level. Her expression became puzzled. “I’m not good at sleeping lately…”

“Oh, no,” he chuckled, tugging her closer. “Have you inherited me and momma’s insomnia?” He gripped her beneath her arms. “Tuck in your wings for me, angel.”

She obeyed, the tiny wings hugging her back. Azriel lifted her over the back of the bench and sat her on his lap.

“What’s… in-som-nia?” Catrin asked, her brows drawing together in an expression that reminded Azriel of himself.

“Guess.”

Gwyn had instilled that habit in him. Letting Catrin ask any number of questions, but encouraging her to take a guess first. His mate had read somewhere that it helped ‘instill confidence and encourage curiosity.’ And Azriel would commit to any method if it meant he would have two clever and inquisitive girls in his life.

“Is it… when you can’t sleep?”

Azriel’s finger pressed against his daughter’s freckled nose. “You’re as smart as your mother, you know that?”

She smiled drowsily, tired eyes scrunching and making Azriel’s chest pinch to the point of pain. How had he, a creature of fear and darkness, made something so warm and full of light? The answer was obvious of course.

Gwyn.

“You have insomnia too?” Catrin asked.

Azriel nodded, ruffling his hair. “I do. It’s better when momma’s home though. We can usually help each other sleep.”

“What do you do when momma’s away? What does momma do when you’re gone?”

“Mm, your mother is partial to some tea. A good book.” He gestured to the piano. “I’ll play a bit of music.”

Catrin nodded and nestled against his bare chest.

Azriel grinned at her. “Do you know what we used to do? A long time ago, before you were born?”

“What?”

“We would spar,” he whispered.

At that, Catrin woke right up, pulling away from Azriel. “Spar? Like when you fight each other?”

“Yes.”

“That would help you sleep? Hitting each other?”

The incredulous tone of her voice was far too mature for a girl of seven, and made Azriel laugh, a full-bodied noise he was now accustomed to making regularly. “It would wear us out. Make us nice and tired.”

Catrin arched a brow that made her look incredibly like Gwyn. “Is that what made you fall in love?”

Azriel snorted. “Maybe. I don’t really know what made us fall in love.”

“You don’t?”

He shook his head.

“Is it because you’re mates then? Like Aunt Emerie and Aunt Mor?”

“No, being mates doesn’t always mean falling in love,” Azriel said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “Your mother was my friend first.”

Catrin sneered. “Like me and Coriolanus?”

At the mention of Cassian and Nesta’s loud nine year boy Azriel couldn’t help but snicker. “Let’s get you to sleep, Cat. You want a lullaby?”

She sniffed and shuffled to sit facing the piano on Azriel’s lap. “Can I try and play, Papa? Maybe I can get to sleep like you do.”

The shadowsinger thought his heart may burst. Catrin had enjoyed watching her father play piano - sometimes singing along to whatever song he played - but she’d always been far too taken with books and sparring and singing to have an interest in instruments. He had never asked her if she wanted to play though, scared of putting pressure on her.

But here she was now. Asking to play.

He cleared the emotion from his throat. “Of course.” Azriel delicately lifted her hands, and placed them in the correct starting position. “Now I’m going to move your hands, and tap the fingers where you should press down, alright?”

Catrin nodded, and over her shoulder Azriel could see her face was fixed in concentration. It was the same expression she had worn when Azriel had taught her to fly. The same face she had worn when Gwyn had helped her read. The same face she had worn when Feyre showed her how to draw or when Nesta walked her through dance steps.

You are so loved, he had told her every night when she was almost small enough to fit in one of his hands. So loved by so many.

And then he would sing her to sleep. A song that was gentle and loving.

The song that Azriel helped his daughter play now was a soft and romantic tune. An old one that brought a smile to his lips.

A few times Catrin became overly eager, getting a bit ahead of herself with the melody. He counted off in her ear, steering her back on course.

All the while those scarred, mutilated, monstrous hands covered his daughter’s. Her speckled, soft, delicate fingers danced along the keys. There was a time where he would’ve glared or even shrunk away from the sight of his hands, but they were hands he had now come to love.

They were the hands that had saved his mate. The hands that had fought alongside his brothers. The hands that the love of his life had nearly crushed when she’d had Catrin. The hands that his daughter had clutched at for seven years. The hands that helped her learn to walk and fly and now guided her in playing piano.

Eventually the song came to a close.

“How’d I do, Papa?” yawned Cat, looking up over her shoulder at Azriel.

He blinked back the tears stinging his eyes, managing to smile down at his daughter. “Incredible.” He ducked his chin, narrowing his eyes. “Are you sure you haven’t been secretly playing behind my back?”

Catrin giggled and his shadows danced along his arms - all the while singing a lullaby for her that only Azriel could hear.

“What song was that?” Catrin asked.

Azriel smiled faintly at the memory of the first time his mate had ever sung for him. Catrin arched a quizzical brow at the silence.

“It’s one of momma’s favorites from a very long time ago.”

The grin his daughter wore was every bit her mother. “Is it from when you got mated?”

Azriel shook his head, flicking her nose. “Quit trying to distract me. Are you sleepy yet?”

“Not really,” winced Catrin.

“It doesn’t always do the trick,” shrugged Azriel. “But we should get you to bed, my love.” He scooped her up in his arms and slid off of the piano bench. “A nice cup of tea?”

“A cup of tea,” his daughter nodded, shutting her eyes. “And a story.”

His shadows nuzzled Catrin’s cheek, and she leaned into their embrace. She’d always been fond of his shadows and them of her.

There was a time when he’d feared that his shadows may frighten her, a time where Gwyn needed to reassure him that no one that knew him, no one that mattered feared his shadows.

But from the day he first held his daughter in his arms, she and the shadows had been nearly inseparable. As in love with his daughter as they were with his mate.

Chuckling and pressing a kiss to the top of Catrin’s head, Azriel admitted to himself for the millionth time that his girls had him positively wrapped around their fingers.

And that his hands - his scarred, ugly, dirty hands - they weren’t so ugly or dirty after all. Not anymore. Never again.

[deerestapologies]

5 times you called him by a pet name + one time he called you by a pet name

(Diluc + Zhongli x GN!Reader)

Diluc

1. "Oh, hey hon." You greet mildly.

The candles have begun burning a bit low, the long shadows making his pout even more obvious.

"I apologize, I was held up for longer than anticipated."

He produces a small bouquet from his coat, a cluster of wildflowers, and approaches like he's about to give an offering instead of a gift. He kneels by your chair, face stoic as usual, but you can see the worry and shame in his eyes.

You twirl the stems to absorb their delicate scent, and then carefully drop them in your water glass. You cup his face in your hands, and press a kiss to his brow.

"It's okay." You kiss his brow again, "I am not mad." You kiss his nose. "I am hungry though."

You laugh lightly at his rush to sit across from you. An evening eating cold roast was worth being able to spend it with him.

-

2. "I understand your frustration, but perhaps we had best move on." You place a hand on his crossed arms.

"Their behavior was unacceptable, especially for those who would call themselves knights."

The stubborn clench of his jaw tells you just how angry he is. The idiots were lucky to have only gotten the verbal bludgeoning earlier instead of the literal one he wanted to dish out.

"Yes, but you've already made them apologize, and they do seem repentant," the fool knights in training nod frantically, "so why not leave this mess for Kaeya, darling?"

He sighs, but loosens his posture to wrap a protective arm around you. The hell the Knights were going to catch for this was still to come, but at least no one lost any limbs. Yet.

-

3. Tucked into your pile of pillows, book in hand, you waited as you do most nights. Diluc had a late meeting scheduled after dinner, but he promised it was truly to do with the winery and not of the vigilante variety.

So you bide your time, until you hear his heavy boots come up the stairs.

"I'm home." He calls softly.

"Welcome back." You say just as softly.

He goes through the motions of undressing, refreshing himself, and redressing without missing a beat, but his posture seems wilted. You mark your page, and turn over the blanket for him.

"How did it go?"

He heaves a deep sigh, and crawls over to you. Pulling you close, he lays his head on your chest but doesn't say another word.

"Oh, sweetness." You embrace him, one hand holding his face and the other in his hair. "It's okay. I've got you."

-

4. You lengthen your steps, but the increased pace doesn't seem to deter the boy following you. He isn't dangerous per se, but his persistence is damned annoying.

"But, if you'll just listen," he jogs back up to your side, "I just need your help for a little while!"

"I am neither a Knight nor an Adventurer," you cut him off with a sharp wave of your hand, "And you have nothing I want. Now leave me be."

He sputters, "M-master Diluc said-"

As if he's had his tongue plucked out, he suddenly stops talking.

You turn around only to find Diluc himself, a stifling hand on the kid's shoulder. His face is a stoic mask as always, but his energy is thunderous.

"I agreed to help you out of deference to your mother, but you," You see the boy wince as the hand tightens, "failed to listen to a word I said. Harassing my staff and my partner has only earned you banishment from all of my properties. Now go, before I report you to the Knights as well."

You both stand stock still as the boy sprints from the winery back to Mondstadt proper.

"Your going to report him anyways, right?" You mumble, after he is just a speck on the horizon.

"Of course," He finally relaxes his stance to look at you, "Though I doubt Jean will be happy about it."

Your chuckle, already imagining her face when the letter reaches her desk. Heaving a sigh, just grateful for the problem to have moved on, you grab Diluc's hand.

"Thank you," You pull him into a tight hug, "for protecting me as always, angel."

-

5. You gently rap on the door frame to his office. He looks up from his work just long enough to give you a soft smile.

"I was wondering," You lean against the frame, avoiding actually entering lest you get sucked in as well, "If my dear husband was going to come to bed tonight?"

The bright lamp on his desk means you see his blush even from across the room. He huffs an embarrassed laugh, but starts shuffling paperwork into orderly piles.

"I hadn't realized the time, my apologies."

You hum, "It is understandable. But I cannot rest if you are not in bed with me."

You watch as he tucks away his tools, pulls his gloves off, and undoes the tie in his hair, all with a much to pleased smirk on his face.

He pulls you into a delicate, lingering kiss with a hand on your neck. The warmth of his skin makes you shiver. You lean into him, letting him wrap you in his arms.

He chuckles, "Well, I would hate to neglect my husbandly duties."

+

1. The lingering warmth from your bath and the softness of the sheets has you dozing in minutes. You toss a hand onto Diluc's side of the bed, wanting to be present when he comes to bed as well but the ache of a long day is catching up to you.

After several moments you feel a calloused hand grasp your own. You are too tired to properly see, but feel the dip as he climbs into bed.

Still holding your hand in a delicate grip, he presses a kiss to your palm, and then your cheek.

"Sleep, my love, I am here."

Zhongli

1. Zhongli re-enters the house not even ten minutes after leaving. He is patting down his jacket and looking about the entryway in wonder, and you can't help but chuckle.

"Forget something?"

"Yes," he plants his hands on his hips, "I can't seem to find my wallet. I could have sworn I remembered it this time."

You get up from where you were leisurely awaiting his return, and snag the 'disappearing' wallet from where he left it on the table.

"Not quite, old man." You wave it, teasing.

"Ah, of course."

Tucking it into the pocket of his jacket, you tug him closer to plant a kiss on his flushed cheek.

"My apologies, it seems I was a bit distracted this morning."

He tucks a piece of hair away from your face, gaze so blatantly loving you can't help but crash your lips against his. Damn whatever appointment he may have, he shouldn't be so handsome in your direction.

-

2. It is not every day you wake up before him, so you try to make the most of it. You prepare his clothes for the day, just so you can pick out your favorite of his shirts. You start a light breakfast, and brew an energizing blend of tea for both of your sake.

You spend some time simply waiting at the table, content to sip your tea and watch the morning birds.

When the soft shuffle of feet brings Zhongli into the kitchen, you stand up. He is mostly dressed, minus his tie and shoes, jacket loose around his shoulders.

You steer him to the table, and press a kiss to his cheek when seated.

He hums contentedly, still a bit sleepy, "Good morning."

You pour him a cup of tea as well, and his smile grows a bit wider. He tilts his head up, "Thank you."

You meet him half way, pressing a firm kiss to his mouth, "Of course dearest. Do you have anything pressing today?"

A hand comes to rest on your hip, preventing you from moving back to your seat.

"No, nothing more important than this."

-

3. Squished between the mattress and the press of his body, you couldn't imagine being more content. The warmth, the scent, the feel of his breath ghosting across your skin.

You run a reverent hand through his hair, spread loose over his back. It seems impossible for you to be this happy, like you would only read about in unrealistic fantasies.

Amber eyes are already watching you, when you open yours. His gaze is soft, unbearably so, so you look at the ceiling.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

He answers it so easily, as if it is among the many universal truths that exist in his head.

"You must understand," You wet your nervous mouth, "I mean it. Truly, I love you."

You feel his head tilt in confusion, but power on, emotions spilling.

"You are my starlight. My life would be unimaginably dark without you. I am scared constantly by the sway you have over me, but I cannot stand the idea of living without you. I want be here with you, forever, no matter the cost."

You squeeze your eyes shut against the flood of tears that threaten to spill, waiting for his polite retreat. His body lifts off yours and you pull a shuddering breath in, unused to laying yourself bare in this way. He could end you now, destroy you by just walking away.

But you feel tremoring hands grasp your face, almost too tightly. He doesn't say a word, can't, but presses his forehead to yours.

-

4. "Zhongli?" You call into the empty hum of the parlor, hoping it will carry to his office. It's not far, but he gets absorbed in his work easily.

You lean out the door a bit, and try to project your voice more, "Hey, honey?"

The door to his office clicks open, and his head pokes out. "Do you need assistance?"

"Yes, please," you adjust the pile of books in your arms, "Would you mind grabbing this other pile? A client requested reference material from just about every era, and I don't think I have the wing span to carry all of it."

He presses a quick kiss to your head, and scoops up the remaining books with no problem.

"Of course, would you like me to relieve you of those as well?"

"Not a chance, show off, you're gonna have to deal with the doors."

As if to prove your point, he balances the stack in one hand to hold the front door open for you, smile only slightly smug.

-

5. Given how busy your lives were, and his propensity for letting time fly, you figured he would forget again. It would not be the first anniversary he forgot, and you imagine it wouldn't be the last.

It's not like you could hold it against him, especially not when he was so earnest and loving all year round.

So your surprise was genuine when he led you, dressed in his best, to a private booth at Liuli Pavilion.

The food was made by the head chef, as a show of gratitude for Zhongli's long patronage (you send a quiet thank you to Childe), and the service superb. The evening is relatively quiet, you converse as normal but with the additional soppiness that comes from acknowledging romance.

You are especially glad for the privacy when you cannot help but practically ravish the man over the table, his face being too handsome to bear just looking at.

Shortly after, he looks at you with burning eyes, and finally says, "I am quite full. Perhaps we should head home."

"That sounds perfect."

You continue to stare, sappy and sated, as he blindly pats at his pockets, equally unwilling to look away.

After several moments, it dawns on you, and then immediately on him.

You can't help it. You laugh. Hysterically, because no matter what Zhongli is Zhongli.

He's standing now, flustered like you've never seen, pacing the room as if his wallet would be anywhere but the table at home.

"This was not my intent." He huffs, "I had planned the evening meticulously."

"And it was lovely," You choke back another laugh, "But, sugar, you are not living this down for the rest of our lives!"

You are laughing as you pull out your own wallet, giggling uncontrollably as you hand over all the money on your person, and can barely walk you're so light headed when he leads you out the door.

He doesn't once let you go, from the pavilion's steps to your front door. Indulgent to the end, your man.

+

1. It is always a pleasant surprise when your errands overlap. Working nearly in conjunction makes it happen quite often, but still, it makes your day brighter.

You have just finishing bartering your lunch into existence when you spot Zhongli headed your way. Quickly, you slip the chef a few more mora to add another dish.

He is at your side in an instant, bringing your hand to his lips in that coquettish way he has.

"There you are," he lowers your hand but does not drop it, "I've been looking for you, treasure."

You twine your fingers together, relishing the warmth. You snug up to his side, taking the liberty of placing his hand on your hip just to see him blush.

"Have you now?"

"Always."

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Day 3: Fairytales / Reverse Isekai

“Everyone wants a happy ending--not just for the stories that they see, but for themselves as well.”

“That may be true, but happy endings are rather predictable. There is little amusement to be had in them.”

“... People’s lives don’t exist just to amuse you.”

As serious as she tries to be, Raven gets lost in her own fantasies at times~

Jade tipped a teapot, allowing warm, fragrant liquid to flow from its spout and into a waiting cup. To this, he added one sugar cube and a splash of milk, slowly stirring with a dainty spoon to ensure that the elements were properly incorporated. Picking the cup up by its saucer, Jade placed it before the raven at her writing desk.

“Darjeeling,” he announced, “brewed from the finest leaves--first flush--with milk and one sugar, just how you like it.”

Raven glanced up from her papers to pass him a suspicious look. “... How do you know that’s how I prefer to take my tea?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t concern myself with such trivial matters,” Jade insisted with a soft, mirthful laugh. He nudged the teacup toward her. “You’ve been staring at that script nonstop since your visit to Pomefiore. I would advise taking a break, no matter how brief it may be.”

“... Alright.” Raven relented, shoving aside her script in favor of a beverage. “I was getting tired of repeating the same lines over and over in my head, anyway.”

“I must say, I’m surprised that Vil-san granted you a role in one of his productions--though I’m even more surprised that you’re embracing it. I thought you to be a reclusive bird, Miss Raven.”

She pressed the rim of the cup to her lips and sipped. “My curiosity got the better of me. I wanted to see what his story was about. As for Vil-senpai picking me... Well, I just happened to fit the description he was looking for.”

“Docile, but with a fierce determination,” as he had put it. “Initially, I had hoped for Epel to take on the role, but he is already serving as a valuable stage hand and cannot afford to do double duty.”

“I see.” Jade’s sharp teeth made a brief appearance between his lips. “If I may ask, what sort of a character will you be playing?”

“A storyteller that defies destiny.”

“Oya? You don’t say. And what becomes of the fabled storyteller?”

“Well, they begin as the narrator of the play. The play itself is about a prince that tears a kingdom apart from within. At some point, the narrator becomes self-aware and, with full knowledge that the story is set to end in tragedy, they become a character themselves and try to change its course. They succeed, and usher in an era of peace as its new monarch.”

“My, how noble. It sounds like one of your fairy tales, Miss Raven. The good, the bad, and the happily ever after.” Jade chuckled into a hand. “How cute.”

“... Are you condescending me?”

“I would never.”

Liar.

“There’s nothing wrong with enjoying fairy tales and happily ever afters,” Raven said defensively. “Everyone wants a happy ending--not just for the stories that they see, but for themselves as well.”

“That may be true, but happy endings are rather predictable. There is little amusement to be had in them.”

“... People’s lives don’t exist just to amuse you.”

“Don’t they?” Jade’s grin was cool and mocking. “Rest assured, I was only referring to fictional characters, not real people.”

“I don’t believe you,” she huffed, taking another swig of her beverage. “Alright, then, smartyfins. If you think you’re so clever, then how would you have the story go? How would you have it end?”

His eyebrows pinched together, a smirk forming on his lips. “There would be no script.”

“No script?!” Raven gaped, nearly spilling her tea. “You must be joking!”

“I do not jest,” Jade replied, his smile as kind as ever. “That is what life itself is, is it not? A play, unrehearsed. The actors set upon it, ad-libbing each and every scene. Not a soul knows what will happen next. That is what makes for an exciting story.”

"Well...” She nibbled thoughtfully on her lower lip. “You do have a point--but I think that plays a part in why people love fairy tales so much.”

“Oh?” Jade raised a brow. “Do tell.”

“Real life is unpredictable--sometimes even scary. But fairy tales?” Raven smiled into what remained of her tea. “You can have a guaranteed happily ever after, no matter how bad things get. In other words, you’d have total control--that’s why you like looking after your terrariums, isn’t it? The control. So surely you’d understand why fairy tales are so beloved.”

The eel’s eyes widened--just the slightest bit, barely imperceptible.

“... Fufufu. When you put it like that, perhaps I do.”

“At last, we see eye-to-eye on something.” Raven set her Darjeeling down and propped her script up once more. “I think I’ve rested enough. It’s back to memorizing lines for me.”

Jade tucked an arm behind his back and bowed. “I wish you the best of luck, then... my princess."

[kosmosian-quills]

Torn Apart

Returning briefly from my hiatus to deliver a short little thing set in @cirianne’s Street Magic Universe! Featuring Charlie making a decision a little too easily.

I hope you enjoy!

POV: Charlie

Tuesdays are normally a quiet day at the office.

With no major Council briefings to attend to, my duty was to attend to the many jobs that my role as the Spokesman for Interior Affairs depended on me for. Speaking with Commanders, scientists, wardens of academies. All people who report to me on findings, of which I then report to the Council itself. And considering the epidemic that magic is on our society, it’s an important job to be sure.

But I really have only one job today.

At 9am sharp, I stroll past my secretary - a brown-haired beauty named Stephanie or something - and into my waiting office. As opulent and spacious as it is, today it feels claustrophobic and sterile. It feels not like the place I am particularly comfortable working in. There is something I need to do before I -

Buzzzzz!

I sigh, shoving my briefcase to the floor and pressing the button on my intercom. “Yes?”

“Councilwoman Pryce to see you, sir,” Stephanie tells me through the metallic haze of noise.

I fight to keep the groan from being audible as I respond. “Send her in.”

I don’t have any time to look more presentable than I already am, and simply find myself stood behind my desk waiting for the Councilwoman to come in. My desk feels filthy today, and I haven’t even started yet.

The door clicks open, and in steps one of the few women democratically elected into the Council - Councilwoman Jillian Pryce.

Pryce is a middle aged woman, newly elected onto the Council and very by the books about pretty much anything. I suppose technically, she is one of the newer Council members, but she has held this job for a few years. She is newly appointed as Speaker for the Council. I truly doubt fun was ever a word in her vocabulary, and I pity her husband - if she has one. Her hair tied up into a tight bun on the back of her head, her arms folded in that dull grey suit of hers. She’s wearing a brooch on the top button of her blouse where a tie would be. The heels of her shoes click loudly on the wooden floor of my office, and I just know I’m in for some kind of stern reprimand from my own colleague here.

I force my lips into the charming smile that I know I am famous for. “Jill, what a pleasant surprise. Sorry I’m not too presentable this morning, but I just arrived and haven’t had my coffee yet,” I reach forward to the intercom again, “Stephanie, will you get me and Jill some coffee?”

“Tea will do, thank you Councilman Atwood,” she replies, standing right in front of my desk, her stare hardening as she enunciates my title.

“Tea, then,” I repeat, “for the Councilwoman.”

“Yes, sir.”

I release the button and stand tall, watching as her stare never falters from my direct eye contact.

“Councilman Atwood, we have a problem,” she states.

“Do we?”

“Yes, we do. Don’t try and pretend you don’t know what I am talking about. This needs to be sorted today.”

“Which problem of mine are you referring to, Councilwoman Pryce?” I ask, taking a seat at my desk and pointedly ignoring the stares on my desk. “I thought I was quite clear in my report that I am disavowing that girl completely.”

She shakes her head at me, her voice stern and even, like a schoolteacher reprimanding a disruptive child. “That is not good enough and we both know it. You can shrug this off as much as you want, but the fact is that the public will hear about this and they will want to see your response to the situation. They see everything.”

“I have made my position regarding her -”

She raises a hand up from her folded arms, and silences me. “No, you have not. Actions speak louder than words Councilman. The situation with your daughter is one that requires you to set an example to the country, and the way I see it, you have two options.”

The mention of my daughter makes me cast a glance at the photograph on my desk, the one that has been staring at me. I reach over and slam it face down onto the desk, getting those once innocent green eyes off my back.

Pryce holds up her index finger as she continues.

“One. You can behave loving and caring with her, you can use her to show off how nice mages can be with the right education in our academies. With the right amount of love and devotion to the government, she can be used to set an impression on the families who have children with magic also. Set them at ease a little, to know that their children are in good hands, and they are valuable to us.”

“Councilwoman Pryce, I cannot make such a u-turn on my very public beliefs regarding magic.” I interrupt her idealistic little speech, and she returns her hand to its previously folded position, “as you said yourself, the public see everything, and for them to see me turn around so quickly when they hear that she was my daughter? They will smell a rat, and I lose my hard line voters. That is unacceptable to me.”

“I thought you might say that.” She shrugs. “The second option is to stick to your line of evil mutants and cut her out of your life completely. No do overs, no second chances. She is out of your life, publicly, and you set the example that you aren’t letting family get in the way of your devotion to your country.”

The door opens and Stephanie comes in holding a tray. My promised coffee, and Pryce’s requested tea, freshly brewing in a ceramic pot, little containers of sugar, milk and creamers clattering on the tray. She doesn’t say a word as she sets it on the desk, places my coffee mug in front of me, and pours out the tea into the little teacup.

“Black, one sugar, please,” Pryce says aside to Stephanie, who diligently made the drink as it was requested. “Option one has the risk of Lilly… shall we say, going Rivera which I honestly don’t consider likely. If you keep her in the public eye with love and support, I highly doubt she would do something like that.”

Going Rivera. Oh please, I highly doubt that the girl would go as far as to even be compared to Rivera. She wouldn’t say boo to a goose. Besides, Rivera was a known terrorist who killed before she was taken to an academy to be dealt with. God, how many years ago was that now? When I had first dealt with her myself, Lilly must have still been a toddler.

Once Pryce’s tea is made, Stephanie takes her leave, hurrying out of the door and leaving us to have our meeting once more.

“Option two has the risk of you losing sympathies among the more family oriented voters - which I do not blame them for - but the hard line voters will be content with your actions. You’d have to do something to try and earn back the family voters, and given the situation it would have to be something big. But there can be no in between, Councilman Atwood.”

I pick up my mug of coffee and take a long sip, hoping for the caffeine to hit me quickly so that I can get Pryce out of my office to deal with this my way.

“I either use her as a prop, or hard cut her out of my life. I understand, Councilwoman Pryce,” I place the coffee down on my desk again, and I finally take my seat. “It’s not like this can be hidden anyway.”

“Which is why you need to deal with this today. Completely. I understand it’s a hard choice for a father to make, but -”

“I already gave you my answer, Councilwoman,” I lean forwards on my desk, “she is forever out of my life.”

Her face remains stoic, not flinching as I said that to her. “I had a feeling you’d go with that option. I would have preferred option one, but you have made your choice. Now you need to do something about it.”

She turns about, and makes her way to the door. I notice the steaming cup of tea is still there, untouched, on my desk.

“Jill, your tea -!”

“Can’t stop for tea, I’m afraid.” She doesn’t even turn to face me as she opens the door, “I have a lot to do today, Councilman, as do you.”

The sound of Pryce’s footsteps clacking down the corridor, slowly getting quieter as she gets further away, leaving me alone in my office with a tea I won’t drink.

Well. She isn’t wrong. I have a lot to do today, and I suppose now is the best time to start.

I grab a hold of the photo frame beside my computer, the one I faced down before, and I look at it properly.

It’s a family photo, taken just barely a month ago. It features three children smiling and laughing up at the camera. Two boys and a girl. All three of them green-eyed, the elder two with blond hair. The younger boy was brown-haired, curly and small. The older girl and boy with wide grins as the boy lifted up their younger brother.

Lilly, Peter, Max.

I open up the back of the frame and remove the picture, carefully tearing through the thick photo paper, right through so that the girl is totally separated from the boys.

I look over the new picture, my two sons having fun there. I place that just underneath the monitor, sticking it there with a tiny piece of tape. I carefully place the frame in one of the drawers by my side.

Without looking, I crumple up the other half of the photo and throw it into the waste bin beside me.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Shielded. Chapter Two.

Anonymous said to

imagineclaireandjamie:

We cannot direct the wind, but we can adjust the sails. [Dolly Parton]

Happy Sunday all - Chapter Two is up and ready, I hope you enjoy. You can find Chapter One HERE. MBD

War and Peace:

It was sunny outside, she could see the clear blue sky through the thick white netting. Having let themselves in to the property with a key in one of the officers back pockets, they were waiting in the small lounge for John’s mystery friend to appear. With the long winding roads down to the house they had taken longer than originally planned to arrive and the gentleman, one James Fraser, had been forced to leave and attend to his milking duties before he’d actively met his new house guest.

Not that any of them minded. In her own head she was still rolling her new name, saying it over and over again as if to make herself believe it. At least when she was introduced she’d be able to return the greeting gesture with some authenticity.

“You can leave you know.” She had said this to the officers on several occasions. Knowing little about milking, she did assume it wasn’t a quick job and had been quick to allude to the face that Mr Fraser might be out for some time. Shaking their heads, though, they had pointed out that they were required to do handover and were not going to simply leave her without properly passing off to Mr Fraser.

Her living with another person brought about its own complications. For a start they both needed to be briefed on the situation, they both needed to know the implications and outcomes of anyone learning her existence (which they were bound to do at some point) and the severity of anyone learning her real name or her reason for being here.

She suspected that there was more of a backstory to come, but had waited patiently to be informed of it rather than asking. It was unlikely that John had sent her here with little more than a new name and she was ready and keen to adapt to this new situation.

He’d have the letter, she thought as she held the coke bottle tightly between her fingers. In the twenty-four hours she’d had to prepare her exit, she had written a letter to be delivered to her husband this morning so that he didn’t attempt to register her as a missing person. Though some of the force knew of her plan, naturally only a small few knew intimate details and most knew nothing at all. The last thing she needed was a group of policemen and women tracking her down and ruining the whole operation.

The sound of the key in the lock brought her attention away from her worries and she tried to relax herself so that she looked less like a deer in headlights and more like she was happy to be there. She was, of course, more than content to be far away from her old life but the trip had left her hollow and fatigued and she didn’t want to appear ungrateful the very first moment she met her unwitting host.

Smoothing down the thin material of her leggings, she surreptitiously wiped the sweat from her palms as she caught a glance of John’s friend.  Her mind, however, was torn between the present and the future and she found it almost impossible to keep herself grounded in the moment.

It wasn’t until they were all sitting in the lounge with a cup of tea did she even notice the tall stranger stood in front of her. They must have been talking for a good ten minutes, she noted internally, as the steam was still freshly piping off the brewed tea.

“So, Mr Fraser,” the officer stated, bringing her attention fully back to the room, “we’ve got a long drive home so we’ll leave you and Claire to get acquainted. The number in the envelope is the contact should you have any emergency concerns but it should only be used when really necessary. Alright?”

“Aye.” Mr Fraser responded quietly, shaking both her driver’s hands before ushering them out.

Once alone, she picked up her tea and blew across the top. The front room was tall and airy, certainly quite old, probably built around the early 18th century. She took note of the engraved sconces, the plain wallpaper and the large fireplace as she waited to be joined again. Enthralled by the rather encompassing oil painting, she jumped a little as Fraser entered the room.

“That’s a great-aunt of some description, if I remember correctly. Painted sometime in the 1890’s before the turn of the century. She was keen on highland dancing, hence the flashy tartans surrounding her. A lost art, I fear.”

A small smile pulled at his lips, he seemed calm but not yet used to human companionship.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t think I caught your name.”

“Jamie,” he replied, holding his hand out to meet hers, “Jamie Fraser.”

“And you live here alone?”

Clearly he did, she had been told as much but her mind had gone blank. Between leaving Oxford, the long drive and transforming into someone new in a few short hours, her brain was looking for conversation starters and coming up blank.

“Aye, have done for a good few years now. The farm takes a lot of work, I have a few helpers from nearby plots that come and help when needed, but I mostly dinna notice.”

“Long hours then?”

“From dawn to dusk most days, though I have been known to take a day off.”

His joke made her smile and she sipped her tea to stop it from becoming a full on fatigued laugh.

Seeing the glazed look pass over her eyes, Jamie cocked his head and pointed to the staircase at the back of the room. “Would you like me to show you to your room? I’m sure you’ve already had a long weekend. It has an ensuite so you can just rest in there until you feel human again?”

Nodding she felt grateful that he hadn’t used her new name yet. In her own head she’d had trouble making herself believe it and she wasn’t sure it was familiar enough yet for her to answer to it. As they walked, her filled suitcase in his hands whilst she hoisted her rucksack onto her back, she tried to repeat it to herself over and over. It felt strange that she could no longer think of herself as Elizabeth. Luckily, she wouldn’t have to worry about strangers calling out in public and her answering them.

It stung, though, to remember that she was locked down and unable to investigate her new home.

“This is it.” Opening the door, Jamie took a step inside.

The room was vast. Another great fireplace centred the room and there were doors either side of it.

“To the left is a closet for your clothes, I’ve emptied it aside from a couple of shoe boxes of old photos, I hope you don’t mind. To the right is the bathroom. It has a wetroom-type shower and a toilet. There is a bath, but it’s in the main bathroom down the hall, feel free to use it any time.”

Getting clean and into fresh clothes was at the top of her agenda and a calm washed over her as she saw the solid four-poster bed, all made up with light blue sheets and pre-fluffed pillows.

“Thanks, Jamie, for everything.”

Having missed her chance to thank John, she felt like all she would be able to say to Jamie for weeks was thank you.

“Nay bother. Just…” he paused for a moment, his hand resting tightly over the door handle as he moved to leave, “everything here is yours too, aye? Make yerself at home. I work a lot, long hours and long weeks, so I’ll be here there and everywhere. There’s food in the kitchen, a TV in the living area at the back of the house as well as books and more creative things.” He was talking fast, his nervousness becoming clearer as he tried to give a verbal account of the facilities without forgetting anything important. “Through the kitchen there is a door, it leads down into the cellar. That’s where the washing machine and dryer are if you want to wash yer clothes...anything else…?”

He had placed her suitcase down by the door and was running his hands through his hair as he tried to think whether he needed to mention anything else.

“Thank you.” She said again, giving him a free pass to leave now he seemed settled that he’d bought her attention to the most important appliances. “It really is extremely kind of you to open your home at such short notice.”

“It’s a pleasure,” returning her gesture, he held out his hand and took hers, shaking it lightly as she backed towards the bed and he moved back into the doorway, “Claire.”

It felt strange to hear him finally say it and the sound of his deep scottish accent stayed with her long after he’d closed the door and disappeared back downstairs. As she wandered slowly around her suite she opened and closed her right hand, the warmth of his palm still echoed in her flesh. Having had tender relationships before, it was almost as if her flesh knew the touch of someone gentle before the rest of her did.

Whatever it had been dissipated as she caught sight of the brown envelope sticking out of her purse and she took a seat on the bed before pulling a series of pieces of paper from it.

Jamie must have been introduced whilst she’d been in her haze as she didn’t remember anything prior to noticing the cup of tea and, with tired eyes, she pushed the notes aside, eager to get some rest before reading on further.

The clock on the mantel ticked, the click of the hands signalling another hour gone by and before she knew it, darkness surrounded her.

Having fallen asleep between the mass of her new life story, she rubbed her closed lids, yawned and then rose. Her limbs felt heavy, her joints stiff from being in the same position for hours. Stumbling across the room, she felt around for the light switch before investigating the small bathroom attached to her living space.

It was new, that was certain, the porcelain and white tiles sparkling with a sheen that only occurred right before they were sullied with condensation. She pulled the extractor fan cable, switched the shower on and turned up the heat before shedding her clothes and standing beneath the spray. Fortunately there was a towel neatly arranged on the heated handrail, she noticed, as she washed the journey from her skin with some nice lemon scented shower gel.

Clean and dry, she tucked herself between the sheets, carefully stacking and placing the paper back in the envelope before she did so.

That can wait, she thought, her eyes closing before her head even hit the pillow. Once more, sleep found her easily, the swirls of pixelated colour appearing behind her closed eyelids as she began to dream. Silence surrounded her, not like the hum of the city that buzzed in her ears whilst she slept in Oxford, but the blissful nothingness that remote country living afforded those who inhabited it. For that she was grateful.

Kind, blue eyes invaded the deep black nothingness and she felt warm and safe. Snuggling further down into the duvet, she let the warmth encase her as she finally allowed herself to relax.

[teawizard-n-coffeewitch]

The Stafforshire Spell

2. Uh... Reporter For The Quibbler Magazine

Newt is heating up water for tea when suddenly his eyes widen, blown away at the sight of him. Credence is coming down the stairs, wearing his full body scuba diving gear.

"Hey." Credence greets as he grabs a mug and prepares to brew some peppermint leaves.

"Hi..." Newt says before the two of them are concentrated on fixing a cup of tea in the kitchen.

Newt decides to ask, "Just incidentally -- why are you wearing that?"

Credence smiles. "Ahem -- combination of factors really. No clean clothes..." he replies with a cheeky grin.

Newt coughs. "There never will be, you know, unless you actually clean your clothes." he says.

"Right. Vicious circle. And then I was like rooting around in your things, and found this, and I thought -- cool. Kind of spacey." Credence replies shooting a grin at Newt. Newt nods before laughing softly.

The two of them make their way to the table and take a seat, enjoying their cup of tea, passing the day.

Newt is writing on his notebook while Credence is squinting his eyes at the scuba gear goggles. After while Credence says, "There's something wrong with your goggles Newt..."

Newt stops writing and looks up. Laughing lightly he replies, "No, they were prescription, so I could see all the fishes properly."

Credence laughs, amused at this fact. "Groovy. You should do more of this stuff. Though I did not know you were blind." Newt laughs. Shaking his head he replies, "Not really. I can see with or without glasses."

They sit in comfortable silence, the only sound is Newt's pencil at work before he asks, "So -- any messages?"

Credence's face lights up as he sets his cup down. "Yeah I wrote a couple down." Sticking his hand in a jacket nearby one of the table's wooden chairs, he retrieves a crumbled paper and gives it to Newt who as long gone forgotten his writing.

Newt grabs it and one of the messages was that Niffler's habitat was ready and he could bring him in tomorrow morning. Newt reads the next message and after finishing he asks, trying not to frown, "Two? That's it?"

"You want me to write down all your messages?" Credence says, an eyebrow raised. Newt closes his eyes in exasperation, deciding on not replying to that.

"Who were the ones you didn't write down from?" Newt asks cautiously.

Credence hums, "Ahem let's see -- ahem. No. Gone completely. Oh no, wait. There was -- one from your mum: she said don't forget Theseus's birthday and that she and your father won't be able to make it."

Newt nods. "Right. No one else?"

Credence blinks, lost in thought before shaking his head. "Absolutely not." He leans back and relaxes.

"Though if we're going for this obsessive writing-down-all-messages thing -- some American girl called Tina called a few days ago." he reveals causing Newt to freeze then look at him with big eyes.

"Wha - What did she say?" Newt manages to choke out. Credence smirks, finding Newt's blushing face amusing.

"Well, it was genuinely bizarre... she said, hi -- it's Tina -- and then she said, call me at the Hoar Cass Hall -- and then gave herself a completely different name." Credence says before sipping calmly his tea.

"Which was?" Newt says panicking at how Credence was so calm about the whole situation.

He finishes his sip before replying, "Absolutely no idea. Remembering one name's bad enough..." Newt groans before closing his eyes and placing his head on the table.

_______________

Much later Newt is on the phone. He looked at the phone book for the hotel's number before he dials a few numbers and hears a ring and a formal man at the other end of the phone picks up.

"Hello." Newt says trying to keep calm but internally panicking at his bold move.

"May I help you, sir?" the man replies calmly at the other end.

"Ahem, see this is a very odd situation. I'm a friend of Tina Goldstein's -- and she rang me at home the day before yesterday -- and left a message saying she's staying with at this hotel..." Newt timidly says. "I'm sorry, we don't have anyone of that name here, sir." the man states authoritatively.

"No, that's right -- I know that. She said she's using another name -- but the problem is she left the message with my flatmate, which was a serious mistake. Imagine if you will the -- um a baby. A poor baby who hasn't any idea what to even call his mum -- are you doing that...?"

As Newt talks to the man Credence happens to be in the foreground, siting on the couch in the distance as he's reading the newspaper.

Listening to everything.

"Yes, sir. I have him in my mind." the man at the other end replies with a light chuckle.

"And that is the -- what can I say -- git I'm living with and he cannot remember..." Newt begins before Credence cuts him off by saying, "Try 'Coco.' "

Newt stops talking and turns around to look at Credence. "What?" he says noticing how Credence hasn't turned to look at him, his focus still on his newspaper.

"I think she said her name was 'Coco Channel.' " Credence says turning the newspaper page calmly.

Newt takes deep breath before asking nervously, "Does 'Coco Channel' mean anything to you?"

There is a second of silence before the man says happily, "I'll put you right through, sir."

Newt stands there, absolutely speechless. Coco Channel is indeed the magic word.

"Bloody hell." Newt mutters messing up his hair as his hold on the phone tightens. Realizing he's a few seconds from speaking to her Newt begins to practices how to sound.

"Hello. Hi. Hi." Newt says clearing his throat and standing up straight.

Newt sharply breaths when he hears her voice. 

"Hi." is heard from the other line.

Panicking holding the phone he is quick to awkwardly reply, "Oh hi. It's Newt Scamander. We, uh... well met at my bookshop."

Tina chuckles slightly. "You played it pretty cool here Mr. Scamander. Waiting three days to call."

Newt blushes. "N-No, I've never played any-anything cool in my entire life. Credence, who I'll jinx later, never delivered me the message."

"Oh, okay." she says, slightly amused at his awkward speech.

"Um... so I was wondering... if you'd be okay with it... obviously. Perhaps... uh... I could drop round for tea or something?"

"Yeah." Tina says, scrunching her nose in disgust at the thought of tea. Newt listens to her as she speaks, "Unfortunately, things are going to be pretty busy, but... okay, let's give it a try. Though I'm staying at a hotel here in Burton I'll be in London tomorrow. Does... I don't know... four o'clock at the Ritz work? Or do wish to meet when I return back to Burton?"

Newt smiles like a dork, "No, it absolutely works. Great." 

They bid farewell and they hang up. 

Running towards Credence, Newt kisses his cheek before dashing up the stairs gleefully. Credence just stares at his flatmate in confusion.

_______________

The next day Newt wakes up early to drive a forty-five minute trip to Peak Wildlife Park in Leek. Niffler sleeping through most of the ride. After a heart breaking farewell and a promise to return Newt drives back to Burton and grabs a train to London. The ride is about three hours and makes use of his time by writing a birthday card for his brother and taping a few pounds inside the card. He places the card inside his briefcase and shuts it close. He leans on his seat and enjoys the scenery of the ride.

Arriving at London at three Newt makes his way to a floral shop and buys an orchid. He likes how delicate, beautiful, and admirable they look. Just... like Tina. He catches a bus and as he cruises around London he can't help but feel a sense of desponding and melancholy as he sees the city of London after all these years. He jumps off a bus and walks toward the Ritz. The vase of orchid in one hand all wrapped up nicely while his hand carries his brown briefcase.

Entering the Ritz Hotel, Newt passes by the iconic tea room before approaching the lifts.  At the lift, he pushes the button and the doors open. As he is getting in, Newt is joined by a young woman. Newt looks at her name tag. Her name is Rita.

"Which floor?" Newt asks him. "Three please." Rita answers as Newt nods and pushes the button. They wait for the doors to close. The lift lands and they both gets out. Hotel rooms 30-35 are to the left while 35-39 to the right. Newt heads right and... so does Rita.

Newt is puzzled at how Rita is still following him. He slows down as he approaches room 38 and startled when so does Rita. Newt stops, so does Rita. Newt turns his head, confused, before he points at the number on the door.

"Are you sure you...?" Newt assures. "Yes." Rita affirms with a nod. "Oh. Right... er." Newt mourns before he knocks on the door. A bright, well-tailored American girl opens the door.

"Hello, I'm Quennie, Tina's sister and manager. Sorry -- things are running a bit late. Here's the thing..." She hands them a very slick, expensively produced press kits, with the poster picture of Tina, for the film 'Alien: Covenant'.

She leads them inside the suite, after closing the door and in a few seconds later -- they enter the main waiting room. Newt is startled to see there are a number of journalists waiting for their audience.

"What did you think of the film?" Quennie suddenly asks as she grabs a notebook and a pen, ready to write their critics.

"Marvelous.  'Close Encounters' meets 'Jean De Florette.' Golden Globe- winning stuff." Rita says happily before both Quennie and her turn to Newt for his opinion.

He curses mentally before looking at Rita. "I agree." Newt adds with a weak smile.

Quennie nods, scribbling down on the notebook before asking, "I'm sorry. I didn't get down what magazines you're from."

" 'The Daily Prophet.' " Rita answers with a smile. Quennie smiles back then turns to Newt, "Great. And you?" 

Newt panics. 

He scans the entire room, frantically looking for a magazine, a catalog, a newspaper, something! Then he sees it. On the coffee table.

" 'Quibbler Magazine.' The name's Newt Scamander." Quennie nods whereas Rita seems intrigued that he's a reporter from Quibbler Magazine. "I think she might be expecting me." Newt nervously adds before she shoots him a smile. "Okay -- take a seat.  I'll check."

Both Rita and Newt move towards a sofa and they sit down as Quennie goes off, down the hallway.

Rita looks at the orchid Newt carries. "You've brought her flowers?" Newt gulps and thinks for a cover-up story.

"No -- they're -- for my grandmother. She's in a hospital nearby. Thought I'd kill two birds with one stone." he replies, a bit too fast and nervously. Rita frowns and gives him pity eyes. "Oh I am so sorry. Which hospital?"

Newt breaths in and pauses. Bullocks, he did not think of that. He's in trouble.

Quickly, he says, faking a bit of distress in his voice, "Do you mind me not saying -- it's a rather distressing disease and the name of the hospital rather gives it away."

Rita nods, with a sad face, "Oh sure. Of course." Newt thanks her silently and they both sit in silence before Quennie comes walking in.

"Mr. Scamander." she says, with a smile in spark in her eyes.

Saved by the bell. Newt bids a farewell wave to Rita and follows Queenie towards the corridor. She turns to face him, telling him, "You've got five minutes." He is then lead in through big golden doors and the room is the Trafalgar Suite Room. Quennie stays outside. Then there she is.

Tina stands straight, facing the framed in the window, overlooking Green Park. Newt can't help but think she looks pretty in her apricot color satin silk bow tie neck shirt with long sleeves button down blouse top and a long black pencil skirt. Quennie then closes the room and Tina turns around to face Newt. She gives him a nervous smile.

"Hi." Newt manages to say.

"Hello." Tina replies softly. Newt looks at the countless of dozen flowers surrounding Tina and gives her a sad smile. "I uh... I brought these," Newt shyly begin, lifting up his orchid vase, "but clearly..." he gestures at the other glamorous flowers in the room.

Tina shakes her head, "Oh no, it's okay." She walks towards him and accepts his orchid vase with a shy smile. "These are great. Thanks."

Then there it is. Instead of feeling a fair amount of tension, as they hardly know each other -- and the first and last time they met, they kissed; instead... they feel a silence of comfort surrounding them. Putting them at ease.

"Sorry about not ringing back." Newt apologizes, blushing. "The whole two-names concept was totally too much for my flatmate's intellect."

Tina smiles, reassuring him, "No, it's a stupid privacy thing. I always choose a famous fashion designer. Last time out, I was Mrs. Marc Jacobs.

Before Newt can shoot her a smile, Mr. Graves, walks in. Tina's public manager and Quennie's boss. He's a fairly grave, authoritative forty-year-old PR man consulting a list.

"Everything okay?" he asks shooting Tina a concern look. She nods. "Yes, thanks."

He turns to face Newt. "And you are from 'The Quibbler' magazine?" he asks making Newt nod.

"Is that so?" Tina asks, sounding intrigued but shooting Newt a sneaky smirk.

Newt's face turns red as he shrugs his shoulders and gives a light chuckle. Mr. Graves goes and settles at a little desk in the corner and makes notes. He just stands there, stacking some paper. There is a pause before Newt realizes and feels he has to act the part of being a reporter.

Tina motions for him to sit on the couch and she sits on the opposite on. They now face each other.

"Right... so I'll just fire away, shall I?" Newt begins, siting a bit straight. Tina nods.

"Right. Er... the film's great... and I just wondered -- whether you ever thought of having more... spectrespecs in it?" he asks, biting his lip knowing he was minutes away from death.

Tina lets out a small chuckle. "Hmm -- well -- we would have liked to -- but it was difficult, obviously, being set in space and a remote planet."

Newt can feel his ears turning red from embarrassment. "Oh right... er... very difficult indeed."

Both Tina and Newt listen Mr. Graves leave, closing the door.

Newt sighs heavily and embarrassed, putting his head in his hands. He was panicking and he completely blew it.

"I'm sorry -- I arrived outside -- and they thrust this thing into my hand -- I  didn't know what to do." Newt begins as Tina cuts him, apologizing, "No, it's my fault, I thought this would all be over by now. I just wanted to sort of apologize for the kissing thing. I seriously don't know what got in to me. I just wanted to make sure you were fine about it. Honest. I don't know what I was thinking."

Newt is speechless for second before saying, "Absolutely. No worries. I was fine about it." Though he reassures Tina with a smile his heart cracks. Of course she would feel this way about kissing him on the cheek. He was nobody while she was... she was beauty.

Mr. Graves re-enters and continues stacking papers. Newt coughs, before continuing with their fake interview. Before he can ask another question Mr. Graves says, his back facing them, "Do remember that Miss Tina is also keen to talk about her next project, which is shooting later in the summer."

Newt nods, a smile. "Oh yes -- excellent. Ahem -- any spectrespecs in that one? Or shades, of course. Our readers are equally intrigued by both models."

Tina winces before answering, "It takes place during the 1970's... in a West Coast beach. My character is the ex - girlfriend of a private detective." Eh, not a setting for pink spectrespecs to be worn in.

Newt blinks before choking out, "Oh Yes. Right... But if there were spectrespecs, would you be wearing them yourself or would you be getting a stunt spectrespecs person double sort of thing?"

They hear Mr. Gracves exit. Newt has a meltdown at that point. "Merlin... I'm just a complete moron. Sorry. This is the sort of thing that happens in dreams -- not in real life. Good dreams, obviously," he stops before giving Tina a small smile, "It's... a dream to see you." Newt confesses.

Tina is silent for a moment before asking nervously, "And what happens next in the dream?"

Newt sighs. "It's a challenge."

She doesn't seem confirm with his answer so Newt adds, "Well, I suppose in the dream dream scenario. I just... um, change my personality, because you can do that in dreams, and walk across and kiss the girl but you know it'll never happen."

They are silent for a moment. Suddenly they stand up but before they can move towards each other when... Mr. Graves enters.

"Time's up, I'm afraid. Sorry it was so short. Did you get what you wanted?" he asks. "Very nearly." Newt replies.

"Maybe time for one last question?" Mr. Garves offers.

"Right."

He goes out -- and it's their last seconds together. Probably forever if Newt does not man up.

"Are you busy tonight?" Newt bravely asks, though he knows he looks nervous.

"Yes." Tina answers, her eyes flashing a bit of sadness.

They look at each other. Then Mr. Graves enters, with another journalists in tow. Tina and Newt walk towards each other and shake hands formally.

"Well, it was nice to meet you." Tina says before adding with a grin, "Surreal but nice."

Newt's heart skipped. He gave her a shaky laugh. "Thank you. You are 'The Quibbler's' new favorite actress."

Newt is escorted out and once again they part away from each other.

Newt exits the room, fairly despondent and heads for the door, passing through the suite corridor. He does not notice Rita, who is in the corridor calling on her mobile phone. She sees Newt and immediately goes to him.

"How was she?" she asks.

"Fabulous." he replies immediately. Rita looks shock as she says, "Wait a minute -- she took your grandmother's flowers?"

Newt's eyes widen. He can't think his way out of this. So he blurts out, "Yes. That's right. Unbelievable!"

Newt turns to go before Rita can ask more questions but is accosted by Quennie.

"If you'd like to come with me we can rush you through the others." she says.

"The others?!" Newt says, his eyes almost popping out.

[carewyncromwell]

((Previously on “Quest for the Quidditch Cup…))

As per Chiara’s instructions, Carewyn spent the next two days in the Hospital Wing, chugging down three different kinds of Healing Potions every four hours to mend the damage caused by Erika Rath’s Bludger. Although the Wiggenweld Potions were pleasant enough, the other two were considerably less so, with one tasting like undiluted vinegar and the other feeling like it was burning Carewyn’s throat every time she ingested it. Despite this, Carewyn tried her very hardest not to complain -- Chiara had more than enough on her plate already trying to take care of the entire castle in Madame Pomfrey’s absence, and she felt rather guilty for giving her more work to do.

The Inter-House Quidditch Cup ceremony was scheduled for Monday evening, just after dinner. The weekend after the Quidditch Final had been very rainy, as if the bad weather had been waiting patiently for the match to finish before it thoroughly drenched the grounds. By early Monday morning, the rain had faded away to a drizzle so light that you’d likely taste the moisture in the air before physically feeling it.

Before dawn that morning, like all other mornings, Orion Amari was alone at the Quidditch Pitch. Since it was no longer storming outside, he was able to properly fly around the pitch, rather than simply stick to his usual exercises and meditation while balancing on his broom. The wetness of the air made the May morning oddly muggy and hot -- Orion had to shrug off his usual brown poncho half-way through his practice because of how much he was sweating.

It was while he was weaving through the three goal hoops on the right hand side of the pitch that he spotted it.

Out of the slowly dissipating darkness came a brilliant light. It wasn’t dawn -- dawn was gold, red, or pink, not this dazzling sort of white. It seemed to soar through the air like an enormous bird, bobbing up and down in the air as if galloping down an invisible road toward him...

It was a pure white, gleaming Patronus, shaped like an Abraxan Winged Horse.

Orion’s dark eyes widened as the beautiful white winged steed flapped up alongside him, its rippling pearl-colored eyes moving over his face, before it abruptly took off again, galloping away toward the commentary box.

When Orion looked down, he saw the sparkling horse stop as if to greet someone sitting in the stands. In the flickering white light, he could make out a familiar mane of ginger red hair.

The Slytherin Quidditch Captain dove after the Patronus. He came to a stop, hovering on his broomstick over Carewyn sitting in Murphy’s usual spot, just as the Abraxan disappeared in a puff of white mist. 

“Carewyn Cromwell,” he said. Despite the low, level tone of his voice, it still betrayed some fondness.

Carewyn beamed. “Good morning. Happy Ceremony Day.”

Orion nodded. “A very happy day it is, seeing you’ve recovered.”

“Mm. I’m not supposed to carry anything heavy or push myself too hard...and Chiara’s still going to have to make me Healing potions for the rest of the week...but I should be able to just take them at lunch and dinner now.”

Her ruby red smile became a bit wryer as she added, “And at least now I can actually wear what I want again -- except at the ceremony, of course.”

Orion grinned mischievously as he leaned back on his broom, resting his hands behind his head.

“Ah yes...I’d forgotten your fairy-like tendency to always want to have the brightest-colored wings in the room.”

Carewyn covered her mouth to hold in her laughter. “That’s not true!”

Orion’s smile softened, though his eyes still sparkled with amusement.

“...Today it appears you took inspiration from your Patronus animal, however.”

He gestured to the white feathers decorating her dress.

Carewyn smiled. “Well, Abraxans are my favorite.”

“Are they?” said Orion.

“Mm-hmm. Winged Horses have always been my favorite, since I was little.”

“Ah. Then your Patronus suits you very well.”

Carewyn shifted her focus to the wicker-basket purse on her shoulder. Sliding the strap off, she opened up the latch.

“Here...you want to come sit down for a bit? I figured you probably haven’t had breakfast, so I stopped by the Kitchens before coming back upstairs...”

She unfolded the red-and-white-checkered napkins inside. Orion noted the two bottles of Butterbeer also sitting on the bench next to her. 

With a slight smirk, the Slytherin Quiditch Captain deftly swept his broom out from under him and leapt down into the commentary box. Leaning his broom against the side of the box, he took a seat next to Carewyn, crossing his legs on top of the bench.

“Thank you,” he accepted the flat-looking pastry Carewyn passed him. He looked it over with interest.

“It’s a pikelet with an apple compote on top,” Carewyn explained, demonstrating how to hold her own. “Just fold it a bit, so the filling doesn’t spill out, and eat it like this.”

Orion followed her lead and took a bite.

“Mmm...! This is good.”

Carewyn looked very pleased by his reaction.

“I kind of had to improvise,” she admitted sheepishly, “since I couldn’t carry anything big and I didn’t have much time. Pitts tried to convince me to take up some sandwiches, but Mum always loves making pikelets in the morning. Of course she usually serves them with tea, but there’s no way I was going to be able to lug a whole tea service up here.”

Orion chuckled as she passed him one of the bottles of butterbeer. “Butterbeer for breakfast is not a luxury I’ve ever indulged in...but perhaps that’s all the more reason to do it.”

Carewyn tapped both bottles with the tip of her wand to open them and clinked her bottle against Orion’s before they both took a sip.

In the distance the sun had just started to rise, scattering beautiful gold and pink flares over the horizon. Orion watched the sky for a moment, his mind drifting as his eyes ran over the brightening clouds.

“...It’s hard to believe that it’s all over.”

Orion glanced at Carewyn. Her eyes had also moved away from him and rested on the horizon.

“What ‘it’ are you referring to?” he asked very softly.

“...Everything,” Carewyn said at last. “This year. The Quidditch season. The match. ...Your time at Hogwarts.” 

Her blue eyes were locked on the horizon, but there was a noticeable regret in how they seemed to slide down away from the sky and down toward the distant forest trees.

Orion’s eyebrows knit together over his eyes, his gaze very thoughtful upon Carewyn’s face. He took another bite of his pikelet and turned his gaze back to the sky.

“When one thing ends, another always begins,” he said very levelly. “When one home is left behind...another is always found.”

“I know,” Carewyn murmured, “but you’ll still miss it, won’t you? The Magpies are great and all...but I know how much you love your team here. To never play Quidditch with that same team again...”

“‘Never’ is a word I cannot believe in,” said Orion very gently. “Even the best Seers in the world can’t guarantee what the future holds. Even a master at Divination can only predict where the wind will blow, what seeds will take root, what storms will brew...”

An almost bittersweet glint flickered through his eyes.

“...I will...always miss my family here -- for it was the first family I’ve ever had to call my own. But I’ve lived too transient of an existence not to know that one day, I would have to physically leave them.”

He turned to Carewyn, his mouth spreading into a small smile.

“Leaving them physically, however...doesn’t mean that my spirit shall leave them. Nor does it mean that I can’t selfishly hoard part of their spirits for myself, and always keep their memory near.”

Carewyn’s eyes on the horizon softened visibly. She turned to look back at Orion, her own red lips spread in a gentle smile. Putting down her bottle of Butterbeer, she reached out her hand and rested it on top of Orion’s.

“...I’m glad you’ve made peace with it,” she said softly.

Orion’s gaze drifted away. His hand lay flat under Carewyn’s, not moving for a moment -- then it twitched almost uncomfortably. Carewyn kindly withdrew her hand without drawing attention to it: Orion probably wasn’t used to people trying to hold his hand.

Orion finished off the pikelet in his hand before speaking again.

“It’s a bridge you yourself will have to cross soon as well, with the family you’ve found. Do you think you’ll be ready for it, when that time comes?”

Carewyn bit her lip. Her eyes fell down to her lap.

“...I guess it’s like you said. I mean...yeah, school will be over...but I can still write to my friends. I can still keep in touch. And...well, maybe by then, the Aurors will have caught Rakepick and dealt with the Vaults. So even if we won’t be as close as we were...”

She brushed her bangs out of her eyes.

“...We’ll...have freedom, too. A kind we don’t have here.”

Orion’s dark eyes narrowed slightly. “That’s true. You’ll be free to do a lot more, outside of these walls. But remember...not all of the walls that imprison us are physical barriers.”

Carewyn blinked up at him. Orion looked noticeably more serious.

“What do you mean?”

Orion’s eyes ran over her face carefully as he considered his response.

“Do you remember...when I told you about how I grew up, before our match against Hufflepuff?”

Carewyn nodded.

“Well, one thing I didn’t tell you is that growing up ‘parent-free’ without rules or regiments wasn’t always easy. At the...institution where I lived...the lack of adult supervision made the whole place kind of a free-for-all, with the older kids taking charge of the younger ones. It was like living in a den of Runespoors. One never really knew what arbitrary ‘rules’ the kids who’d taken charge would decide to enforce when, or on whom.”

Orion could see the concern welling up in Carewyn’s eyes -- he tried to mitigate her feelings with a wry smile.

“As you can imagine, it was not the most balanced place to hang your hat in. But I don’t tell you this to elicit pity, Carewyn -- I tell you this because, despite the anxiety I’ve struggled with, thanks to the unique magical beasts I’ve battled in my life...I got through it not just due to my own determination, but because I reached out for help.”

Carewyn smiled empathetically. “I know what you mean.”

‘Without Duncan...without Bill and Charlie and Ben and Merula being there, when I fell apart...I don’t know if I ever would’ve come up for air again...’

“I’m sure you do,” said Orion, and his own voice echoed her empathy.

He glanced down at her hand resting on the bench. Almost uncomfortably, he placed his hand down on top of hers in much the same way she had his. With a sympathetic smile, Carewyn adjusted her hand so that her fingers could wrap around his thumb, so they were holding hands properly. Interestingly, this time, Orion didn’t move away. His shoulders relaxed.

“Have you considered going to therapy?”

Carewyn frowned. “Therapy?”

“Yes. I know the beasts we fight are different, but I cannot overstate how much it’s helped me find balance, after being raised in the midst of a storm.”

Carewyn glanced away uncomfortably. “Mm...I can see how it would. But I’m not like you, Orion -- I haven’t gone through half of what you’ve gone through...”

“One cannot quantify a soul’s suffering,” Orion cut her off patiently.

“Yeah, but...I had a family. I had a good childhood. Sure, it wasn’t perfect, but I had a lot to be grateful for. And the bad times...I got through them okay.”

“Yes. And that strength is admirable, Carewyn. You have every right to be proud of that. But just because you were able to soldier the claw and bite marks of the beasts you’ve fended off doesn’t mean they haven’t left damage. And sometimes...those small cuts and bruises, in your mind...can be far more dangerous than an open, bleeding gash. Because it’s tempting to just pretend they’re not there -- to let them fester and give way to infection...or worse still, simply scar over...at which point you’re host to them forever. And why should you have to host them, when you more than deserve to live as a fully healed person?”

His hand adjusted slightly, taking a more secure hold of Carewyn’s.

“I understand if you decide not to pursue it,” said Orion, “but please, at least consider it.”

Carewyn, unable to look Orion in the face because of how uncomfortable she felt, rested her gaze to the left of their joined hands instead.

“...All right,” she murmured. “I’ll think about it.”

There was a short pause. Then Carewyn bit back a small laugh.

“You know...when we first met, in my third year, you kind of reminded me of Jacob.”

Orion raised his eyebrows. “Your brother?”

“Yeah.”

“Hm. One could take that as quite a compliment, considering how fond you are of him.”

“It was,” said Carewyn, grinning wider still. “You reminded me of him at first because of how in your head you seemed -- how you sort of saw the world in your own brilliant way, even if it was different from everybody else’s. But...”

Orion was taken aback when Carewyn burst into giggles.

“But -- “ she laughed, covering her mouth with her free hand, “but after a while, I realized...you two are nothing alike. Jacob’s brilliant, don’t get me wrong, but he’s an idiot about people -- including himself! He can never get into someone else’s head, or analyze someone’s emotions, or predict someone’s behavior based on their personality. He’s memorized every book he’s ever read front to back and can use Switching Spells on himself during Wizard Duels...but he’d never be the sort of person to realize that surfing around on your broom could give you an edge during a Quidditch match, simply by psyching out your opponents. He’s not patient or analytical, or even the least bit wise...which is hilarious, since he was a Ravenclaw...”

Carewyn giggled even more behind her hand. Orion’s mouth spread into a large grin of his own, his dark eyes becoming a little smaller.

“Ravenclaws value wisdom, it doesn’t mean they are wise,” he pointed out coolly.

“No kidding,” said Carewyn.

She bit her lip, managing to contain her laughter at last.

“But yeah...I realized you’re not really like Jacob at all. If anything...I reckon you’re a lot more like me.”

Orion looked up at Carewyn, looking noticeably surprised for the first time. Then, almost at once, his expression softened again, as he turned back to the horizon.

“...Yes. I have thought that, previously.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I thought it first, right after you left the Slytherin team. Your choice of preserving our team over winning an argument...it was something I thought I probably would’ve done myself, in your place. As time went by, as well, you gathered more and more people around you...took them under your wing...created your own family, out of the friends who surrounded you. And you protected that family with fire and tenacity, while also caring for them with patience and loyalty. That too...reminded me of myself.”

He bowed his head, his gaze resting on the edge of the commentary box as he smiled fully.

“...I think the reason I lamented you not returning to the team earlier...was that I knew you love your Hogwarts family as dearly as I love mine. Still...what’s done is done. Although the stars decided we must fly in different directions...”

He looked at Carewyn out the side of his eye.

“...I am glad, at least, that we were able to meet in orbit more than once.”

Judging by the brightness of her eyes and the softness of her face, Carewyn was very touched.

Orion gave a light shrug as he grinned a bit more wryly. “I admit, though -- practice seemed quite a bit quieter, after you left. The team missed your voice whenever we took time to meditate.”

Carewyn raised an eyebrow. “You missed me singing?”

“Of course. Calming music is very helpful, when trying to find your center of balance.”

Carewyn glanced out at the horizon once more.

The sun had come, and so with it had the dawn. The beautiful sunlight painted the remnants of the stormy gray clouds, sparkling like gold dust on some marble statue.

Keeping her focus ahead, Carewyn took some slow, deep breaths. Chiara had said she needed to practice breathing, even if it hurt a bit...

Once she’d gathered enough breath, she opened her mouth and started to sing.

“We’re walking in the air --

We’re floating in the moonlit sky...

The people far below are sleeping as we fly...”

Orion closed his eyes, but he was clearly listening. His head had tilted that bit toward her to hear better, since Carewyn had to sing more quietly than normal so as not to strain her lung. 

“We’re holding very tight --

I’m riding in the midnight blue...

I’m finding I can fly so high above with you...

La da da da da...la da da da da...

La da da da da...la da da da da...da...

All across the world, the villages go by like trees,

The rivers and the hills, the forests and the streams...

Children gaze open-mouthed, taken by surprise --

Nobody down below believes their eyes!

We’re surfing in the air -- ”

Orion gave a soft, delighted laugh in the back of his throat at the metaphor. Carewyn reckoned he was thinking of his trademark Quidditch move.

“We’re swimming in the frozen sky...

We’re drifting over icy mountains floating by...

La da da da da...la da da da da...

La da da da da...la da da da da...

La da da da da...la da da da da...da...

Suddenly, swooping low on an ocean deep,

The rousing of a mighty monster from his sleep...!

We’re walking in the air --

We’re dancing in the midnight sky,

And everyone who sees us greets us as we fly...”

When Carewyn finished, Orion opened his eyes. They were sparkling and crinkled up with the ghost of a smile.

“Did you pick that song specifically for me?”

Carewyn raised her eyebrows in cool amusement. “I’ll let you decide that.”

x~x~x~x

That evening Orion, Carewyn, and the rest of the Slytherin team gathered in front of the trophy case in the Great Hall. Waiting for them was Madame Hooch, Snape, Skye, Murphy, the Ravenclaw team, and about fifty more Quidditch fans. When the spectators caught sight of Carewyn, quite a few of them burst into applause and started chanting.

“CROMWELL! CROMWELL! CROMWELL!”

“Settle down,” Snape quieted the crowd of students with a very sharp voice.

Despite his usual cold affect, however, he did address Carewyn when she approached with the rest of the team.

“Good of you to finally be available, Cromwell,” he said sardonically.

Carewyn smiled wryly. “Sorry, Professor -- I wasn’t allowed to levitate myself out of the Hospital Wing.”

“You’re fortunate that you are even here to make smart remarks,” said Snape very coldly. “See that you get your Potions assignment to me by the end of this week, as agreed.”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right, now,” said Madame Hooch, “gather ‘round, please.”

Orion, Carewyn, and the Slytherin Quidditch team moved out of Hooch’s way and back to the edge of the circle so that the Flying professor could stand in front of the trophy case. 

x~x~x~x

Madame Hooch: “Everyone please give a round of applause to Slytherin house!”

[As soon as she spoke, emerald-and-silver-colored ribbons materialized over the trophy case. On the silver Quidditch Cup in the center, Carewyn could just barely make out the word “SLYTHERIN” in all caps, as well as some tiny lines of lettering underneath that likely was each of the players’ names.

Madame Hooch turned to Orion.]

Orion: “It is.”

[Orion strode forward, taking Hooch’s spot in front of the trophy case. His voice was as level as ever, even through the pride and emotion rippling at the back of his eyes.]

Orion: “Mistakes have been made, and lessons have been learned. Rivalries have flared, and bonds of friendship have been forged. Accidents have pulled our team apart, and yet also brought us together. Through it all...we somehow always regained our balance...facing this journey with patience, tenacity, loyalty, and fire. I’m truly grateful to all of my teammates. Our youngest member, Ashok, who has gone toe to toe with Chasers twice his size without fear -- our Seeker, Kaylisa, who continues to top herself in every match -- Night and Quinn, the most protective and brilliant Beaters one could ever hope to find -- my fellow Chasers, Cara and Skye, who I couldn’t be more proud to have flown alongside in so many wonderful matches...”

[Orion’s gaze drifted over his team proudly, before landing firmly on Carewyn.]

Orion: “Without her deciding to selflessly fight for our dream as passionately as she would her own...I would not be accepting the Quidditch Cup for our house.”

[Carewyn’s eyes welled up with emotion looking up at Orion.]

‘Oh, Orion...I’m so glad I could give this to you. Even if my chest does hurt like Hell...seeing you reach your dream...knowing I helped you reach it...’

[She brushed some bangs out of her eyes, trying to hide the small traces of tears welling up in the corners of her eyes.]

‘...It really makes me feel like I can be someone worthwhile.’

[The crowd all burst into applause. The Ravenclaw team was applauding much more quietly and with much more restrained expressions, but Carewyn was pleased to see that at least they didn’t look like they wanted to beat the winning team within an inch of their life, like losing Quidditch teams sometimes did.

The crowd slowly dispersed. Eventually only Carewyn, Orion, and Murphy remained. A moment later, Skye came over to join them. Slytherin’s Star Chaser passed Rath as the Ravenclaw team left -- the two caught each other’s eye, but for once, only Rath looked particularly surly. The blond Beater stared Skye down for a moment and then strode away with the confidence of a tank.

Noticing the questioning look Carewyn was shooting at her, Skye frowned uncomfortably.]

Skye: “I tried apologizing the other day -- you know, properly. But she didn’t forgive me.”

“I told you it was probably going to take time.”

Murphy: “(grinning) At least Rath doesn’t look like she wants to hit you anymore! I’d say that means you’re about 35% on your way toward earning her forgiveness.”

Skye: “Only 35?!”

Murphy: “Your rivalry has been around for years.”

Orion: “(gently) Remember the Flobberworm’s lesson, Skye -- patience can be an effective way to reach your goal, even more than frenetic action.”

[Skye gave an aggravated sigh.

Murphy turned his focus to the Slytherin-decorated trophy case and gave a loud, much happier sigh of his own through his broad smile.]

[Carewyn smiled at the trophy case too.]

“Me too.”

[She knew it wasn’t really an ending for any of the other three, given that Murphy would become a junior commentator for the Quidditch League, Orion would join the Montrose Magpies, and Skye would join the Wigtown Wanderers with Rath that next year...but in that moment, Carewyn was happy to think of it as that “happy ending” the Slytherin team so rightfully deserved.]

((OOC: Whew! Done at last! *collapses*

Referenced one last time are MC players Night Rhea @nightrhea-hphm​, Sabrina “Quinn” Mercurenius @danceworshipper​, and Cara O’Donnell @unfortunate-arrow​.

In my headcanon, Orion suffers from anxiety. According to the research I’ve done on people who grew up in orphanages or other environments lacking proper parenting or attentiveness, many end up suffering from anxiety or panic-related disorders. One notable body language “tell” for anxiety is clasping one’s hands in front of them -- which, yeah, Orion does constantly! It can look confident in some situations, but it sometimes also can hint to someone feeling anxious. Some common therapeutic self-help techniques to deal with anxiety include exercising regularly, connecting with others, and meditating, all of which Orion also does in canon. Following this headcanon, in the last gameplay section, I wrote Orion having an anxiety attack -- like a panic attack, anxiety attacks usually require great sensitivity toward the person experiencing it, but unlike panic attacks, anxiety attacks often have outside triggers or stressors. (Gee, I can’t imagine what was stressing Orion out, in that moment.) Since Carewyn struggles with depression and self-loathing, it does make for an interesting contrast.

And yes, I love Orion Amari with all of my heart and soul -- however did you guess? 8D))

[mittens-220]

Hataraku Maou-sama! Volume 21 Detailed Chinese Summary Part 8 (Final Part)

Detailed preview summary: Read here

Detailed summary part 1: Read here

Detailed summary part 2: Read here

Detailed summary part 3: Read here

Detailed summary part 4: Read here

Detailed summary part 5: Read here

Detailed summary part 6: Read here

Detailed summary part 7: Read here

Epilogue Demon King, Working Hard

The day after everyone gathered, Maou went to knock on Ignora’s door, saying that it was about time she came out, the world would probably forgive her. Ignora replied, saying what is the use of you saying this now, it’s good for you, everyone would love you, everyone will forgive you, but I…… Maou said, stop with nonsense, since when was I forgiven. The people you have seen had various experiences before meeting you, we are the same as you. Therefore, if you want to, you can walk out. Regardless of which environment you’re in, as long as there is still someone who is willing to help you, you will be able to walk out of this. Ignora did not respond anymore, so Maou went to room 203. On room 203, the sign, Maou Pte Ltd, was hung there. Emi and Chiho were around, Maou and Emi discussed some things about the operations of the store, and as they discussed, they started arguing because of a difference in opinion, Chiho helped to brew tea for them as she was listening, thinking that an arguing Maou and Emi was what matched her impressions of them, but she still found an excuse to leave. Maou quickly followed her and Chiho said that Emerada lost her temper at her, blaming me for not watching you properly and still allowed Emi to form a connection with you in the end, but I was working hard for all of you and the Sephirah children, yeah.

Flashback to after Maou was stabbed by Emi, Chiho realised that Maou did not die, Emi said that with the current situation, how can I use Alas=Ramus to kill her father, this is for the sake of getting rid of the “Demon King” who everyone fears, and it is a method which Alsiel can accept. The landlady and Amane investigated this before, Kamael, who was stabbed had completely lost the immortality factor, Maou will revert to human now. He was originally a demon who could live for a few thousand years, letting him turn into a human who can only live for tens of years, it was almost equal to a death sentence, and he does not have any fighting ability either. As Emi spoke, she gestured for Chiho to come over, saying that this “person” is who you like the most, someone you love so deeply that you are willing to save a faraway land because of him. And Chiho, with things as they are now, there is no need to think about me and Alas=Ramus, you will not be stopped by this kind of thing. Of course, about Alas=Ramus, I will still want him to responsible for her until the end, but do not use this as an excuse, just treat as one of the factors for making the decision. After saying this, she left.

Maou said, hey Chi-chan, ah no Chiho, even though many things have happened, I can finally reply you. Even though I am not a demon now, even though I can only use the power of a human man to protect you, if you this is fine as well…… I, am not that brave, I started to make an empty show of strength since a long time ago, a coward who is always lying. So…… Chiho said, the person I like is not only a demon, but also a human, only having two names Satan and Maou Sadao, the best person in this world. Maou said that since she said this much, then I can only fulfil the other agreement, this is the last reward I am giving you as Demon King. Then he kissed her.

Back to the current timeline at the apartment, Chiho was it was fine, because at that time, you only had me in your eyes, you chose me as your partner, so I want to be your number one. I will not give this position of number one to anyone, but I do not wish to snatch Alas=Ramus’ Papa away, her mother is the Hero and her Papa is you, I will not compromise on this as well, since we have worked so hard after all, it is fine to be a little selfish/stubborn. Then the current structure of Maou’s company was introduced. Maou is the boss, Emi is the major shareholder, shop manager is Akiko, external observer Kawada, part timers Kaori and Yoshiya, Kisaki and Sariel are regular customers. Chiho would occasionally be the mediator in the meetings between Maou and Emi, and would help out occasionally, cooking for them occasionally. Chiho said I hope that you, Yusa-san and everything can be happy together, and always be selfish, therefore Emerada will also accept it sooner or later. Currently, Emerada is periodically giving Emi a Hero annuity from the national treasury, using the excuse of exchanging currency to come over to play a few times per year. Emi forced Maou to open the company, saying that she already said in vol 1 that he will live on Earth his whole life, there is no future for you working part-time in MgRonalds, you have to marry in future, where are you supposed to save money? Therefore, she used the money Emerada gave her to invest and open the company.

Then Chiho suddenly said, even though I have never thoroughly confirmed this before, and this should not be said by me, but Yusa-san likes you, you know (in the current time). Maou was shocked, but having dated Chiho for three years, he was more or less more sensitive about the matters between guys and girls, thinking about the day he was kissed by Emi. Chiho watched this, and said with things as they are now, I cannot imagine the image of Yusa-san living happily with a man I do not know, you family of tree will definitely be happy. Maou said, are you okay with this. Chiho said she was completely fine, but even if I say this, only Utsushihara who can read minds can believe me. But I think I should still lay things out clearly, because you are Demon King-sama who is being depended on by others and working hard. In response, I will not give anyway the number one (first wife) position, as long as you can guarantee this, you can be like a Demon King, marrying as many wives you want. But Maou said that he gathered his determination and made his choice, and just having her was enough to fill up his time and use up his money, how can I consider other people. Chiho said that he should still consider, he is still Alas=Ramus’ guardian and she will be studying in Japan. Maou said, then he could only work hard.

As they chatted, Maou suddenly received a message, saying that his card did not have any money. What he spent on was the costs of the business, child-rearing fees, daily necessities and so on. Chiho asked if he should plan better when spending money, Maou said, are you asking me to delay the child-rearing fees! At this moment, Ashiya entered and suggested instalments like in volume 1. Once again, Maou said that he did not like to have debts. At this moment, Ashiya is already the leader of the demons staying in Ente Isla, and even replaced the Unifying Azure Emperor in ruling the whole of Afsahan, but he still addressed Maou as Demon King. Ashiya said, with a financial mentality like you, how are you supposed to save money. Sasaki-san is about to graduate, do you have a plan.

Then Emi heard them argue and came out to take a look. Currently she is addressing Maou as Sadao.

Then everyone came out one by one to see what was going on. Emi is in Room 203.

Alas=Ramus is in Room 101, Lucifer and Suzuno are in Room 201

Chiho saw that everyone was staying at one apartment like she wished and smiled, feeling very fortunate. Then she called out to Maou, saying Sadao-san, it’s fine, I will earn money as well. Maou was rebuked by everyone once again, saying that he could not depend on Chiho. Maou was in a very pathetic state, then Akiko called and said there was some problem in the store, and he ran away under everyone’s rebukes, getting onto Dullahan II (by the way, the name Magurobatogou was given by Alas=Ramus) and left. Chiho watched his back, mumbling to herself “Do your best. Everyone is here and waiting for you to return. Be careful on your way there. For the sake of everyone’s happiness. Our, hardworking Demon King-sama.”

THE END. Then the final group picture illustration

[iwhumpyou]

How about villain and hero become eachother's caretaker bc both had suffered whumps in the past? Childhood bullying and mental+physically tortured as ex-prisoner (the villain); had to watch their parents died horribly from criminal attack and PTSD after witnessing too many warcrime victims (the hero). So, when they both start living together and one of them suddenly having nightmares/panic attacks, they went to comfort them until they calmed enough: lots of reassuring words + loving hugs!

Yes, I love it when they both realize that the other person also has nightmares/panic attacks, and they find that small bit of common ground!

I’m not really one for reassuring words and loving hugs (I love comfort, but emotionally traumatizing comfort) but this is on similar lines - I hope you enjoy!

Masterlist.  Mission.  (Takes place at unspecified point after current timeline.)

~#~#~#~#~#~

There is someone in the kitchen when she limps in.  She hesitates in the doorway, eyeing the cascade of dark curls over a shirt almost slipping off one shoulder.

“Tea?” Nastya asks, without turning from the pot of water.

Niyati takes a seat at the table, and watches Nastya work.

The gurgle of water boiling is soothing, and the scent of green tea fills the room as the tea steeps. Grass and lemon replace the smell of blood and sand and dust, and the clink of spoons against ceramic is louder than remembered gunshots.

“Couldn’t sleep, krasotka?” Nastya asks when she brings over two cups of tea.  Niyati eyes both, but takes the one that Nastya offers. She’s too tired for this. 

“No,” she says simply. Nastya doesn’t press.  The Predators have gotten in and out of several scrapes and her nightmares have no shortage of fodder.  But what they just escaped from, and where they’re heading – it’s no surprise that the sun and sands featured heavily in her dreams.

“You?” she asks, because Nastya loves to command every room she’s in, to invade thoroughly and make it her own, but that’s not why she’s awake at three in the morning, brewing tea where no one can see her.

Nastya takes a sip of tea.  Sitting here, in her small kitchen, wearing a shirt two sizes too large, her hair curling around her head and her eyes surrounded by dark circles – she looks both quieter than the terrifying businesswoman Niyati knows, and far more dangerous.

When she speaks, though, her voice is low and rasping.  “I dreamed of Kazarin.”

Niyati stays silent and merely watches her.

“It is a beautiful place,” Nastya smiles, looking at something she cannot see, “You would love it. Mountains and icy waterfalls and thick forests – stunning in all seasons.  Beautiful, and silent.  Untouched by the rest of the world.”

Niyati lets the mug warm her fingers.

“There’s a prison built into the side of one of the tallest mountains,” Nastya says, and the smile slips off her face, “One road up and down – a small thing, barely wide enough for a car.  In the depths of winter, it freezes over.  In the spring thaws, it becomes a river.  There is no other way to reach the prison – too narrow for helicopters, too steep to climb.  Perfectly defensible.”

Niyati stares at her tea.

“Well, too steep to climb, if you don’t have the proper motivation,” Nastya says, a touch of something in her tone.

“I assume you were properly motivated,” Niyati says, and looks up.

Nastya is smiling at her. “One day, I’ll take you to Kazarin,” she says, and Niyati isn’t sure if the words are a threat or a promise.  “It is stunning.  And all the more so when you’re not running for your life.”

Her words are low, and charming, and send a shiver down Niyati’s spine, like they always do.  But there is something haunted in her eyes, a darkness that comes from fear, and Niyati remembers crying in the corner of a dusty room, sand and heat and blood and pain.

It’s an experience she would wish on only a few people.  And Nastya is not one of them, for all that they’re not on the same side.

Niyati, in a fit of daring, reaches across the table and grips Nastya’s hand, her fingers sliding to curl around the other woman’s.

Nastya looks at their hands, and then up, surprised.

“One day,” Niyati says, holding her gaze, “We’ll go to Kazarin.  And I’ll see its beauty for myself.”

[raendown]

Pairing: None Word count: 4702 Chapter: 4/4 Rated: T+ Summary: Months after the village is built Izuna is near his breaking point. Peace is nice, don’t get him wrong, but he could do without the pale shadow that follows behind him everywhere he goes. All he wants is to understand. What the hell is Tobirama’s obsession with watching him?

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Chapter 4

Stumping in to his friend’s home the next day, the first thing Madara does is sweep the building with his senses, breathing a sigh of relief to find no other signatures smoldering away in some hidden corner. Hashirama has already promised that both Mito and Tobirama will be busy with other engagements tonight but Madara knows as much as the next person how quickly plans can change.

Following the voice that calls to him from down the hall brings him in to the kitchen where he finds Hashirama with his hair pulled back and a frilly green apron tied around his front. It’s an incredibly domestic sight that drives an unexpected sliver through Madara heart. Not that he yearns for this man in any way; he won’t deny that Hashirama is attractive, any blind idiot can see that, but the giant stump is his best friend and Madara has never desired anything more from him. Rather the pang in his heart is a quiet wanting for something like this of his own. Now that he’s achieved the peace he always dreamed of he realizes more and more with every passing day that there still remains one glaring emptiness in his life. He’s lonely.

That’s not what he’s come here for, though. Nor are the questions in his mind the entire reason he’s come either but they are the foremost issue pressing at him and much more important than his desire to find a life partner.

“Just in time!” Hashirama chirps. “Could you set the table please? I forgot to before I started cooking and I don’t want the sauce to burn if I step away from it.”

“Hmph. What a great host, making me work for my dinner.” Even as he grumbles Madara moves to pull bowls and cups out of the cupboard. His eyes fall on the kettle steaming away and he quickly swaps the juice cups for teacups. Green tea with dinner sounds amazing after working himself in to several headaches with paperwork all afternoon, trying to coordinate several different projects while people swan in and out of his office indiscriminately.

“I’m just a little turned around tonight. When Mito told me that she was going to dinner with her friend in the Akimichi clan I thought ‘that’s alright, I’ll have dinner with Tobi’. But then Tobi said he was doing some sort of inspection? I think? He’s staying late at the office anyway and I didn’t want to be lonely so I thought this would be the perfect time to have a nice dinner with you!” As he chatters away he continues chopping vegetables and stirring in his pan, barely even seeming to draw breath. “Then this morning Mito said that her dinner was cancelled since her friend I think picked up a cold or something and that made me worry; you and her don’t really get along that well. So here I am trying to run around and figure out something else to cook that would be fast so we could all eat then you and I could go off on our own somewhere but then she got called over to have dinner with a different friend and I’m just–”

Madara cuts him off before the flood of words can drown them both. “Flustered, yeah, I can see that.” His companion sends him a painfully grateful look.

“You’re always so understanding, my friend.”

“Ugh.”

Doing his best to ignore the fond smile the other man directs at him, Madara sets the dishes out and retrieves the kettle only moments after it boils, transferring the water in to a teapot to properly brew them a batch of green tea. Then he sits himself at the table with a sigh and decides that subtlety is for people worried about offending others.

“Can I ask you about your brother?”

Hashirama's smile turns to curiosity. “Tobirama?”

“No, the other brother that you’ve hidden for years. I’ve uncovered your secret.” When his friend only continues to stare at him with a blank face Madara rolls his eyes. Sarcasm is wasted on this idiot. “Yes Tobirama. What is his deal?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“What is his deal? What’s his problem? Did you know that he’s been stalking Izuna around the village since we all moved in here?”

Judging by the look on Hashirama's face he hadn’t known that. Something pops in the pan behind him but the tension between his shoulders is painfully visible as he turns around, voice drifting back across the kitchen with an undertone of caution.

“Can you give me a little more detail?”

“More than you want, probably. I can’t believe you haven’t noticed this! Every time my brother’s in the tower yours is right there up his ass, staring at him from across the room, standing so close they’re practically breathing the same air. And when he’s not in the tower it’s even worse! Tobirama follows him all around the village like he thinks he’s being sneaky – except he doesn’t even bother to conceal his presence! That’s probably the biggest insult of the whole affair!”

As he listens Hashirama removes their dinner from the stove with slow movements. In a strangely quiet voice he asks, “How long did you say that this had been going on?”  

“From the day we all got here, as I understand it. I don’t remember if he was doing anything funny the few times we saw him before the migration, neither of us thought to pay any particular attention to him, but I know for sure he’s been stalking Izuna for months now.” Madara scowls. “For the most part Izu’s just confused. Irritated. He’s gotten pretty riled up a few times and said something about beating some sense in to his little shadow but an incident like that could be detrimental to clan relations right now.”

“Has Tobi seemed angry at all?” Hashirama's expression says that he already knows the answer but needs to ask the question anyway.

“No. Well, not at Izuna. He looks really pissed at whoever gets close to my brother and that’s probably the weirdest part. It’s started a few different rumors but Izuna’s convinced that it means Tobirama wants to kill him still and that he wants to do it himself.” As much as Madara can follow the sketchy logic behind that idea he still can’t make himself believe it.

Which is why he feels a very brief flash of vindication when Hashirama shakes his head to deny the half-assed theory. It’s always nice to be right, especially as an older sibling. The flash is very short-lived, however, in the face of how deeply troubled his best friend looks with every word he takes in.

“You’ve noticed some things that I haven’t it seems. I-…I should have been paying more attention. Especially with-” The words cut themselves off for the man to let out a morose sigh.

“Go on?”

“If he doesn’t seem angry then how would you say he does look?”  

“Uh?” Madara scratches the back of his head, trying to picture a face in his mind that he’s honestly never concentrated very hard on. “If I had to put a name to it? Sad. He doesn’t look violent or yearning or angry, he just looks, I don’t know, resigned I suppose.”

As though a great weight has just fallen upon his shoulders Hashirama closes his eyes and trembles. “Oh Tobi…”

“There’s something we’ve been missing about this, isn’t there?”

For a long time there is no answer. In silence Hashirama plates their dinner, his eyes far away from the food he carries over to the table. Only the fact that such a mood is incredibly unusual for him holds Madara's tongue until finally he watches the man fade back in to reality looking somehow even sadder than before. Wetness gathers and clings to his eyelashes, so different from the way he is normally given to massive crocodile tears streaming freely down his cheeks.

When he speaks again it is soft and solemn. His words are heavy with a pain that Madara both can and can’t understand, the pain of almost in a way he’s never quite experienced, a pain borne in the name of another you cannot help.

“During the final battle between the Uchiha and the Senju, I’m sure you remember what stopped the fighting.”

“The apparition,” Madara breathes. He can hardly believe that he’s forgotten.

“It was no apparition.” Hashirama drops his gaze to the chopsticks before him, fiddling at the ends without picking them up. “That really was my Tobi. Older but the same. He- it was- it’s hard to explain. You know how smart he is and how he likes to research seals. Apparently years from now he will – did? – invent a seal allowing him to travel back in time and he used it to…to…”

Once more the words stop coming but this time Madara understands as he listens to Hashirama's voice crack and break on a muffled sob.

“Take your time,” he murmurs. He jolts when Hashirama finally meets his eyes, stomach clenching as he takes in the pain and helpless despair staring back at him. He has seen that look before.  

“He travelled back in time to kill himself.”

“What!?” Madara sways in his seat with disbelief.

Hashirama brings his hands in close to wring them together. “It’s the truth! And he said the most awful things! Madara, he saved Izuna’s life that day. He – the one from the future – he said something about killing Izuna and that it ‘broke the world’. Said that he would rather kill himself so that I could keep my dream!”

So many different emotions and thoughts and reactions all clash together in Madara's chest he has to clamp one hand over his stomach for fear that it all might come spilling out over the table with shock. It’s too much to take in at once. He remembers that they’d had their speculations, of course, over what had really been going on that day. Yet he also remembers that it had seemed so unimportant in the face of peace, of lifelong dreams coming true, securing the future for his clan and the only brother left at his side.

“Let me see if I’ve got this right,” he mumbles. “There were two Tobirama because one was him from the future. He was trying to kill himself in the past.”

“Yes! That’s why he disappeared! Or that’s what Tobi says, anyway.”

“Right. And he was trying to kill himself because…he didn’t want…to kill Izuna? But he didn’t kill Izuna.” Madara scrunches his face with confusion, not entirely following. He distinctly remembers seeing his brother this morning and the man was most certainly not dead.

“No I know that. That’s the point. I told you it’s complicated!”

When all he does is cock his head to one side and frown Hashirama sighs and wrings his hands tighter.

“In the life that the older Tobirama lived he did kill Izuna in that battle. But because of that Izuna’s death somehow kicked off a different set of events that led to this village failing, I think. The destruction of my dream. So he came back in time to stop himself from killing Izuna…by killing himself instead. For me.” Another sob cracks his voice and Hashirama closes his eyes.

Madara can understand why. The reality of what he hasn’t known comes crashing down over his head like a mountain crumbling to bury him underneath the hurts he’s had no idea his friend is carrying around. It’s hard to decide what to freak out about first. Should he give in to the shadow of panic that Izuna dies in another world, would have in this one if not for the future’s intervention? Or should he close his eyes in solemn solidarity with the idea of having another love you so much they will damn themselves to lift you in to the light? Either way he has a very strong urge to go home and hug his brother tightly.

Although he isn’t sure he could bear to explain why at the moment.

“So he’s...what? Following Izu around and trying to find a way to apologize? Atone?” Guilt touches him for the way Hashirama flinches at his words but he needs to know as much as he can and this is a conversation he doesn’t wish to put his friend through a second time.

“No, I don’t think so.” Hashirama frowns. “I should have been paying more attention. He seemed to be doing so much better since we came here.”

“Well then what do you think he’s up to? There has to be some kind of reason he’s stalking my brother and I get that it’s probably connected to what happened but I can’t see exactly how.”

“If I know my brother then…then I think he’s trying to protect Izuna. He was so worried that something might still happen, convinced that if Izuna died in any way it would bring everything we’ve built crashing down. It would be so like him to take it upon himself to make sure that doesn’t happen. Oh, my Tobi…”

As Hashirama crumples in his seat Madara fights through the ever-increasing levels of shock keeping him rigid where he sits, dragging himself up out of the fog through sheer force of will to walk around the table and awkwardly pat his friend on the back. Comfort has never been a great skill of his. Trying to do it while he is still reeling himself leaves him feeling more awkward than ever but at least Hashirama seems to appreciate his graceless efforts. After taking a few deep breaths to collect himself the man turns to look up at him with shining grateful eyes that immediately send Madara scurrying back to his side of the table and practically throwing himself in to the chair as though it might shield him from any possibility of an unwarranted hug.

“Protecting him, that’s unexpected,” Madara admits once he is settled. “I think I might have jokingly suggested that but I would never have believed he was really playing guard dog.”

“My brother is not a guard dog!”

“He’s appointed himself as one,” he corrects, perhaps a bit harshly.

“Ah. Yeah. I suppose you’re right. He seemed to be doing so much better since we came to the village. And he was talking to me so well before, confiding. I never would have thought he’d slid back this far.” Hashirama shakes his head.

Loathe as Madara is to be the one pointing it out, he has to ask. “Are you sure he was confiding in you? Or was he just putting you off because he didn’t want you to carry his burdens?”

The widening of Hashirama's eyes tears at his heart and he is more than happy to let the conversation taper off for a short while, both of them eating in silence. He regrets starting their night off with such a terrible subject, mentally kicking himself for his lack of patience, making it even more of a relief when his friend eventually begins to haltingly murmur about something that happened at the tower that afternoon.

He does his best to be a better friend for the rest of their visit. By the time he goes home a couple of hours after dinner Hashirama has stopped looking as though he might burst in to tears at a moment’s notice, so there is that. Tobirama is probably in for a nasty surprise of a conversation when his brother catches up with him and yet Madara can’t bring himself to feel guilty for that. If the man truly is so caught up in his obsession it will probably do him some good to have the one he trusts most knock some sense in to that spiky head of his.

Walking home in the dark, Madara closes his eyes to let his feet continue on the path they know by heart while he stretches his senses out, picking through the confusing mass of signatures as best he can until he finds the one that burns the brightest in his eyes. It comes as no surprise to find Izuna waiting for him at home. Since he knows that his brother is probably waiting impatiently for the answers they’ve been wanting so badly he picks up his pace and hurries along, nodding to the voices that murmur greetings without stopping to chat as Hashirama has been encouraging him to do lately.

Building a rapport with their citizens can wait. This is a more immediate issue.

Izuna springs off the couch as soon as the front door opens, immediately freezing and sliding back down on to the cushions in an effort to seem as though he is only changing positions. Madara hopes he remembers to tease the idiot for that later.

“So how was dinner?” his brother murmurs with affected nonchalance.

“He knew the reason, to answer the question you really wanted to ask.”

Watching his younger sibling literally trip over his own feet trying to lunge off the couch a second time is just the sort of thing that Madara needs to lift his own mood after spending all evening trying to repair someone else’s. Izuna scowls and grumbles in to the tatami mats, crawling across to roll himself under the kotatsu blanket instead and glare until Madara joins him, wheezing with his efforts to contain the barks of laughter trying to spill out.

Amusement can only last so long in the face of such serious news, however. Only a minute or so after he sits down and tucks himself in Madara is talking a deep breath to sober himself again as he tries to sort through everything he’s learned and figure out how to pass it on.

Izuna listens with the sort of serious expression he normally reserves for war meetings and battlefields, brows drawn towards each other in a deep frown that wrinkles the sides of his mouth as well. Though it isn’t exactly surprising that he is able to keep himself from interrupting his silence is almost creepy considering how vocal he’s been about this entire affair since it started. All the frantic energy that he’s clearly been holding inside as he waits at home draining away slowly, bit by bit, gradually replaced by a different sort of tension with everything that Madara has to say. When the tale is over he crawls around the table to lean against his brother’s side.

“Well,” he murmurs, “at least he’s not secretly in love with me.”

“That’s all you have to say!?” Madara squawks.

“Honestly I don’t know what to say to any of that. Somehow the fate of this village rests of my survival? That’s a little strange to think about even if I can sort of imagine why.”

Brought up short, Madara looks down at the head nuzzling in to his shoulder. “You can?”

“Yeah, easily. If you lost me can you really say that you wouldn’t go a little ape shit?” Izuna looks up at him and waits until he concedes with a wry nod then adds, “Now imagine if you were somehow talked in to making peace with the man who killed me.”

The very thought makes him shudder. It’s impossible to imagine a world where he could allow himself to be somehow tricked in an action so terrible – and yet he realizes with a jolt that this is exactly what they have asked of both their clans, of every clan who agrees to move here and call themselves a shinobi of Konohagakure. All that differentiates himself from so many others is the penance he would pay for the powers gifted to him by the Sharingan. Izuna is right; the death of his most precious person would drive him over the brink of madness. Perhaps not right away but the descent would be inevitable from that moment and the process made faster if he were forced to interact with the one who took so much from him.

“So how do you want to handle this?” Madara asks, shaking away the what-ifs he hopes he never has to deal with.

“First thing I think I need to do is go scream in his stupid face. What the hell is he thinking? I mean this whole thing is crazy but if what he did to – what did you call it? – break the world was to kill me in that battle then when his older self came back through time to attempt sui-murder-cide then wouldn’t that have, like, changed the course of events right then? Things should be fine now. I think.” Scrunching up his brow, Izuna’s eyes fall to one side as he tries to think his way through what he’s just said.

Having had a few more hours to wrap his head around all these strange concepts gives Madara the confidence to nod that his sibling has spoken correctly. “That’s how I understand it.”

“Right, so then everything should be fine now. No need to panic. Definitely no need to be following me around like some overenthusiastic babysitter.”

“Be gentle. We both know that I’m the one who’ll have to listen to Hashirama if you aren’t.”

“No promises.” Izuna sits up straight with a sharp look in his eyes.

Madara rolls his own. “At least wait until tomorrow then. He’s probably going to have his hands full with his own brother tonight and I doubt either of us want to be around for that flood of tears.”

Pausing for both of them to shudder, Izuna leans over to rest against his shoulder again.

“Good point,” he admits. “I suppose it can wait until tomorrow. He’s always right there when I get in to the tower so kami knows he probably comes looking for me in the mornings even before I think to check whether he’s around. The second I find him, though, he’s getting the third degree.”

“If you think you can pin him down long enough to listen then more power to you,” Madara scoffs.

As it turns out, the task is both easier and harder than either of them expect. For once in his life Tobirama comes when he’s called, stepping in to the office when Izuna hails him the next morning and looking entirely unperturbed to be shut in to a room with two determined looking Uchiha. Now that he knows to look for the signs Madara notices the man even relaxing a small bit. If not for what he’s learned recently he might never guess that relief is from seeing Izuna locked away safe from the rest of the world.

When the focus of his obsession demands to be left alone Tobirama refuses him flat out with no hesitation, not even a hint of surprise. Clearly there had indeed been another conversation the night before.

“I can handle myself,” Izuna groans after the two of them have gone in circles of demand and refusal several times.

“Your skill indeed is a close match to my own but this is not something I am willing to chance.”

“For fuck’s sake, why?”

Tobirama’s answer brings silence like the cutting edge of a blade.

“Your survival is essential to the survival of my brother’s dream and I will do whatever I have to in order to protect that. If that means I must give my life in place of yours then so be it.” For such profound words he speaks with the lightness of a man who has spent hours considering them. The ease of total belief in a chosen path.

In the wake of his declaration neither of the Uchiha siblings are able to find words for quite some time. Tobirama, strangely, waits contentedly as they try to find their bearings. Whether because he feels better here where he can keep an eye on the one he so desperately needs to protect or simply because he wants to get this over with now so no one will track him down again later, all he does is fold his arms and wait with the air of a man not particularly in a hurry to be anywhere else. Which is ridiculous. He probably has more to do than either of them put together. How he manages to complete his duties around all the stalking is just yet another mystery.

After several minutes have passed Izuna is the first to recover, visibly bracing himself to speak.

“For your brother, huh? I guess I can understand that motivation. I don’t like it, still think you’re insane and need some help, but I can understand. Look, if you’re going to follow me around like a creep anyway at least just come sit in the room with me or whatever.”

“What!?” Madara is jolted back in to motion with indignation. “You’re just going to let him keep stalking you!?”

“He’s going to do it anyway! At least if he stops pretending to be sneaky about it, I don’t know, it would just lower the creepy factor for me.” Izuna shrugs.

Tobirama’s head falls to one side as he contemplates the offer, a little dubious, but in the end all he does is nod and turn to leave without another word. He has an obsession but he also has things to do and when they’re all piled on top of each other here in the tower it’s only too easy for him to monitor Izuna’s chakra for any signs of distress or danger. Considering his sensitivity it would not be outside the bounds of his ability to keep track of every chakra signature that enters and leaves the tower to watch for possible threats.

“Are you insane?” Madara snaps the moment the door is closed, uncaring whether or not Tobirama can still hear them through the wood. His sibling rubs at the space between his brows with a long suffering expression.

“Maybe, who knows? I meant it when I said I could sort of understand his motivation but…think about it. Rather than following behind all the time or hiding in the shadows, if he’s there in the room then it would all feel a lot more normal.” The hand falls for his eyes to linger on the doorway. “And if he’s there in the room then maybe we can show him that I really can handle myself. There’s nothing for him to worry about. Or maybe convince him to get help or some shit.”

The two of them share a look. Madara holds the other’s eyes for as long as he can but in the end he is forced to concede to this as well. It isn’t like he has any better plans himself.

Eventually Izuna wanders off back to his own office as well, leaving Madara alone to stand by the window and look out over the buildings around them without truly seeing anything. All he sees is the sky, blue and never-ending, a freedom he might never have been able to admire again if not for the last piece of his family left in this world. Izuna isn’t the only one who can see merit in Tobirama’s motivations, hard as that is to admit.

Something dark and heavy lies faint on the edge of the horizon, a storm that looks to be coming their way. As he examines the shape of it Madara can’t help his inner Hashirama from comparing it to the climate hanging over the near future. Life promises to be very strange for a while, stranger even than it has been for the last few months, and it chafes that none of them can predict what the outcome will be. He knows as well as any farmer that a storm does not have to be a bad thing. Crops need the rain, summer heat needs to be broken, assassination targets need to be driven off the road in to vulnerable places like roadside inns. Many things might follow a storm.

He can only hope that when the rains pass the sun will come again for all of them. Strangely, against everything he has been raised to believe, he finds himself hoping the same for Tobirama.