#only issue is I have ink as no face and dream as the witch and if palette is sin I’m just gonna have to ignore that dream and ink are his

[shaykai]

UTMV but it’s Spirited Away scribbles

[autisticarachnid]

I'd die to be where you are, I tried to be where you are (HPHM oneshot)

TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDE ATTEMPT, self harm, past character death, references to said character death, mentions of eating disorders

“Every night I dream you're still here

The ghost by my side, so perfectly clear

When I awake, you'll disappear

Back to the shadows

With all I hold, dear

With all I hold, dear

I dream you're still here (I dream you're still here)

I dream you're still here”

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

Hogwarts, November 1989. Approx 4 days after Rowan Khanna’s death.

The castle just wasn’t the same anymore. Salem, ever the optimist, had never thought anything like this would, could, happen. Of course, Salem wasn’t blind to the horrors of the world- it was just that, deep down, they refused to believe anything tragic would ever truly happen to them. 

They were wrong.

Classes were still suspended. Dumbledore had announced classes would resume the next week, but students would only have half of their schedule until the week after when classes would return full force. None of the students looked at all ready to study again, and none of the teachers looked ready to teach again. Even some of the more dedicated fifth and seventh years had stopped studying for their exams in the aftermath.

And of course, all eyes were now on Salem. Everyone in the school knew- knew of their friendship with Rowan, how close the two had been, how devastated Salem must be. Of course, no one even knew the half of it- how could they? Salem never let on half of what went through their brain to anyone, and so much of their struggles would always go unnoticed.

Some of their friends had noticed how much Salem had changed, though. It didn’t take much to realize there must’ve been a lot going through Salem’s head.

The threats had been bad enough. The fight with Charlie had been icing on the cake. And Rowan’s death had been the final nail in the coffin. Salem was cracking.

The sun had already set by the time Salem was done. They glanced at the potion in front of them, the leftover ingredients still scattered on the floor of the Artefact room. Salem was never amazing at potions- it wasn’t their worst subject, but Snape’s avid hatred of them prevented Salem from enjoying the class enough to ever get much out of it. Still, Salem poured the potion into a vial and capped it, tucking it carefully under their robes. There was still a bit left, so they took the cauldron and stuffed it in a dark corner, away from sight. They’d come back for it later if this one didn’t work.

It was almost lights out by time Salem left the Artefact room. Dinner was already over, as they’d opted out of it for the night. Salem was used to the hunger by now, considering they’d been skipping meals unintentionally for years now. Most kids were already in their dorms, or just straggling behind. When Salem ducked out of the Artefact room, they brushed their now dark hair into their face and walked quickly, hoping to avoid any cries of sympathy on their way.

They managed to get to their common room without issue, but had to run to avoid a second year who had reached to grab their arm on the way to their dorm. Tonks and Chiara were already in bed- Chiara was reading, her wand lit with lumos in the dim room; Tonks was writing something in a notebook, dipping her quill furiously to get more ink. Both their heads lifted as Salem walked in, with matching worried looks plastered on their faces. Still, neither witch said anything- they both knew the pain was still raw, and that Salem had been asked “Are you okay?” five dozen times already.

Rowan’s bed was empty, made as neatly as it had been left the last morning Rowan slept there. The curtains had been drawn over the bed, to shield it from sight, as if it was some ghastly reminder that it’s occupant was no longer there. It was, in a way- a study book still laying on the pillow, a letter and quill laying next to it, all little reminders of her. Salem could hardly stand to look at it, wishing desperately that someone, somehow, could just make it disappear- as if a gaping hole where a bed used to be would help any, Salem would tell themselves whenever they had found their mind drifting to the thought. 

Salem shed their school robes, pulling on a sweatshirt from third year that was worn and had three different little holes in it. It was old, but it was comfortable and the fabric felt nice against their skin, and the others didn’t question it. The potion Salem had made stayed tucked in their robes, and Salem tucked a book under their pillow for later entertainment and a stim ball to keep themselves awake.

“Goodnight, Salem.” Chiara spoke, her voice quiet but clear in the silent room. Salem just nodded in response as Chiara extinguished her light and tucked herself in. Tonks put her notebook to the side as well- it seemed both witches had only stayed up to ensure Salem got back to the dorm. Tonks also said goodnight, a very clear note of melancholy present, one Salem chose to ignore.

With that, all the lights but Salem’s lamp were off, and the room was cast in a low light, with just enough warmth from the lamp to leave Salem comfortable. They pulled out their book and began to read under the low lamp light, fingers occupied with the stim ball, waiting until the soft sound of Tonks’s snoring filled the room.

Sure enough, a half hour passed before the snoring could be heard. Chiara groaned and tossed onto her side- she was still awake, Salem noted.

Another hour went by. Chiara fell asleep for a few minutes before waking up, a bit groggy and still very tired.

Another hour. Chiara finally fell asleep. A distant bell marked midnight, briefly catching Salem’s attention.

Another hour. Silence had long since fallen on the castle. Salem tried not to cry as they noticed how empty and haunting Rowan’s bed was.

Another hour. Salem kept on reading.

Another hour, and another, and soon it was nearly 4 am. Salem closed their book, a large first edition Care of Magical Creatures volume by Newt Scamander himself. They sighed and finally unsheathed the vial from their robes, holding it in the lamp light. It was a shade of green, bubbles popping at the top into little skulls. Salem bit their lip and took off the cork.

That night in the forest began to replay in Salem’s head. Nighttime was even more of a nightmare now, as all that came with the darkness were nightmares and reminders. Salem could still hear the coarseness of Rakepick’s voice, the volume of her shout, their own scream of anguish as green light filled the grove. Rowan’s body had laid there, cold and frozen in place, and Salem had to be dragged away, screaming and wailing at the top of their lungs. It was Salem’s visceral wailing that had alerted the professors and caused them to come running, it was Salem’s visceral wailing that woke a number of students at a quarter to midnight as Rowan’s death was revealed. They hadn’t slept at all that night.

The next day had been even worse. Salem had hardly stopped crying, their throat dry and cracked from the sheer amount of screaming. They’d hardly had a voice enough to talk to anyone, but they were swarmed with questions from the moment the castle woke. The memorial was held a little after noon. Their friends had all stood with devastated, hollow expressions, each clearly begging to check up on Salem, who had ducked into the Artefact room at the first opportunity once the memorial had ended. Their powers weren’t working now, so they didn’t have an option to disguise and hide. They had tucked themselves away in the corner, tears streaming down their face as they bit their lip to keep from wailing.

Salem had stayed there the rest of the day, only leaving after nearly all the lights were off, uncaring of whether or not they’d get in trouble.

The second day, Salem hadn’t left their dorm. Classes had been canceled and the castle left in a stunned silence. Many of their friends had walked past the common room, others by their dorm door, but Salem didn’t come out. They spent most of the day either sleeping or sobbing. Chiara had come in a little after noon with a plate of food, but Salem dug underneath their covers and Chiara eventually gave up.

The third day, Salem had finally left their dorm only to be quickly swamped with worried questions by students. Their friends had sat with them at breakfast, forming a protective barrier, not saying anything- but each of them wore an incredibly worried expression that bore holes in Salem. They’d tried to spend the day in the library, but after getting pulled aside enough times by worried peers, fled to their dorm room instead and didn’t even go back out for dinner. 

And the fourth day, Salem could hardly take a step without feeling a hundred eyes concentrated on them. People either stared at them with torn, pitying expressions, or stared at Salem’s once bright hair that now fell limp, a dusty shade of dark brown. Salem mostly stayed on the Reserve that day, away from everyone. The animals didn’t ask them anything, after all. They had returned for lunch, attempting to brave the crowds to ease the growing hunger pains in their abdomen, but after a mere ten minutes of pitying stares, Salem took their food to the library instead. Usually Madam Pince would’ve had a fit, but the librarian allowed it out of pity for the bereaved teen. Salem had sat in a back corner, quiet as a mouse, and that’s when they’d absentmindedly come across the potion. 

Throughout the fourth day, everything from the past few weeks had been on a loop in their head. The premonition, the fuss around the escapee, the fight with Charlie, the letter. “Have we ever been safe with all the danger Salem brings around?” Clearly not.

Salem held the vial tightly, staring into it. They hadn’t really been thinking as they had brewed the potion, their mind more a blank, contrite slate, but they’d ended up with it just the same. It looked a shade off- Penny would know how to brew it perfectly, their mind spoke- but they didn’t care. It was close enough. 

Salem took a slight sniff of it- it was a acrid combination of death and rot, and Salem cringed at the smell. They shuddered at the thought of the taste, and held it up again. They stared deeply at it for a few minutes, thoughts swarming in their head.

Finally, Salem held the potion to their lips. This is it, they thought, and tilted it to let it slide down their throat, burning it all the way down. Salem shuddered and fell back onto their bed, staring up at the ceiling. They held a hand up, turned onto their side and closed their eyes.

~~~~~

Chiara was the first to wake up, and she quickly noticed an odd smell. Her sense of smell had always been enhanced- both a blessing and a cursed side effect of her lycanthropy- and it took her a minute to somewhat identify the smell. She glanced over at Tonks, who was still asleep, then to Salem, who was unusually still.

Chiara tossed her blanket to the side and strided across the room, glancing at Salem. She instantly noticed Salem was not moving much- an odd thing, considering they practically danced in their sleep every night. Chiara stepped back a bit, thinking, and tugged on Tonks’s bedsheets.

“Tonks. Tonks! Wake up.” Chiara snapped, pulling on Tonks’s pajama sleeve until the metamorphmagus finally stirred. The usually pink-haired metamorphmagus, now donning sad mouse brown hair, blinked a few times before finally meeting Chiara’s eyes.

“What?”

“Look at Salem for me, would you?” Chiara replied, glancing back at Salem’s bed. Tonks did as asked and stared.

“What am I supposed to be seeing?”

Chiara paused for a moment. “Isn’t Salem a tad too still?”

Tonks paused at that, taking a long pause to stare at Salem. Her feet made contact with the dorm floor and she reached a hand out, pressing against Salem’s forehead. “They’re cold.”

Chiara fell forward and pressed a hand to Salem’s forehead, and sure enough, they were oddly cold. She pressed two fingers to Salem’s neck out of instinct, and nearly fainted when she realized how slow the heartbeat was. As she began to worry, the realization of just what the smell was finally hit her- and Chiara went full-blown panic mode in an instant.

“TONKS! TONKS- SALEM-“ Chiara suddenly cried, panic filling her voice as her hands frantically moved to Salem’s wrists, trying desperately to find a strong heartbeat. “Salem they’re- oh god- Tonks come here! Lift them up! Help me!”

Tonks, still not grasping what was going on, jumped up as Chiara grabbed hold of Salem’s upper body. Tonks grabbed their legs and the two heaved, carrying Salem’s limp body off the bed.

“Quickly! Hospital Wing- now!”

“Hospital Wing? Are you sur-“

“I’m as sure as I’ll ever be! Come on!”

Tonks had never heard so much panic in someone’s voice, and didn’t think twice. Chiara pushed open the dorm door, out into the spiraling hallway and stairs that led to the common room. Penny was the first person they laid eyes on in there, her blonde hair and braids recognizable anywhere. The other Hufflepuff stood almost instantly, worry sprawling across her face as she stared at the two.

“What’s going on?” Penny questioned.

“Penny! Go get Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape- someone, anyone! We’re going to the Hospital Wing!” Chiara cried, and Penny jumped from her chair, running after them as they tore out of the common room and out into the hall. Penny ran with them, all the way to the main hall before splitting apart to run into the Great Hall. Chiara and Tonks threw open the door to the Hospital Wing, for once completely ignoring the fact that the petrified Madam Pomfrey was still standing there.

As soon as Salem was dumped onto the closest available bed, Chiara rushed to grab whatever medical equipment she could. Tonks hovered over Salem, worrying as Chiara ran back over. Chiara instantly began examining Salem, her panic growing by the minute as she slowly recognized what had happened. Just as she made that discovery, the doors swung open again to reveal that Penny had managed to get Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape and Flitwick.

“Miss Lobosca, may I ask the matter?” Dumbledore inquired as his eyes fell upon Salem.

“Professor Dumbledore I- Salem- I think-“ Chiara swallowed apprehensively, trying to gather herself. “I think they took something they shouldn’t have. They’re cold, and their heartbeat is weak. Too weak.”

McGonagall instantly rushed forward, followed by Snape. It took one moment before Snape stopped in his tracks.

“Do you have an idea of what they took, Miss Lobosca?” Dumbledore asked again.

“A- A potion of some sort. I think it’s-“

“Weedsoros.” Snape finished, staring at Salem. “A most dangerous poison.”

“Oh my goodness-“ McGonagall whimpered. Her face, which was usually strict, was instantly painted with heartwrenching sorrow as she stared at Salem on the hospital wing bed. 

“This is very serious indeed,” Dumbledore mused, an odd note of worry in his voice- one that was only heard in times of great stress or sorrow, such as the morning when Rowan’s death was officially announced. “Minerva, go to the outskirts of the school and apparate to St. Mungo’s. We need a healer at once.” 

McGonagall only nodded before leaving. She could then be heard summoning a broom right outside, and then was gone. 

“And Severus,” Dumbledore turned to Snape, “Surely you have an antidote for Weedsoros in your collection?”

“I think I’m fresh out, but I have enough to brew one. I’ll be back.” Snape turned curtly and strided back to his classroom. That left Dumbledore and Flitwick, who’d been staring on with a stricken expression the whole time. 

“Filius? You know healing spells, do you not?”

Right as Flitwick nodded, Chiara piped up. “I know some too, professor.”

“Ah yes, Miss Lobosca. You’ve volunteered here since your first year, correct?” Chiara nodded. “Alright, but Professor Flitwick will oversee you.”

Chiara nodded again and turned to Salem, mentally flipping through an arsenal of healing spells. She used a range of them, mainly Episkey, but none succeeded to fully wake Salem. Chiara’s panic grew more by the minute, as Tonks left the Hospital Wing. (”I’m going to go warn the others- Don’t worry Professor Dumbledore! I won’t say what happened, but Penny did see us and has probably let others know. I need to ease her worries.”) 

A million thoughts ran through her head every second- why Salem, how could this have happened, she was right there, she should’ve stopped it, she’s supposed to be a healer- as she tried to keep herself as outwardly calm as she could. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing someone else so quickly after Rowan- especially not Salem, not before she could tell them, not before she could have her chance.

Flitwick kept a watch over her, his own expression steady but clearly worried. He hadn’t ever seen something like this.

Five minutes of waiting became ten, and then twenty- Chiara’s panic grew by the minute, as her spells slowly began to lessen the effects, but not the poison itself. Dumbledore had taken his turn casting spells as well, but with such a strong poison, spells were of little effect.

A half hour had passed when the door burst open to both Snape, McGonagall and two St. Mungo’s healers. Chiara could’ve swore Snape’s feet didn’t even touch the ground as he glided over, antidote bottle in hand.

“How long have they been unconscious?” One of the healers, a brown-haired woman, asked.

“I don’t know.” Chiara admitted, her voice dripping with panic. “I fell asleep at what must’ve been midnight. Then I woke up at 7:30 and they were cold.”

The witch hummed and took the antidote vial from Snape. “Hold them up.” She said, and Chiara helped the other healer hold Salem up into a semi-sitting position. The other healer then held Salem’s mouth open and head back, as the witch poured half of the antidote down Salem’s throat. Their mouth was then closed, and as soon as the antidote had been gulped down, the witch poured the rest in.

A hint of color filled Salem’s cheeks almost instantly, and Chiara held back a choking sound.

“They should wake in the next half hour. Their body is weak from the poison, and since we don’t know how long it’s been in their system, we can’t accurately say how much damage it’s caused.” The witch tidied herself and handed the vial back to Snape with a grim nod. “They took this intentionally, correct? If so, they’ll need to be placed on watch. And rest for at least a week.”

The professors had all nodded, McGonagall’s stare becoming especially intense upon the metamorphmagi’s still figure. Chiara had clasped her hand around Salem’s, almost weeping, her other hand covering her face to stop any tears. Salem would not die today.

The two healers stayed for a few minutes, thoroughly explaining exactly what the recovery process would be like and what they would have to do to ensure Salem’s safety beyond it. After ten minutes, both healers had left along with Flitwick and McGonagall, leaving just Dumbledore, Snape and Chiara in the hospital wing.

It was another ten minutes before Salem finally began to lightly stir. Chiara’s face had practically slammed upwards, staring in both hope and desperation as life began to slowly trickle back into Salem. Another five minutes, and their eyes opened.

Salem blinked once, then twice. Their eyes- once just a light grayish blue, now such a dark, murky shade- stared up briefly at the ceiling, then to the lights, then onto Chiara. Their eyes had instantly widened, but Chiara had quickly placed her hand on their chest to keep Salem from trying to get up.

“Chi- ara.” Salem croaked, their voice so hoarse they could barely speak. Their eyes were teeming with emotion- Sorrow? Guilt? Chiara could hardly tell- as Chiara gently shook her head.

“Shh. Take it easy.” She crooned, trying to keep herself from crying as she placed a hand on Salem’s cheek. “You’ll feel better once the antidote has run its course.”

Salem stared at Chiara, with an oh god you know look- as though deeply ashamed of themselves- but stayed quiet and laid their head back against the pillow. They let out a small sigh as Chiara clasped her hand over theirs.

Chiara wasn’t sure what to think. She wanted to be mad- how could you do that, so soon after Rowan, why would you make us lose another friend- but she knew it was only because Salem was in such immense pain that they had even attempted. Chiara just couldn’t bring herself to be mad.

It was the clearing of a throat that reminded Chiara that Dumbledore and Snape were still in the room. Snape took a step forward, and Salem’s eyes drifted towards him, almost scared. Snape then paused, as though trying to carefully pick the correct words.

“You will be excused from classes for the next week,” Said Dumbledore, moving to speak before Snape could. “And you’ll be placed on bed rest for a week, minimum. And from now on, you are not allowed anywhere by yourself. You must be accompanied by a friend everywhere you go.”

Salem’s eyes scanned his face for a brief moment before nodding gently in defeat. Dumbledore then turned to Chiara.

“I will tell miss Tonks the same, but from now on, one of you must stay up each night until Salem falls asleep.”

Chiara nodded, turning her head slowly to face Salem. Salem was staring at her, eyes just slightly watering. Chiara gave a weak smile and tightened her grip on their hand.

Dumbledore looked between the two, then to Snape. “I believe our stay here is ending. We needn’t give the student body more reason to worry.” He then turned to Chiara again, who met his eyes expectantly. “I’m relying upon you to watch after Salem today, miss Lobosca. I’ll have food brought for the two of you as well.”

It was with a nod that Dumbledore left the room, with Snape following close behind. Chiara looked back at Salem and briefly ran her fingers through their hair.

“Sleep. It’ll do you some good.”

Salem stared at her for a while, their eyes all over her face, as though searching for something. Whatever it was, Salem eventually found it and laid their head back, allowing their eyes to flutter closed. Chiara began humming gently, eventually escalating into a soft lullaby as Salem drifted away into sleep.

—————

November 25th brought with it the first snowfall of the year. It had been exceptionally cold the night prior, so Salem was not at all surprised to look out of their window that morning to white patches all over the grounds and ice stuck to the window pane. 

Three weeks had passed since Rowan’s death, and a little over two weeks since their own suicide attempt. Salem could still vividly remember being torn out of their sleep that afternoon to the cacophony of voices as their friends burst into the hospital wing, news having finally broken. Merula’s face, surprisingly enough, was the first to show up in their field of view, her eyes wet and face covered in so many tears that Salem could hardly process it. She had pressed her face to their chest, weeping almost angrily, a near incoherent stream of how could you, why would you, what were you thinking falling from her lips. Behind her, Penny was weeping, covering her mouth with her hand as her eyes bore a hole into Salem. 

Ben was there too, his typically stoic face now a sorrow mess, and Salem noted there were tears in his eyes too.

Talbott was there too, and Barnaby, and Tulip, and Jae and all the others- even Charlie, Salem noticed, despite their fight not even two weeks prior. Nearly all of them were crying or on the verge of tears, but Chiara managed to hold all but Merula back.

“They’re still weak.” Chiara murmured, one hand still on the bed as she half-stood to face them all. They had all nodded, gently, as Salem’s eyes flitted over each of them with a penitent look.

Salem had managed to speak- a gentle “I’m sorry” as Merula cried into their shirt. They spoke it again, their voice a bit more hollow this time, as Merula finally faced them. She swallowed thickly, gave a small nod, and grasped Salem’s face in her hands, pressing a firm kiss to their lips.

“You idiot.” She spoke, voice dripping with a mix of sorrow and anger, as Salem’s eyes filled with tears to match. “You absolute idiot.”

“I’m sorry.”

None of their friends left the Hospital Wing until dark. Barnaby had carried Salem through the halls, uncaring as to what anyone else thought, all the way to the door of the Hufflepuff common room. Diego had carried them to the entrance to the dorms, at which point Chiara and Tonks helped them up the stairs and into their dorm. Penny went with them too, and fell asleep on the floor next to Salem’s bed. Salem fell asleep early that night.

The next day, Chiara insisted Salem rest, refusing to even let them leave their bed. Tonks had stayed in the dorm too, watching over Salem as Chiara left to get them food. Salem was soon handed a plate of french toast for breakfast, chicken for lunch and pasta for dinner, and ate everything under Chiara’s watchful eye. Penny slept on the floor again that night.

It wasn’t until the 15th that Salem finally left the common room again. Classes had half-started up again, and already Salem’s friends had agreed upon a system to ensure Salem wasn’t left alone for even a minute. Chiara or Penny walked them to each class, Ben or Barnaby or Tonks sat next to them in each class, and Badeea had even offered to do their History of Magic homework for them. It was nearly suffocating, being unable to be left alone, but Salem couldn’t bring themselves to complain. They knew they couldn’t be trusted to be left alone.

The artifact room was also off-limits unless they had someone with them. Penny had been the one to go with them, and she had accidentally stumbled upon the remains of the potion, tucked secretly in the corner. She had started crying, wrapping her arms around Salem and insisting fervently that they were loved and deserved to live. Salem couldn’t bring themselves to do anything but sink into Penny’s embrace and start crying in return.

Days passed of being escorted around everywhere, until finally November 25th came and with it, snow.

Salem loved the snow. It was fun to walk around in, to make snowballs and snowmen and to feel it in your fingers. Salem had donned a long sleeve, two jackets and a thick winter coat that morning, pulling on a beanie as well to cover their dark hair. They wished they could change their hair color to a brilliant silver to match the snow, but Salem feared their powers wouldn’t work for another few weeks at least.

Tonks was still sleepy, but Chiara was awake and dressed in a long sleeve, a sweater and a winter coat. Seems she had had the same thought to go outside in the snow.

“Good morning.” She said, her eyes glancing over to Salem, who was standing next to their bed now, looking at their own figure in the mirror. Salem turned, briefly meeting Chiara’s eyes before averting them. 

“Good morning, Chiara.”

Salem’s fingers fumbled a bit with their coat, straightening it out so it fit them just right, before deeming the outfit appropriate. They turned, finally facing Chiara, who greeted them with a smile. “You ready to go outside?” Salem had just nodded in response, but Chiara was quick to notice the slightest hint of fervor to their movements. Chiara smiled at that. 

Chiara led Salem out of their dorm and down the hallway, all the way down the stairs and through the common room. The castle was often chilled in the winter, despite the litany of little spells casted to keep an ambient warmth about the castle. The dungeons especially were cool in the winter, enough so that a long sleeve was necessary to walk around. It was a stark contrast to the Hufflepuff common room, which was always kept warm with the constantly crackling fireplace. Salem let their hand drift briefly over the cold stone walls, before turning their eyes forward to the stairs in front of them. 

Chiara and Salem ascended the stairs together, climbing what must have been three stories before finally reaching the main hall. Badeea was standing just outside of the Great Hall, dressed neatly in a long deep blue winter coat buttoned up over a dark blue sweater and navy blue pants. She lifted her head, smiling when she saw the two of them walking towards her. 

“Good morning Chiara! Salem! Are you two going outside to see the snow?” When Salem and Chiara both nodded, Badeea lifted her head a little. “Well, there are quite a few students already in the courtyard, so I’d recommend going out onto the field or the reserve if you don’t want to be bothered.” 

Salem smiled at her, a genuine smile. “Thank you. Would you like to come with us?”

“Sure!”

Badeea turned on her heel and followed them, and the three gradually made their way outside and towards the reserve. It was on their way, however, when Salem stopped and realized they were near the forest. 

Chiara had evidently noticed too, as she gently placed a hand on Salem’s arm and looked at them, careful to not disturb them too much. “Are you okay?”

Salem lifted their head to stare deep into the woods. Their eyes stared into the expanse of trees, as though hoping they would melt under their gaze. They stared a beat too long, worrying Chiara and Badeea, before speaking softly. 

“I miss her.” Salem’s voice was barely above a whisper, lips moving of their own accord. They blinked, then realized what they had said as tears filled their eyes. “I- I miss her.” 

Before they knew it, Salem had started to cry, their knees giving way as Chiara and Badeea both dropped to hold them up. Salem fisted the light layer of snow underneath their hands and let loose, keening as tears fell like rain down their cheeks. Chiara’s eyes also welled with tears, and and she wrapped her arms around Salem, just as Badeea did the same. The three stayed there for a while, Salem crying unabashedly as Chiara rubbed their back and whispered words of comfort and Badeea silently urged them on. 

A silence fell over the castle that day, a silence not heard since Rowan’s death. And what should have been haunting, was the only comfort to a grieving metamorphmagus. 

[cherrywoes]

— 𝖙𝖜𝖔.

— 𝓪𝓭 𝓶𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓸𝓻𝓪.

FOUR YEARS HAD GONE by since you had vanished. To Oikawa Tooru, that had been a lifetime; he had gone through a lifetime's worth of misery, at the very least, in those handful of years that you were probably off with an adoptive family.

He had tried to find you, of course. But once his true devil powers had embedded themselves into his body, unrestrained from the age caveat that God had set upon him, he had become a monster in more ways than one. And that wasn't something he wanted to subject you to.

His human form was nice, of course, he'd give it that. It was almost worth the trouble of dealing with mortal girls; after all, his needs weren't exactly being fulfilled when he was wandering the human world. It didn't stop him from destroying the girls he was with, however—they refused second rounds and were downright terrified to sleep with him once they'd had a taste of him.

Oikawa Tooru didn't do gentle.

"Another one running for the hills?" Iwaizumi Hajime watched as his latest fling slowly picked up her cheap lingerie from the floor, the scraps torn and ripped at the seams. Her flesh was littered with bruises and scrapes and bites, the imprint of Oikawa's fingers upon her throat livid and purple and painful. "You can't just do that to every girl you come across that doesn't know who you are."

Oikawa shrugged loosely from his place at the foot of his bed. He'd tossed on a pair of sweats when he'd finished with the girl, Maya or something, and healed her just enough to send her walking out the door. Iwaizumi was lucky he'd even decided to put pants on at all.

"They haven't stopped coming yet." He smiled wickedly and reached for his vape on the nightstand. Oddly enough he couldn't stand straight nicotine. "They'll just keep getting worse."

Iwaizumi grunted and took a seat on his couch. He was aware of Oikawa's issue with his temperamental devil side, had known about it since they were children. It had been almost like a switch had been flipped one day, out of the blue. He'd never spoken about what exactly had happened, but he seemed to mull over it often when he thought no one was looking or between rounds of beating his opponents into the ground.

Looking more closely as his friend blew smoke out through his nostrils, a combination of diluted nicotine and the unholy brimstone in his lungs, he could see dark rings underneath his eyes.

"Have you been sleeping?"

"Mm?" Oikawa raised his eyebrows and reached up to ruffle his disheveled hair. "Not lately. The bad guy's acting up again."

The 'bad guy' was, in a sense, Oikawa's true form. Or, at least, the truest version he could be refined down to. The only time Iwaizumi had been privy to seeing it was during a particularly bad time in Oikawa's life, over two years after the incident that turned him into the beast he was now. He would never forget the terrible monstrosity his friend had become.

And it was only getting worse. Iwaizumi watched as his friend got up and fumbled for his seal kit, haphazardly putting together the rune brush and witch blade. After his first outburst, he'd taken to sealing his devil down as far as he could get it without forsaking it completely. So far the seals had held and kept him docile, if not slightly high at all times, but lately he'd noticed Oikawa seemed more alert and fine tuned to everyone around him.

"Here." Oikawa handed him the blade and motioned to the only unmarked section of his body: his left pectoral. He had drowned the rest in intricate scrolling linework dotted with the occasional decorative snake and panther, scarred to be permanent and inked over to hold the seal. "Do it."

It was the first time he'd ever asked him to do it before.

Iwaizumi accepted the blade with a narrowed gaze. "Why do you want me to do it? Don't you usually do it?"

"Yes. And I would have." Oikawa's eyes were unusually bright in the darkness as he regarded his friend. "But lately they've become immune to my magic, so I figured you would be a good buffer to set me right for a bit."

Iwaizumi could see the devil lurking in his aura. With a sigh, he got up and waved Oikawa to lay down on the couch. "You know, Shittykawa, we've been friends forever and I still don't know why you're like this."

"And if I have my way, you never will," he replied with a hard edge to his voice. "Get to carving."

He sighed and lifted the blade to his skin. Oikawa seemed oblivious to the pain he should be in from his heavy hand. He stared at the ceiling and drummed his fingers to a beat only he could hear, oddly mimicking the pattern of a heart, and vanished into a world of his own creation. Iwaizumi could see him zone out and relax. Whatever he was imagining it had also calmed the devil down to the point he had a hard time sensing it.

Interesting.

When he was finished and had followed the pattern with an ink seal, Oikawa snapped out of it and his devil was present again like a third entity in the room.

"Thanks, Iwa." He rolled his shoulder and got up off the couch. Blood ran down his chest and he didn't seem to care, just swiped at it with a stray shirt and tossed it into a laundry basket. He then reached for a bottle of whiskey he had on his desk, uncorking it and taking a deep swig. "So what were you here for? Other than to make remarks about my sexual proclivities of course."

"Right." Iwaizumi had almost forgotten. He pulled out his phone and unlocked it, scrolling to a text message and tossing it to Oikawa. He caught it effortlessly, the devil's reflexes more accurate than usual. "There's a match tomorrow night, midnight. The betting pool is pretty high. I figured you would be interested."

"You'd be right." They both listened to his hookup slam the door down in the stairwell; Iwaizumi with a grimace and Oikawa with a dark smirk. "She didn't do the job so a fight would do me some good."

Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Sex didn't do anything for your temper? That's new."

"Yeah." His brows furrowed in thought and suddenly he was far away again, somewhere Iwa couldn't reach him. "A lot of things are new lately."

"Tooru, what's really got you wound up like this?"

Oikawa blinked at the sound of his first name. He almost seemed offended but thought better of the first thing he wanted to say and regarded Iwaizumi with a long stare.

He almost thought he would give in and tell him.

And then the devil made him close up, his eyes hardening like chips of ice. He took another swig of his whiskey.

Iwa: 0. Devil: 1.

"Guess not." He patted his thighs and Oikawa tossed him his phone back. "Well, I'm gone. Let me know if you need anything."

Again, he seemed on the verge of asking; but every time the devil stopped him.

"I will," Oikawa said, instead, a fake smile erupting across his face. Iwaizumi hated it. "Have a good night, Iwa."

He gave him a two fingered salute and headed for the door, locking it behind him.

Oikawa tapped his fingers against the glass bottle and drained the rest of it in one go, slamming it down on the desk with a frustrated sigh.

The devil didn't want just any random girl.

It wanted [Name].

He had tried to put her out of his head and had succeeded for the most part. He didn't deserve her, even if she had left like he didn't matter. He would drown his sorrows in whiskey or the most potent vodka he could find. And if that didn't work, he went to taking his frustrations out on the women he took to bed. But not even that was riding over the devil now.

The devil plagued him with dreams of [Name] in that field as if it had just been hours ago and not five years. It was just as obsessive over her as he was and time had not changed that. It just made it worse.

Oikawa almost pitied himself. He was pining over a girl he wasn't even sure wanted anything to do with him anymore.

With a hard rub of his eyes, he headed to the bathroom to clean up his seal and, hopefully, manage to deal with the devil for another day.

But things, unfortunately, were never always that simple.

MASTERLIST.

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taglist:

@dancing-in-the-rain54 • n/a

( let me know if anyone wants to be added to the taglist. 💕)

[ghoulciifer]

submission:

@androgynouswordsmyth: “Hi Tum c: this is for your matchup event! 5’6”, with an hourglass figure, has that broad shouldered goddess energy going on. Used to swim competitively in highschool & still have a nice shape. Would describe my style as athletic comfort meets swamp witch. Love wearing black, it goes with everything. But also one of those people that wears workout clothes because they’re comfortable & easy. An admirer of all things relating to the occult & witchcraft. I have two tattoos small ones on my upper thigh & on the inside of my bicep. Often asks “What’s your sign?” Green eyes & shoulder length brown hair that is dyed seafoam green. I am soft spoken & gentle when I interact with everybody. All about self growth & healing. A huge advocate for self care. Love venting about my dumb corporate job. Deep down I'm a rebel anarchist. Often says things like “I’m just a cog in their machine” or “metal till I die”. My end game is writing fantasy novels for a living writing is my passion. I am a person who gets lost in thought & day dreams, a homebody who is fatigued & curls up in bed with Netflix playing in the background while I write rp responses or some of my own stuff. I have depression & anxiety, which I manage with both medication & therapy. Am attracted to bad boys/girls. Kindness & respect in my relationships are important, emotional maturity & a sense of humor are huge & my favorite color is dark pine green. Someone from BNHA, NSFW. Write what feels right.”

notes: aiden! i’m so happy you participated in my event, also you seem like the coolest person? ever? so of course i had to pair you up with one of the coolest dudes in bnha! your support means the world, thank you so much for being my mutual on this hell app ❥

why i matched you:

» you and dabi would get along exceptionally well, both with how you are and how you present yourself. your inner anarchists would collide beautifully and no doubt lead you two into trouble, but who else would you rather start a riot with than someone like him? he thinks it’s kickass that you understand what it means to be a pawn in society’s game, and has no issue with having you by his side to tear that shit down.

» dabi really adores your aesthetic. he finds it incredibly intriguing and thinks it suits your personality well; your hair, your occult lifestyle, and boy does he love your tattoos. he often offers to pay (w stolen money ofc) for you to get more if you want them - one of the best ways of self expression is covering yourself with art, and he supports it wholeheartedly. he likes to trace the ink on your skin during intimate moments and often finds himself admiring them elsewhere, thinking about how gorgeous you’d look with a few more pieces in places only he could see.

» though he might not be as poetic as you, dabi admires your creativity and urges you to keep up with your passion. he’s going to be super lowkey about it but he shows that feeling by doing smaller things, like picking up notebooks for you here and there or offering to get you better quality pens for when you’re brainstorming a story. he won’t tell you but he sometimes reads your stories at night while you’re sleeping (only the ones you’ve offered for him to read, though), and is always left in awe of how talented his girl is.

» when he’s not painting the town red or burning someone to a crisp, he’s more than happy to stay at home with you and curl up with a good show. despite his wicked, cold demeanor he’s actually very affectionate with the person he chooses to pursue! so expect lots of gentle touches, lazy kisses here and there, soft whispers here and there about how warm you are and how nice you feel against his charred skin. he’s not afraid to show you his love because if you can stick with someone like him, well, that’s proof enough that you’re worth it all.

» dabi never does anything without purpose. every action he takes is a part of the grander scheme of things, and he does so with such a drive that is rivaled by most heroes. so you can definitely check maturity off your list. as far as humor goes? he’s a smug bastard, and his sly remarks and teases are aimed directly at you for the sole purpose of making you smile. sometimes he’ll just sit and say the dumbest things to see how hard he can make you laugh, because in a life surrounded by death and darkness, your giggles really help him see it all in a different light.

» dabi’s experienced enough trauma to understand what your inter turmoil is like, but he’s beyond proud of you for taking charge and handling it however you can. he’ll be your biggest supporter when you need it and is so goddamn protective of you. you’ll never not feel safe, because it’s that constant worry in the back of his mind about how just being with him puts a target on your back that pushes him to take extra precaution. you might have a few close calls here and there because, let’s face it, villains are ruthless - but at the end of the day he’s always able to pull you right back to him and remind you he’ll always come for you.

drabble:

Dabi rolls off of your spent body with a slight groan, the thin sheen of sweat covering both of your bodies glowing in the dim light of the bedroom. Your chests rise and fall to a steady rhythm of labored breathing - and as much as you both loved being tangled with each other mere minutes ago, you need a second to let your sweltering skin cool off and your aching muscles to relax after that particularly tiring session. Dabi catches the exasperated sigh escaping your lips and grins from your slumped form in his peripheral.

He always thought you looked the most beautiful like this. When your eyes were half lidded and pupils blown, skin covered in teeth marks and bruises, hair haphazardly strewn about on the pillows. It was a sign he did a job well done, and the image brands itself into his memory every time he’s lucky enough to see it happen. Lost in his daydream, he doesn’t see that sinfully innocent smile tug at the corners of your mouth when you catch him zoning in on your post sex euphoria.

“Y’know, you’re more than welcome to take a picture… they last much longer.”

He laughs, a short exhale from his pierced nose, “I might just do that, doll. Next time.”

Your smile grows wider and you prop yourself up on your elbows, sliding over the tangled sheets to get closer to him and be able to reach and trace over the stapled skin of his chest with delicate fingertips. He closes his eyes at the feeling before loosely wrapping an arm around your lower back, thumb gliding back and forth just below your ribs.

You bask in this comfortable silence for what feels like a lifetime. This was your favorite part of the aftercare, just enjoying each other’s presence that much more as you regain a stable heartbeat, eventually letting Dabi gather you in his strong hands to lay you over his scarred chest when the cool air overstays its welcome on his skin. Once your cheek meets his chest he leans forward to ghost a kiss into your damp hairline, lips lingering there a bit longer every time. The steady beat of his heart usually lulled your eyes closed with its melody. At this point, it was all routine.

Dabi is the first to break the silence, the deep gravel in his voice reverberating through his chest against your ear, “Y’know… if we’re gonna fall asleep like this, the least you could do is read me a bedtime story.”

“Too tired… s’your fault.” he feels your smile and hot breath against his pectoral, broad chest rumbling in laughter at your quip.

“Hm, guess I need to go easier next time. But you weren’t complaining when I was balls dee-“

“Dabi!” You smack his skin and whip your head upward to look him in the eye with a look of feigned shock, and it's hard to contain the giggle that escapes from your dropped jaw. He chuckles again before craning his neck to leave a peck at your bottom lip, his hand raising to push your head gently down to his chest again, the other finding its way beneath the pillow under his head.

“Shh, just go to sleep, stupid.”

“Shut up… dummy.”

matchups are CLOSED! thank you to those who entered or have been keeping up with this event! remember you can check to see updates on matchups + if your matchup has been posted via the #tumplaysmatchmaker tag!

[sanders-sides-fics]

In My Dreams: Chapter Eight

Warning: Injury

Masterlist

Word Count: 1407

-

Roman sat back onto the pillows, holding the letter from Virgil in his hands. He opened the envelope and took out the paper, a smile growing on his face. He was very happy to see Virgil replied to him, he hadn’t been expecting Virgil to get back to him anytime soon. Since not only was Virgil becoming used to being a prince, but he was getting used to an entirely new home.

He read through the letter, the smile fading from his face as he got further into the letter. A spy in Picais? Despite the Witch meeting her demise, Roman understood why having one of her agents within the castle walls was dangerous. The Witch was gone and anyone still loyal to her would be looking for revenge.

The news that Virgil had found a connection to his fathers helped him feel a little better. Virgil deserved having part of his old life back, of learning about his family and who he could have become. The knowledge of a spy was unfortunate, but at least it wasn’t the only thing Virgil had found in his homeland.

…Was the issue he had with his father so bad his friend thought Roman would ignore his need for help in favor of preserving his own feelings? It did sound like something he might have once done…. He could not blame Virgil for fearing so. However, the next time his father was here Roman would ask him if there was anything he remembered. It shouldn’t be long. The King had a meeting with some nobles and then he had said he would return.

Roman sighed and felt the paper in his hand. He could see where Virgil was the most worried because his quill had indented the paper deeper in those places, making darker ink splotches than where he felt happier. The threat of losing the family he had found was weighing on his friend’s mind.

“Don’t worry, Virgil… I’ll help you,” he said quietly.

He picked up the book the Noble Joan was having him read, knowing there wasn’t much else for him to be doing. He didn’t want to study but wanted something to pass the time while his father was in his meeting. The book was slightly better than others he had read over the passing weeks, the author’s words almost witty enough to remind him of Virgil.

He shifted as he began to read, taking pressure off of his injured ribs. It would be time to take his tonic soon. Roman knew he needed to wait until his father returned from his meeting though, considering it was on his desk across the room. He had learned his lesson on trying to walk.

If Roman wanted to see Virgil again, he would need to recover from his injuries first. If possible, he would like to recover soon enough to go to Picais and help Virgil figure out the spy situation so that Virgil wasn’t the sole person trying to handle the situation. He didn’t like the idea of Virgil fighting an unknown foe by himself.

His eyes scanned the pages of his book but he knew his mind wasn’t processing what he was reading. He sighed and put down the book, looking at the door hoping his father would walk through it sooner than later.

He thought back to what he’s heard about his father’s fights with the Dragon Witch. The only assistant he could think of was Virgil’s father, who had turned against the Witch and passed long ago.

He huffed and blew a strand of hair out of his face. He would need a haircut before long. Certainly before he left for Picais. Part of him knew that a haircut wasn’t as important as helping Virgil with the spy situation, but he still wanted to look the best he could when he faced Virgil again. It was selfish, but he didn’t want Virgil to see him messy and weak any more than he had.

His eyes caught sight of his reflection in the mirror across his room. He didn’t look much like himself, covered in bandages and pale from weeks spent inside his room. His auburn hair framed his face limply, despite being neatly brushed. Perhaps he could ask his father to help him wash up…. Or someone. 

He was vaguely surprised no one had said anything to him before now. He knew his father was focused on trying to be a good father, so it made sense that he would say nothing. But anyone else? Well…. He was their prince and Virgil wasn’t here any longer. No one else would say anything.

He almost wished Virgil was here to call him out on his moping yet was grateful Virgil couldn’t see it.

The door to his room opened, and he looked away from the mirror to see his father walking in. The King offered him a warm smile and shut the door behind him.

“Hello Roman, how’re you feeling?”

Roman shrugged, “Same as when you left. I read my letter from Virgil…. Can we talk?”

Thomas frowned and settled down beside his bed, “What’s wrong?”

Roman shook his head, thinking of the best way to describe what he could say. He knew Virgil wanted this kept secret and didn’t want his father rushing off to Picais to fight some foe that may not even be there. And if it were, his father was the one who ultimately killed the Witch and that would make him the perfect target for the spy to get revenge.

Roman spent years trying to get his father to acknowledge him, and he didn’t want to lose it now that he had it. His father meant a lot to him when it came down to it. No matter the hurt or the anger that he felt.

“Virgil thinks there may be one of the Witch’s agents within the Picais castle,” he spoke calmly. “He wanted me to ask you if you knew anything that could help him figure it out. He didn’t want to risk a possible spy overhearing him talk to King Remington about it.”

Thomas pressed his lips together, thinking it over, “That is wise of him. If there is a spy within the castle and they overheard him, it could force them to act rashly to escape or silence him. What information did he need?”

“Anything you can give him,” Roman replied, running a hand through his hair.

He wrinkled his nose in disgust at the feeling but it could wait until later. Virgil needed help and then he could ask for help getting clean.

His father was silent for a few moments, thinking back to his battles with the Witch and her followers. Her right hand was long gone, Thomas knew, but there were a few others. Not that Dorian would have harmed his own family and cost himself his life. Not from what they’ve heard from King Remington.

“I don’t remember much; it’s been so long. But I do have a name for him to start with. Gary Ashdown, a burly fellow. Not very good at magic, but an excellent fighter and smuggler.”

“What did he look like?” Roman asked.

Thomas furrowed his brow and thought back, “He was pale with brown hair. His nose was small and he had a square jaw.”

Roman nodded soberly, “It’s a start. Can you get me my stationery so that I may write him back? I don’t want to wait in case this information will help him.”

The King nodded and went to retrieve the supplies for his son. Roman smiled as his father set up the bed table for him and brought over his stationery.

“Thank you, Father,” he spoke softly.

Thomas smiled back, his expression a mixture of joy and worry. Roman knew his father didn’t like the idea of letting Roman and Virgil handle this potential danger. The King never said so, but the way his brow furrowed as he watched Roman begin to write made it all too clear.

Roman wrote with haste, not wanting to waste any time embellishing his letter to make it sound more poetic. Now was not the time for how he felt, even if the danger proved false. When he finished the letter, he put it into an envelope and addressed it to Virgil.

He handed the envelope to his father who left the room to find their messenger.

[hazzabeeforlou]

Digging Deeper

Thanks @alienfuckeronmain for the tag, this I’ve loved reading everyone’s, and I tag @taintedlav @rahashirley @raisemybody @twopoppies @cuethetommo @metal-eye and @seasurfacefullofclouds1 if anyone wants to play!! 

1. Do you prefer writing with a black pen or blue pen? ink color matters less than ball-point-ness... 

2. Would you prefer to live in the country or city? I want a witch’s cottage with a giant messy garden on the edge of the moors and a forest a million miles away from everyone. So country. 

3. If you could learn a new skill what would it be? I’ve actually stretched myself this summer! Am learning French and guitar, and idk if it counts but learning my new job which I NEVER thought I could handle lol since I’ve never worked retail 

4. Do you drink your tea/coffee with sugar? Honey ;)

5. What was your favourite book as a child? Well I have to say Narnia and Redwall, but when I was very tiny I loved this book about a girls who could whistle and speak to animals (named Mable) and the Velveteen Rabbit, and a book called “The Lost Princess” which is fucking amazing, by the precursor to CS Lewis, George MacDonald

6. Do you prefer baths or showers? I usually take showers because baths take too much time. Also baths are romantic and that makes me sad, and also I have to look at my body which, ug, not prepared to do that all the time rip

7. If you could be a mythical creature, which one would it be? Mer. Fucking. Maid. Though I’ve always wanted to fly too, I used to spend HOURS in the water just underwater swimming with my legs stuck together just pretending to be on ocean adventures

8. Paper or electronic books? I usually much prefer paper, but since I got these blue light blocking glasses I am finding i’m fine either way physically. Soul-wise though, yeah, paper

9. What is your favourite item of clothing? Probably my mango colored crop hoodie that I once smashed melting frozen blueberries on and then spent hours and days getting the stains out...

10. Do you like your name or would you like to change it? My real name is super boring and typical, though I do like it. I enjoy my tumblr name a lot, Toni, and it feels more genderless and constrictive than my actual name lol

11. Who is a mentor to you? I’ve had so many great teachers, but the biggest lesson I’ve learned in life is that so many you admire can be deeply flawed. I have lots of trust issues. I only take advice from a select few people, and they don’t include anyone ‘old and wise’ lol 

12. Would you like to be famous and if so, what for? Oh for sure, I used to want to be an actress or a rock star or whatever. Famous author. I would fucking LOVE to have a platform and help people and cheer people up and see people grocery shopping and have instant friends. I know that sounds terribly naive but I’ve said before I share a lot of Harry’s personality, and I just love flirting with people and smiling with them and giving hugs. Now, I would want to be famous as TONI me and not real me, because then I could never be myself because my fam would find out rip

13. Are you a restless sleeper? Depends on my mattress. Currently, yes, ugg. I wake up in an omega nesting scene from a fic every morning

14. Do you consider yourself a romantic person? Unfortunately yes. 

15. Which element best represents you? idk I usually say fire but I’m feeling more water lately 

16. Who do you want to be closer to? I’m working on getting to know my amazing sister better, and that’s been lovely.  

17. Do you miss someone at the moment? All my friends have been long distance for actual years, so i don’t miss anymore more than normal. I am missing just... the POTENTIAL for someone. This indefinite distancing is wearing on me. 

18. Tell us about an early childhood memory. I was like two or three, and we were out on a full moon walk and I was in my stroller in the red sheepskin bundled up, and I remember coming up our sidewalk and looking at the world and moon and thinking, “remember this moment, or you’re going to grow up and forget how wonderful it was.” Also when I was five I had a breakdown on my mom’s lap because “I’m going to grow up and be too big to be sung lullabies to!” and I didn’t want anything to change EVER  

19. What is the strangest thing you have eaten? I used to make a concoction of rye crackers, mustard, and pickles. Don’t ask

20. What are you most thankful for? all the opportunities I’ve had in life. I’m so massively privileged 

21. Do you like spicy food? depends on how hot

22. Have you ever met someone famous? I saw a few celebs in NYC, Shosh from Girls, the guy from Monk, Tim Gun, John Oliver (and his golden retriever) and I passed a drunk as a skin Alec Baldwin outside Lincoln Center one day. Probably other people I didn’t recognize. Oh and S**** M***** rented my instrument right before covid hit here, and drunk him (or high him) couldn’t believe he had a h*** to play around on, and then I saw him staring at mountains being the most stereotypical rich white boy ever, also he did not send out gay vibes but don’t let that stop your Shiall, please don’t let it  

23. Do you do you keep a diary or journal? I almost always start with the new year and do like. A day. And then forget. 

24. Do you prefer to use a pen or a pencil? PEN

25. What is your star sign? Aries sun, Aquarius moon, Pisces rising

26. Do you like your cereal soggy or crunchy? Depends on the cereal, those golden grams were BEST thoroughly soaked in milk fight me 

27. What would you want your legacy to be? make the world a little better 

28. Do you like reading, what was the last book you read? Yes but you know, i’m the worst at making time for it. Still getting through that Brief Interviews with Hideous Men or whatever it is

29. How do you show someone you love them? Just thinking of them and doing little things to surprise them, I think

30. Do you like ice in your drinks? Yep the smaller and more crush friendly the better 

31. What are you afraid of? I really do not. like. limb loss. no horror movies for me EVER

32. What is your favourite scent? wet Labrador because it means there’s a WET LABRADOR

33. Do you address older people by their name or surname? surname always unless I’ve always known them by firsts. Religion, man

34. If money was not a factor, how would you live your life? I have this dream of buying up all the land shitty developers snatch up in this country and ceding it back to its rightful owners. I’ve legit cried over little forests turned into parking lots, thanks Joni Mitchell 

35. Do you prefer swimming in pools or the ocean? pools are so clean and have no sharks or jellyfish. that said, they also have no waves... 

36. What would you do if you found £50 on the ground? turn it into the store it was closest to. I’m the lawful good box and yes I hate it

37. Have you ever seen a shooting star? YES in Breckenridge one year I saw a fucking meteor shower! I’ve wished on some, they’ve never come true I don’t think. 

38. What is the one thing you would want to teach your children? I’m too scared to have children even if I could (I can’t) because of the pressure of what would fuck them up and what wouldn’t 

39. If you had to have a tattoo, what would it be and where would you get it? I love my baby tat @alienfuckeronmain gave me, idk if I’d want another one someday, maybe a sister tat with my sis

40. What can you hear now? The fan, my typing, my parents watching old TV shows

41. Where do you feel the safest? With a pet outside in nature somewhere

42. What is the one thing you want to overcome/conquer? putting limits on things /myself/people

43. Of you could travel back to any era, what would it be? You know I used to really DREAM about this shit, but since I realized I would have genetically DIED in any other era, and that my dreaming was a literal result of white privilege since it would fucking SUCK to be anyone else (I mean even now it’s awful wtf) I just. Stick with the present. 

44. What is your most used emoji? the laughing face. oops. 

45. Describe yourself using one word. Supercalifragelisticexpialidocious

46. What do you regret the most? I have so many. social. anxiety. nightmares from my 28 years of life that haunt me

47. Last movie you saw? l think it was the Downton Abbey movie? 

48. Last tv show you watched? Monk 

49. Invent a word and it’s meaning. Surplumn. a really divinely wonderful thing, like ‘oh her lips are surplumn’ like a juicy chocolate mousse and perky breasts idk 

[princess-of-lions]

For International Women’s Day, several feminist book recommendations! By feminist, I mean both books about feminism, and books about strong, complex, nuanced female characters created by female authors. (This is a pretty long list. Took a while to put together.)

Dear Ijeawele, or A Feminist Manifesto in Fifteen Suggestions by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie can find her way right to the heart of the issues that confront women every day. This advice can apply to women in all cultural contexts, and in my opinion is a must-read for all feminists. There Are Girls Like Lions: Poems About Being a Woman by Cole Swensen   A short poetry anthology about the moments of growing up as a girl and a woman. Circe by Madeline Miller Madeline Miller’s Circe is a triumph of storytelling and a triumph for feminism. In the Odyssey, Circe is treated as the selfish witch that Odysseus subdues. Here, she is given agency, life. She feels real and her desires and her courage and her fears will become your own. Madeline Miller has a true talent for epic prose. The Weight of Ink by Rachel Kadish An aging historian in London growing close to retiring as her body begins to betray her is given a chance to discover significant truths when papers come to light that tell an unusual tale. That of a young Jewish woman far in the past who longs to study and learn, to question philosophy and faith, and does so in secret while dreading the prospect of marriage. This book takes an unerring view of courage, personal truth, faith, philosophy, and what it means to be a woman. Flight of Dreams by Ariel Lawhon Emilie is not what she seems. And on the Hindenburg, it seems that everyone has something to hide. Suspenseful and enthralling, Ariel Lawhon’s imagining of the tale of the doomed airship flight is nothing less than a masterpiece.

Children of Blood and Bone by Tomi Adeyemi Tomi Adeyemi has created a high fantasy book that draws its inspiration from African cultures and legends. Her characters and setting are refreshing and compelling, and the words will settle in your heart and blood. The people love fiercely and deeply, and the losses are wounding. The parallels drawn to racial violence in America are at once heart-breaking and enraging. A necessary read.

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[cienie-isengardu]

Salazar Slytherin and pure-blood ideology? [part 1]

(OR: A Long Rant about Slytherin, Chamber of Secrets, beginning of Hogwarts, purebred wizards and witches, the situation of Middle-Age magic society, Merlin and his Order and in general everything that makes me think too much about Harry Potter lore)

The Harry Potter book series (from the Chamber of Secrets beyond) made it pretty clear pure-blood ideology is unmistakable linked to Slytherin - one of four Houses of Hogwarts. Salazar himself didn’t want to teach muggle-born wizards and witches, what was a source of conflict between him and Gryffindor - to the point Salazar left the school for good. Later, one of his descendants, Tom Riddle a.k.a. Voldemort, for years terrorized magical Great Britain and spread the hate for Muggle-born people. Like him, many, if not most Death Eaters who believed in pureblood superiority over Muggles and Muggle-born wizards grew up in Slytherin House.

By his choice and the effects it has on the Harry Potter story, Salazar seems to be the black sheep between all founders of Hogwarts, right?

But frankly, I think the reasons why he was so against teaching muggle-born wizards and witches aren’t exactly the same reasons for the hate that happened later on, from International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy (1692) to modern times. After all, many things change over the centuries, some turn into legends, others are forgotten. And so could happen with Salazar’s reasons too.

So, let see what we know about beginnings of the Hogwarts and about the Salazar Slytherin.

The main source of knowledge is The Sorting Hat, who sang few times about the Four Founders. In 1991 [Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone] the song told us that:

[...]

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

if you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folks use any means

To achieve their ends.

[...]

The first time Sorting Hat described Slytherin House as a place in which You'll make your real friends, and that those cunning folks use any means to achieve their ends. So, loyalty, cunning & ruthlessness are the traits related to Slytherin House (thus favored/possessing by Salazar himself).

Nothing much about blood purity but since it was the first book from seven, it is understable such detail was omitted.

The second song happened in 1994 [Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire] and told more about schism between founders:

A thousand years or more ago

When I was newly sewn,

There lived four wizards of renown,

Whose names are still well known:

Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor,

Fair Ravenclaw, from glen,

Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,

Shrewd Slytherin, from fen.

They shared a wish, a hope, a dream,

They hatched a daring plan

To educate young sorcerers

Thus Hogwarts School began.

Now each of these four founders

Formed their own house, for each

Did value different virtues

In the ones they had to teach.

By Gryffindor, the bravest were

Prized far beyond the rest;

For Ravenclaw, the cleverest

Would always be the best;

For Hufflepuff, hard workers were

Most worthy of admission;

And power-hungry Slytherin

Loved those of great ambition.

While still alive they did divide

Their favourites from the throng,

Yet how to pick the worthy ones

When they were dead and gone?

Twas Gryffindor who found the way,

He whipped me off his head

The founders put some brains in me

So I could choose instead!

Now slip me snug about your ears,

I've never yet been wrong,

I'll have a look inside your mind

And tell where you belong!

This time we learn more about both the founders and the sorting system itself.

The Four Founders were born (and represent) different part of Great Britain: Godric - England, Helga - Welsh, Rowena - Scotland and Slytherin most likely Ireland.

There is not many information about how wizards and witches educated themselves prior to Hogwarts. From Chocolate Frog Cards we know about Queen Maeve (whose title of Queen suggest connection to Muggleborn royalty, since Lupin assured Harry in HBP that “There are no Wizarding princes”) who was involved in the training of young wizards and witches in her native Ireland.  There is no certain date when, but we know the Queen Maeve’s magical education happened for sure before Hogwarts was built and since Slytherin most likely came from Ireland, he could be aware of such events. Of course, one may wonder if the idea of Hogwarts wasn’t partially related to the Maeve’s practice of passing down her magical knowledge - and more important, did he agree with such practice at court of Muggle-born king/husband of the great witch?

The song keeps mention Founders in the same order: Gryffindor - Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff - Slytherin. If that was intentional, then Hogwarts was shared a wish [Godric], a hope [Rowena], a dream [Helga] and daring plan [Salazar], which I guess suits ambitious nature of Slytherin just fine.

And who knows, maybe Slytherin was inspired by Queen Maeve after all, while being ambitious to make the school available to every young wizard and witches in whole Great Britain?

Here is one thing more to think about - building Hogwarts (the castle) wasn’t the most difficult problem the founders faced. Children (students) must be found and brought safely to school and after finishing the education, taken home. They must be feed, provided with necessary accessories (ingredients for potions, a sheet of paper, ink, and so on) and of course some children are gonna be from poor families, thus required additional material help. There is so many logistic problems the school needed to face to function properly that I can’t imagine the four great sorcerers of their time never talked about the issue who should be taken into their care before education started. Fine, Godric may not think too much about that since he seems like the type of doing first, thinking later but Rowena and most likely Salazar did pay attention to such detail, since both character emphasize intelligence / thinking ahead. The fact that all agree to form their own Houses (that represents different values) seems to me they came to some decisions about how the teachings is gonna happen once Hogwarts will be open for good.

At first the four great sorcerers chose by themselves their future students. We don’t know how that happened, if those young wizards and witches were put on some trials or if there were sort of interview with them? Because somehow the Founders have to see if those young and untested/unknown people have in them something “worth” their time and effort, right? While still alive they did divide their favourites from the throng kind of make it quite clear all founders selected students, so their judgment must have been based on something, right?

And frankly, I think in the first years of Hogwarts, students didn’t start at the same age. It seems to be quite weird to take only those children at the age of 11. If the school was something new in Great Britain, then some older wizards & witches could came there too, couldn’t they? I mean, who wouldn’t want to be educated by one of the greatest sorcerers, especially if there is limited way to gain knowledge and skills under competent teachers?

Sorting Hat became a way to decide to which House students should go after death of Slytherin, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. The Four Founders put “some brains” in it, which means the thing carry inside the combined magic (and thoughts and values?) of all of them. It makes me wonder then if Salazar was the “black sheep” of their little group, does the “power hungry” description is objective or more subjective (as in: colored by Godric, Rowena or Helga’s feelings toward Salazar?)

According to Rowling’s: Hogwarts: An Incomplete and Unreliable Guide / Pottermore (x) the “The Sorting Hat is one of the cleverest enchanted objects most witches and wizards will ever meet. It literally contains the intelligence of the four founders, can speak (through a rip near its brim) and is skilled at Legilimency, which enables it to look into the wearer’s head and divine his or her capabilities or mood. It can even respond to the thoughts of the wearer.” According to informations from Pottermore, Legilimency was Salazar’s area of expertise (x). So he definitely put some of his own magic in the Sorting Hat - and mind you, Slytherin’s magic is pretty important part, since Legilimency is what allows the Hat to look inside students’ heads!

So, we heard that Salazar was “power hungry” wizard who loved those of great ambition. He was also described as shrewd (“having or based on a clear understanding and good judgment of a situation, resulting in an advantage. Synonyms: astute, calculating, clever [Cambridge Dictionary]). Which is gonna be important soon.

What is important for now to remember, all four Founders valued different traits, thus I guess, have different way to perceiving magic (and humanity?).They also made some plans (like sorting students) for future, when they are dead and gone, so the school could still work and function properly under someone’s else guide.

The next (and last) song - that I’m gonna split in smaller parts -  happened in 1995 [Harry Potter and the Phoenix Order] and gave us another informations worth to examine:

In times of old, when I was new,

And Hogwarts barely started,

The founders of our noble school

Thought never to be parted.

United by a common goal,

They had the selfsame yearning

To make the world's best magic school

And pass along their learning.

"Together we will build and teach"

The four good friends decided.

And never did they dream that they

Might some day be divided.

For were there such friends anywhere

As Slytherin and Gryffindor?

Unless it was the second pair

Of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw,

So how could it have gone so wrong?

How could such friendships fail?

Why, I was there, so I can tell

The whole sad, sorry tale.

Said Slytherin, "We'll teach just those

Whose ancestry's purest."

Said Ravenclaw, "We'll teach those whose

Intelligence is surest."

Said Gryffindor, "We'll teach all those

With brave deeds to their name."

Said Hufflepuff, "I'll teach the lot

And treat them just the same."

These differences caused little strife

When first they came to light.

For each of the four founders had

A house in which they might

Take only those they wanted, so,

For instance, Slytherin

Took only pure-blood wizards

Of great cunning just like him.

And only those of sharpest mind

Were taught by Ravenclaw

While the bravest and the boldest

Went to daring Gryffindor.

Good Hufflepuff, she took the rest

and taught them all she knew,

Thus, the houses and their founders

Maintained friendships firm and true.

Once again we are told that Helga, Salazar, Rowena and Godric were A) good friends who shared the same ambitious dream - to build the best magic school, a place to teach young wizards and witches and to pass their own knowledge B) never thought they are gonna be divided by anything.

The fall of their friendship is mainly related to Salazar’s lack of will to teach Muggle-born wizards and witches but the song make it clear that all Founders had their own idea of what kind of students should be taught:

Slytherin, "We'll teach just those Whose ancestry's purest."

Ravenclaw, "We'll teach those whose Intelligence is surest."

Gryffindor, "We'll teach all those With brave deeds to their name."

Hufflepuff, "I'll teach the lot And treat them just the same."

and ALL of those differences caused little strife.

Hufflepuff was the only one willing to teach ALL students, while others looked in children for special traits (either social/blood status and/or abilities they had/respected themselves). The previous song though make it clear that Helga once too favored certain kind of people: hard workers were most worthy of admission. The same as Hufflepuff changed mind to teach ALL, the description of Salazar switched from “power-hungry Slytherin loved those of great ambition” to caring mainly for blood status. A blood status that did not mean that much in Middle Age:

Slytherin’s discrimination on the basis of parentage was considered an unusual and misguided view by the majority of wizards at the time. Contemporary literature suggests that Muggle-borns were not only accepted, but often considered to be particularly gifted. They went by the affectionate name of ‘Magbobs’ (there has been much debate about the origin of the term, but it seems most likely to be that in such a case, magic ‘bobbed up’ out of nowhere).

Magical opinion underwent something of a shift after the International Statute of Secrecy became effective in 1692, when the magical community went into voluntary hiding following persecution by Muggles. This was a traumatic time for witches and wizards, and marriages with Muggles dropped to their lowest level ever known, mainly because of fears that intermarriage would lead inevitably to discovery, and, consequently, to a serious infraction of wizarding law. (x)

Not to mention an example of so called pure blood families, like Malfoys, who might always look down on Muggles but did not mind hang out with their nobility and have been on speaking (or marrying) terms with Muggles (x) prior to International Statute of Secrecy (1692)

To be fair, it may be just author’s inaccuracy due to progress of the story. Salazar Slytherin was already connected to pure blood ideology since Chamber of Secrets, so of course he must be the source of problem that give a ground for the conflict happening in times of Harry Potter.

But at the same time, the song states clearly that even though Salazar wanted to teach only those whose ancestry’s purest* he still took only pure-blood wizards of great cunning just like him. So, even between those of “proper social/blood status”, Slytherin still looked for the smartest kids to deal with. With raises question - did Salazar care more for pure-blood of students or the skills/smartness? As someone described as “power hungry”, I tend to think the lack of proper blood could be omitted by Salazar if he met a truly ambitions & cunning child. Did Salazar truly took only pure-blood students into his House? Blood Baron** may suggest otherwise, but for now let’s finish all the info from the song.

*what kind of doesn’t make much sense in light of newest Rowling’s writing for Pottermore since Muggle and wizarding worlds were intertwined for ages so how Salazar could check family line of all children in Great Britain? How he understood purest ancestry anyway? Did family with three magic generation counts as such? Four? More? Or maybe the children of parents that both are sorcerers were okay, regardless if one of parents was half-blood or Muggle-born themselves? I’m gonna come back to this soon.

**Took only pure-blood wizards… but Bloody Baron, one of the first Salazar’s students may not be pure-blood himself, if once again Lupin’s words may be recalled into discussion. Baron was born into nobility, but aristocrats are Muggle thing. Sooo, either this is simply error on Rowling’s part or in Salazar’s time, pure-blood status could be seen in different way. Not as status / blood connection to certain families, but the magic in someone’s blood? Living close and/or in magic world? Anything else?

The “little strife” between Founders seems to prove that they indeed talked about what kind of students they are gonna teach. Frankly, if they were great friends (Godric & Salazar were close to each other), I have hard time to imagine that issue of Muggle-born sorcerers was never bring into discussion before. Especially since back in Middle-Age - and in general, in past - sorcerers and no-magic people live along each other and there were plenty half-blood witches and wizards. The mixed marriages were much more common than they are in modern times, so there is a big chance that all of Founders could be half-blood or Muggle born themselves or have blood relatives between no-magic people; this is not topic that was hushed down back in their times, so I don’t think there would be reason for such great friends to not talk about Muggle-born & half-blood wizards and witches and what is their view of them, the situation of magical world and about potential future students. The songs seems to agree with me, because despite all their differences, the “houses and their foundersmaintained friendships firm and true.”

(Also, please note, this is third time when Sorting Hat connects Slytherin to true friendship which means despite power-hungry, ruthless and ambitious nature he wasn’t the back-stabbing type of person and was capable of loyalty / connecting to other people).

Now, time for the part focused at the schism:

So Hogwarts worked in harmony

For several happy years,

But then discord crept among us

Feeding on our faults and fears.

Sorting Hat once again provides important facts, like

A) Despite different values on which all Houses were built, Founders worked in harmony for many years.

B) Salazar did not resign just after school opened and pick up his students and taught them for more than at least two years

C) most likely something must happened to bring back the discord between them (maybe the tragedy of Helena Ravenclaw and Bloody Baron? I think it would fit timeline-wise)

D) Slytherin wasn’t solely responsible for the end of their friendship, since Hat says it cleary our faults and fears. This is pretty interesting that along faults (stubbornness? harmful ideology?), the fears played main role in their downfall. The Hat did not mention that Hogwarts was built in difficult times when magic people were persecuted by Muggle-born ones. Whatever happened to rise the conflict may be related to this persecution.

The Houses that, like pillars four

Had once held up our school

Now turned upon each other and

Divided, sought to rule.

And for a while it seemed the school

Must meet an early end.

What with duelling and with fighting

And the clash of friend on friend.

E) The conflict turned Founders against each other and there was fight how to rule the school; we aren’t told if Slytherin was the only one trying to impose his will/ideology on others making him vs three Houses, or if the conflict was much more complex. We don’t know how those fights affected students albeit song says it clearly that the schism put school in danger of being closed for good.

F) The fight between friends weren’t just verbal arguments; they dueled with each other, so it was pretty bad.

And at last there came a morning

When old Slytherin departed

And though the fighting then died out

He left us quite downhearted.

The way song described Slytherin as old may suggest he was much older than rest Founders. Pictures of the Founders on Pottermore (x)() suggest that too, since Salazar is presented there with white/grey hair. This of course may give him different life experiences when it comes to Muggle-born/no-magic people; the repetitive persecution of mages could influence Salazar’s perception of reality. Mind you, as someone specialized in Legilimency (what allows to enter another person’s mind), Salazar was most likely called shrewd for a good reason. Fear of no-magic community wasn’t totally unfounded and we may only wonder what kind of relationship (life experiences) with Muggles Slytherin could have to form such negative idea out of the standard acceptance.

So, Slytherin departed albeit the song does not say if that was his own idea or if he was given to understand he is no longer welcome there. I tend to think it was solely his decision, not to spite the others nor to make the ostentatious show. The school, the ambitious plan & dream, was in danger of closing for good. Maybe the departure was Slytherin’s hope to save something great he and his friends worked hard to make true? In a way, his decision saved Hogwarts but his departure wasn’t welcomed with relief. It stopped the fight, but seems like no one was truly happy when Salazar left the school.

And never since the founders four

Were whittled down to three

Have the Houses been united

As they once were meant to be.

The departure of Slytherin was a blow to other Founders. Interesting thing is that, the lack of unity isn’t specified for Slytherin & Gryffindor “rivalry” alone. So maybe the fight between Founders wasn’t that one-sided as it’s usually painted. In the end, they all never recovered from that fight & lost of friend and Hogwarts never again have been united as it meant to be.

The rest song is Sorting Hat’s warning that Hogwarts Houses must unite against upcoming dark times. Songs alone gave as a lot things to think about. Of course, Sorting Hat has limited time for its stories and rhymes,that is why I wish to bring one more (in universe) source, namely the history lesson with professor Binns:

‘You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago – the precise date is uncertain – by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age. The four school houses are named after them: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin. They built this castle together, far from prying Muggle eyes, for it was an age when magic was feared by common people, and witches and wizards suffered much persecution.’

Thanks to professor Binns, we have another important pieces about situation of magic people in Middle Ages, omitted by the Sorting Hat. Namely:

Hogwarts was built in secret in times when magic was feared by common (Muggle) people. The ”far from prying Muggle eyes“ may even suggest that Muggles were suspicious about anyone and anything that may be related to magic and hunted down the witches and wizards on their own. Not only evil ones, but anyone who was “weird” (different) and did not fit their idea of society. We know that hunt for witches wasn’t one-time event and happened through the ages; the panic and mass hysteria spread easily and many innocent people were killed in brutal way. The darkest times, the inquisition, happened few centuries after Hogwarts was opened, but we must remember that when Christianity became dominated religion, a lot pagan tribes were forced to accept (and submit to) a new religion. According to wikipedia, in England The laws of King Athelstan (924-40), corresponsive with the early French laws, punished any person casting a spell which resulted in death by extracting the extreme penalty (x). The law was passed some decades prior to beginning of Hogwarts, so Founders may not be witnesses of what happened to all witches and wizards in result (were they even born yet?), but then again, Sorting Hat called “old” only Salazar, so who knows how much older*** he was than rest ? Even if he was born and raised in Ireland, the stories of purge may reach him pretty fast, considering magic means of fast travel & communication via animals.

*** and hey, Dumbledore was 100+ years old and still kicking ass, Professor Bathilda Bagshot died at 124, Newt  at 119 and others are good examples that old age is not so big deal between magic people

And not forget that in Ireland, druid (magic) tradition already collapsed due to spreading & dominating Christianity. Did Salazar despite how new, so anti-magic religion was destroying the older, pagan faith that keep magic and no-magic people in somehow symbiosis relationship? Magic always was feared to some degree, but in pagan tribes no less respected, seek more in need than greed, while the sorcerers themselves were respected and had high(er) social status between Muggles. The symbiosis may never be truly perfect, sure, but definitely better than Christian law killing any person casting spell, even the good (healing) ones. Frankly, I wonder if Salazar himself wasn’t somehow connected to old (magic) tradition/faith and how this could add to his refusal of teaching Muggle-born (Christian) children?

Another thing to take into account is the way Hogwarts was built. How many castles with solid walls are really changed into schools for children? Did Founders from the start felt they must fortify their school? Did they build the castle themselves or did they get the building somehow? Did all those charms to protect school (and its students) were put there by them from the start or was it later addition? Because there is so many security stuff, to the point that Hogwarts is now considered the safest place in modern Great Britain.

Did Founders worried that putting all magical children in one place may provoke Muggles to do something nasty? Were they afraid of no-magic people?

Another part of the lesson:

He paused, gazed blearily around the room, and continued, ‘For a few years, the founders worked in harmony together, seeking out youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. But then disagreements sprang up between them. A rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more selective about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy. After a while, there was a serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school.’

Once again we learn that Founders worked in harmony for a few years, which most likely means Slytherin objection to teaching Muggle-born wasn’t anything strong or even not born yet.

Here is very useful and important part: Founders personally seek out youngsters who showed signs of magic and took them to the castle to be educated. Which means that Salazar and his friends did have contact with Muggles****, seeking between them young (untrained) wizards and witches. Since the law against witchcraft in England (and maybe in other parts of Great Britain too) has been working for years we may only imagine how the meeting with Muggle-born parents went. Did they reacted with fear? Hate? Keep thinking how their children’s magic may be useful for them? That those children are little devils that should be killed? Even in modern times, some families aren’t accepting magic but back in the Middle Ages? When magic was satan’s thing? How many people enjoyed such news or just accepted it without fuss? And hey, even seeking the half-blood children could be dangerous to their magic parents, if out of nowhere their identity of witch/wizard has come to light. Unless their Muggle partner knew about it, the surprise could bring tragedy to family. There are histories about, for example, man killing his wife cause he thought she was witch.

****Since many witches & wizards were living between no-magic people, Salazar and his friends most likely met a lot Muggles, even when they seek children of sorcerers. Professor Binns said, they seek out their students, so I’m guessing they weren’t rely on “searching/tracking spells” alone, if it existed yet at all. Maybe while travelling from one human settlement to another, they heard stories that sounded as someone’s using magic thus finding Muggleborn wizards & witches along the way?

Frankly, I’m surprised that Founders didn’t think / argue to take away those children for good, Jedi-like style. That way school could gain a talented students, while children would be far away from potential abuse. Then again, this is of course only my assumption that Hogwarts worked then in similar fashion to modern times, with the vacations between teaching when childs are sent back to their families for summer & winter (christmas*****) breaks. And even so many years later, the problem of putting back students into abusive families / unpleasant environments was never truly solved. Harry Potter may be seen as a special case, but Severus & Tom (half-bloods) were forced to come back to unhappy family / orphanage that cut them away from magic world. Okay, Severus had witch for a mother, and by some time magical friend (Lily), but being sorcerer between Muggles is pretty hard thing. Especially if Muggles hate the magic (Harry with Dursley, Lily with her own sister hating her).

***** Okay, I’m still not sure why the wizarding world even celebrate Christmas if no one seems to be Christian themselves, nor the religion plays any role or appear in the background at all.

Of course, if the no-magic parents were the trouble, why refuse children an access to education that will keep them safe and between their own folks? Why Salazar wanted cut them off, be more selective? A good question with not clear answer. On one hand, we should ask how many Muggle-born wizards and witches were back in Salazar’s days? In Harry Potter’s times, there weren’t that much Muggle-born sorcerers in his and younger class we are aware of, right? What if in Salazar’s time Muggle-born wizards and witches were even less happening, mainly due to fact

there wasn’t any law forbidding marrying no-magic people, thus

the amount of half- and quarter-blood (from half-blood & Muggle-born no-magic parents) was much bigger than later so

even if magic genes skipped a generation or two, some children still had magic blood in them due to having magic ancestor(s)

and let’s not forget the Squibs (children of wizards who do not have magic), who chose (or were shunned) to live between Muggles  could pass the magic gene to next generations******

There is also question how people gained magic in the first place. I mean, magic has been with mankind since the dawn of time. The wizards and witches aren’t different from no-magical people (except for magic, of course), so wouldn’t it make sense if even the purest magical families come from Muggle-born wizards and witches that passed down the magic gene? I wish to see some in-universe research about that.

******Frankly, I wonder if wizards are capable of checking if supposed Muggle-born student was truly a rarity or simply had distant magic ancestor? Especially since Squibs were living between Muggles for a long time and had their own childrens, then shouldn’t magic appear in some at some point? How Hermione (or rather magic teachers / officials) can be so sure she is Muggle-born witch and not some very distant descendant of Squib or wizard/witch? Does magic allow to check someone’s family tree that far in the past to be so sure about it?

On three song, none stated Salazar’s reasoning. We know whom he wanted to teach (Whose ancestry is purest; Took only pure-blood wizards Of great cunning, just like him) and what he seek in his students (Loved those of great ambition; of great cunning) but we’re not told why. Professor Binns, as the only one source, gave short passage: He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy.

At first, the all-magic families sounds as pure-blood ideology, right? But once again, what counts as all-magic family? What pure-blood meant in Middle-Ages and in time prior to Statute of Secrecy became effective (1692)? How many magic generation after generation family should have to to satisfy Slytherin? And if, let’s say, a Muggle-born wizard/witch married another magical person and they have magic offspring would the child(s) meet Salazar’s requirement? Both parents are wizards thus kid is raised in all-magic family, both understand to some degree magic and how it works, both need to watch out for Muggle prying eyes and keep hidden identity safe due spreading Christianity & anti-magic laws.

And what about children of Muggle-born person married into “pure-blood” family with magic generation after generation? What about half-bloods who are still born and raised in families in 99% full of wizards and witches? Would they count or not?

Would Slytherin refused such childrens, if they showed ambition and cunning nature he so much loved?

Also, the single argument given us by professor Binns is very important. Because Salazar’s choice of students didn’t come from sense of superiority (that I don’t see it in songs & history lesson provided by series) but from the feeling that students of Muggle parentage were untrustworthy.

Not worse than pure-blood students. Not unworthy of magic and learning under the greatest wizards and witches of their time. Not lesser.

Salazar believed he can’t trust them (and rest of Founders shouldn’t either). But trust with what?

The use of magic? Yeah, I can see how children who were picked up for years for being different, if not straight out abused as “spawn of devil” would rely on magic for their own protection or maybe even revenge of some sort. Which is rather connected to the (still unsolved) problem of sending back children to Muggle families / environment that aren’t always the safest or happiest places and well, some people love to have power and control that magic gives. Muggle- and magic-born alike.

The safety of Hogwarts and other wizards? Did the school was already Unplottability from the start? Did Salazar worried that Muggle-born students, willingly or accidently or under pressure(torture?), will betray the location of the magic school putting everyone in danger? Or spread the information that there is place full of still not fully trained wizards and witches, an easy prey to destroy due to their young age and limited knowledge?

Or, if Bloody Baron was Muggle-born (or at least half-blood born into Muggle nobility), would his action changed Salazar’s mind? Lack of control that resulted in death of Baron (Salazar’s own student) and pure-blood/half-blood Helena Ravenclaw (daughter of Salazar’s close friend) and may speed up death of Rowena (Salazar’s close friend)? Since Baron was one of Slytherin’s first student, that for sure could be a real blow to Salazar’s sense of trust (pride).

Salazar did not trust students of Muggle parentage, but in contrast to later pure-blood supremacist, there is not sources in which he would dehumanized those students or Muggles in general. Chamber of Secret is, mind you, covered up with so many myths and legends, so it’s hard to tell what was true and what was added later to the story. I’m gonna cover up this issue next time. For now let me bring passage:

Several works of dubious scholarship, published around the early eighteenth century and drawing partly on the writings of Salazar Slytherin himself, make reference to supposed indicators of pure-blood status, aside from the family tree. The most commonly cited signs were: onset of magical ability before the age of three, early (before aged seven) prowess on a broomstick, dislike or fear of pigs and those who tend them (the pig is often considered a particularly non-magical animal and is notoriously difficult to charm), resistance to common childhood illnesses, outstanding physical attractiveness and an aversion to Muggles observable even in the pure-blood baby, which supposedly shows signs of fear and disgust in their presence.

Successive studies produced by the Department of Mysteries have proven that these supposed hallmarks of pure-blood status have no basis in fact. Nevertheless, many pure-bloods continue to cite them as evidence of their own higher status within the wizarding community. (x)

After International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy (1692) the pure-blood was more political statement than true biological facts, supported by many of wizards and witches who were against voluntary hiding of wizarding community, so stuff published around the early eighteenth century are already connected to political ideology of supremacist and not always were stricte scientific research. Thus Several works of dubious scholarship is already a clear warning that reader should critically evaluate them

So, those dubious “historians” connected their pure-blood ideological theories to Slytherin by drawing partly on the writings of Salazar Slytherin himself. Mind you, they did not quoted directly his work, but only used those partly, which most likely means they took what fitted their theories, quite possible out of original context. What unfortunately happened through the ages in our world too; Nietzsche's philosophy & Nazi’s racism comes to mind.

We don’t have an idea what Salazar wrote nor in what form. Was that his personal journals? His magical research/studies? Did those writings even survive to modern times and are - in universe - available to historians or do we  - and wizarding world - know about them only due to dubious, biased reference? Slytherin for sure must be controversial historical figure, but how much of his dark reputation comes from his own doing and how much from over-interpretation, manipulation or straight propagating racist ideas by using his person?

Also, He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage… that kinda sounds that despite his personal disliking, he still took (and taught?) some. So, did Sorting Hat lied with the Took only pure-blood wizards Of great cunning, just like him line? Or was that more about general finding and bringing Muggle-born students to school?

I think my biggest problem with perception of Salazar Slytherin through the story is that he lived around 1000 years before the big conflict of main story happened. People, and thus society, change really fast, ideologies comes and goes, so are wars, political clashes, idea of comfort and inappropriate behavior. Generation after generation the changes happen so it is really hard to me to imagine that what Salazar thought and did and what motivated him 1000 years ago will be the literally the same thing for pure-blood supramcist now. When even the context of dislike for Muggle-born wizards and witches switched from general terror against magic to a sense of superiority or even a desire to enslave or exterminate no-magical people.

What is pretty big switch of reasoning, don’t you think?

I’m not gonna say Salazar did nothing wrong, but I think calling him pure-blood supremacist in the modern (in universe) sense may be quite far from the truth.

I imagine most likely everyone brave enough to read my meta to the end at least few times hissed but the Chamber of Secrets! I did not forget nor omitted it. This and Salazar’s students & family is gonna be topic of the next part, I promise.

[eddycurrents]

Darkness Calls: Chapter One

Words: Mike Mignola | Art: Duncan Fegredo | Colours: Dave Stewart | Letters: Clem Robins

Originally published by Dark Horse in Hellboy: Darkness Calls #1 | April 2007

Collected in Hellboy - Volume 8: Darkness Calls | Hellboy Library Edition - Volume 5 | Hellboy Omnibus Volume 3: The Wild Hunt

Plot Summary:

Igor Bromhead returns to bind Hecate to him. A trio of witches fondle Hellboy’s horn sculpted into a miniature. And, in England, while staying with his and Bruttenholm’s old friend, Harry (it’s going to get complicated, but just go with it right now), Hellboy goes for a walk with a company of three weird folk learning a bit of the witchfinder, Henry Hood, and a tomb. 

Reading Notes:

(Note: Pagination is solely in reference to the chapter itself and is not indicative of anything within the issue or collections.)

pg. 1 - Here we’ve the return of Mignola’s almost Aleister Crowley analogue (the character is more consistent with Wm. Somerset Maugham’s caricature as Oliver Haddo in The Magician) in Igor Bromhead, last seen in “Box Full of Evil” running afoul of a deal gone bad with a demon’s conjuration and imprisonment.

The old architecture is gorgeous. Really gives a connection to the ritual being performed to “old things”.

pg. 4 - I think it’s interesting that the first form that Hecate appears in is that of the Iron Maiden. You could suppose that this is her “true” present form, being spirit and flesh imbued into that iron coffin.

I’m also impressed that Duncan Fegredo not only included the rivets on the structure, but the hinges.

And it seems like Bromhead hasn’t found a cure for his reptile leg affliction.

pg. 5 - The shift to the more feminine yet monstrous gorgon appearance is interesting as Hecate admonishes and mocks Bromhead, though there’s something to be said for his own shit-eating grin. You can tell he’s got something up his sleeve even before he finishes the conjuration ritual.

The reaction shot of the birds supping on the blood is just gorgeous. That kind of “crap, something’s up” look that animals give when they’re spooked. Nice work from both Fegredo and Dave Stewart.

pg. 6 - Then we get almost a human appearance when Bromhead binds Hecate by her human name. It’s a brief shift as she then goes back to a gorgon and the iron maiden form, but it’s kind of significant in the binding. It’s a nice touch of the art.

Also, booty.

pg. 7 - And dragging another skeleton out of the closet, bringing Giurescu back from Wake the Devil and Hecate’s rebirth story. It’s neat how Mignola is utilizing the little bits and pieces from the past to push forward into something new.

Also, I love the little changes to balloon styles and colouring throughout from Clem Robins, giving each voice a unique touch.

pg. 8-9 - This trio of witches definitely seem to be up to something nefarious with that Hellboy carving. The design of the harpy form is also really neat.

And I’m loving Dave Stewart’s colours. He’s utilizing the colour washes that have been common since Seed of Destruction, but these aren’t nearly as stark. There’s a bit of layering to them that works well with the detail and lines of Fegredo’s artwork. It also makes you wonder if you’re supposed to carry over the old colour themes from the earlier stories, but I’m not sure if it works. There’s much more of a blue-grey wash to everything (previously denoting Rasputin and his influence for the most part) which makes me wonder.

pg. 11 - Gorgeous shot of Harry’s home by the sea. It’s also interesting that the “Stormalong” song begins with what looks like a flashback to Hellboy’s time drinking with ghosts on the island. Maybe that’s a hint?

pg. 12 - Nice replacement service pistol.

pg. 13 - You’ve got the impression that the witches are messing with him through that effigy, you’ve got Harry giving a present tense sentence of Bruttenholm’s pride in Hellboy, the weird song working a parallel narrative about the dead, the blue-grey wash giving a kind of illusory feel against which the red of Hellboy’s skin definitely stands out, and then you’ve got cats. Beautiful cats as rendered by Fegredo. Not quite as ominous as crows, owls, or such, but there’s definitely a connotation of cats being drawn to the supernatural (Mignola and Arcudi used it earlier in Garden of Souls) almost as a psychopomp or perhaps a familiar. It leaves you a little uncertain.

pg. 14 - Just beautiful art from Fegredo and Stewart.

pg. 16 - And then there’s this weird trio, picking up the song that you wonder if it was supposed to be in Hellboy’s head to begin with, or if they’ve been singing it all along and we’ve just been building to this.

pg. 17-18 - The history of Henry Hood and his demise is a nice touch, giving a bit of depth as to what’s coming in this sequence.

pg. 19 - It just gets creepy. The woods seem haunted by Hood’s spirit and it’s definitely troubling to all of them.

pg. 20-21 - The time shifts, between present and past, day and night, have a kind of interesting unsettling affect. Though it’s by no means confusing, it rattles you a bit.

Also love the use of sound effect from Clem Robins rather than seeing the actual end result of the hanging. Leaving it to the imagination is so much more frightening.

pg. 22 - Here’s where we get more of a clue as to what this trio has been up to and where they’ve ultimately been guiding Hellboy.

pg. 23 - Their physical changes are really neat.

pg. 24 - And boom, dead witches. But we’re still kind of wondering, why?

Final Thoughts:

And then things got weird.

If you thought that The Third Wish and The Island got into metaphysical realms, dabbling in esoteric ideas and telling the story through oblique allegories, you’ve not seen anything yet. Darkness Calls begins what could be considered Hellboy’s Arthurian period, where Mike Mignola because to incorporate some more British folklore and mythology into the story. It built upon the Irish and Celtic folklore began back in “The Corpse” and continued through with the angry little pig-goblin, Gruagach, as well as the Dagda being one of Hellboy’s watchers, and well...it just explodes from here.

The funny thing is, right now, it’s still kind of straightforward. You haven’t received the few bombs dropped on you yet as to what’s going on, so everything can be taken, and should be, at face value. Hellboy’s in England talking to some fairies about witches. Even incorporating the traditional ditty “Stormalong” as a parallel narrative, similar to how Mignola used poetry and Shakespeare in “The Ghoul”, isn’t necessarily as distracting (though it should definitely give a hint as to one of the things happening here).

Joining Mignola for the start of this final movement, an extended trilogy of sorts of Darkness Calls, The Wild Hunt, and The Storm and the Fury, is Duncan Fegredo. Fegredo became Mignola’s proxy in the present as much as Richard Corben did for the past. Although like both Mignola and Corben he uses a generous application of inks and shadows, there’s a bit more angular grit and a certain amount of detailed realism in Fegredo’s art. It’s suited perfectly to not only depicting a fantastical British countryside, but also that kind of kind of offbeat Woman in Black meets A Midsummer Night’s Dream type of ghost/faerie tale.

d. emerson eddy is calling the Darkness, but they don’t seem to be picking up.

[thiswomanshouldbewriting]

A Tale of Magic - Chapter 4 (Sons)

In the past, Belle has to deal with an unexpected development. In Storybrooke, father-son relationships will move things forward.

As always, thanks to my wonderful beta @galactic-pirates.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Ao3 link. 

As the weeks passed, life found a new, pleasant rhythm inside and around the Evil Queen’s castle. Snow and David were doing a great job at organizing things so that everyone’s skills were put to good use; camps were cultivated under Tiny’s expert supervision, Marco coordinated the construction of new houses, and Regina’s magic was turning out to be a real blessing, especially when Blue refused to offer help with some issues. It was Regina who had to turn Archie back into a human when the fairy refused to do so.

“I turned him into a cricket to give him another chance at being free and, most importantly, being good. To turn him back would mean taking away the lesson he learned on that day,” was her only explanation.

Blue also resented the fact that several dwarves, beside Snow’s seven old friends, had decided to help around the castle rather than go back to the mines. The decrease in the production of fairy dust only seemed to irritate her more, making it even harder to obtain help from her, but aside from Blue’s sour mood things were going nicely.

Even Belle had been assigned to her dream occupation. She was now in charge of Regina’s old library, with the added duty of collecting and recording all of the knowledge that they had acquired through their cursed memories. She had been given a list of every person who had come to the castle, and she had noted beside everyone the fields in which they were knowledgeable. It was a pity that Whale had gone back to his old world, and not just because Ruby missed him terribly; medical knowledge had been way more advanced in the Land Without Magic, and it was definitely one of their highest priorities. Thankfully, a bunch of nurses had come over, giving her a place to start.

She went to talk to the first one early one morning, bringing parchment and ink down to the infirmary, so that nurse Lewis, Charlotte, could still be available if there was an emergency. Everything was going nicely, and Belle already had three sheets of parchment full of notes, when the other woman started cleaning something with alcohol. The pungent smell went straight to Belle’s stomach, and a second later she was fighting the need to throw up.

“I’m sorry,” she said as soon as she was able to talk again. “I haven’t been feeling well these past few weeks, and strong smells really don’t help.”

There was a curious look on the nurse’s face.

“For how long exactly? Why didn’t you say something sooner?” she asked.

“I don’t know, I guess since shortly after we came back to the Enchanted Forest. I just didn’t pay much attention at first because, well… my True Love had just died. Feeling sick was basically a constant state for me,” Belle explained. God, it still hurt so much to say it.

“My condolences,” Charlotte said immediately. “Look, I know this might be too blunt and possibly a shock for you, but have you considered the possibility that you might be pregnant?”

It took Belle several seconds to fully grasp the meaning of her words.

“No,” she said instinctively, without even thinking. “No, I can’t be, it’s not possible…”

But it was. Her voice trailed off as the realization hit her. She had been so caught up in her grief that she had missed all the signs: the sickness, her missing period, even her sudden and strange craving for lemon cakes. Her head started spinning, and she sat down heavily on the closest bed.

“I mean, it’s just a thought, you’re not certainly pregnant,” Charlotte said, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Belle shook her head. She might not have considered the possibility until then, but now she felt in her heart that it was the truth. She was pregnant. She was going to have Rumplestiltskin’s child, and she didn’t know if that made her feel better or worse. Now a part of Rumplestiltskin would always be with her, and their love would live on in the new life they had created together. Yet their child would never know its father, nor would she ever see Rumplestiltskin’s eyes lit up as he held his child for the first time. Images of the life they could have had flashed before her eyes, and knowing that they’d never become real felt like losing Rumplestiltskin all over again.

Neal was the first person she told about it. He was very surprised, then sympathetic, and eventually he managed to make her laugh by quipping about having always wanted to be a big brother. She had lost Rumple, but his children were still here, and she’d do her damnedest to take care of them as Rumple would have. Even though she had no idea where to start.

**********

By the time Neal and Henry arrived in Storybrooke, they had been attacked two more times. Emma and Regina were waiting for them at the townline, ready to fight off any other monkeys. Zelena’s beasts tried to keep anyone from leaving town, but coming back in was easier, as Emma herself had seen. Better safe than sorry, Emma thought, even though her magic was still quite unreliable. Regina was trying to teach her, but Emma was turning out to be quite a difficult student. She was full of potential, but she had trouble channeling her emotions into her spells. Emma would never admit it, but she suspected that part of her struggle was due to the fact that, deep down, she still hadn’t accepted all this magic craziness. She had started to after Henry ate that poisoned turnover, but he was the believer in the family, not her. After nine months back in the real world, with its normal problems, Storybrooke felt like nonsense. Dangerous nonsense. Back in New York, bills were her major problem. Now that magic was back in her life, the stakes had risen so much; she wasn’t struggling to make ends meet anymore, she was fighting to keep her family alive. Even though she knew this was technically her world, a part of her couldn’t help but long for the calm of her old life.

Henry rushed to hug her as soon as the car was safely across the townline, immediately making her mood lighter. Magic or not, she felt infinitely better with Henry in her arms. Neal came to hug her next, while Henry awkwardly shook hands with Regina. Emma could see the pain in her eyes at not being recognized by her own son, but there was nothing she could do about it. As much as it pained Regina to admit it, even she had agreed that it wasn’t wise to tell Henry that he’d actually been abandoned as a newborn. His world had just been turned upside down, and the last thing he needed was another shock, especially now that he knew he was in danger.

Neal decided to go back to his father’s house, to check on Belle and hopefully get some sleep. To Emma’s surprise, Henry hugged him before saying goodbye, even if he was somewhat awkward.

“I’ll see you tomorrow Neal… I mean dad, I mean… what do you want me to call you?” Henry asked, confused. Every word felt wrong on his tongue.

“It’s alright, you can still call me Neal if you want,” Neal reassured him immediately. “But should you feel like it, then call me ‘Papa’. It’s what I always called my father.”

Henry nodded, clearly more at ease, and Emma burned with curiosity. She wanted to know more about this sudden change in Henry and Neal’s relationship, but she didn’t want to pressure her son. She was pretty sure he wouldn’t keep silent about it for long anyway.

“I hit that monkey in the face, you know? Twice!” Henry said enthusiastically after they had parted from Regina as well.

“I hope the monkey didn’t do the same to you,” Emma replied, torn between pride and worry.

“Nope. It did try, but Neal always stopped it. He saved me, more than once. Not that I wasn’t able to take care of myself, but Neal helped. A lot,” Henry babbled, still high on adrenaline.

“I’m glad that you two are on better terms now. I’m sorry I had to leave you with him, especially when you didn’t trust him, but things have a tendency to go downhill pretty quickly in Storybrooke,” Emma explained.

“Because of magic?” Henry asked, still not quite able to believe it. “It’s all true then? Fairytale characters are real and a curse brought them here?”

“Yes. Crazy, right?” Emma said, smiling as she remembered the time when she had been the skeptical one.

“Neal said there are things from the past that we don’t remember. That our memories were erased and that we had met him before. That’s why you changed your mind about him?” he asked her. He didn’t think Neal could have come out with such an absurd explanation just to trick him, but he needed confirmation that his story and his mother’s matched.

“Yes. When we met him again, in the months you have forgotten, I discovered that there was a reason why he had left me alone. Not a great reason, but still better than him just wanting to run away with the money. He has been trying very hard to make it up to us, and he loves you very much,” Emma confirmed.

“I think he loves you as well. He gets emotional whenever he talks about you,” Henry said, curious at what his mother’s reaction would be.

“Maybe he does, but right now we don’t have time for that,” Emma brushed the matter off. “I’m more focused on getting your memory back and keeping you safe. We still don’t know what exactly that witch wants from all of us.”

Her attempt to change the subject was way too obvious to be missed. Henry wasn’t sure of what he thought of that, but he would surely keep a closer eye on his parents from now on. There was definitely a lot going on there.

**********

Ever since she had told the others that she was pregnant, Belle had hardly been left alone for a moment. There was always someone fussing over her, even more so than when she was ‘just’ grieving. She appreciated it, she truly did, but from time to time she felt the need to be alone with her thoughts, and the night was perfect for that. When she woke up from a nightmare - which was a common occurrence for her - she often saw no point in lying awake in the dark when there was no one to calm her and hold her as she fell back to sleep. So she got dressed and wandered through the castle, oftentimes ending up in the courtyard; she loved the flowers that grew there, and there was something bittersweet and soothing in looking up at the sky and wondering if Rumple was looking down at her from wherever he was.

That night, however, the courtyard wasn’t empty when she reached it. Regina was already sitting on one of the benches, and she turned around with a start when she heard Belle approaching.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Belle apologized immediately, already turning her back on the other woman to walk away. She didn’t feel like talking, especially not with Regina.

“No, wait, I actually wanted to talk to you,” Regina said after a second, as if she had been debating whether to speak or not.

Belle sighed, her back still turned to the queen. She could simply walk away; they weren’t friends by any means, after all, and she was tired. Yet being so rude really went against her nature, and she supposed she could just hear what this was about and leave if the whole thing got uncomfortable. She walked towards the bench, reminding herself that this wasn’t the same woman who had imprisoned her and erased her personality at least twice.

“What do you want, Regina?” she asked, her voice coming out just a tad more annoyed than she had meant it to. If Regina noticed, she didn’t let it show.

“I just want you to know that I’m sorry for all that you’re going through. I didn’t say it before, but I really mean it,” Regina said somewhat awkwardly. “Losing your True Love is terrible, and you didn’t deserve this. Probably nobody does.”

Belle could see the honesty in Regina’s eyes, and she really wished she could simply accept her condolences and walk away, but something about her choice of words really set her off. She had been building up tension, grief and anger for so long, and suddenly something inside of her snapped.

“Then why did you do your damnedest to put me and Rumplestiltskin through that kind of pain over and over again?” she asked, her voice already cracking with tears. “Why should I listen to you when your scheming took away so much of the limited time I had with Rumple? You’ve done nothing but mentally and physically torture me ever since we’ve known each other!”

Regina was taken aback by her outburst, but the quick flash of indignation in her eyes died straight away to be replaced by guilt.

“I’m sorry,” she said after a beat of silence. “I truly am. I know I did horrible things to you, and you didn’t deserve them.”

She was a new person now, or at least she was trying to be, but it was so much harder in the Enchanted Forest, where everything and everyone seemed to remind her of her past.

“Thank you,” Belle deadpanned. “Look, I had to let this out sooner or later, but I really don’t want to fight. You’ve hurt me, and this apology was long overdue, but I’m willing to try and move past that now that you’re changing,” she added, her tone turning more conciliating.

“You know, in a way I actually admire you,” Regina blurted out, surprising even herself for having said it out loud. Belle looked quizzically at her, so she went on.

“I admire you because you have a strength I never had. You are willing to forgive people no matter how much they’ve hurt you, and despite everything that life - or I, for that matter - threw at you, you didn’t let it change you. Darkness is a slippery slope, and you’ve always managed to keep yourself away from it,” Regina explained.

“Is it truly a big deal if I’ve never even been tempted?” Belle asked, a small smile finally forming on her face. Try as she might, she had never truly seen the appeal of darkness. When things went south, she was prone to blaming herself, and that was something that no amount of dark magic could fix. “Maybe it’s people like you and Rumplestiltskin who deserve the most praise,” she went on “Those who were tempted and fell into the pit, and then fought tooth and nail to get out of it.”

Regina looked even more shocked by her understanding than she had been by her accusations, and flashed Belle a bittersweet smile.

“That child is very lucky to have you as its mother. Motherhood is Rumplestiltskin’s last gift to you, and believe me when I say it’s the best gift you’ll ever receive. It surely was for me,” Regina said, then she stood up and teleported away, vanishing into the night before Belle even had the time to wish her goodnight.

Belle sat on that bench for several more minutes, pondering the other woman’s words, one hand on her still flat belly. She hadn’t expected Regina to apologize, let alone to compliment her. If only she felt as strong as the other woman had said; as far as she could tell, Belle had merely been a spectator in her own life recently. From being used and tossed around as a pawn by everyone who wanted to get back at Rumple, to being literally frozen in place as her True Love died, to finally this pregnancy, which was wanted but definitely unplanned; she hadn’t chosen anything. That was the first thing she needed to fix if she wanted to give her child their best chance; she needed to be stronger, to stand up for herself like she had done today with Regina. She needed to do it, no matter how hard it was, because now it wasn’t just herself that she needed to protect.

**********

Neal was exhausted after the long drive from New York to Storybrooke, and he was glad that the situation in town was still calm enough to allow him to get some sleep. The peace, however, was short lived. When he woke up, Belle informed him that there had been strange sightings in the woods during the night.

“A cloaked figure was spotted by several people on patrol duty, and those that tried to get closer to it were either teleported away or thrown to the ground with magic,” she said over breakfast, pushing her food around her plate. “No one was seriously hurt, but everyone thinks that this is a sign that Zelena is moving. They are trying to find out who is under the cloak, but not even Ruby seems able to follow its trail.”

“Do you think it’s my father under the cloak?” Neal asked cautiously.

Belle sighed, setting her plate aside altogether. “I think it’s very likely. This cloaked figure isn’t even attacking us, it’s just going around ominously. I think it’s just a diversion, and what better diversion than to have us chase someone only to discover we can’t and won’t hurt him?”

“Have you told Snow about this?”

“Yes, I have, but she still thinks we ought to track it down, and I agree. If it’s not Rumple, maybe we can learn something more about the witch’s plan. If it’s him… at least we can know how he’s doing,” she said, twisting her napkin in her hands.

Under any other circumstances, she would have been out there looking for him herself. Zelena was controlling him through the dagger, but she already knew that her and Rumple’s love was stronger than his curse; if there was someone who could help him break free of the dagger’s hold, it was her. Maybe Neal could as well, but while she was sure that there was True Love between Rumple and his son, she also thought that their relationship was still too tentative to fight such powerful dark magic. Yet she couldn’t go trek in the woods this far along in her pregnancy, especially not when she knew that Zelena was coming after her baby.

“What really worries me isn’t that Snow and the others are tracking him down,” Belle added after a moment. “It’s that I don’t know what kind of orders that witch is giving him. What if she forces him to do something horrible, something he’ll have trouble forgiving himself for?”

Rumplestiltskin had been her prisoner for months now, and Belle only had the faintest idea of what she had been forcing him to do in that time. Every extra minute he spent under her control could be the one in which she made him cross the line, assuming she hadn’t already.

“Hey, he hasn’t had to cause any real harm so far, let’s focus on that. We will free him, I promise,” Neal reassured her.

“If only we had more time…” Belle murmured, caressing her large belly. Her son could be born any moment now, and Zelena would come for him. She had no idea of what would happen next, and she hoped she’d never find out.

“I know, and that’s why I’m going out to help Emma search the woods. I promise I’ll do anything to protect you and my little brother,” he said, smiling reassuringly at her.

He hugged her, then he left the pink mansion, stopping by his father’s shop to retrieve his old saber. Then he called Emma and they agreed to meet at the townline.

“Henry gave me hell this morning. He realized that something was wrong and kept insisting on coming with me. I left him with Granny, at least I know that someone is keeping an eye on him and he isn’t sneaking around and putting himself in harm’s way,” Emma told him as they started trekking through the woods.

“Yes, he definitely has a talent for that. I guess he takes after both of us,” Neal said, preferring to focus on the comical aspect of the whole thing rather than dwell on how much danger their son was in.

“It must run in your family. After all, your father is the one who decided to break into your apartment when we came looking for you in New York,” Emma observed.

“Are you telling me I should get my baby brother some lock-picking tools already?” Neal asked, chuckling.

Emma laughed with him, but their hilarity was short-lived. A shadow moved amidst the trees to their right, and they immediately ran after it. The cloaked figure waved a hand; Emma was engulfed by purple smoke and disappeared. Neal looked at the spot where she had been until a moment before, paralyzed by fear.

She has just been poofed away, he told himself. She’s fine, probably on the other side of town, but unharmed. He turned back, anger making him bold.

“What did you do to her?” he screamed, then launched himself at the cloaked figure, determined to find out who it really was, and possibly get some answers.

He shouldn’t have bothered; his opponent, instead of trying to run away as he’d expected, slowly raised his arms to lower his hood. When Neal saw who he was fighting against, Neal stopped dead in his tracks, his stomach in knots.

Belle had been right. The mysterious figure was indeed Rumplestiltskin, but only in part. There was very little of his papa in the deranged eyes of the imp in front of him. There was no fondness in his gaze, no torment over being controlled, no sign that he even realized who he was fighting against. His skin was once again covered in scales, his eyes reptilian and inhuman, and Neal felt as though one of his nightmares had just come to life.

The imp giggled maniacally as a sword materialized in its hands, and Neal wiped his clammy hands on his trousers as he realized that he’d have to fight the worst incarnation of his father. He didn’t know what had happened to him; his hope was that Zelena was simply forcing him to be like this to upset her enemies, but a part of Neal couldn’t help but fear that, after being imprisoned for so long, his father had simply succumbed to the curse.

He was so lost in his own fear that he almost failed to block Rumplestiltskin’s first attack. His instinct kicked in at the last moment, and the fight began. Even without using magic, Rumplestiltskin proved himself a great swordsman, and Neal soon found himself struggling against him, fatigue starting to slow down his movements while his father seemed unaffected, the curse providing him an unfair advantage. The situation was made even more difficult by the fact that Neal just wasn’t thinking clearly. Seeing his father like this had brought him back to his fourteenth birthday, awakening a fear he had thought long gone, and that was making it hard to concentrate on the fight. He felt despair starting to creep in; he couldn’t win this fight, he couldn’t stop Rumplestiltskin, he couldn’t run away. He was alone and alone he’d die. He thought of Henry, who was just starting to let him in again, and who didn’t deserve to grow up without a father. He thought of Rumplestiltskin, who would never forgive himself for harming his son while he was under the dagger’s influence. He thought of Belle, who had already gone through so much, and who would be devastated at losing him. Lastly, he thought of Emma, and of how he would leave her alone again.

Rumplestiltskin attacked him, and the sheer force of his blow was enough to make the saber fly out of Neal’s hands. Disarmed and defeated, Neal took a step back, his back colliding with a tree. That was it then. He would be killed by his own father, by the man he had loved and feared the most. Rumplestiltskin roughly grabbed him by the neck, and Neal closed his eyes, bracing himself for the worst.

It was in that moment that an anguished scream echoed through the forest.

“Papa NO!” Henry yelled, bursting out from behind the trees, Emma, Regina and Granny trailing right behind him.

Papa. Papa. Papa. The word kept bouncing around Rumplestiltskin’s brain, becoming louder and louder, drowning out the voices in his head. He doubled over, cradling his head in his own hands and letting Neal go.

Neal rushed to hug his son, both terrified and relieved to have him here.

“Rumplestiltskin teleported me back to the loft,” Emma explained. “Henry refused to let me come back alone, and I didn’t have time to argue. I called Regina and she poofed us back here.”

Neal nodded in understanding, then he turned around to look at his father again. Rumplestiltskin looked confused, even more deranged than before, but there was something human in his distress, something that hadn’t been there before. He had dropped his sword to the ground, and  was eyeing them curiously. After a beat of silence, a single word escaped his lips.

“Bae.”

Neal stood paralyzed for a moment, almost not daring to believe it.

“Papa? You remember me?” Neal asked, taking a few tentative steps in his father’s direction.

That word again. Papa. Images flashed before Rumplestiltskin’s eyes, making the present more confusing but the past more clear. The tiny hand of a newborn touching his nose. A thin, fragile kid asking him why his mother wasn’t coming home. A boy screaming at him that he was a coward. A grown man hugging him and telling him he was nothing like Peter Pan. And above all, that word repeated over and over again: Papa. Rumplestiltskin staggered forward, towards the man he had been fighting until a few moments ago. He didn’t want to hurt him anymore. He couldn’t. He shouldn’t.

But you have to, another voice resonated in his head, a vicious whisper that made his skin crawl. Fight him, scare him, be his nightmare, the voice went on, and Rumplestiltskin watched in horror as his hands moved against his own volition, working magic he didn’t want to perform. Everyone but Neal was paralyzed, and Rumplestiltskin grabbed his sword again, as Neal hurried to retrieve his saber. This time, however, there was no fear in Neal’s eyes.

“I know you’re in there. I know you can hear me. I don’t want to hurt you,” Neal said as his father attacked him again. Rumplestiltskin’s movements were slower now, his hands trembling; Neal hoped it was a sign that he was trying to stop himself.

“I know you’re being forced to do this. I know you’d never try to hurt me, as I know you’re not the monster I once feared you were turning into. I’m not scared of you anymore, I’m not scared of the darkness anymore,” Neal insisted, as his father walked backwards, blocking his attacks with increasing difficulty.

Rumplestiltskin looked relieved when his sword finally slipped from his grip, falling to the ground. He looked at his son, struggling to quiet all the voices in his mind, to clear the fog just long enough to say something. He knew there was something important he needed to tell him, many important things actually, but he couldn’t for his life make out what those were.

“I’m sorry,” was all he managed to murmur in the end. Then he vanished in a puff of smoke, Neal’s saber disappearing with him. Emma and the others were freed from his spell, and Neal rushed to their side.

“I was so scared for you,” Henry screamed, all but jumping in his arms.

“It’s okay, I’m alright,” Neal reassured him. “I don’t like the idea of you running around and putting yourself in harm’s way, but I have to admit that I probably wouldn’t have made it without you. Hearing you call me ‘Papa’ gave me strength.”

“Hey, I think I showed you on our way here that we work better as a team; plus I just found you, I’m not going to let some crazy monster take you away right now,” Henry said,  almost embarrassed by his own display of affection. Just yesterday he had barely tolerated Neal’s presence, and now here he was, already calling him Papa. True, they had spent several hours just saving each other over and over again, but there was more to it. He knew that they had met during the months that he couldn’t remember, and he was sure that some part of those memories had been preserved; nothing else could explain the deep, visceral trust that he now felt towards his father, together with a great sense of belonging. He might not remember the time they’d spent together, but that didn’t make it any less real, and some part of him knew it.

Neal’s emotional rollercoaster wasn’t over yet. He had been utterly terrified, then conquered one of his greatest fears, and now his son was beaming up at him in pride, and he felt almost giddy with happiness. He leaned down to press a kiss on Henry’s forehead, hoping that he wasn’t overstepping, just desperate to let his son know how much he meant to him.

That’s when a burst of magic rippled from his lips, sweeping over the town in the form of a rainbow. The curse was broken, and Neal looked flabbergasted at his son while Henry staggered under the flood of memories.

“Papa!” he screamed again, wrapping his arms tighter around Neal. “I remember everything!”

Then he spotted Regina looking almost disbelievingly at him.

“Mom!” he said, running over to her.

Regina felt as though her heart had finally started beating again. She wrapped Henry in her arms, immediately noticing how much taller he had grown during the past nine months. Tears welled up in her eyes, but for once she didn’t mind; she had her son back, and for a moment Zelena didn’t look like much of a threat. So long as Henry was by her side, she felt she could do anything.

**********

Rumplestiltskin poofed back into the cabin, his head still swirling in confusion as his aspect turned human again.  

“You did a great job,” Zelena complimented him as he staggered back into his cage, shying away from the dagger that she held against him. “I got everything I wanted, and even more.”

She had sent Rumplestiltskin out to collect a token of Neal’s courage, and the saber with which he defeated his greatest fear fit the description perfectly. What she hadn’t expected was a clue on how to get Rumplestiltskin out of his madness.

“Soon enough you’ll be fully sane again, and then you’ll see how wrong you were all those years ago. I want to see the despair in your face when you realize you should have chosen me,” she hissed at him, watching with satisfaction as fear glimmered in his eyes.

Zelena cackled as she walked away: like everyone else, Rumplestiltskin had just no idea of how much worse things were going to get.

[mojoflower]

Underappreciated Sterek Fics Rec List

These are fics that all have less than 200 bookmarks, and I feel that they need more.

♥ The Demon Barber of Maple Avenue by heyshalina, marshmallowfluff  M.  14k.  When Stiles woke up on a Friday with his hair far too long for his own comfort, he decided he needed a haircut. He was not expecting the whole situation to end with Derek finally succumbing to their mutual sexual tension.Or the ghouls. He especially wasn't expecting to be eaten by ghouls.Basically, Stiles doesn't know anything super useful that's not supernatural-related. He has excellent butt-dialing skills, though, so that's a plus.

So funny.  "Yeah, I know," he said decisively, trying to look like he'd been perfectly aware that sitting down at the barber shop was a thing you could do. He took a step sideways towards the nearest chair. Natalie looked back down at her computer. He took another step. Then another. Then he turned and walked confidently towards the chair. He had just started lowering himself into it when Natalie called to him. "Stiles, we're ready for you now!" He jumped up from his half-crouched over position and his bangs fell back into his eyes. He flicked his hair out of his face with a jerk of his head, and felt sort of like Justin Bieber, before the guy cut off his hair because people said he looked like a lesbian. In a moment of fear, Stiles glanced across the room at his reflection in one of the mirrors. Did he look like a lesbian? He didn't want to look like a lesbian. Not that lesbians were bad or anything. But lesbians were only attracted to women, technically. He didn't want that kind of label applied to him.

Control by Badwolf36 M.  12k.   After (and their lives are always defined by “after.” “After” Derek’s family burned. “After” Scott got bit. “After” Gerard and the Kanima and the Alpha Pack and the Darach) the Nogitsune is pulled from him, Stiles becomes obsessed with control.

Sweeter, more heart-wrenching and innocent than you'd think.  So good.

The Time Stiles Totally Knew What He Was Doing by otatop G.  1k.  Stiles aggressively woos himself. // Derek is there too.

This is so. FUNNY.

♥ Eagle Lake by saltandbyrne E.  29k.   It was supposed to be an easy summer job. But everything at this camp is a little odd, and that Hale boy from the hardware store? Definitely too good to be true. Everyone seems to have secrets, and sometimes the truth is stranger than anything Stiles can imagine.

Lovingly earns every hot, throbbing inch of its E rating, seamlessly and hilariously interspersed with bits like this:

Or maybe he's actually going to eat Stiles, because seriously, since when do handsome strangers just show up at boys' camps in the middle of nowhere with any plans other than serial killing? Stiles is going to get serial-killed, and all he can do is look up at his future cannibal axe-murderer and gape.

A fear-boner is definitely a real thing, because Stiles is sporting one so big that the awkward police can probably see it from space. In a lifetime of inexplicable boners, Stiles is pretty sure that his “I'm about to get cut into little pieces by a gorgeous psycho” woody is the least 'plicable.

Good Touch by ksalterego M.  6k.  Derek notices that Stiles doesn't have a pack, so Stiles doesn't get pack hugs. Stiles clearly wants pack hugs. Also, Stiles smells far too much like Scott, far too often. // Derek decides to do something about it all.

So, I have a THING for fics featuring a touch-starved Stiles.  Really sweet... Stiles needs hugs so badly.

Keep The Earth Below My Feet by plume_bob M.  12k.  There's history to be found in the box of his mom's old memories, but history is problematic when Stiles thinks Derek might be the only one who knows the story. And, as usual, relying on Derek is an exercise in emotional juggling that Stiles is just not equipped to handle.

So fucking gorgeous, I can't even.  The author's turn of phrase is beautiful:

“Are you fishing for me to tell you you're funny?” Derek asks slyly, like Stiles is a book he can open at any page and immediately follow.

and

“I'm not made of wet paper towels, Derek,” Stiles tells him, harder than he'd imagined it'd come out with him feeling like—well, wet paper towels. Sorta. Wet paper towels laying on an exposed electrical wire. “You're not gonna break me.”

Omg, Derek is doing his tattoo, and they're practically having sex AS HE INKS HIM, and it's really unbearably hot.

The Owl by 8611 M.  8k.  The owl keeps his forest, and everything inside of it, safe. Even a pack of wolves.

Oh my god, such a gorgeous and vivid fairy tale.  Stiles is perfect as Owl, just watching.  The end is a little sad, in the way that fairy tales can be, but don't let that stop you, because the beauty... is lovely.

Into the Woods by KrisEleven  T.  10k.  “Well, yeah, I’m following someone," Stiles explained. Eyebrows raised as Derek's judging increased. “Not in a creepy way! It’s my best friend and his girlfriend.” One side of his stupid mouth rose in a wry smile. “Not like – they’re lost!” // Now Derek didn’t look amused at all. He looked back at the paper, no doubt noting that they had planned to have returned almost 48 hours ago. “You have to report that.” // “Oh, yeah, I didn’t think of that,” Stiles snarked. “Of course I reported it. I called the ranger station yesterday.” // “And they told you to stay out of the forest while they conducted a search.” It wasn’t a question. // “Well, okay, maybe that was said, but –” // “You’re an idiot,” he told Stiles, rolling his eyes.

Or, When Scott and Kira get lost on a romantic hike in The Siskiyou Wilderness, Stiles enlists the help of Mountain Man Derek Hale to find them and ends up on a completely unexpected romantic hike of his own.

He pulled items at random as he recognized them and thought of situations in which they could possibly be necessary. He put back the second can of bear mace after some deliberation. If that many bears attacked him, he would be dealing with some deeper issues.  Lol.

How to please your house spirit by Lesatha  M.  14k.  Derek startled awake in the middle of the night. For a split second he didn’t know why, then as he felt a strange weight on his chest, he raised his head and looked down. And stayed speechless. // There was a tiny creature, barely the size of Derek’s whole hand, sitting on him. It had a human shape, from what Derek could see. // It looked furious.

ohmygod this is infinitely adorable, Stiles is a (murderous, multitasking, shapeshifting) little shit (so is Peter) and Derek is utterly wrapped around his (occasionally) tiny finger.

♥ In Which Stiles Finds He Much Prefers When Interesting Things Happen to Somebody Else by Zoom Zoom (PaperLillyWebs)   T.  21k.  “Finish what you start,” the skull rasps at him, making him jump. When he looks up, the skull is just as still as before.Loosely based on Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wayne Jones.

What a fun story!  Stiles the apprentice is every bit of adorable, his Master Hale is a shadowy, mean kind of figure, and something's going on where none of the ends match up.  The story borrows the Howl's Moving Castle world, but that's all, none of the plot or characters.  I love it.

Attach me to your world by artisan447  E.  27k.  Turns out Stiles is magic. He's as surprised about that as anyone.

Sweet, sexy and intense:  everything you want a surprise bonding fledgling magic fic to be.

♥ Fasten You to Me by nubianamy  E.  21k.   The day gravity stopped working, Stiles was jogging through the park.

This story is so awesome, and surreal and frightening and sweet.  Stiles is jogging in the park when suddenly reality departs... and all the people go falling into the sky.  He straps himself to a root, manages to catch Derek, and then they spend the next three days together as the world disappears into a dense fog.  They get to talk a lot, of course, and more than talk (and wow, Stiles has had a crush on him since he was a little kid!).  But every once in a while, Stiles goes cold, and there are no words in his mouth, only a song, and everything recedes, and that's when Derek gets really scared and starts singing Beatles songs in his dreadful off-tune voice, trying to combat Stiles' song, trying to bring him back.

I fucking love this story.

A Hundred Echoes by hunters_retreat  E.  28k.   In the wake of life altering events, the Beacon Hills pack is trying to settle into some semblance of normal.  After the nogitsune, all Stiles wants is to be able to breathe easy and know that his friends are safe.  When Stiles begins to dream of his friends though, they turn out to be something extraordinary.  Stiles is a spirit walker.  The dreams leave him empathic and unable to control himself, but salvation comes in the unlikely form of Derek Hale.  Stiles just needs to know two things.  What is stirring in the woods of Beacon Hills to cause the entire pack to dream of horrific things? And can Derek help him learn to center himself and control his empathy before it’s too late?

In which Stiles is an empath and a dreamwalker, unbeknownst to himself.  He can be hurt in dreams, but his empathy is so out of control that no one can touch him but Derek.

"I'm not leaving without you, Derek," Stiles told him.  He held his hand out for Derek to take but it wasn't like Scott's dreams, or Isaac's.  This was Derek and even in his dreams there was a circle of mountain ash between him and the people he could ask for help.

"Stiles, please go," Derek's voice lost its command as he pleaded with Stiles.  "I'll survive.  I'll heal as soon as I wake up. You won't."

♥ Prickly Thorn, but Sweetly Worn by khasael  T.  15k.   An unhelpful witch gives Stiles a gift he doesn't want. It's hard to say whether Derek is pleased by this or not... although not for the usual reasons.

Oh, joy.  Derek-the-hedgehog is utterly cute, and Stiles basically monologues for most of the chapters, and it's precious.

Massage Therapy by reillyblack  M.  11k.   Stiles wins the big lottery prize at the police departments annual fundraiser -- five at-home massages with the best masseuse in town. Which, ok, awesome, except... one problem: "the best masseuse in town" turns out to be the ridiculously hot, grumpy, man of his dreams and Stiles can NOT figure out how to hit on him during their sessions together without making him feel like a prostitute.

Very quick, and awkward and sweet.  I'd love for it to be twice as long and twice as explicit, but I'll take what I can get ;-)

[faithfulcat111]

Just Shapes - Chapter 11

Day 11 (Saturday)

RomanoTaco: hey pat, you ok? PattyCake: ya lo wsnt to mad RomanoTaco: did you tell him? PattyCake: most of it RomanoTaco: im gonna go w verg 2day PattyCake: ok

LBerry: Planets are to be pitied as they cannot know how big and cool they are.

Roman managed to slip out of the house with minimal berating from his mom about getting in so late, which he chalked up to a miracle in and of itself. He couldn’t find Elliott or Dr Picani during his late afternoon wanderings, but he did find Talyn back up on the roofs and the two quickly started making there way to the tracks with some more tin soldiers for Talyn to destroy. As they arrived and got into position, Talyn looked over at him and said, “You look horrible. Like you have been through way too many wash cycles, Killer.” Roman rolled his eyes, pulling up his legs and waiting for the train to pass before responding, “Look, it’s been a long week.” “Yeah, how much sleep did ya get last night?” Talyn challenged. Roman furrowed his brow as he tried to remember when exactly he went to bed, “I think it was 14 hours. So, less than usual.” Talyn gave some sort of indistinguishable sound of surprise and Roman looked over at them in confusion. “14 hours is less than usual?” Talyn gasped. “Dude, I’m lucky if I hit five.” Roman turned his head away before answering, “Look, I don’t rest well when I sleep. I feel more rested the more I get because of my nightmares.” Talyn hummed in agreement, “Now, nightmares I can understand. But you really shouldn’t be sleeping for 14 or however many hours you do sleep.” Roman didn’t answer, choosing to just lay there as the train passed by. Once it did, he chose to change the subject, “You know what Possum Springs is lacking?” “Wifi? Cell service? Any technology post-1980’s? A public pool?” “All of those, yes. But I was thinking that what Possum Springs is really lacking is-” Roman paused for dramatic effect, “-a serial killer!” Talyn raised a carefully coloured eyebrow at him, “Dude, don’t you count?” Roman huffed, “No, not me! A real bonafide killer who, you know, wants to kill people.” “Well, you did try to kill someone,” Talyn tried to point out. “No, I didn’t,” Roman turned his head away. “People think you did.” “I wasn’t trying to kill him. It was just a thing that happened,” Roman snapped, his voice trailing off as another train came by. Once it passed, Roman stood up and started to walk away. “Wait, where are you going?” Talyn called after him. “Don’t you want to see the monsters?” Roman turned back to them with a sad smile, “No thanks. I’m gonna go find my own.” Talyn’s whole face melted into one of confusion and horror. “Be safe, Talyn. Please,” Roman turned and walked away, not entirely surprised when Talyn didn’t come running after him. After all, he had given them no reason to.

Roman found Virgil at the Ole’ Pickaxe, giving about a hundred different warnings to his employee, Corbin, about what he would do if he came back and found even one part of the store out of place. Roman was impressed that Corbin’s face managed to stay fairly impassive through the whole exchange, only the slightest inkling of worry etching on his brow. As soon as Roman and Virgil finally left, Virgil lit up a cigarette and said, blowing the smoke into the air, “I hope I didn’t terrify him too bad. He’s a good employee.” Roman frowned, “He didn’t look hardly scared to me.” Virgil smirked as he unlocked the car, “Oh, he was freaking terrified. Corbin’s just really good at hiding it. Now buckle up, it’s a long drive.” “How long?” Roman asked as he shut his door. “90 minutes give or take, depending on how many people are out on the road,” Virgil said, snuffing out his cigarette before climbing in himself. Virgil was right, it was a long drive. Roman was extremely tired still, so he dozed on and off while Virgil blared loud music from the stereo. It was only when they pulled into a small town that Virgil turned the music down and Roman started to pay attention to the town. “I’ve never been to Gainesville before?” Virgil took another puff of the cigarette he was smoking, “Yeah, it is kinda small compared to wherever you went to school, but it has a university. Nice college town. Maybe you should have come here, then you wouldn’t have been so far away.” Roman grunted, “Yeah, maybe. Who do you even know here though?” “Old friend from high school, you probably don’t know her,” Virgil said as he started to pull into an open spot on the side of the street. “Really?” Roman questioned. When Virgil didn’t respond, Roman huffed and turned to look back out the window. He noticed the sign of one of the storefronts, “Hey, look! They have a scouts program here! Remember when we were in that.” Virgil hummed as he stepped out of the car, “Yeah, that’s where we met.” “Why did you even pick me out of all people to hang out with there?” Roman asked, closing his door behind him. “I started hanging with you cause I was new and you seemed smart and fun,” Virgil explained. Roman turned to him, “Well, what am I now?” “Fun,” Virgil deadpanned. “I hate how you keep saying I’m not smart,” Roman huffed, following Virgil who had started walking down the street. “Sorry,” Virgil said with a smirk. “I’m mostly kidding.” “Mostly?” Roman questioned but didn’t get a chance to continue as Virgil quickly snuffed out his cigarette, returned the other half to his case, and started down a set of stairs. Roman quickly scrambled after him, following him into what seemed to be a basement bar. A girl with short brown hair was standing at the bottom of the stairs, peering up with a glass bottle in her hands. As soon as she recognized Virgil, she exclaimed, “Verge! Where have you been? I was beginning to think you wouldn’t make it!” Roman peered around Virgil as he said, “Yeah, sorry about that.” The girl laughed, “Dude, it’s no issue. But I have a few possible prospects and I didn’t want to let that go to waste. Boy, you reek of cigarette smoke!” “This whole place does,” Virgil snarked, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. “Yeah, but it is wafting off of you. I thought you said you were gonna cut back and try to- who is this?” the girl had finally noticed Roman and was now glaring at him. Roman tried for a nice smile, holding out a hand, “Hi, I’m Ro-” “Everyone knows who you are, Roman Sanders,” the girl crossed her arms, one long fingernail against her bottle. “Oh, um,” Roman pulled his hand back as he struggled to find some way to respond to that. “Valerie,” Virgil cautioned. “I brought him. Now, what is the plan?” Valerie narrowed her eyes before turning to Virgil, “Dancing first. When the guys I have my eye on come back, then we move in.” “Are you sure?” Virgil asked, his voice dropping more and more into his deadpan. “Now, Verge, have I ever let you down before?” “Well, there was that one debacle with the-” “Other than that incident we never speak of,” Valerie cut him off. Virgil sighed then shook his head. “Good, let’s go.” “Man, she is intense,” Roman whispered to Virgil as they followed her out to the dance floor. “Yeah, well, she is just looking out for me. She was my only friend in high school,” Virgil said. Roman stopped as the reminder hit him, letting Virgil go slightly out in front of him before following once again. They weren’t out on the dance floor for very long before Valerie stopped them and pointed back towards the entrance. “I see them. Let’s go,” she grabbed Virgil’s hand and made to pull him towards whomever she had her targets set on, but Virgil dug in his heels quickly. He looked back at Roman, “You’ll be okay, right?” “Yeah, I’ll come find you when I’m done dancing,” Roman nodded. “Okay, no alcohol, remember.” And with that, Virgil was gone, following Valerie through the crowd. Roman continued to dance for a while but was beginning to think that he should get a drink when he spotted someone leaning against the wall. He slowly walked over greeting them with a loud hi. The mysterious person looked over at him, their piercing blue eyes staring directly at him from under their fluffy blue bangs, “Hey.” “Um, do I know you?” Roman asked, vaguely noticing a hint of black ink peeking out from under the person’s scarf. “Nope,” the person said, a smile on their face. “What’s your name?” “Roman. Roman Sanders,” he introduced himself with a slight bow. “Roman,” they repeated. “I like it. Sounds like it could be royalty if your last name was King or Prince.” Roman laughed, “Nope. But I could be a witch for all you know. Maybe I have hexed you with my name.” The undeniably cute person laughed in response, a dimple appearing in their right cheek, “Well, Roman Sanders. What’s your story?” Roman thought for a long moment. He could lie, but this cute girl, boy? Whatever they were, he just didn’t feel like lying to them. “I’m a recent college dropout,” he explained. “I am chasing a ghost or it is chasing me, I’m not really sure. I’ve had these dreams that I’m not sure were dreams, more like jumbled bits of history. I think I met god, but who’s to say. But I’m pretty sure the ghost kidnapped someone. I’m like 90% sure I didn’t imagine that, but my friends aren’t buying it. I came home in order to feel normal again, but that isn’t really working out. But then I came here and I saw you and…” Roman trailed off, looking up at those gorgeous eyes again. Upon realizing they looked extremely worried, he laughed nervously, scratching at the back of his neck, “I just realized I’ve never listed that all out at once before.” “Wow,” they breathed out. “I stole your life story.” Roman chuckled, ‘Yeah, I guess.” “Hey,” the person reached out to grab Roman’s hand. “Watch this,” they placed their own hand on top of Roman’s and then traced a pattern over top with a blue-painted finger. Roman instantly felt about ten times calmer. “Wow,” he breathed. “Pretty cool, huh?” they smiled, still holding onto Roman’s hand. Roman looked back up at those eyes, “Wow.” They chuckled and then they both just stood there for a long moment. Roman finally said, “Um, I’m gonna go let my friend know I’m over here. I told him I would let him know when I was done dancing.” “Okay,” they leaned in a little closer. “You do that.” They dropped Roman’s hand, leaning back against the wall. Roman took a step back, finding moving very difficult. “I-I’ll be right back,” he managed. “I’ll be here.” Roman took another two steps back before finally turning and ducking through the crowd, trying to find Virgil and/or Valerie and let them know he was going to be over there talking to that bombshell of a person. He found both of them talking to a couple of more guys. “Hey Verge!” he called out as he walked over to stand next to his friend, eyeing the glass bottle of bright green liquid in his hands. “Hey Roman. This is Nate,” Virgil said, waving at one of the guys who merely hummed, scratching at the stubble on his chin. “And I’m Sloane,” the other guy said, a smile on his face. “Your friend is pretty cool.” “Yeah,” Roman looked up at Virgil, noting how rigid he was standing. “Yeah, he’s pretty alright. Did he tell you I saw a ghost the other day?” Roman raised an eyebrow in confusion as Virgil giggled, but Sloane just asked, “Like Memento Mori?” “Yeah, yeah, sick transit glorya nerd,” Roman scoffed. When Virgil giggled again, he turned more towards him, “You’re laughing a lot.” “So,” Nate spoke up, apparently not having heard Roman’s comment. “Virgil, that’s an old name. Like something you hear in a book.” “A book you like?” Virgil suggested. Roman looked up at his friend in confusion. This was very weird. Did Virgil always act this way around others when Roman wasn’t around? That couldn’t be right. “I used to read a lot,” he spoke up, trying to redirect the conversation with the first thing that popped into his mind. “My grandad read to me when I was younger. Before he got dementia and died.” There was silence for a moment before Nate spoke again, “Sorry about your grandad, dude.” “It’s okay, it was years ago,” Roman shrugged. “Virgil’s mom is dead too.” Virgil let out another nervous giggle, hissing between his teeth, “Roman, stop.” “It’s okay,” Roman turned back towards the boys, purposely avoiding Valerie’s darkening glare. “I’m sure everyone here knows someone who has died.” There was silence for a long moment and Roman was starting to worry when Sloane spoke up, “My dog died last spring when my house exploded. There was a gas leak from when my dad hit the line trying to dig up the dog we had before that because we were going to move and my dad said he had to come with us.” There was silence for another long moment as everyone stared this time at Sloane. “Wow,” Valerie finally said, breaking everyone’s stares. “So, Nate, what are you majoring in?” Virgil asked, trying to get the conversation back to where it was before. “Political science,” Nate said, taking a sip from his own bottle, the liquid a murky brown. “Oh, that’s cool. Are there a lot of jobs in that?” Virgil asked. “Oh, I don’t know,” Nate shrugged. “I just find it really interesting. I think you have to be pretty materialistic to go to college just to get a job afterwards.” “That’s interesting because-” “Whoa, stop!” Roman cut off Virgil, his voice low. “Check out rich kid over here. Gonna pay zillions of dollars to go to school just cause something ‘is interesting.’ Verge, check this guy out. You ever worked a day in your life, prep?” Nate took a step back, frowning, “I interned at my uncle’s law firm, yes.” “Well, I bagged groceries,” Roman growled back. Virgil laughed lowly before saying, “That is so interesting. Roman, do you want to go dance some more?” Roman looked up at him, but before he could answer, Virgil gave him a subtle push, “You should go dance.” “Yeah, my parents own their own business, so,” Nate spoke again and Roman chose to stick around while Virgil was distracted again. “Oh, tell me about it,” Virgil asked with genuine interest. “I know a thing or two about running a small business.” Nate smiled, “Wanna go across the street and get a pizza?” “I could eat,” Virgil said. “And it’s a small business!” “You speak their language,” Nate laughed. “You can get us free slices.” Roman growled. He was sick and tired of this guy. “Verge doesn’t like spoiled rich kids, Maggie.” Valerie cut in, “I would like to go with you guys if you don’t mind.” “Sure,” Virgil said with a smile. “The more the merrier.” Roman was done with this whole situation. Why was Virgil acting so weird? He was obviously still super tense, but wanting to hang with these spoiled brats more. The lights of the bar were starting to blend together in Roman’s peripheral vision, but he had his sights set in on a certain guy who still stood out clearly from the crowd. “Hey Michael, let me tell you something about Virgil Alighieri. He is super on top of things, super smart, and super responsible. He runs like the biggest store in Possum Springs.” “Roman, no,” Virgil whispered. Sloane spoke louder, confusion on his face, “What the heck is Possum Springs?” “It’s west, in the mountains,” Nate explained. Roman just kept going, his eyes flashing, making the red more obvious, “While rich kid over here is studying politicians or whatever, Virgil’s out in the real world. Not like you college kids.” “Roman!” Valerie gasped, her hand clenched so tight that if her bottle was plastic, she surely would have crushed it. “What?” Nate looked over at Virgil in confusion, while Virgil just stared down at the ground, nervously giggling to himself. “I’m kinda over the whole college thing myself. Virgil and I basically run Possum Springs except there’s like a ghost or something,” Roman continued. “You two live in Possum Springs?” Sloane questioned. “Yeah, got a problem with that?” Roman snapped back. “Wow,” Nate whistled. “You drove all the way here from Deep Hollow County? Isn’t that like two hours away?” “No, I…” Virgil trailed off, trying to hide the shaking of his hands. Nate barked out a laugh, elbowing a confused-looking Sloane, “These two drove all the way from Deep Hollow! That’s rich!” “But, aren’t you like a student?” Sloane asked, confused. “Yeah, well, you see, I’m,” Virgil stammered. Suddenly his bottle fell out of his hand, crashing to the floor, spreading sticky soda everywhere. He put one hand up to his mouth and turned and ran, disappearing up the nearby stairs. “Wait! Virgil!” Valerie quickly took off after him. “What was that about?” Roman heard Sloane ask behind him. “I don’t think he’s a student here,” Nate sighed and a sloosh followed. “So?” Sloane still sounded utterly lost. Roman turned to give them a warning growl before running after Virgil. At the top of the stairs, he found Valerie across the street, calling for Virgil. Valerie spotted Roman running across the street and ran to meet him, her eyes dangerously dark. “What the hell was that?” she screamed. “I was going to ask the same thing!” Roman yelled back. “How in the world did you mess that up! He needs this! And now he’s who knows where! I swear, if anything has happened to him, I will personally end you,” she snapped. “Okay, geez!” Roman held up his hands in surrender. “Okay,” Valerie took a deep breath. “I’m going to go up the street, you go down to the docks. We find him, make sure he is safe, and meet back here. Got it?” “Got it,” Roman agreed and the two split, intent on finding their mutual friend. Roman ran down the side of the street, scanning everyone around him through the mist, trying to just spot his friend. Finally, he spies the docks up ahead with a silhouetted figure sitting at the end of one. He makes almost completely there before finally collapsing a few feet away. The figure turned around, Virgil’s dark brown eyes looking at him with contempt. Roman just gasped for air, “Sorry, I just ran all the way here. And it wasn’t even that far. I’m just really out of shape.” Virgil huffed and turned back to the river. He didn’t speak until Roman finally could breathe again and asked, “What happened back there?” “What happened?” Virgil snapped. “You ruined that chance I had! A chance at feeling normal for once in my shitty life! I don’t know if you could even realize how bad it is. My entire life ended the day my mom died. Now I have to take care of what is left of my family and every single day what little chance of a future outside of Possum Springs I have left slips away. You gave up the very thing I want so bad and I can’t help but hate you for it!” Virgil’s voice cracked finally as he lowered his head into his shaking hands. Roman pushed himself back up into a sitting position staring down at his own hands, eyes on a scar running along his left thumb. He muttered, “You don’t know anything about it.” Virgil’s head snapped back towards him, his face faintly flushed red under his foundation, “What is there to know?” Roman growled back, “You judge me, but did you ever ask why I left?” “Yeah. Your first day back.” “Oh,” Roman deflated, the little bit of righteous anger left leaving as his whole body sagged. “Right.” There was silence for a moment, as Virgil looked back out at the river. “So,” Virgil finally asked. “Why did you leave?” Roman blinked, staring at the strangely shaped boats across the river, “I… I don’t know. My head is in pieces right now. Any answer would sound nuts.” “Oh, well that’s illuminating,” Virgil deadpanned with a roll of his eyes. At this point, only his hands still shaking betrayed that he wasn’t totally emotionless. “Shut up,” Roman growled. “All this stuff going on all week? Ghosts and shit? I met this god thing for crying out loud. And look, we’re both trapped. But we’re trapped together. And I’m sorry.” Virgil looked back at him in surprise, “I don’t think you’ve ever apologized to me for anything.” “Well,” Roman shrugged. “I guess I’m full of surprises.” After another long moment, he asked, “Would we be friends if he weren’t stuck together?” Virgil sighed before admitting, “I don’t know.” After another long moment, Virgil groaned again before lowering his head back into his hands, “My life is so embarrassing. Why did I even come here? I almost didn’t. If you hadn’t said yes, I would have cancelled on Valerie.” “Hey,” Roman scooted closer so he was sitting next to his friend. “You are genuinely one of the strongest people I know. It takes a lot of bravery to try and change the entire course of one’s life.” Virgil snorted, his smile more genuine then any other he had given that night, “And I guess you aren’t as big of an idiot as I say. And you’re a genuinely good person.” Roman smiled, turning to look back over at the misty river, “I’ll take it. And tonight was a complete loss. I met a cute… someone.” “Really?” Virgil looked over at Roman with a cocked eyebrow. “What’s their name?” Roman opened his mouth to answer, but stopped, his eyes wide, “I-I don’t know. I didn’t even get their contact information. Virgil, we have to come back sometime!” He reached over, grabbing Virgil’s sleeve and shaking it with wide eyes while Virgil just laughed. “Okay, okay, we’ll come back,” he said as he pushed himself to his feet, holding out one still-shaking hand to help Roman to his feet as well. “We should make good time going home, it is such a clear night.” Roman looked back at the misty night behind them in confusion, before turning and chasing after Virgil.

[alchemine]

Okay, here are two of those really old (like, c. 2003) Harry Potter fics. Remember that in the books, McGonagall has black hair and does not look like Maggie Smith (love Maggie, but I always missed black-haired Minerva in the films). 

Crowning Glory (or, Magic Hair McGonagall)

Remus Lupin had been reading essays for so long that his eyes were beginning to burn. He let the piece of parchment he was holding fall onto the heap in front of him and rubbed both hands over his face, groaning.

"Tired?" asked Minerva McGonagall, who was sitting on the other side of the staffroom table, tackling her own heap of essays. She seemed to be getting through three to every one of Remus's. He supposed experience made you work faster, perhaps because you'd seen everything before.

"Exhausted," he said. "The third years have good ideas, but their handwriting is terrible. I hope mine wasn't that bad when I was at school."

"As I recall, you usually started out quite neatly, then collapsed into a degenerate scrawl for the last six inches," Minerva said. As she was bent over her work, he could only see the top of her head, but he suspected she was smirking.

His eyes still felt full of sand, and the idea of forcing them to focus on written words again was agonising, so to postpone the inevitable, he sat and watched Minerva at work for a moment longer. She had forsaken her usual emerald-green robes that day for a set in Gryffindor crimson; they had gold embroidery around the neck and wrists, and looked very rich with her dark hair. What had she done to keep that hair so perfectly black during the years he'd been away from Hogwarts? Heaven knew his own had greyed enough. 

It wasn't fair, he thought. Minerva had to be close to seventy, and though that was only middle-aged for a witch, surely she was due a few silver strands by now. But there she was, looking almost exactly the same as when she'd taught him, right down to the bun.

A grin spread across his face as he thought of all the jokes he, Sirius, James and Peter had made about that bun over the years. Rain or shine, morning, noon or evening, it was firmly in place, wound up as intricately as the Gordian knot. He'd wondered often enough why she insisted on wearing it that way. 

Well, there was no reason not to ask her about it now, was there? They had developed a comfortable friendship during the course of this year, and anyway, she wasn’t his teacher anymore.

"You know, I've always wondered why you never leave your hair down," he said. "It looks like it would be lovely."

Minerva sighed, straightened up, and set her quill to one side. "It is, if I do say so myself," she said. "But letting it down in public has certain...consequences that I prefer not to deal with."

"Consequences?” Remus laughed a little. “What sort of consequences could there possibly be?"

A strange glint came into Minerva's eye.

"Would you like me to show you?" she asked.

Yes," said Remus, pleased that she was responding so readily to his enquiry.

"All right," Minerva said, "but remember, you asked for it." 

She got up and, to his surprise, closed and locked the staffroom door. Then she crossed the room to stand in front of him, silhouetted by the light from the window.

"Brace yourself," she said, and reaching up, plucked a strategically placed pin out of her bun. Her hair came down in a rush--long, then longer, reaching almost to her waist--and she shook out the black locks so they hung straight and glossy. As she did, a warm, faintly floral perfume drifted out and caressed Remus's nostrils, and to his horror, he found himself instantly, embarrassingly, and rather painfully aroused. 

He cleared his throat and discreetly tried to adjust himself through his robes, hoping the sensation would go away, but it didn't. If anything, it grew stronger, until his entire consciousness seemed to have taken up residence in his groin. He felt giddy and overheated and not a little desperate.

"Please ..." he croaked, though he wasn't even sure what he was begging for. He pushed back his chair, rose, and took a stumbling step toward Minerva--and then she gathered her hair up in both hands and twisted it into its knot again, and his mind cleared.

She smiled at him a bit apologetically.

"I did warn you, you know," she said.

"What the hell was that about?" Remus demanded. Wiping sweat from his forehead with his sleeve --if there was one benefit to wearing threadbare robes, it was never having to worry about ruining them--he collapsed, trembling, back into his seat. "Are you a veela in disguise?"

"No, just someone who once worked a charm that went wrong," Minerva said. "I was only trying to stop myself getting split ends."

"And that was the result?"

"It was," she said, smoothing a few loose tendrils of hair into place. "Mind you, I won't say it's never come in handy, but could you imagine trying to have a normal life with everyone you passed clutching their crotches and drooling at you? Not to mention the havoc it could wreak on my career. Such a lack of professional dignity. No, it's much safer to avoid the issue altogether. Keep the hair up, keep the spell under control."

Remus had a sudden vision of Minerva using this unexpected power to lure attractive wizards, and possibly a few witches as well, into the alley behind the Three Broomsticks. He shook his head to get rid of it.

"When I was a pupil here, we always used to say that if you ever let your hair down, the walls of Hogwarts would come down with it," he said. "I can tell you we never imagined anything like this, though."

"And that's just the way I would have wanted it," Minerva replied primly. She sat down at the table again, picking up her quill and preparing to go back to work. Clearly, she thought the subject was closed, but now Remus was as inflamed with professional curiosity as he had been with misplaced passion a few minutes before.

"Wait, you can't just leave it there. Tell me more. Does it only work on men? Does it have to be in a knot like that, or would just tying it back have the same effect? Haven't you ever tried to find a countercharm?"

Minerva looked up from the new essay she was marking.

"No, yes, no, and yes," she said. "Now let's not talk about it any longer. I don't tell many people my little secret. Don't make me sorry I told you." He opened his mouth as if to ask another question, and she added, "Because if you do, I'll come to your room tonight. I'll immobilise you so you can't touch me, or yourself. And then I'll let my hair down and sit on the edge of your bed until morning."

"That would be torture," said Remus, imagining it.

"Yes," Minerva said with a faint smile.

He thought for a minute while she regarded him over the tops of her spectacles.

"Please pass the ink," he said.

"Good boy, Remus."

After that, the only sound in the staffroom was the thin scratch-scratch of quills on parchment.

Four and Twenty Blackbirds (or, Hagrid eats children) (he really does) (this is your last warning)

He'd mixed the crust himself, dropping in lumps of butter from his worn old wooden spoon. Lots of butter made it bake up light and flaky; it'd melt in your mouth almost. He'd put new peas in, too, and carrots he'd pulled up in the garden, and last of all the meat, nice big chunks of it. A pie fit for a king, it was.

Guilty pleasure swelled in his chest as he thought of that meat, and where he'd got it. He hadn't even meant to go hunting when he he'd woken up that morning. But Dumbledore had sent him on an errand, and on his way back, he'd spied a perfect bit of quarry--young and tender as they came, but so dirty and neglected that he knew no one would miss it. It hadn't even whimpered as he scooped it up and hid it under his long leather coat.

I trust Hagrid implicitly, was what Dumbledore always said when people asked how he felt about having a half-giant at his school. The man had a lovely way of speaking, with long words that made even nasty things sound nice somehow. He would never harm a Hogwarts pupil, Dumbledore said, and of course Hagrid wouldn't, would never even dream of it.

But sometimes a giant had special needs, no matter how kind and gentle he was as a rule. Sometimes a giant got a certain sort of hunger--a giantish sort of hunger.

And at times like that, well, only one food would do.

People would blame him if they found out, Hagrid knew. Dumbledore had warned him a long time ago to be careful, very careful, and do his poaching far away from the school and village. Hagrid had always obeyed, but he thought it was a bit unfair, really. No one blamed a hippogriff for eating dead ferrets, or a Niffler for digging up treasure. That was the way they were made. Why should it be any different because Hagrid happened to be made with an occasional need to eat a human child?

It was a giant's nature. All the fairy tales said so.

Hagrid opened the oven door and slid the pie-plate out with a long paddle. The crust split a bit at the top when the cooler air touched it, releasing a cloud of steam and mouthwatering aromas.

Dinner was served.

( @queenology @theuncertainhour @randomreindeer)

[skepticalpower]

An act of passion

Hi witchblr, this is probably a really bad thing that I did but I need to share it and get some feedback.

So, I’m not a witch, a seer, a psychic, or anything like that but the mystical people in my past have always noted me to be eerily intuitive, empathic, and a curiosity. I’m a scientist and a skeptic but I’m not inclined to go around disproving people or calling their beliefs wrong. I have had some peculiar experiences that I’ve always logicked away: dreams, apparitions, gut feelings, that sort of thing.

I broke up with a guy last June and the whole experience has left me traumatized. This guy is quite…mystical. Does tarot readings, rune castings, used to participate in a group that practiced magick in the Boston area, radical faerie, etc. He defrosted my spiritual apathy somewhat but he was also a piece of shit towards me emotionally and sexually. He has acknowledged this but only superficially and essentially discarded me once my novelty to him wore out (about a year and a half).

Cut to now, months later and I’ve moved back to the area he lives. Since getting here I’ve been sick with the flu but also with anxiety. I’ve been having nightmares everytime I go to sleep. I see a therapist and a Psychiatrist right now and I appreciate them very much because they have helped me stabilize my mental health but these issues are ones that I can’t talk to them about out of fear of them reading these feelings as symptoms. This guy used to remark about my energy being very strong and today I acting on that. I’ve started the groundwork for a curse.

I wrote as many of the shitty things that he did to me that I could remember onto paper in red ink and tore those into strips that I folded up.

I placed a drop of patchouli oil onto each piece (he was a frequent user of patchouli)

I wrote on another piece of paper my intent. Essentially, I wrote about wanting him to have to confront the pain he inflicted on me and for his sexual and romantic endeavors to be unfulfilling and empty until he makes amends for his wrongs.

I drew a sigil in my blood on this paper and folded it up. I didn’t copy it, I sort of just free drew one. It sort of looks like an eye.

I placed a blood stone that he gave me into an ornate tea mug that he also gifted me.

I plan to burn each of the pieces of paper and let the ashes fall into the mug. Once they’re all burned, I plan on smashing the mug with a hammer. I think I plan on doing this part outside my home over a river that’s nearby.

So, at this point, you’re probably wondering, wow, some skeptic. I don’t know how this plan came over me, but it all just started happening and I truly feel like these past days I’ve been facing a mental block. I don’t really feel like I have powers or anything like that, but I view ritual as a powerful, ancient tool for the mind, and that is where magick happens, if at all. I mainly view this as a cathartic experience to help me move on.

Are there any thoughts from witches or pagans on here about what I’m doing? I’m curious about how this is viewed.

[limejuicer1862]

*

My goal in life is the destruction of 5G masts. I cut my sandwich into triangles as a lower-middle class pretension. Back outside, my window, one time, a cream room, a view of the street’s antenna. The problem with David Lynch is how he makes too much sense. Back in the simulacrum, a boy, my age, rangers in North America, first as tragedy, then as… ironing out our balaclavas, filling out our milk bottles; backpacks unattended on park benches, on the bus.

*

A page of Baudrillard, hides the truth to view witnesses fraying little by little into ruins, discernible ruined empire, rotting carcass of the soil double ends simulation, this fabled second-order no longer that of a territory, no longer saturated, a hyperreal map one must

return without origin, shreds unusable a questionable sovereign difference – the charm abstraction, the coextensivity of poetry, the representation produced no imaginary. Operational, in fact, no longer memory radiating synthesis, no space without atmosphere, no worse

curvature. Imitation, nor duplication; leaving room for simulated liquidation.

-Alex Mazey

.the title changes.

there is too much interference things could be left alone things were alright anyway

the battery is low yet plugged in the radio buzzes.

things are distorted

so i did what he says, whilst running up and down the stairs.

source to av, only there aint no av, not on that one anyhow.

press my scart lead, that is probably it.

press the sky button, the sky does not respond.

we still has television snow.

mine are bifocal and can distort gently if i concentrate poorly on the centre i have had help a while grateful at least that i can see unlike some of my family

yesterday I watched a documentary about monkeys

-sonja benskin mesher

The new starboard

Our larvae split their skin in the signal-fry, warmed over by the wire-witched currents of one filigree moon in a hundredweight sky

and if we no longer see the stars how do they counsel a chart for a new grub, or pull a blood’s spirit-iron toward the dissolving north

and if we no longer feel these waves how may we know our own water, what deeps us for the giddy bubble of this sailing. And I know

there are rocks here still, they make chimneys of it to vent everything we can’t burn railing sparks against the sky- silver that meshes none of our tides true

and it will rain hot tonight, the sizzle pelting the new hatchlings

-Ankh Spice

Of Forest And Stick

Foe forest, faux forest fee-fi-fo forest. Where giants hurl their broken stories from broadcast heaven to stone cast ground. Real, this least of things.

Inarticulate metal arms pluck down your dreams, to place within the flakes of soul slow dying desiccation.

Sick insects wave. These metal poles sway clamped to roof and breast.

All point as one, their martyr fingers show. As minds walk psychotic in their circular days.

To stars and planets that orbit our night sleep late night drunk deep on their celestial milky ways.

Antennae wave hello. Behind smudged glass walls as we sit and stare into this aquarium hell of our own making.

As we spread across our furniture of forked cartons, plastic and messy despair We start to take on our corrupt story.

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/of-forest-and-stick.m4a

© Dai Fry 4th May 2020.

Reception

Quiet the cluttered airways. Listen. Too many voices reaching skyward, Clamoring for reception, Propelling selfhood upward,

Destroys collaborative Synergy. And interference causes failure. After all, Man-made towers were only Ever meant to fall.

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/reception.m4a

-st

Every Stem Is

an aerial, antennae whose signal carries an image and a sound of growth and bloom.

Leaves are directors, flagellum, reach out, test the air and vibrations.

Listen can your hear the messages, or is it distorted,

image overlaid on image, sound overlaid on sound?

It processes fake news, phishing and cyber attacks. discerns real from false. scents and trails.

A filter bubble, an information sceptic decides what diminishes it, what makes it grow.

what makes it turn towards warmth, towards brightness.

More than a conduit.

-Paul Brookes

effluorescence

concrete flowerbed: aluminium amaranths dream of fecund earth

-Rich Follett

These gray structures loom Like a dead alloy forest A mill’s epitaph

-Carrie Ann Golden

The Arrival (EEN)

Blue eclipse sudden shudder silver vibrations strange sensations mauve hues silent screams shattered dreams rainbow screams black void bleak skies pink cries identity hides no way out seek beware who goes there wait stop where no here why there marble hush turquoise crush hide smile cry illusion confusion static wailing connections failing conscience melting blood moon a light alight powder dawn seek destroy rebuild regenerate no rescue failed sight emerald night pyramid flight incoming yellow tongue purple feast horrible sightings a drone atone leave us alone lavender glass chards charge cut chaos comet rush – Reverse

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/the-arrival-een-mp3.mp3

The Arrival (TWEE)

Falling earth new birth cosmic boom blast break away descend evacuate take position brace brave pathetic beast eject object reject investigate attack no way back hold blinding strobe light up get up move no room fire storm go swerve dive testing resting make haste chase erase record a face strange days delete reboot reverse rethink incoming homecoming survive surrender sharp solar bursts the thirst implosion ration succession orchestration new nation sinking earth toxic rebirth black hole tar soul screeching silence severed signals strange sour suns

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/the-arrival-twee-mp3.mp3

-Don Beukes

Bios and Links

-Alex Mazey

(b.1991) received his MA (distinction) from Keele University in 2017. He later won The Roy Fisher Prize for Poetry with his debut pamphlet, ‘Bread and Salt’ (Flarestack, TBA). He was also the recipient of a Creative Future Writers’ Award in 2019. His poetry has featured regularly in anthologies and literary press magazines, most notably in The London Magazine. His collection of essays, ‘Living in Disneyland’, will be available from Broken Sleep Books in October 2020. Alex spent 2018 as a resident of The People’s Republic of China, where he taught the English Language in a school run by the Ministry of Education. His writing has been described as ‘wry and knowing,’ with ‘an edge that tears rather than cuts or deals blows.’

Twitter: @AlexzanderMazey

Instagram: alexmazey

Here is my interview of Alex:

https://thewombwellrainbow.com/2018/12/18/wombwell-rainbow-interviews-alex-mazey/

-Rich Follett

is a High School English and Creative Writing teacher who has been writing poems and songs for more than forty years. His poems have been featured in numerous online and print journals, including BlazeVox, The Montucky Review, Paraphilia, Leaf Garden Press and the late Felino Soriano’s CounterExample Poetics, for which he was a featured artist. Three volumes of poetry, Responsorials (with Constance Stadler), Silence, Inhabited, and Human &c. are available through NeoPoiesis Press (www.neopoiesispress.com.)

As a singer-songwriter, Rich has released five albums of independent contemporary folk music. His latest. Somewhere in the Stars, is available at http://www.richfollett.com. He lives with his wife Mary Ruth Alred Follett in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia, where he also pursues his interests as a professional actor, playwright, and director.

-Ankh Spice

is a sea-obsessed poet from Aotearoa (NZ). His poetry has appeared in a wide range of international publications and has twice been nominated for the Pushcart Prize. He truly believes that words have the power to change the place we’re in, and you’ll find him doing his best to prove it on

Twitter: @SeaGoatScreams or on Facebook: @AnkhSpiceSeaGoatScreamsPoetry

-Carrie Ann Golden

is a deafblind writer from the mystical Adirondack Mountains now living on a farmstead in northeastern North Dakota. She writes dark fiction and poetry. Her work has been published in places like Piker Press, Edify Fiction, Doll Hospital Journal, The Hungry Chimera, GFT Press, Asylum Ink, and Visual Verse.

-sonja benskin mesher

born , Bournemouth.

now

lives and works in North Wales as an independent artist

‘i am a multidisciplinary artist, crafting paint, charcoal, words and whatever comes to hand, to explain ideas and issues

words have not come easily. I draw on experience, remember and write. speak of a small life’.

Elected as a member of the Royal Cambrian Academy and the United Artists Society The work has been in solo exhibitions through Wales and England, and in selected and solo worldwide. Much of the work is now in both private, and public collections, and has been featured in several television documentaries, radio programmes and magazines.

Here is my interview of sonja benskin mesher:

https://thewombwellrainbow.com/2018/10/16/wombwell-rainbow-interviews-sonja-benskin-mesher/

-Samantha Terrell

is an American poet whose work emphasizes emotional integrity and social justice. She is the author of several eBooks including, Learning from Pompeii, Coffee for Neanderthals, Disgracing Lady Justice and others, available on smashwords.com and its affiliates.Chapbook: Ebola (West Chester University Poetry Center, 2014)

Website: poetrybysamantha.weebly.com Twitter: @honestypoetry

Here is my 2020 interview of her:

https://thewombwellrainbow.com/2020/04/08/wombwell-rainbow-interviews-samantha-terrell/

-Don Beukes

is a South African and British writer. He is the author of ‘The Salamander Chronicles’ (CTU) and ‘Icarus Rising-Volume 1’ (ABP), an ekphrastic collection. He taught English and Geography in both South Africa and the UK. His poetry has been anthologized in numerous collections and translated into Afrikaans, Persian, French and Albanian. He was nominated by Roxana Nastase, editor of Scarlet Leaf Review for the ‘Best of the Net’ in 2017 as well as the Pushcart Poetry Prize (USA) in 2016. He was published in his first SA Anthology ‘In Pursuit of Poetic Perfection’ in 2018 (Libbo Publishers) and his second ‘Cape Sounds’ in 2019 (Gavin Joachims Publishing). He is also an amateur photographer and his debut Photographic publication appeared in Spirit Fire Review in June 2019. His new book, ‘Sic Transit Gloria Mundi’/Thus Passes the Glory of this World’ is due to be published by Concrete Mist Press.

Here is my interview of Don Beukes:

https://thewombwellrainbow.com/2019/11/02/wombwell-rainbow-interviews-don-beukes/

-Dai Fry

is an old new poet. He worked in social care but now has no day job. A keen photographer and eater of literature and lurid covers. Fascinated by nature, physics, pagans, sea and storm. His poetry seeks to capture image and tell philosophical tales. Published in Black Bough Poetry, Re-Side, The Hellebore Press and the Pangolin Review. He can be seen reading on #InternationalPoetryCircle and regularly appears on #TopTweetTuesday. Twitter. @thnargg Web seekingthedarklight.co.uk

Audio/Visual. @IntPoetryCircle #InternationalPoetryCircle Twitter #TopTweetTuesday

-Paul Brookes

is a shop asst. Lives in a cat house full of teddy bears. His chapbooks include The Fabulous Invention Of Barnsley, (Dearne Community Arts, 1993). The Headpoke and Firewedding (Alien Buddha Press, 2017), A World Where and She Needs That Edge (Nixes Mate Press, 2017, 2018) The Spermbot Blues (OpPRESS, 2017), Port Of Souls (Alien Buddha Press, 2018), Please Take Change (Cyberwit.net, 2018), Stubborn Sod, with Marcel Herms (artist) (Alien Buddha Press, 2019), As Folk Over Yonder ( Afterworld Books, 2019). Forthcoming Khoshhali with Hiva Moazed (artist), Our Ghost’s Holiday (Final book of threesome “A Pagan’s Year”) . He is a contributing writer of Literati Magazine and Editor of Wombwell Rainbow Interviews.

-Mary Frances

is an artist and writer based in the UK. She takes a few photos every day, for inspiration and to use in her work. The images for this project were all taken in the last two years on walks during in the month of May. Her words and images have been published by Penteract Press, Metambesen, Ice Floe Press, Burning House Press, Inside the Outside, Luvina Rivista Literaria, and Lone Women in Flashes of Wilderness. Twitter: @maryfrancesness

-James Knight

is an experimental poet and digital artist. His books include Void Voices (Hesterglock Press) and Self Portrait by Night (Sampson Low). His visual poems have been published in several places, including the Penteract Press anthology Reflections and Temporary Spaces (Pamenar Press). Chimera, a book of visual poems, is due from Penteract Press in July 2020.

Website: thebirdking.com.

Twitter: @badbadpoet

Here is my interview of James Knight:

https://thewombwellrainbow.com/2019/01/06/wombwell-rainbow-interviews-james-knight/

-Sue Harpham

is an admin worker, currently not in work Married, 2 sons. Loves poetry and words. She considers herself a writer of scribble rather than a poet. She has written a novel and is using her spare time to finally get it published (self-publishing) which has been an ambition of her for the last 10 years.

Welcome to a special ekphrastic challenge for May. Artworks from Mary Frances, James Knight and Sue Harpham will be the inspiration for writers, Alex Mazey, Ankh Spice, Samantha Terrell, Dai Fry, Carrie Ann Golden, sonja benskin mesher, Rich Follett, Don Beukes and myself. May 5th. * My goal in life is the destruction of 5G masts. I cut my sandwich into triangles as a lower-middle class pretension.

[hale-of-stiles-heart]

i adoor you

Inspired by this gifset (also on ao3)

Cas had never liked doors.

More often than not, he didn't even deign to open them himself. He simply used a sliver of his grace to bust open doors or gently close them behind him.

A tiny flap of his wings could send the heavy steel door of a bank vault flying off its hinges, the pitiful obstacles nothing to him. It took some restraint to avoid splintering wood doors into bits but it was an art he had quickly perfected.

He always wondered why humans had abandoned more traditional room separators. Hanging cloth and folding screens had worked perfectly for hundreds of years. Besides, they were much simpler to both make and maneuver.

Of course, he understood why humans liked them as much as they did. Doors provided more shelter, protection from the elements and invading enemies. And, perhaps most importantly, they provided privacy.

There were no doors in Heaven. Not originally.

There had been no reason to have doors. Angels did not have any privacy nor did they particularly want it.

They were siblings, brothers and sisters and fellow soldiers living together side by side all the time. What did an angel need privacy for?

They did not sleep. Or eat. Or defecate. Or change clothing. They did not copulate in the same manner as humans.

Simply put, angels did not do anything that they required privacy for. At least, not in the beginning.

Things had changed after Lucifer fell, after humans became their Father's favorite creation. After the angels began killing each other for power and prestige.

When the torture started, angels subjecting their own brethren to unspeakable horrors more suited to the conduct of demons than faithful servants of the Lord, doors made their first appearance in Heaven. More were added when some of the seraphim, namely Naomi, had taken up the practice of wiping angels' minds clean of memories.

The only other doors in Heaven led to the personal heavens of deceased humans. Even in death, humans seemed to be rather fond of their privacy.

Cas had always been envious of them in that respect. As shameful and irreverent as it may have been, Cas had often longed for solitude, for independence, for privacy and freedom. He had wanted to spread his wings and be truly free.

Rebelling against Heaven, against his brothers and sisters, against his own Father who had given him life billions of years ago had given him that chance. But he had ruined it.

In his bid to be free he had essentially clipped his own wings. He believed humans called that ironic. Or was it poetic justice?

He couldn't be sure. There had been no poetry in Heaven, either.

After falling, in every way possible for an angel, he found that he rather enjoyed poetry. But he still disliked doors.

He had never despised a door as much as the one that he was currently staring at. The loud slam still echoed in the hallway like a taunting laugh.

He had gotten into an argument with Dean. Again.

They seemed to be a more and more frequent occurrence since Cas had moved into the Bunker. He had renounced Heaven after the Darkness had made peace with God who decided to make amends with His firstborn children by returning their wings and unsealing the gates to their home.

But Heaven had never been Cas' home. Not really. No matter how many times he sacrificed and slaughtered and died for Heaven, he knew he would never be truly accepted by the flock.

He belonged with Dean and Sam. For however long as they would tolerate him. Which, apparently, was not very long.

Only a few short weeks after he had moved into the Bunker, still adjusting to the mostly sedentary lifestyle of humans, to having his own room and his own possessions few in number though they may have been, he and Dean argued for the first time.

It had been a rather trivial squabble. Cas had failed to put his dirty dishes in the dishwasher after having a midnight snack on one of the nights that sleep evaded him. He had left them in the sink instead.

He had not wanted to wake Dean or Sam by rinsing his dishes and loading the dishwasher at one a.m. He explained that to Dean, effectively ending the argument when he offered to make it right by hand washing his dishes.

His act of contrition had seemed to work. Dean dropped the issue.

Their next argument occurred only a few days later. Cas had messed up again.

He had added too much detergent to the washing machine while doing laundry. Soap suds had overflowed out of the machine and into the floor of the laundry room.

Several of Dean's shirts had been ruined. And the washer had been damaged itself.

Cas had been wracked with guilt about both. He procured the new part for the washing machine but he could replace the damaged shirts without using his grace.

It only took an ounce, metaphorically speaking, of his grace to return the shirts to their former glory but Dean had remained upset. Cas had spent two days scrubbing the laundry room clean in order to make amends.

But as hard as Cas tried to acclimate to life at the Bunker, he always seemed to do something wrong, always seemed to do something that upset Dean. He hated himself for it with a fiery passion he had once reserved for only the most vile and vicious of Heaven's enemies.

He was supposed to be Dean's friend, his protector, and yet all he did was disappoint and upset him. All he did was fail him, over and over and over again.

After the washing machine incident, Cas just seemed to do everything wrong.

He was given cooking duty one night and burned dinner because he didn't realize how fast grilled cheese sandwiches cooked. Another night, he accidentally spilled some ink on one of Dean's copies of Busty Asian Beauties.

A week later, he somehow mucked a spell by adding just a hint too much of belladonna nectar. Dean ended up with bright purple hair for a week, instead of being immune to the thrall of the witch casting love spells in Florida.

On a hunt in Ohio, Cas got distracted while he was supposed to be playing bait for a shapeshifter and almost let the monster get away. He had been rather distracted when the bartender of the establishment he was staking out started flirting with him, complimenting his blue eyes and informing him that he had a pretty smile.

While Sam had been rather frustrated as well, though he was also quite amused by the situation, Dean had been furious. He had given Cas a harshly worded lecture on the ride back to their hotel room where Cas was stuck sleeping on the lumpy futon, the sound of the drug-fueled marathon of sex happening in the next room ringing in his ears all night.

No matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried to improve himself, he always managed to screw up somehow.

He watched hours upon hours of various cooking shows, devoured every cookbook that he could find, yet his cooking skills remained 'piss poor' according to Dean. He assisted Sam with his household chores, listening attentively to all of the man's instructions so as not to make any more mistakes — he even took notes — but Dean still found fault in the way he folded clothes and cleaned the bathroom.

But Cas could look past of all that. Because their arguments only accounted for a mere fraction of their interaction.

Most of the time, his life in the Bunker was a dream. More of a heaven than the place where he had lived for billions of years of his life.

When they weren't driving across the country and staying in cheap motels that reeked of stale beer and cigarettes, they basked in their own type of domestic bliss.

Dean cooked dinner almost every night and breakfast every morning, swaying side to side in his comfy bathrobe as he blasted Led Zeppelin and Bob Seger on his pink iPod. After eating just a few of Dean's home cooked meals, suppressing his grace enough so that he could taste the food rather than the molecules in it, Cas understood why humans were such fans of eating.

The first time he tried pie, a decadent slice of chocolate pecan pie in a Boise diner, his eyes had rolled back into his head and he had let out a moan so loud the elderly couple at the next table had gawked at him, scandalized. Sam and Dean had dissolved into hysterical laughter, though Dean had looked more flushed than when he usually laughed.

Most nights, he ended up sandwiched between Sam and Dean on the couch they had moved into one of the empty rooms to create a den. They had found a decent sized television at a local yard sale along with a DVD player and had started building up quite the collection of DVDs.

Dean would make popcorn drenched in melted butter and salt while Sam would roll his eyes and grab a few beers while Cas finished getting comfortable on the couch. It was much nicer than the ones he usually slept on when they were on the road.

Other nights, they found different ways to entertain themselves. From another yard sale, one in Columbus, Sam had purchased a handful of board games. Dean had bought a game himself, something called Cards Against Humanity.

It was a crude game, full of sexual innuendos and crass toilet humor, but Dean seemed to enjoy it, inviting Charlie to play with them a few times. He appeared to enjoy it even more when Cas joined in, always laughing raucously whenever the angel won a round.

Sam preferred more family friendly games, straightforward board games with simple goals and easily understandable premises. Cas had similar feelings on the matter but every once in awhile he would be the one to suggest a round of Cards Against Humanity, if only to see the way Dean's face lit up.

They ventured into town every now and then for more than just groceries and rolls of toilet paper, for weekend farmer's markets and local craft shows. And Dean hadn't been able to say no to a trip to a local music store that had vinyl records in stock.

Cas' favorite outing had been to the quaint, independently owned bookstore that was nestled between a pet store and a local diner. The feeling of being surrounded by books, works of fiction and fantasy far removed from the purely informational tomes in the Bunker, had been humbling.

He had lingered among the stacks for hours, running his fingers over the spines of books, mumbling their titles under his breath. Sam and Dean had just let him browse for as long as he liked, looking on with soft smiles.

It had been one of the most wonderful days of his life.

But the memory of that day was faded and far away, buried under the mountain of guilt and despondency that threatened to crush him completely as he stared at Dean's bedroom door. The door that had been slammed in his face. The door that stood between him and the man he had given up everything for.

He and Dean had been working on reorganizing some of the shelves in the library. They had been separating the books by subject, by the supernatural creatures they primarily dealt with, so they could alphabetize them later.

Cas had mistakenly set down a book detailing the different types of Greek nymphs and the methods most efficient for killing them in the pile of books about Celtic spirits. Dean had immediately snapped at him, launching into a lecture. Their argument had burgeoned from there.

It ended with Dean throwing the book in his hand onto the table and stomping down the hall to his bedroom. Hoping to somehow placate Dean, Cas had followed him, rushing after him in desperation.

But his bid to end their argument early was almost cruelly dashed when Dean finally made it to his bedroom doorway. He whirled around to face Cas, all but screaming, "Y'know what, Cas? Why don't you go fuck off somewhere like you always do?! Go hang out with your little angel pals and leave me the hell alone!"

The door had been rudely slammed shut in Cas' face not a second later, leaving the angel to stare at the numbers designating Dean's bedroom as Room 11. The sound of the door slamming and Dean's words echoed in his head.

Both were loud and jarring, conveying the same message: leave. Get out. Dean doesn't want you here. Cas could feel it reverberating throughout his entire body, coursing through his very grace until he could feel in the tips of his hidden, newly restored wings — the dejection that threatened to swallow him whole.

Breathing suddenly became more difficult as though something had a vice grip on his throat and was squeezing tightly, trying to crush his windpipe. It was almost like drowning, the burning in his lungs and the feeling of sinker lower and lower beneath the waves of his despair.

The dark wood of the door seemed to stare back at him with an angry glare, cruelly reminding him that he was being barred from the man he cared about more than anything. He wanted nothing more than to break down the door, to explode it into a million splinters with a burst of his grace, but he couldn't.

It would be a violation of Dean's privacy. It would only make Dean hate him more. If that was even possible.

He hated the door. He hated the fact that he was so terrible at everything. Hated himself.

He had done it again. He had upset Dean, had driven him away for what seemed like the millionth time.

And he didn't know how to make it right. Ideas pinged through his head, half-baked and full of room for error, but they were all he had. So, he went through with them.

He walked back to the library, feeling oddly numb. The quiet of the Bunker was almost suffocating, both Sam and Dean in their respective bedrooms, as Cas finished sorting the books.

He was meticulous, careful not to make another mistake. After separating the books by subject, he set to work alphabetizing them on the bookshelves.

It was quick work, tedious and routine like the process of cleaning a gun. But he had messed that up too when Dean had shown him. He had used too much solvent.

Shaking his head to clear away the nagging reminder of all the times that he had failed to do the most simple of tasks, Cas had finished restocking the shelves. He decided to dust afterwards.

Then, he cleaned the kitchen. And the bathroom. He rearranged one of the supply closets so the extra towels, cleaning supplies, and various other supplies were easier to find.

Hours later, when the afternoon had turned to night and Cas found himself exhausted despite the fact that he did not require actual rest. But returning to his own room only made him feel more abject.

He only remained in his room long enough to kick off his shoes and grab the blanket from off his bed, the same one that Dean had wrapped around him while he was still suffering from the effects of Rowena's spell.

He returned to Dean's room afterward to find the door still closed, still locking out Cas more effectively than any sigil ever could. For lack of anything better to do, he plopped down beside Dean's door, the floor cold beneath him.

He draped the blanket over himself, breathing in the faint scent of Dean that still clung to it. He tipped his head back, leaning against the wall of the hallway as he stared up at the ceiling.

In the morning, he told himself as he closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep. Things will be better in the morning.

In the morning, Cas woke to the sound of a door opening, the hinges squeaking. He snuffled, keeping his eyes closed as he tugged the blanket higher up his back.

He didn't want to wake up yet, he wanted to stay in that peaceful unconsciousness. He couldn't screw anything up in his dreams.

But the universe seemed determined to rouse him from his slumber. The creak of the door hinges seemed to grow louder as a gruff voice demanded, "What the hell?"

Cas finally opened his eyes, squinting to shield his eyes from the bright lights of the hallway. He scrubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand, blinking to clear his vision as he peered upward towards where he had heard the sleep-rough voice.

Dean was standing above him, pillow creases on his right cheek and five o'clock shadow darkening the sharp line of his jaw. His hair was messy, flattened against his skull in some places while it stuck up wildly in others.

He was wearing the same shirt as the day before, a dark gray Henley with two of the buttons undone. It was wrinkled, like Dean had slept in it along with his faded jeans.

He looked extremely tired, dark shadows under his eyes that seemed less bright than usual. There was tension in his shoulders, like any sleep he may have gotten was not restful.

"Good morning, Dean," Cas rasped, straightening up as he drew his knees to his chest. "I—"

"You're still here," Dean said incredulously, cutting Cas off before he could apologize. His eyes were wide as he said it, full of disbelief and confusion.

"Of course, I'm still here," Cas replied, his brows furrowing as he returned Dean's look of incredulity. Why would Dean think he would leave? Because he had snapped at Cas? Where else was the angel supposed to go? But more importantly, Cas pointed out, "This is my home."

Dean blinked. And opened his mouth to gape at Cas.

Cas was just about to ask Dean if he was alright when he was cut off again, this time by a pair of lips being pressed against his own.

Warm hands cupped his face, rough thumbs tracing over his cheekbones. The faint scent of whiskey and the fancy name brand soap that Dean preferred filled his nose.

And while he was completely taken aback, he was also overwhelmed with a feeling of rightness as Dean kissed him.

A moment later, before Cas could even attempt to kiss Dean back, the hunter ended the kiss in favor of wrapping his arms around Cas' shoulders and tugging him into a tight hug. He pressed his lips to Cas' temple as he breathed, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Cas. I've been treating you like shit."

Before Cas could open his mouth to dismiss Dean's apology, to ensure him that he wasn't, Dean rushed on, "I was scared. And I know that's not an excuse but I was, man. I was so scared."

"I was just waiting for you to get tired of slumming it with a couple of hunters and run back to Heaven," Dean explained, running his hand up and down Cas' back as he cradled the angel to his chest. "I figured you'd do it eventually so I just gave you a little nudge. I'm so sorry, Cas. I always fuck everything up."

"Shh..." Cas hushed, curling his arms around Dean, slipping a hand into Dean's hair to run his fingers over the hunter's scalp. Voice quiet and calm, he murmured, "It's alright, Dean. You haven't fucked anything up. This is my home, you're my home, I'll never run back to Heaven."

Dean let out a watery laugh, tightening his arms around Cas who buried his face in the crook of Dean's neck. That was how Sam found them half an hour later, smiling to himself as he stepped back into his room, closing the door behind himself.