#or passively letting it drain down there by not keeping the drain basket in -that the drains would get clogged and it could cause problems

[yourgamemasterthewhiterabbit]

Shout out to the guy who read:

"I keep trying to warn you where this will lead.

It isn't about what I want or what I think should happen, I'm not endorsing anything, let's be clear, it's about what will happen, really, it's about human nature.

This isn't about what's moral, or what's reasonable, or what you think you can stoke a divisive culture war against, it isn't about my opinion, I did not invent the nature of need, it's about what people have always done when faced with no good options, guns in their hands and staring up at the people sentencing them to suffering and death."

Interpreted it as me saying "gun violence is the appropriate solution" and then threatened me with gun violence for saying it was the solution...

And then deleted his reblog when I pointed out his lack of reading comprehension and blocked him.

Leave alone that he is exactly the kind of disillusioned right wing supporting gun toting reactionary who I was trying to point out will be the ones actually enacting the gun violence [not so much the staunch leftists who believe in the value of human life]... As has actually already been proven at least 3 times now.

I'd like to remind him that I do report people for threats of physical violence and for harassment.

And I'd like to recommend stepping away from the internet and having a nice hot bath or something every time he feels the need to try to make a nasty comment... Before he makes an ass of himself again.

I'd also like to reiterate that I am not endorsing gun violence, I am merely pointing out that this will continue to happen if we stay on this trajectory, and you can't reasonably expect another outcome.

Look at history's example.

You are fucking so deeply with human rights and everyone being able to meet their basic needs that the angry incels who used to be taking aim at women and students, are the exact group who are now looking angrily up at billionaires and politicians, having finally seen who they should be mad at [not an endorsement of them seeing gun violence as the solution], and wow I bet THEY -the largely rich white men who are 'calling the shots'- don't like it when the guns are being aimed at them instead of the women and children they can usually scapegoat...

Maybe try not to literally threaten to shoot the messenger?

I mean, I can also predict that suddenly gun reform will start to seem okay or be dropped as a main talking point by the political right once enough billionaires, CEOs, and politicians are shot/shot at... That's just me pointing out what's a near inevitability... Not me exerting some power to try to make it happen. [I have none]

I'm not the one with the gun, and I'm not the one stripping people of their basic human rights or denying their needs for survival. I have no power to tell people what to do and I have about as much influence as your average tumblr shit-poster at best. That is in fact the MOST power I have in any facet of my life. I'm just telling you what I see happening. If you think lashing out at me solves anything, you are misdirecting that energy, buddy.

[tsukikento]

Empathetic Chapter 18

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Summary: After your mom, the number 1 hero in America, gets offered a teaching position at U.A., you two pack up your things and head to Musutafu, Japan to start a new life. Pressure for you in America was at an all-time high, and now you’re in Japan, where almost no one knows you, or your family’s past.

This tale starts on your first day of class where your new teacher decides the best way for you to fit in is to fight against the strongest person in your class: Bakugou Katsuki.

Warnings/Genre: This piece will feature some angst and reference to an abusive parent, if you are ever worried about other tw’s feel free to send me an ask and I will let you know. There will also be fluff, slight angst, pining, and slowburn.

A/N:  Usually, my chapters are ~5000 words, but this one is less than 3500. However, that is because I wanted to end the chapter here! I hope you guys enjoy some of this glorious fluff with a short explanation to the reader's backstory. There is more to come and unfortunately it with be rather angsty.

(series masterlist)

You didn’t know what to say and Aizawa didn’t expect you to say anything. He gave you a few moments for the concept to sink in and then he began speaking again.

“Your mother is already on a plane back to the United States. She is in contact with your siblings and even tried calling you a few times.” He paused, debating his next words carefully, “Our goal is to have him think you are still in America. Your family is arranging for there to be a record of you at your old school. Your mother left in hopes to convince your father that she rushed home for you.”

You nodded meekly. It’s not like anything will change if I speak up.

Aizawa sighed. “We are working on our end to get rid of your trace here, but we believe overall that it is safest for you to stay here on campus, surrounded by heroes. What this entails is that you will not be in the limelight at all. You will stay training under me, you will not go out on missions where the public can see you, and you will not participate in the sports festival.”

Aizawa sat down next to you, trying to be as considerate as possible in such a difficult situation.

All you wanted to do right now was call your mom and siblings. You wanted to hear their voices, hear the truth from them, and then have their soothing voices tell you it would all be okay.

“I’m sure you want to talk to your family right now,” Aizawa began as if he was the one who could read your mind, “But you can’t.” He once again rubbed his eyes in irritation at the problem. “If you call them, your number will show outgoing calls from Japan to the United States.”

“I understand,” You solemnly replied.

“However, tomorrow morning, I will be calling your mom with the intention to talk to her about the situation and missing class,” Aizawa explained. “Come to my office half an hour before class and you can talk to her.”

You nodded, trying to comprehend just how important and serious this topic was.

“I don’t expect you to be amazing in class,” Aizawa elaborated, “I know this is a tough situation. However,” He looked into your eyes, “I want you to be there and I want you to keep fighting for your hero education as this gets sorted out.”

You nodded.

Aizawa stood up. “Now, go to bed, get some rest.”

You nodded a final time. “Thank you,” Your meek voice responded, bowing slightly because you knew it was the polite thing to do. You made your way back to the dorm as Aizawa followed behind you.

When you entered, you saw Ashido and Kirishima now in the room with Bakugou, Kaminari, and Sero. However, no one else was there anymore. Briefly, you wondered if your friends, particularly Bakugou, yelled at everyone to get lost.

“Have a good night,” Aizawa said as he left you, closing the door behind him.

Frankly, all you wanted to do was go up to your room, sleep the night away, and talk to your mom in the morning. You hoped everyone could respect that.

Ashido was the first to approach you. They had all been sitting at the usual spot on the dining table. The load wooden chair creaked against the wooden floor, surely adding another scratch to the collection. She rushed over to you and pulled you in quickly for a hug.

It was brief, mainly because you didn’t hug the pink girl back, and she pulled away in concern.

She looked deep into your eyes, unsure what to say.

With the utmost concern and care she could muster, the girl simply asked, “Are you okay? Do you want to be alone?”

“I do,” You mumbled out quickly.

“Of course,” She immediately replied, turning to lead you up to the dorms. She was your escort, and she would make sure no one, not a single soul, bothered you.

As you walked, your eyes wandered to the group. Most of your friends were standing at the edge of the dining room, too scared to enter. Bakugou, on the other hand, stayed in his chair, his eyes never leaving yours.

He looked at you with a serious face and motioned for you to take out your earbud.

You listened and took out one.

Are you okay? You heard his thoughts, much more apparent than anyone else’s, ask.

Not wanting to lie to the blond, you shrugged. You didn’t want to hear anything else, especially because most people’s thoughts were focused on your own situation. You popped the earbud back in as your rounded the corner to the hallway that led to the elevator.

Time passed numbly as Ashido ushered you to your bedroom.

“I’m going to fill up your water and bring you a couple of granola bars in case you get hungry,” She paused to look at you, “Do you need anything else? I could wake you in the morning for class if you’re going.”

“No,” You smiled, “I appreciate you.”

“Of course.” Mina’s tone was much more calm than usual. “Even if I am asleep, feel free to text, call, or bang on my door till I wake up, okay?”

You laughed, “I will.”

Your door shut. You sat down. Minutes later you heard the clink of your water bottle be pressed against your door.

A vibration.

I left it outside your door <3

On your phone were multiple calls and texts. A few from your mom, a few from Aizawa, and a few from Momo and Iida, the class representatives.

You clicked on each, ridding yourself of the red notification bubble. Sighing, you got up to grab your water before going back to bed.

You snuggled yourself into the duvet and attempted to play some videos to distract yourself.

You felt tears prick your eyes multiple times through the night until you finally fell asleep.

~~

When you woke up, you were sweaty. You already had been, but this fresh sweat was most likely the result of a nightmare you already couldn’t remember. Your mouth was dry, and you immediately moved to grab your water. You gulped down half your water in only seconds, thankful that it was filled by Ashido.

It was still dark outside so you grabbed your phone to check the time.

2:19.

If anything you were only asleep for an hour. It had been difficult to fall asleep in the first place, but now it seemed you were being plagued with nightmares.

You pondered if it was better that you didn’t remember what you dreamt. Part of you wished you could.

You sighed into your empty room.

Knowing yourself, if you fell back asleep, you would have the same nightmare.

Maybe I can distract myself for a little bit and try to fall back asleep later.

You looked around your darkroom. But what to do?

Sighing, you stood up from your bed and began grabbing your toiletries. You were much too sweaty for your liking and assumed a nice shower would help calm you down.

Quietly, you slipped downstairs, not using the elevator because you knew it would ‘bing!’ when the doors opened and closed.

Thankfully, the living room and dining room were empty. Your bare feet padded against the hardwood as you made your way to the showers, trying to keep quiet in case anyone heard.

You entered the bathroom, lights switching on immediately due to the motion sensor, and placed your belongings onto the sink counter. You turned to one of the stalls and switched it on before returning to your belongings. As the water heated up, you grabbed your essentials and flung your towel across the tile walls that separated each shower stall. You took off your earbuds and placed them securely into a cloth pouch you attached to your basket.

You peaked around the room, ensuring no one was there, before quickly peeling off your sweaty clothes. You rushed to your stall, closing the curtain, and sighing into the security of a warm water stream.

You took your shower slowly.

You spent your time massaging your head as you applied shampoo. You exfoliated your legs carefully, getting every inch and letting your thoughts fall down the drain with the soapy water. Your mind was clear, and you numbly followed each step meticulously.

It was when you were just about to wash the conditioner out of your hair and get out of the shower that you heard the door click open.

Whoever entered, disturbing your peace, let their heavy toiletries basket fall onto the counter.

I can’t fucking believe it!

It was Bakugou.

Someone else is showering at this time when I wanted to be all alone.

You debated telling him it was you, curious to see if knowing it was you would ease his anger. However, he would also know you could hear his thoughts in these moments.

He turned on the shower that was two away from you. You heard him sigh and pictured the blond rubbing his eyes in frustration.

His thoughts flickered over multiple subjects in the span of seconds. With many people asleep, thoughts were quiet. Bakugou being so close made it easier for you to focus on his thoughts but did not stop your head from hurting slightly.

You weaved around his thoughts, pushing away the passive ones that were simply about turning on the shower, grabbing his shampoo, body wash, and conditioner, and entering the shower. You moved away from his frustration, searching for something more.

Y/N.

More.

Is she okay?

More.

I wonder if she was able to fall asleep.

More.

I wish I ignored stupid pink hair and just went to visit her.

Fuck.

“Bakugou.”

A wave of shock when through him. After a few swears within his head, he finally replied.

“Y/N.” A short pause, “Didn’t I tell you to call me Katsuki?” Another pause, “For practice, I mean.”

You chuckled, running your hair under the water. “No, Bakugou-san, I don’t think you ever did.”

“Tch.”

You heard him open a bottle.

“Well, you can,” He finally said, his voice annoyed, but his thoughts telling you it was a façade.

You didn’t bother replying. Instead, you turned off the water and ringed out what water you could from your hair.

“I’m fine by the way,” You said, interrupting the silence.

You could tell Bakugou wanted to ask some questions, but his thoughts were not directed to you. They were not specifically asking so you didn’t say anything.

You dried off your body and wrapped the large towel around your body before realizing you didn’t bring any spare clothes.

Even worse, you slipped your clothes off and just left them out there. At least, you were smart enough to throw them into your basket of toiletries. Despite that sliver, if silver lining, you still needed to wash your face, brush your teeth, and put some products into your hair. There was no way in hell you were going to put your sweaty clothes back on that you ran in.

Maybe if I work quickly… you reasoned as you secured your towel best you could and proceeded to the sink.

The silence allowed you to work quickly, washing your face and applying products to it while Bakugou simply showered, thinking about how to ask you whatever it is he wanted to ask.

“Can you still hear my thoughts?” He asked out of the blue. Or, at least, it would have been if you didn’t hear his thoughts prior.

“Yes,” You replied as you applied a heavy glob of rose water gel cream to your face and neck.

“Then why aren’t you answering my questions? I know you can hear them?” He inquired.

“Your thoughts are different when you are thinking them and actually talking to me,” You explained, moving on to rapidly put lotion on your exfoliated body. “I don’t answer because they aren’t for me.” You paused, unsure how to phrase this next part, “I don’t want to interfere with your thoughts, I just can’t wear my earbuds when I’m soaking wet.”

His water shut off.

His water shut off and you still had things to do.

You checked your towel, rolling the top over a few times for maximum security.

“You might as well just answer them,” He explained. His green towel disappeared, his hand swiftly grabbing it from the tile walls.

“I’d rather you ask me what you really want to know,” You shot back, “I am not inclined to explain a difficult situation to someone without enough balls to actually ask.”

You could hear Bakugou scoff at the comment.

“No offense,” You added.

A chuckle. “None taken.”

He opened his curtain and stepped out. The blond was wrapped in only a towel, much like yourself, except this one hardly clung to his hips.

You looked away, looked anywhere else, and kept working. Next, your hair.

“It’s fine, you can look,” He teased.

It was a bold comment, but you could tell he was nervous to say it and just as nervous to look at you.

“I could say the same thing,” You looked into his eyes, cautious of his expansive chest. You pointed at your head, “Remember?”

“Tch, how could I forget?” He said, meeting you at the large sinks.

“You should have brought clothes,” You said, continuing the conversation and purposefully moving it away from tonight’s events.

“I could say the same thing,” He repeated, mocking you.

You laughed lightly, “I thought I would be alone.”

“So did I!”

You paused, “Yeah, well I got some pretty bad news tonight so you can’t be angry at me.”

The conversation stopped. Bakugou was tentative to say anything.

“You want me to tell you that badly, huh?” You questioned, looking at him through the mirror.

“You don’t have to,” He quickly replied.

“I know.”

You were done. Teeth brushed. Face fresh with lotion. Hair oil on. You turned to lean against the counter and watched the blond as he brushed his own teeth. You folded your arms, more so for the security of your towel, and for the comfort it would provide you.

“And just so you know,” You began, “I’m not telling you this because I crave attention.”

Bakugou gave you a look, not bothering to reply.

You bit your lip debating where to start. As you thought, your eyes looked over Bakugou’s body, admiring his strict diet and workout regimen. It’s really doing him wonders.

You caught Katsuki’s eyes, and he smirked, knowing exactly what you were doing. He didn’t pressure you to start your story and instead simply looked back into the mirror.

“Anyways,” You began, “My dad broke out of prison and he’s probably going to come looking for me.” You wanted to tell this story quickly, much like how one would rip a band-aid off quickly. “My mom is going back to the United States, and I am staying here because it is safest. However, I can’t do certain things,” You paused, “Like compete in the sports festival, or call anyone.”

Bakugou looked at you, your story clearly processing in his mind. He opened his mouth but closed it after a few moments. You knew what he was going to say though.

I’m sorry you can’t compete in the sports festival.

Albeit a little off-topic, you could tell the comment was coming from a good place. He had been training with you for weeks now in preparation. He also knew that it would be your opportunity to get an internship. However, now there was no possibility of doing that.

After deciding not to say such an oblivious statement, he was unsure what to do.

“It’s fine,” You finally said. “You don’t need to console me of anything.” You sighed, “It’ll be tough, but they will eventually get him, and everything will go back to normal.”

An awkward silence filled the room. Although, it wasn’t silent for you. Bakugou’s mind rushed with thoughts, the most prevalent one being—

“Is he where you got your quirk from?” Bakugou asked.

“Yes,” You answered before adding, “But his abilities are much more fleshed out than mine. He is able to manipulate feelings so strongly, and for so long that it’s basically mind control.”

Not wanting to elaborate, or go into your family history anymore, you began packing up your belongings. Bakugou also seemed ready to go as he began doing the same things.

Motioning to the blond, you finally put your earbuds back in. “You’re free,” You joked, enjoying the silence.

Bakugou snorted through his nose and grabbed his things. He held the door open for you and you each made your way to the elevator. You pointed to the elevator and stairs, silently asking him which one he would rather take.

Bakugou answered by leading the way up the stairs, walking slow enough that you were still able to keep up.

“I’m glad I ran into you tonight,” Bakugou said, breaking the silence. His voice echoed through the hall, making your heart flutter. “I was really worried honestly,” He added, worsening your nerves and making your face heat up.

When you didn’t reply, the blond turned to look at you. He immediately saw your red face and began to get red himself. His lips formed a fine line as he tried to remain serious and not smile.

“Don’t look at me like that!” He exclaimed, turning back around, and speeding up.

“What do you expect me to do?” You replied, “You started it.”

Bakugou scoffed, opening the door to your floor. “Yeah, but I didn’t look at you like—” He wasn’t sure what to say and gestured at you— “That!”

“Like what?” You shot back as you each walked to your rooms.

“You know,” Bakugou grumbled, his face becoming even pinker than it already was.

“But what if I don’t?” You questioned.

“I know you know,” He said, looking at you finally. “Of course you know with how I’m reacting.” Bakugou scowled at you and pouted his lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

You smiled brightly and the blond and nodded your head. “If it helps at all,” You began, “I’m glad I ran into you too.”

Bright red.

He was as red as his eyes.

You smiled even wider, happy to know you could make him react that way.

Before he could close himself away into his room, you decided to add insult to injury.

“It was also really reassuring having you with me when we first got back,” You paused, thinking about what to say. “It may be small, but you really helped me at that moment, especially when you moved me around.” Although you were doing this to get a reaction out of the blond, it was also an embarrassing moment for you. Neither of you was outright saying that you liked the other, but you were getting quite close to it. “I’m also really glad you yelled at everyone to leave so it wasn’t super crowded when I got back.” You thought for a moment, “At least I think you did.” A smile graced your face that would have anyone starstruck.

Bakugou stared at you like a deer in headlights. His eyes were wide, his face was red, and he could hardly move. It felt rather funny, each of you standing there in only a towel as you proclaim something so personal. Your arms held onto the top of your towel and Bakugou’s hung loosely by his hips.

For a moment, you imagined the garb falling off. It was a hilarious image and you knew the both of you would be nervous, but the way it hung really teased the idea of it.

It took a few moments, in which he stared directly at you, for him to regain his motor skills. With a ‘Wshh!’ of the door he was gone, tucked away in his small dorm.

You smiled to yourself, happy with how tonight played out. Even if your family was fighting for you, even if you had to fear your father showing up at any minute, it felt good to have a silly little high school romance. It made your life feel normal, it made your heartbeat incessantly, and it made you crave more time with the stubborn blond who stole your heart.

Once back in your room, you bit your bottom lip, trying to tame your smile. You change into some pajamas and make sure your alarm was set for the next day. You didn’t need to work out, but you needed to get to class early so you could talk to your mom. You were happy, really happy. Despite everything, your day was an overall great day and you knew it was all thanks to Bakugou.

[wizkiddx]

a father and daughter

I don't normally hop on the whole dad!tom thing, but this idea kinda popped up and wouldn't leave me alone. Hope everyone is having a lovely festive period and wish you all well in the new year x x x

Summary: Tom really struggles to get into the parenting thing, and finds it tricky balancing work and his relationship with baby daughter

Tom loved being a Dad. It had only been a couple of months, meaning your baby girl was still very much a baby - yet still he had no doubt, this was the best job one could ever ever do. To be honest he was quite regretting agree to the few work commitments he had started to ease back into too. It wasn’t like he couldn’t afford to go these months without work, which not many had the luxury of saying - but in this industry work agreements were lined up years before and he was never one to disappoint. 

Of course, as soon as you both had found out you were expecting, he’d withdrawn from the big filming project across the world but that didn’t mean he avoided the odd week of press, or a couple days flying abroad for fittings and meetings. By absolutely no means would you ever class him as a slightly ‘absent’ dad, you completely understood and when he was home did way more than his fair share with Amelie.

But Tom felt guilty and he felt like he was inferior to you in parenting ability. And you knew that was for one reason and one reason only. He did not have boobs. 

You were well aware that as much as you loved Amelie needing you so much and so often - sometimes being the only person able to soother her - was because all she wanted was to drain you of milk. She was clearly going to be a Daddy’s girl, and who could blame her when her Dad was Tom. But for right now, a mere 5 months old - she loved you because she loved your tit. 

The first time you had noticed Tom’s growing frustration was right after his first evening work commitment since her arrivel, he’d been on a UK chat show earlier in the evening and as encouraged by you, had taken the opportunity to have a few drinks after with his brothers and friends. By no means did he return late, barely midnight, but he did return just a little tipsy. You were still up choosing to have a little movie night to yourself, whilst Amelie slept in the Moses basket next to the couch. Just before Tom got back though, she had woken up and for no reason was the smiliest little girl. So when Tom let himself into the front door, he was greeted with the sound of Amelie’s little bubbles of laughter, while you spoke in baby language - pulling ridiculous faces and laughing with her. 

“Someones smiley” Tom laughed as he plopped down on the sofa next to you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head and wrapping his arm round your shoulder as he smiled at Amelie. 

“Aren’t you Meelie? How was the show love?” You asked, as you held Amelie in a sitting position on your thighs so she was staring at you both. 

“Hmm it was nice, couldn’t make myself stay for too long though… just missed my girls.” His voice was a little rough, something that happens after talk show and then almost shouting over the obnoxiously loud music in the pub after. Amelie, laughed again at his words, almost taunting her Dad’s attachment to her, making both of you burst out laughing. She already had you both wrapped round her very little finger. 

Shaking your head, you passed her over to Tom muttering needing a wee and made a quick escape. Ever since you had her, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave her unattended - meaning you had almost made your kidneys explode holding in a wee waiting for Tom to get back. Yet as soon as you made it out the door, the bubbling innocent laughter turned into screams - but at that point you’d already made it out the doorframe - marking that as Tom’s issue to handle. Unfortunately the wails continued, very very loud and proud, and when you returned Tom was pacing slowly around the lounge with a grimace on his face as Amelie screamed into his shoulder. 

“I’ll stay up with her if you want.” You offered, knowing Tom without sleep and having to listen to her racket all night would have an impressively worse hangover tomorrow. 

“No I got it, think she needs a change.” Tom countered, even though you were pretty sure she wanted a feed, since it had been a good couple of hours from the last. He noticed your hesitance and shooed you out the room “I got it love, you’ve had her all evening.” 

“You know where I’ll be” You smiled lightly, leaving them downstairs as you got ready for bed.

It was after about 10 minutes of thrashing about guiltily in your otherwise empty bed, you gave in to the still continuous screaming. Amelie clearly was just hungry, even if Tom refused to admit it and bring her to you. So with a deep sigh you gave in, swinging your legs over the side of the bed and trudged downstairs. Tom was still stood up, taking gentle bouncing steps as Amelie apparently tried to deafen him. Once he saw you, with a defeated look, Tom offered her to you. Instantly, as if you just had the ability to turn the crying switch on her off- Amelie stopped crying and blinked away the tears in her eyes, whilst waiting patiently for you to offer her your nipple. While you were busy trying to get her to latch on, you just caught Tom muttering something as he trudged up to bed without so much as a good night. 

Then a couple months later a similar thing occurred. Tom had been away in New York for 5 days, a little press stint that he had under no circumstances been able to get off. At first all had been well but two days since he returned, Tom insisted you finally had an evening out with the girls - to be honest, after spending the best part of a week alone with Meelie you graciously took it. Oh, and also of importance for context, Amelie spoke her first word while he was away… Mama. 

You’d left that morning, your best friend taking you on a spa day before - so by the time Tom called you at 11 in the evening, he’d spent a good portion of the day with Amelie vehemently denying to do anything at all apart from yell- yelling “NO MAMA.” So fair to say he was pissed. You answered the phone with a soft smile, honestly finding spending this much time apart from Amelie really hard and guilt-inducing. 

“Hey Tom everything okay?”

“Um when do you think you’ll be back?” He spoke straight and to the point, clearly not in the mood for small talk. 

“I don’t think too long, is everything alright?” His tone made you so much more concerned,  now worrying that something had happened. 

“No no everything’s fine. Just… just been a long day.”

“Okay well I’ll be back soon I promise. I love you.”

“Yeh yeh um you too” He didn’t mean to be short. Nor to make you worried. He didn’t hate you - far the opposite, he hated how much Amelie loved you. 

If he was being honest, he just felt like a bit of a failure of a father. As a child himself, Tom had always been incredibly close to his mum and thought the typical rule was mummy’s boys and daddy’s girls stood. So why then, did his child appear to absolutely detest him with every look. Especially because, given the nature of his job, once Tom went back to actually shooting films again he’d be around much less - and that the relationship between him and Amelie would at least be geographically strained. Unrequited love is always the worst and ultimately most painful, especially when it involves your own child. 

This underlying and unspoken tension fizzled away for a decent amount of months and Tom went on his first job. At this point you were no longer breastfeeding, but still you knew that purely instinctively if Amelie was ever scared, upset or unhappy she would seek you first. It was bloody obvious to you that she did love Tom, she chuckled away like no tommorrow when he played with her and spun her round the room. And yet, you could still tell Tom wasn’t completely convinced and still seemed , just a bit aware and hesitant. 

In there ever needed to be any proof though, it must’ve been how stroppy Amelie got once Tom left. In short, for you, it was hell. You ended up constantly wearing Tom’s t-shirts, not for you but because the mild but lingering scent of him seemed to soothe Amelie when she was fussing. She would never giggle like she did when her silly Daddy was here to be her personal comedian. She had, however, finally learnt how to say Dada - which now she was shouting impressively at every point apart from when you tried to film it. She was a little devil, its like she knew exactly what to do to make you life as hard as possible - keeping you dealing with an unhappy Tom. You tried to tell him, when you were on FaceTime each evening - but no matter how many times you promised, it seemed that Tom had a hard time believing you. 

He was filming in Germany, which meant it wasn’t actually ‘that’ far from your London home and after two weeks he flew back for a weekend. You were incredibly excited- not just to seeing Tom, which of course you where; but also ,hopefully, for him to feel some sort of assurance in his ability as a parent. He needed to see her, Amelie needed her Daddy and you… you needed a rest. 

That evening, you had had her balanced on your hip as you rushed to make the house look somewhat presentable (because single parenting was not easy) but Amelie had thrown a fit so with a slightly immature passive aggressive comment to your 11 month old daughter you put her on her play mat and carried on. It was a bit of a risk if you were quite honest, she was more than just a crawler - she perfected the art of bum shuffling and was starting to on occasion try to stand up. But you were in the same room so surely little harm could come to her in the ‘over-the-top-ly’ baby proofed living room - Tom’s doing of course. 

So keeping one eye on Amelie and the other on the almost terrifyingly big stack of discarded toys you set about tidying up. It was all going swimmingly until your thoughts about how on earth you were going to hide all the crap were abruptly interrupted with a garbled screech of “DADA!”

You instantly whipped your head round to watch Amelie stumble and basically throw herself the couple of steps to the doorway where Tom stood. You had absolutely no clue how long he’d been standing there but that was all insignificant watching him sweep you little girl into his arms, before she could career to the floor (headfirst of course). His eyes were bugging out of his head, as she giggled and laughed in his strong grasp before astutely throwing her head into the crook of his neck, demanding to be cuddled by him. 

It was almost hilarious, how utterly shocked Tom looked at the real life proof that his baby girl had missed him. Once he met your eyes he used the hand supporting Amelies back to point at her in a questioning manner, making you roll your eyes at just how oblivious and stubborn he is. 

“She’s missed her Dad!” You smiled, as you walked toward him and pecked his lips. “You got this down here if I finally get some peace upstairs?” 

Because yes, you’d missed your husband and wanted to spend all night wrapped in his arms. But really? There was a more important way the evening should pass, finally Tom getting his moment with Amelie. So without so much as even a ‘how was your flight’ you left the two in the living room - you making a beeline to the bath, for just a moment to yourself. 

It was perhaps even a little shocking to yourself that you were so confident you could leave them alone for the evening. Because really, if Amelie started acting up suddenly again, this could be where Tom’s confidence as a dad goes from ‘ropey at best’ to ‘non-existent’. Except you were so certain in the fact that just wouldn’t happen. If she was hungry she’d take the bottle from Tom (which she never did from you without arguement ). 

And so you had possible the most relaxing time in the bath - actually alone for the first time in two weeks. 

It wasn’t until you quietly walked down the stairs two hours later that you got a bit suspicious of the silence downstairs. Cautiously you peered your head round the doorframe and you didn’t even try to stifle the beaming smile spread across your face. Because there was your husband, lying semi-reclined on the arm of the sofa, his arms wrapped protectively round Amelie who looked incredibly content snuggled up to her dad at last. They were both fast asleep and the sight was just so sweet it actually hurt your  heart, meaning only naturally you had sneak a picture of them both. It was infuriating how you knew you had to wake him up - it is a little irresponsible to leave her lying on top of him on the couch and you kinda wanted to cuddle up to Tom this evening too. 

So with a gentle touch rubbing and down his right arm it only took a moment or two till he suddenly blinked his eyes open, eyes looking quickly between your eyes and Amelie - his grasp on her had instinctively tightened a little.

“Hey” You whispered softly, watching him notice how calm Amelie looked on his chest.

“Mhmm hey.” His voice was slightly croaky, probably from the exhaustion of two weeks of hard work. 

“You guys friends then?” You whispered while combing your ginger nails though Amelies little curls at the base of her neck - she was most deifnetly a Holland. 

“She did really miss me?” Tom asked, still half not believing as he shuffled up on the sofa so he was sitting more upright. 

“To the point she had me wrapping the pillows in your unwashed t-shirts.” You giggled as his bottom lip pouted into a visible ‘awh’. 

“Come on lets get you both to bed.” 

Without much complaint, but keeping her in his arms, Tom nodded and followed you up to bed. But that night instead of getting your way and having Tom cuddling you, he pouted until you let him lie Amelie down in the middle of the bed between you two . 

But seeing the way he grinned at her in the dark, almost fighting to stay awake as he looked at her, the prospect seemed a lot more attractive. 

And that was more than fine by you.  

[inmyownlittlecorner5]

a rock and a hard place

an AU one-shot by la-topolina rated for Mature audiences Warnings: Domestic Violence Summary: Raising four-year-old Harry Potter alongside her own son with little support has Petunia at her wit's end. One afternoon a pair of mysterious strangers approach her with an offer that would rid her of Harry forever. But will this devil's bargain truly free her--or will it bury her for good? Alternate Universe--Canon Divergence 

Lily’s Eyes+ >>

The water scalded Petunia’s hands as she washed up the breakfast dishes, but she didn’t mind the pain. The chemically floral scent of the detergent and the repetitive movement of scrub, rinse, dry, repeat, gave her a moment of respite from her rambunctious charges. Any minute now Dudley and Harry would be crashing into the kitchen, screaming and interrupting her peace. They’d been fighting all morning, but every time she separated them, they inevitably came together; polar opposites attracted by some perverse magnetic force.

She let the water out of the sink and stood there staring at it spiraling down the drain with a ominous slurping sound. Vernon wouldn’t be happy if the pipes backed up again. She dried her hands on a threadbare kitchen towel, grimacing at the sight of her red, wrinkled skin. Her long-fingered hands were the only part of her that were truly lovely. She’d have to be more careful about fitting in the nightly routine of lotion and gloves. It would be a shame to let that one, perfect part of herself go.

“Mummy!” shrieked Dudley, running into the kitchen.

“What is it, dear?” she asked wearily.

He grabbed hold of her skirt with his plump fists. “Harry! He’s a dragon and he’s going to eat me!”

“He’s not a dragon and he’s not going to eat you.”

Harry came roaring into the room, his spindly arms over his head and his fingers bent into claws. Dudley screamed again and ran behind his mother, twisting her skirt around her legs and burying his face in it. She slapped at him reflexively. It seemed to her that the children were always pawing at her and hanging on her, and she couldn’t stand it.

“That’s enough Dudley!” she shouted over the din. “Harry, stop it or no lunch!”

Harry ignored her and continued to chase his cousin. Dudley released her skirt, and the two of them started running circles around her, roaring and screaming. Her heart started pounding, and her blouse was sticking to her from the heat of the day and the dishwashing. She put her hands over her ears and fought the urge to scream until she was dizzy with the effort.

“Harry, go to your cupboard!” she cried, desperate to stop the infernal noise.

The words came out in an angry snarl, and the boys stopped dead in their tracks. Dudley’s lower lip started to tremble, and Harry gave her a long, solemn look before retreating to the tiny room under the stairs. Petunia hated Harry’s stoic stares more than she hated his exuberance. It was as though Lily were accusing her of some crime from beyond the grave.

Shaking off the imagined judgement, she scooped up Dudley and swung him around until he was no longer in danger of starting to wail. Then she set him down in the living room with a stack of plastic duplos and built animals for him until he was engrossed enough that she could slip back into the kitchen to make the boys’ luncheon. The early August afternoon was far too hot for her to even think about eating, but she knew the boys would be whining for food within the hour.

Once she had them both set up at the table with cheese, hard boiled eggs, and sliced peaches, she took a large bowl and her glass of lemon water out to the garden for a few moments of peace. The tomato plants were heavy with fruit, the basil was running riot between them, and she knelt down on the earth to fill her basket with the bounty. Cold tomato basil soup would be just the thing for dinner, and for a quarter of an hour she could breathe easy, her hands in the soil, and only bird songs filling her ears.

She dawdled on her way back to the house, the shouting from within making her drearily slow her steps. Why was it that the boys did nothing but shout? She didn’t so much mind the messes they made (as long as she could get them cleared away before Vernon—who did mind—got home) but the constant noise set her teeth on edge.

“You can do this, Petunia. Just get them through lunch and then they can watch the telly for an hour and you can read your book,” she muttered to herself as she went back into the kitchen.

“Mummy, somebody’s been ringing the boordell,” shouted Dudley excitedly.

“What was that dear?” she asked, setting the basket on the counter and washing her hands.

Dudley didn’t answer, preferring to dash into the other room. When she followed him, she found both Dudley and Harry standing on the sofa, peering through the lace curtains to see who had come to visit.

“Boys, go back and finish your lunch,” she said sharply. “Now.”

The boys paid her no attention, and as the doorbell started to ring again, she decided it would be faster simply to deal with the unwanted guests than to argue. She yanked the door open, but instead of a solicitor or the mailman, two women stood facing her. One she vaguely recognized, a white-haired matron wearing a faded, but neat, dress. The other wore an old-fashioned tartan, and peered at her haughtily through a pair of wire-rimmed glasses.

“May I help you?” Petunia asked.

“Good afternoon Mrs Dursley,” said the tartan-clad woman in a stern voice kissed with a Scottish burr. “We’ve come to speak to you about young Master Potter.”

There was only one way that these odd women could know about her nephew, and Petunia felt her hands go cold.

“I don’t think now is a good time,” Petunia said. “Perhaps another day.”

She moved to close the door, but it stuck fast.

“Now, if you please, Mrs Dursley,” the Scotswoman said. “I assure you we won’t take much of your time.”

Petunia wanted to tell them to go to hell, but she knew what came of arguing with those kinds of people.

“In that case, won’t you come in?” she said waspishly.

“Thank you, we will.”

Petunia stepped back as the women entered the house. There was something about the Scotswoman’s manner that made her feel like a child caught doing something naughty. But she drew herself up to her full height, and ushered them into the kitchen. The boys watched with wide eyes, but she was careful not to give the intruders the chance to speak to them.

“Won’t you please sit down?” she said, quickly clearing the boys’ plates and putting the kettle on for tea. “I’ll just settle the boys down with their afternoon program, and be right with you.”

The Scotswoman started to say something, but Petunia didn’t wait to hear it. As she quickly turned on the telly and found the afternoon children’s hour, her mind was spinning, trying to guess what the women wanted. If they really were the freaks she feared, it could be nothing good.

“Stay here and watch your program while Mummy has a chat with her guests,” Petunia said, trying to sound as though nothing was wrong.

“But I didn’t finish my food,” Dudley said.

“Mummy will make you another lunch after her company leaves. Now sit here and be quiet.” She glared at Harry, who stared passively back at her. Did he know what was going to happen? “Both of you. Or else.”

Thankfully, the boys didn’t follow her back into the kitchen; and she had a few moments of bustle preparing the tea and pouring it. When she was finally seated at the table between the frosty women (there was no mistaking the contempt with which they looked at her) Petunia felt her nerves come rushing back, and she gripped her tea cup to keep her hands from shaking.

Breathe, Petunia. Just breathe. “I’m afraid you have the advantage of me,” Petunia said, amazed at how steady her voice was. “You know me, but I don’t know who either of you are.”

“One might think you’d recognize your own neighbor,” the Scotswoman said. “But never mind that. This is Mrs Arabella Figg, and I am Professor Minerva McGonagall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

Petunia shivered at the heathen name. “A pleasure to meet you both, I’m sure. Mrs Figg, you do seem familiar. I’m sorry not to have made your acquaintance before today. I’m afraid the boys keep me running day and night.”

“So I’ve seen,” Mrs Figg said in a tone that bespoke her disapproval.

“What do you mean by that?” Petunia demanded. “What cause have you to go spying on your neighbors?”

“Mrs Dursely,” Professor McGonagall said, “being as you are so busy, let us be frank. You know as well as we that Harry Potter is no common boy.”

Petunia shivered. “That may be so, but he’s being raised to be a good boy. A proper boy. He needs have nothing to do with the likes of you.”

Mrs Figg scoffed loudly. “Because he’s so much better off being screamed at and beaten by your oafish husband?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. How we discipline the boy is our business,” Petunia blustered.

Professor McGonagall set down her tea cup with a sharp rattle and pulled her wand out of her sleeve. Before Petunia could object, the witch flicked it at the door to the cupboard under the stairs. Harry’s bed was in full view beneath the cobwebs. His bed sheets were all awry, and his tattered teddy bear’s head was squashed from being caught between the edge of the mattress and the door.

“We are making it our business, Mrs Dursley,” Professor McGonagall said.

“He’s my nephew!” Petunia’s eyes stung with tears of shame and frustration. “I’ll raise him as I see fit.”

“Mrs Figg and I have watched you raise the boy as you saw fit for nearly three years now. It could not be more obvious that you desire to be relieved of your burden.”

“Where is he to go? I was told by that mad Professor Dumbledore that he had to stay here for his own protection,” Petunia countered, even as she wondered why she was bothering to object. Hadn’t she spent the last two and a half bloody years wishing every day that Harry would cease to be her problem?

“There is someone who can serve as guardian to the boy. If you agree to our terms, then you need not worry any longer about the fate of Harry Potter. You need never hear of him again,” Professor McGonagall said.

“What terms?” Petunia asked.

“There is a spell you must perform with Harry’s new guardian. It will extend the magical protection that Harry enjoys under your roof to his new home by making you and his new guardian blood siblings,” the professor explained.

A wave of panic rolled through Petunia. “Absolutely not. Besides, I can’t do magic anyway. I thought you knew that.”

“You need do nothing but participate. It will take less than ten minutes, and will leave you and your family free to live as you see fit.”

Professor McGonagall’s words were perfectly polite, but Petunia could hear the disdain echoing in them.

“It would be in everyone’s best interest if you at least thought about it, Mrs Dursley,” said Mrs Figg. “Give it a few days, talk it over with your husband.”

“Yes, you needn’t decide this instant,” Professor McGonagall said. “Simply send word to Mrs Figg in the coming week, and she will know how to contact me with your decision.”

The women gazed at Petunia with such stern authority that she felt it impossible to defy them.

“Alright,” she said. “I’ll think about it.”

“Very good, Mrs Dursley,” Professor McGonagall replied. “We won’t take anymore of your time. Thank you for the tea.”

She murmured an automatic pleasantry and accompanied the women to the door. The boys hopped up from their place by the telly to climb on the sofa for a better view. She had nearly gotten rid of her unwanted guests, when the question she probably should have asked earlier popped out of her mouth.

“Who is this guardian you mentioned?” Petunia said, for some strange reason dreading the answer.

Mrs Figg and Professor McGonagall exchanged a closed look before the latter replied.

“He is a former classmate of your sister and a colleague of mine. His name is Professor Severus Snape.”

*****

Petunia spent the first few days after this baleful visit on pins and needles. She jumped at every unexpected noise, and found the boys’ rough-housing even more unbearable than usual. But when a week had gone by and the witches had not returned to transform her into a toad (or whatever they were actually planning to do with their spell) she began to cautiously let down her guard. Give Harry to that Awful Boy? Send him into that world—the world that she’d been shut out of? She’d be more likely to send her nephew to the moon than to Hogwarts.

As one week became two, and still no witches’ coven descended on her doorstep, Petunia put the whole bloody business out of her mind. The boys and the relentless heat continued to oppress her spirits, and one morning she dragged the lot of them down to the play park. Dudley whined the entire way there, pulling on her hand and complaining that his feet hurt. Harry seemed keen enough about the unusual adventure that he walked obediently next to her, but this show of good behavior only irritated her spirits, as it put her own son’s tantrum into sharper focus by comparison.

When they reached the park, the children made for the swings and the slides without a backwards look. Petunia sat primly on a bench, and pulled the latest Ellis Peters novel out of her bag. It was considerably cooler within the pale of the shaded park than it had been on the walk there. She dearly hoped that the boys would both leave her to read in peace and wear themselves out enough to actually nap after lunch.

She’d been engrossed in Brother Cadfael’s deductions for more than a chapter when she gradually became aware of someone watching her. She looked up to check on the boys, who were currently occupied with the swings (Harry was propelling his swing unnaturally high for a boy his age, and Dudley was red-faced with effort as he tried fruitlessly to keep up). The park was otherwise empty, but as she turned to glance over her shoulder, she saw the intruder.

He was dressed all in black from polished shoes, to trousers, to buttoned shirt with a strange Chinese-style collar, to sunglasses. His stringy hair was pulled back from his sallow face, but his hooked nose and long-fingered hands marked him as the person she least wanted to talk to. She hoped for a moment that this was some ugly coincidence, and he would pass by the park. This was a vain hope, for he entered the grounds and stalked towards her bench like a lazy cat prowling towards its prey. She stuck her nose back in her book and did her best to ignore him, remaining silent even when he sat down on the other end of the bench. Several minutes ticked by while she waited for him to say something, that she might have the pleasure of ignoring him. But he simply sat, watching her in irreverent silence.

At last she could stand the suspense no longer. She snapped the book shut, and turned to glare at the Awful Boy.

“What do you want, Mr Snape?” she demanded crisply.

His thin lips twisted into a mocking smile. “Why so formal, Tuney?” he asked. “And without so much as a good morning after all these years? You cut me to the quick.”

Her heart started to pound as her temper rose. “Don’t you dare call me that.”

“I beg your pardon, Mrs Dursley,” he replied with false gallantry. “But if you wish to continue in this vein, it’s Professor Snape. Mr Snape is my father.”

“And how are your parents?” she asked pointedly.

He shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. Your son is the spitting image of his father.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said.”

She wanted to box his ears and wipe the smug look off his face, but her instincts warned her that he would not take kindly to being used in that fashion. Much as she tried to dismiss him as beneath her on every level, she’d always been a little afraid of Severus Snape, even when they'd been children together. The rail-thin man who sat before her now radiated a confidence in his powers that disturbed her deeply.

“I know why you’re here,” she said accusingly.

“Do you?”

“Yes, and I won’t do it. Harry is just fine where he is. I shudder to think what kind of a freak he’d turn out to be if you raised him.”

“Mrs Dursley, let’s not waste time pretending you give a rat’s tail for Harry Potter.”

“Of course I care for him! He’s my sister’s child.”

Snape took off his sunglasses, and his black eyes showed such contempt that she could not help shrinking from him.

“And did you care for him last night when you let that Muggle husband of yours beat the boy black and blue? I wonder at your audacity, bringing him out in public today. What will the neighbors think?”

“How dare you!”

“If one didn’t know better,” he continued mercilessly, “one would think you have every intention of killing the boy via neglect.”

“Stop it.”

“One blow too many to the head—and on such a small boy—might relieve you of your burdens very neatly. Although hiding the crime would be quite another matter.”

“And you think you can do better?” She was gasping for air and twisting her paperback in her hands, nearly breaking the spine. “I think you know a thing or two about beatings. The first time Harry tries your patience you’d be after him with a switch too. Or with some voodoo trick that will do the job even more easily.”

Somehow she knew she’d crossed a dangerous line. The temperature between them plummeted despite the midday heat, and when he spoke again, it was barely above a whisper.

“I would never beat a child.”

“So you say,” she said petulantly.

“Mrs Dursley,” he continued in that awful, quiet voice, “perhaps you intend to get your revenge on all of us by taking it out of your nephew's hide.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But she did know—he was giving voice to the darkest part of her heart, and she trembled to hear it spoken aloud.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“And I might not know the laws in the land of the freaks, but England it’s illegal to spy private citizens.”

He ignored her jab. “Admit it. Every time you or that fat pig of a husband lash out at the boy, you’re getting some of your own back. I haven’t forgotten the letter you wrote to Dumbledore, begging to join us at school.”

“You shouldn’t have read that letter.”

“It feels good, doesn’t it? Revenge I mean.”

“You’re an evil man.”

He let out a laugh rusty with malice. “Your sister died to save her son. You remember her by locking the boy in a closet at night—and you call me evil?”

“Be quiet!”

“No. Not until you agree to give me the boy. Until then I will haunt you day and night.”

She believed him, and she turned away from his stoney gaze, her mind furiously searching for some means of escape. Her eyes fell on Harry, still swinging higher than he ought. As the swing reached its apex, the child let go, flinging himself out of its seat. He hung in the air for an instant longer than anyone could naturally do, and he landed lightly, glowing with pride. In that moment, all his resemblance to his stupid father fled, and Petunia could only see Lily in her nephew’s green eyes. Something inside her broke; she could feel it snapping in her heart.

“I’ll do it,” she said dully.

“What was that?” Snape demanded.

“I said I’ll do it. You can have him. He belongs in your world anyway.”

Snape’s left eyebrow twitched, but otherwise his face was dreadfully impassive. “I’m glad that you’ve decided to see reason. Come, we will do it now.”

“Here?” she squeaked.

“Afraid of being caught with your hand in the cauldron? No, your kitchen will suffice.”

She was too tired to argue. “Fine. Let’s…let’s just get it over with.”

*****

Professor McGonagall and Mrs Figg were waiting for them on the door step when Petunia, Snape, and the boys reached home. Dudley was clinging to his mother’s skirt, terrified of the strange man, but Harry watched Snape curiously from behind his taped glasses. The other women made way for Petunia to unlock the front door, and then they filed into the living room, solemn as mourners at a funeral.

“You knew I would agree?” asked Petunia sourly.

“Severus can be very persuasive,” Professor McGonagall replied.

Petunia bristled at this, but decided not to comment. “I’ll go pack Harry’s things.”

She went upstairs before anyone could object, in search of Lily’s old suitcase. As she bustled from the closet in the unused bedroom to the cupboard under the stairs, she heard Snape and Professor McGonagall talking to Harry, but she didn’t bother to listen to anything they were saying to him. She neatly tucked her nephew’s clothes and a few books that Dudley hated into the case, along with Harry’s tattered teddy bear, and the one photograph of his parents that had been rescued from the rubble of their house. Lily's smiling face appeared to be speaking to her, but she turned it over so she wouldn't have to look at it. When all was ready, she snapped the suitcase shut, and brought it into the living room. She felt numb from head to toe, and while she thought vaguely that this lack of response was somehow shameful, she could not bring herself to feel any emotion at all.

“Here are his things. Dudley, say good-bye to your cousin,” she said.

“Not quite yet, Mrs Dursley,” Professor McGonagall said. “We’ve still the matter of the blood bond to attend to.”

Petunia had been hoping to skip that part. “What about the children? I can’t very well mind them and do magic.”

“Fortunately, you will be required neither to mind them, nor to do magic,” Snape replied.

“Come here boys, and we’ll read a little story,” said Mrs Figg.

Petunia didn’t like the way that Harry and Dudley both joined the old woman on the sofa without question, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it. She left them to Mrs Figg and joined the witch and the wizard, trying not to think of what Vernon would say if he knew they were about to do that in his very own kitchen. Snape was already at the counter, stirring a beaker of a bubbling green liquid and muttering strange words under his breath. A drinking horn that looked like something out of Beowulf sat next to the beaker. If Petunia hadn’t been so numb, she might have been afraid, but if any emotion was attempting to break through her mental fog, it was curiosity.

Snape finished his stirring and nodded to Professor McGonagall. The witch picked up the drinking horn, and he poured the liquid into it. When it was full, he took it into his hands, raised it to Petunia, and arched a sardonic eyebrow.

“To you, dear sister,” he sneered, and drank.

She accepted the horn from him when he finished, though she ought to have recoiled in horror.

“No, brother,” she shot back, “to you.”

Before she could think better of it, she drank deeply of the blood-warm brew. It tasted of ginger and basil, and stung her throat. It coiled in her stomach, swirling like a whirlpool, but she thought she could keep it down. The idea of vomiting in front of Severus Snape was too humiliating to bear.

“Hold your hands out,” Professor McGonagall ordered as she took the horn from Petunia.

Snape did so, looking grave, and Petunia hesitantly extended hers as well. Professor McGonagall cut a shallow gash on their palms almost before Petunia registered the silver blade in the witch’s hand. Before she could protest with more than a startled yelp, Snape had clasped their hands together. A burning sensation radiated between them, as though someone was holding their hands to a fire. Petunia blinked furiously, determined not to cry in front of these freaks, until her eyes locked with Snape, and something even more strange began to happen.

As she looked into those inky depths, she no longer saw her neat little kitchen. Instead she seemed to be huddled in the corner of a shabby, dirty one. A man and a woman were arguing fiercely in the other room, and she was terrified that they would come and find her. This scene melted into another place and time, where she was running through the hallways of a great castle, a pack of laughing boys on her heels. Then she was lying on a threadbare bed, pointing a wand up at the ceiling and shooting down the flies that buzzed overhead.

By the time she realized she was somehow reading Snape’s mind, it was over. He let go of her hands so quickly that she stumbled, and Professor McGonagall had to catch her arm to steady her.

“It’s done,” the witch said. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mrs Dursley.”

Petunia nodded her head, too bewildered to think of anything sharp to say. Snape was avoiding her eyes, and she wondered wildly if he’d been able to read her thoughts as well. And if he had—what had he seen? Still pondering this final humiliation, she allowed Professor McGonagall to usher her back into the living room. Dudley was snoring on the sofa, exhausted from the events of the morning. Harry looked up at them, and Petunia noticed that his glasses were no longer taped together.  She reflected bitterly how easy it must be to fix a small child’s glasses with magic when he broke them every other week.

“Harry, it’s time to go,” Snape said in a voice that was stern, but not unkind. “Say good-bye to your aunt.”

Harry slid off the sofa, but went to his suitcase instead of his aunt. He tugged at the latch unsuccessfully, until Snape gave an impatient snort and flicked his wand at the thing to open it. Harry plucked out the teddy bear, and brought it to Petunia, holding it up to her until she took it from his little hands.

“Good-bye Auntie Tuney,” Harry said.

“Good-bye Harry,” she replied. “Behave yourself.”

Harry nodded and put his hand in Snape’s, and the two of them began to follow Mrs Figg and Professor McGonagall out of the Dursleys’ lives, presumably forever. On the threshold Snape paused, set down the suitcase, and turned back to Petunia.

“Petunia,” he said in the same tone he’d used with Harry, “if you should ever decide you wish to leave this life, you have only to write to me and I will do what I can to help you.”

“Why on earth would you bother yourself with that?” she said indignantly, even as a mad urge to beg him to take her and Dudley with him choked her.

“Because, now you are my sister.”

She wanted to laugh at him, but that mad part of her wouldn’t allow it, as though it were afraid of shutting this door completely. Instead she simply pursed her lips and nodded once her understanding. There was nothing more to be said between them, so he picked up the suitcase and led Harry out of the house. As she closed the door after them, a rush of panic went through her, and she paced nervously from room to room, waiting for it to pass. At last she found herself back in the kitchen. The gashes on her hands had mysteriously disappeared, so she filled the sink to wash up the breakfast dishes. Anything to pretend that life was as it should be.

When the sink was full, she realized she was still gripping Harry’s teddy bear. She set it on the counter, and started the mundane ritual of wash, rinse, dry, repeat. The bear's button eyes stared up at her until her own eyes blurred with tears she could no longer contain. She snatched up the toy in her red, wrinkled hands, and sank to the floor, clutching it to her breast with far more care than she’d ever been able to show its former owner.

She’d been left behind—again.

*****

Lily’s Eyes+ >>

[hollywoodx4]

The Other Track (3/?)

I have a snow day today (which. My boss NEVER cancels school, so we’re celebrating hard.) so I’m trying to get things done, which means of course I’m writing instead of getting actual work done. So here’s some more underground railroad AU

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Orpheus keeps himself between the two woman instinctively, although Eurydice doesn’t allow for much else. She walks along with him, looks mostly between him and the ground. She’s quiet. He cranes his neck often to whisper to her, to console “I’m sorry,” he breathes “I love you. We’re going home.”

              “It’s not your fault. Don’t blame it on yourself. We’re going home.” That’s all she says to him-some combination of three phrases, strung together with an I love you but always quiet, slow. She doesn’t look the same-to the untrained eye, maybe, but to a man who’d noticed everything about her from the moment she’d set foot in his life, there’s a lot to take in.

              Her posture is slightly hunched, her body a bit thinner and more worn. She struggles to take even steps, to keep herself in pace with him although he shortens his gait. Her clothing is sturdy yet stained, scuffed and used and without the even rows of stitching that made what she’d worn up above her own. She couldn’t repair what she’d worn underground. Orpheus knows this, but the lack of knowledgeable, thoughtful stitching hits him as he looks her over. And her eyes; they send his heart crashing down into his chest. Guilt wracks his entire body, makes his breathing heavy and course, his head spin. In her left eye, just in the very corner of its deep, warm brown, is a slight speckle of grey. The color had begun to drain; right there, on his lover, a reminder of what had happened. When he had been trying to save everybody else, he’d failed her. He can feel himself memorizing the detail, the muting of her eye, before he can stop his brain from doing otherwise. When she leans her head on his shoulder, he sees gray. Even when she squeezes his hand, looks up at him and he is consumed with a smile and the need to keep her close, his vision is clouded by the discoloration that will now be a permanent piece of her.

              -what he did to her.

              He can hear Hermes, an ever-present voice in his head. Orpheus is brought back to his childhood-to sitting on a barstool with a towel on his shoulder, wiping down glasses as his guardian looks on. He’s brought to his tiny hands on a guitar the size of his long, skinny torso, to the frustration of chords that didn’t quite sound right.

              “Try again,” Hermes would say, gentle in tone and with a soft hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay that it’s not right yet. Try again.” And he’d try; he’d try until the bar was closing, until Hermes hung up the last glass and looked at him with shining eyes-with pride. And then he kept going, learning notes and chords, instrument after instrument. He filled the bar with music that grew with him, with melodies that came as second-nature even as a young child. The things in his mind translated easier this way, through stories that could be told through pretty instrumentals and narrated by a voice carrying a melody. It didn’t take Orpheus long to pick music up once he’d started, but once he’d been on the receiving end of Hermes’s pride he vowed never to give it up.

              He’d spent most of his childhood trailing behind Hermes; tugging on his suitcoat, holding his hand…he’d grown to telling everybody that he was his father. To Orpheus, to a boy who had found a home filled with a guiding sort of love, Hermes was no less than a perfect match. He was accepted, he was loved, he was home. He hadn’t felt home in the mother who’d considered his melodies a burden, who ignored his curiosities with rolled eyes and told him to “just go play.” With Hermes, who let him sit on the barstool and chat to his heart’s content, who kept a conversation and let him speak for hours on one subject alone, Orpheus felt whole.

              There’s a memory that strikes him while they’re walking, while he’s pushing through dead leaves and kicking up dust with his shoes. While Eurydice holds him he feels her desperation, the need to stay close to him as he needs to stay close to her. He hasn’t felt this anxious, frantic sort of panic since childhood, and even now the memory is hard to access. There’s footsteps, even and firm. He’s walking to new territory-his mother barely even looks his way. He’s young-maybe six or seven-and he carries with him a knapsack containing nothing but a change of clothes and a blanket he kept with him everywhere he went. She holds his hand, but her grip is loose and passive. He can feel himself asking his mother question after question; where are we going? What are we doing? Where are we? She never answered him-didn’t need to. When she knocked on Hermes’s door, when they had their volatile conversation behind closed doors, she didn’t need to answer. He wished she didn’t.

              “He’s too much to handle-need a life of my own-a nuisance child-too loud, too loving, too much,”

              As they walk, as the scenery refuses to change and challenge him, the rest of him fills with the sound of their footsteps; brushing, echoing. Persephone is a driving force, knowledgeable and directive. She leads them along the broken railroad tracks, only speaking to let them know of bent-up metal, roots grown too far out of the ground.  She does not speak directly to Eurydice but looks often between her and Orpheus. He can read her-feel the crossroads between confidence and uncertainty, the slight falter in her usually exuberant, dominant presence. He nods at Persephone, gives her a smile and keeps himself tethered to his lover. It is not from a place of mistrust, but thanks. When she turns her head to look at them, the shattered, apologetic nature of her slightly dropping posture, he looks down at the hand entwined with Eurydice’s, then back up. It’s a way of thanks, this silent conversation, and it drives her forward.

              Eurydice pulls him from his daydream; she’s calling his name, each syllable dropping softly from her lips. From her place beside him she looks up-looks at him and he can see it there, her love. He can see it as clearly as he ever has. Even though her cheeks are gaunt, even though she’s changed in the time it’s taken him to travel all this way…even though she’s not the same, her love is. Orpheus can’t wait to bring her back, to sit with her at the bar and play music, to build a house and a garden and a life he can finally see stretching out in front of him with certainty. He can’t wait. This life stretches out in front of him, creating pictures in his mind of the way that things could be if they surmounted this obstacle. And then….too loud, too loving, too much. He closes his eyes, begs the memories to stop clashing with his present. They create a dissonance, an echo of doubt as his mother’s voice takes over the future in his mind. The home and the garden and the life with Eurydice shifts; he finds himself alone, back in the bar, playing music to a noiseless crowd. Eurydice is gone, has found someone who can provide for her the things he was not able to. He takes in ragged breaths as this possibility crosses his mind, fights to erase his boundless optimism with the voice of his mother, the one who’d doubted him and cast him out, plays a ferocious soundtrack on a continuous loop.

              “Orpheus,” Eurydice-her hand holds soft pressure on his shoulder, shakes him gently. “Orpheus, listen to me.”

              When he blinks into focus her gaze is warm, her eyes glistening with emotion. She shakes her head, brushes her hand along his cheek and takes pause there. She’s scared too-behind the warmth, behind the comfort and the run of her fingers along his shoulder, her own breathing is uneven. She’s quaking-just the slightest bit, just enough for him to feel against his body. The rest of the world-the dust and the brambles and the smoke-swirled sky-everything disappears for a moment. His focus is Eurydice, her voice chasing away his doubts, turning them into dust that joins the air.

              “I need you to think about something for a minute.” She settles herself as comfortably as possible on the hard ground, curls herself into his side and rests her head in the space just below his neck. He adjusts himself to fit her without thinking, brings both arms around her and rests his back against the slope of the hill so they can lay at an incline. The pressure of her body against his sets his breathing back and he hitches his focus to it, to brushing his fingers through her hair as he watches her speak.

              “When we get home, can we get chickens?” He almost laughs, the combination of her soft, low voice with such a random question, the way her expression seems to dance between the present and the future, just as his hand, dreaming.

              “Chickens?”

              “I mean, not right away-I don’t know much about them other than the fact that my grandpa used to have them out in his backyard. I used to help him get the eggs, put them in a little basket and bring them up to the house. Sometimes we’d sell them, sometimes we’d eat them…”

              She stops mid-thought, glimmering, the corners of her mouth upturned. He can’t help but kiss her then, pull her body further into his and hold her there. She laughs against his lips, presses her forehead against his and runs her fingers along the hair at the nape of his neck. Orpheus takes her in, attempts to memorize the feeling he’d gone so long without. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he hopes they’ll make it. In the forefront, where he’s filled with the rush of relief that comes with her body against his, Orpheus knows they’ll be alright.

              “Chickens.” He says, almost a confirmation. She nods her head, still laughing, and a feeling of exuberance bubbles upward from his toes, settles in his stomach in a happy little dance. “Alright, chickens it is.”

[wheresmynaya]

Two Ghosts Ch.20 | Brittana

A/N - So sorry for the lack of updates! I’ve got 1 more week of the semester left but it’s been really full on so I haven’t had the time to write. Hopefully this makes up for it though, enjoy! <3 

After a few more minutes sitting outside, Santana is able to coax Alex into returning to their table where Brittany awaits them. There’s another change in Alex’s attitude only this time she’s a lot less snappy. There’s still that touch of banter between her and Santana, but Alex is much more easier to handle when she’s not being so argumentative.

The three of them end up splitting a basket of fries while they try to help Alex figure out her next move. They find out Alex has a cousin who could be open to helping, which Santana wonders why Alex didn’t bring her up before.

Santana and Brittany listen quietly as Alex makes the call, ready to snatch the phone if there is so much as a frown on Alex’s face.

But Alex’s cousin agrees to take her in for the time being, despite Alex not telling her why she needs somewhere to stay in the first place. She’s around their age and Santana hopes that means she’s a progressive thinker unlike Alex’s parents. Alex already looks relieved to hear she has a place to stay for the night and Santana and Brittany take that as a win. They spend the next hour making sure Alex is all sorted and that she makes sure she keeps them in the loop in case anything else happens.

“I mean it,” Santana urges, “Remember what we talked about. We’re here for you so don’t be a punk about speaking up.”

“Okay,” Alex answers softly but that just makes Santana quirk her brow. Alex sighs and sits a little straighter as she adds, “I will. I promise.”

“Good.” Santana nods and just barely misses the proud grin Brittany wears from the corner of her eye.

Another few minutes later, Maddy arrives to pick Alex up and take her to her cousin’s.

“Let us know if you need anything,” Brittany says to Alex as she gets up to leave.

Alex nods, “I will. And thanks again…for everything.”

Santana and Brittany just smile and say their goodbyes. They watch out the window as Alex disappears into Maddy’s car and the two are off. Once the car is too far gone in the distance, Santana turns away and lets out a deep sigh.

“That was a lot.” Santana exhales and now it’s her turn to massage her temples, “Like a lot.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry for dragging you all the way out here. It just made sense to come here.” Brittany says and it makes Santana peek up at her. It’s the first time since she’s gotten to Frank’s that she’s able to really look at Brittany without her being so preoccupied with Alex. There are darkening circles around her tired eyes and they don’t seem to shine as they did yesterday. She wonders how well she slept and if she’s also nursing a hangover.

“Don’t be sorry, it was for a good cause.” Santana replies with a small smile instead then looks around the diner, “Plus, I’ve kind of missed this place..”

“Yeah, me too,” Brittany nods, “But this isn’t exactly how I imagined seeing you again after last night.”

For some reason, Brittany’s words make Santana blush. She doesn’t say anything though and instead looks out the window again, hiding from Brittany’s gaze.

“You did really well,” Brittany compliments shortly after, “With Alex, I mean.”

“So did you,” Santana says but Brittany shakes her head.

“No way, not like you. I thought I would because of how you react to me and you guys are weirdly similar, so I thought I’d have the same effect but clearly I thought wrong.”

Santana frowns at Brittany’s words, “But at least you tried though and that has to count for something, right?”

“I guess.”

Santana’s frown deepens and remembers what Brittany said earlier about feeling guilty for how things went down in high school and she doesn’t wants Brittany to ever feel like that again.

“Hey,” Santana says softly and it makes Brittany peek up at her, “I think you did great. You were there for her and she needed that, even if she doesn’t know it yet. You were there for her even if she tried pushing you away. You stood your ground and that’s really important for her in the long run,” Santana pauses and wonders if she’s talking about Alex anymore but she continues on, “She needs people like us in her life. Please don’t beat yourself up over this, okay?”

It takes Brittany awhile to answer but she soon nods, “Okay.”

“Okay,” Santana repeats and tries to add a little lightness to their conversation, “She’s a tough one to crack, but we made it in the end.”

“Yeah she is,” Brittany agrees and chuckles, “I knew you’d be able to connect with her in a way I couldn’t. I think you really are a good mentor.”  

“Thanks,” Santana bashfully tells her, “I don’t know how helpful I was though, I’m not really an advice giver.”

“Sure you are,” Brittany replies then shrugs, “You give me advice.”

“When?” Santana chuckles, turning back to look at her.

“I don’t know,” Brittany replies simply, “You’ve helped me loads of times. There’s just so many that I can’t think of one thing in particular.”

Santana ponders for a moment then says dismissively, “Yeah, but you’re different.”

Brittany scrunches her brows and asks, “Why?”

The question makes Santana pause and really think about her answer. Brittany’s always been Santana’s soft spot, her exception, a person her body just reacts differently to on its own but it’s hard to put into words why that is.

Well, it’s not hard.

She has a slight inclination as to why that is, but to admit that it’s still the reason now makes her nervous. It’s like she’s admitting that during those five years they spent apart without any contact there was always a little piece of her that held on to them and ever since they’ve been around each other that little piece just grows more and more.

But when Santana thinks about that and everything’s that happened since reconnecting, would admitting something like still having feelings for Brittany be so bad?

She doesn’t know. It’s been a long day and she feels too mentally drained after Alex to think about her own inner conflicts, so she just shrugs.

“Because you’re my best friend.” Santana tells her which isn’t a complete lie, but as soon as the words leave her lips it feels wrong. They leave a bad taste in her mouth and Santana can’t help but feel a little guilty. Her eyes never quite reach Brittany’s after she says it and a weird uneasy feeling settles low in her stomach. It’s the same feeling she’d get back in high school whenever she wanted to say that one thing she really wanted to say, but instead You’re my best friend comes out. It’s true but it isn’t what she means, it’s not what she feels.

Santana finds a sugar packet and fiddles with the paper, hoping Brittany’s too tired to comment on it.

But nothing gets past Brittany.

“Best friend, huh?” Brittany questions and begins to smirk, “Is that how we’re going to do this again?”

Santana picks up instantly on the sarcasm in Brittany’s voice despite her facial expression and it reminds her of all the times Brittany would call her out on her shit and she was the only one who could get away with it. Anyone else who dared facing Santana would get a visit from Aunty Snixxx, but not Brittany. Brittany had a way of getting through to Santana that a lot of people weren’t able to do. Sometimes Santana was really thankful for Brittany who took the time to learn her, but other times, like this, she wished Brittany would just let things go over her head.

“I didn’t say that,” Santana tries and watches Brittany rest back with her brow quirked, “I mean, I did but it’s not what I meant.”

Brittany tilts her head to the side, the Cheshire grin growing, “What did you mean then?”

Santana presses her lips together as Brittany watches her. She knows what she’s doing and judging by the playful glint in Brittany’s eyes, so does Brittany. In another time in Santana’s life, this conversation would have her hurdling towards a panic attack, but this feels different. Maybe it has something to do with helping Alex or maybe it has something to do with the way Brittany kissed her last night. The way Brittany looks at her makes her feel like she’s been caught in a lie, but the smile that accompanies it makes her stomach feel fluttery.

“I think you know what I meant.” Santana says finally and Brittany giggles.

“I think I want to hear you say it.” Brittany tells her in a low, husky tone and it has Santana crossing her legs tightly.

Santana tries to play it off with a laugh that sounds more nervous than anything.

“Well, I think I’m way too tired and hungover to get into this right now.” Santana replies passively and Brittany doesn’t even try to hide her eyeroll.

“You will be the death of me, Santana Lopez.” Brittany sighs as she crosses her arms over her chest. Despite her words, she really doesn’t seem annoyed or aggravated with her because the way Brittany looks at her makes Santana feel so soft.

“But what a way to go, am I right?” Santana teases.

Brittany just shakes her head although she can’t help but grin.

“We should go,” Santana says a little while after, “I don’t know about you but my head is killing me and didn’t get nearly enough sleep as I should’ve.”

It takes Brittany a moment but she ends up nodding too, “Yeah, I need several naps.”

“Me too, let’s get out of here.” Santana says and moves to stand after leaving some cash on the table to cover their bill.

 \\

 They make their way to their cars, but they keep a slow pace despite how the cold wind blows around the crunchy Fall leaves. As much as Santana would like to rush home and dive back under the warmth of her covers, she’ll miss being around Brittany and she finds herself savoring every moment she can with her.

But there is this giant, pink elephant in the room and Santana supposes she should properly address it before they go their separate ways. Her stomach is in knots as they near their cars, time running out.

“Thanks again,” Brittany says first as she digs around in her pocket for her keys, “For helping me today and stuff.”

“No biggie,” Santana replies, sounding less nervous than she actually is. She watches as Brittany continues to look for her keys and wonders if this is her way of stalling too.

“Ah-ha!” Brittany announces triumphantly and pulls her keys from her bag, “I was worried I locked them in the car and that would not be fun.”

“No it wouldn’t be.” Santana chuckles and watches as Brittany fiddles with the key fob. She looks like she’s waiting for Santana to say something more and it makes Santana’s stomach churn. But the words don’t come and it seems that the longer they stand there the colder it gets.

“So I better get going then,” Brittany finally says after several awkward minutes of silence and Santana just staring like an idiot, “I’ll see you later?”

It feels like a fist is wrapped around her vocal chords and her heart is about to burst, so Santana just nods and she hates herself for it. She hates that her heart and her head battle so fiercely and reduce her to silence.

“Okay cool,” Brittany smiles softly although there is slight confusion in her blue eyes, “Well bye, Santana, drive safe.”

Just as Brittany turns away to unlock her car, something miraculous happens: Santana speaks.

“Britt wait,” She says and watches Brittany turn back around with her brows raised questioningly.

Santana gulps and tries to force away all the negative thoughts and doubts then says, “I want to talk about last night.”

“Okay,” Brittany grins and rests back against her car, crossing her arms.

Santana licks her lips and takes a deep breath as she nods, “I…I haven’t felt that happy in a long while. I usually spend Thanksgiving alone or work through it so it was a really nice change to be back at home, eating an actual homecooked meal around people that mean a lot to me.”

“Me too,” Brittany adds and it makes Santana smile shyly.

“And I want to talk about the kiss.” Santana says and she feels a mix of relief and anticipation for how Brittany will respond, “It was unexpected, but I liked it. But despite what we might’ve told each other to make ourselves feel better about cheating on our boyfriends when we were younger, friends aren’t supposed to kiss like that.”

“I think we’re passed trying to be friends,” Brittany replies, “Don’t you think?”

Santana swallows hard and nods, “Yeah, I think we both know there’s something here still, between you and I.”

“Because for some odd reason you just can’t get enough of me,” Brittany smirks and it makes Santana let out a belly laugh, easing some of her nerves.

“Maybe so,” Santana says a little more solemnly, “But like I said before, I want to do things right this time and talk first instead of just blurring the lines like we usually do.”

“So are you trying to say you want to court me?” Brittany asks but there’s a glint in her eye that tells Santana she’s only half teasing.

“Maybe? I don’t know.” Santana shrugs, “I just think about how we’re older now and I can do things that I was too afraid to do before. Not just because I was afraid to ask you, but because I couldn’t handle the dirty looks and what people might say about us. But that’s different now because I don’t care about those things anymore. I can ask you out on dates that don’t involve being hidden for the majority of the time like going out to eat at real restaurants or something. We don’t even need to use a napkin anymore. I can lean across the table and kiss you if I want to and I can hold your hand when we walk around in public because I’m proud of who I am and I don’t care who sees because if I want to hold the hand of someone I love then I will and I won’t let anyone stop me.”

The last words leave her lips too quickly to catch and it makes her press her lips tightly together like she’s willing them from continuing to overshare. She watches Brittany watch her and waits for what seems like hours for some kind of reaction but she remains stoic and that only makes Santana even more nervous. It’s not like she explicitly said she loved her, it was more inferred and really it was all just a hypothetical scenario so it wasn’t like it was something that could really happen.

“So anyway, that’s how I feel about that.” Santana mutters after too much silence, “Hopefully that’s okay with you.”

“Of course it is,” Brittany says and reaches out her hands for Santana’s. The warmth is comforting and Santana finds herself stepping closer, being drawn in. Blue eyes flicker between Santana’s as Brittany inhales and says softly, “It feels really good to be around, Santana, you make me feel like a girl again, like my body wakes up.”

Santana smiles and feels Brittany’s fingers tangle with hers.

“And I’m really proud of how much you’ve grown.” Her words take Santana by surprise but she remains quiet. “I always knew you’d get there and even though it makes me kind of sad that I wasn’t around to witness all the little steps you were making, I’m really glad I’m here now.”

Santana’s so incredibly touched by her words that all she manages to do is smile, “Brittany..”

“I hope I can help you to continue to grow into this awesome person you are becoming because I really want to be with you, Santana.” Brittany adds and it instantly makes Santana freeze, “I’ve tried recreating what you and I have and it just doesn’t work. And being around you again after so long and all the time we’ve spent together over these past months pretending that we aren’t completely in love with each other is just…it’s a waste of time because I’m sure now more than ever that I belong with you.”

             Santana just stares wide-eyed as Brittany pours her heart out to her but despite looking completely terrified, Santana feels nothing but relief because Brittany just gave her all the reassurance she needs.

             “And I know you said you wanted to take things a little slower this time around and do things right, which I totally respect,” Brittany says, “But I’ll tell you right now, none of that changes how much I already love you. I’m here if you want me, I’m not going anywhere.”

Santana can’t help herself any longer and pushes up to her toes, crashing their lips together in a passionate kiss. Brittany smiles into the kiss and it makes Santana’s heart soar because she deprived herself of this for so long, she believed it to be the impossible but now look at them. She was so wrong to ever think that it wouldn’t be her and Brittany against the world in the end, because what kind of life is that without her Brittany?

Her head is swimming with thoughts but she really can’t think straight with the way Brittany’s lips feel against her and she hadn’t known it was possible, but this kiss feels even better than the one from the night before. Last night felt like coming home, but this? This is finding out that home isn’t just your home, its also the home of someone you love and that someone loves you too and it smells like fresh baked cookies and there’s a roaring fire going in the fireplace and there’s a dog that runs to greet you followed by the sound of excited little feet attached to adorable little ones with blonde hair that call you mommy.

             Last night might’ve felt like coming home, but this? This feels like Santana’s future.

[maiden-of-wolves]

Fox & Ariel - Persistence

“Meeting” Scene Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Battle of Haven Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 The Winter Palace - Start The Winter Palace - Formal Introductions The Winter Palace - Secret Gathering The Winter Palace - Rift Battle The Winter Palace - Settling Caer Oswin

A tiny kind of fluffy thing? A particular thing just needed to happen.

It had become somewhat of a comfortable routine: she would finish with her daily regiments and whatever projects she had going with Dagna for the day and would sneak off to the kitchens to see what she could scrounge up for dinner. Sometimes she would just get a little thing for herself, but other evenings— almost exclusively when she knew there was no game of wicked grace planned— she would spend a fair amount of time there to cook a little something and brew some tea. It was mostly a source of amusement for the kitchen staff now and some younger folks did their best to help her when she was struggling.

Today she’d managed something fairly complex for her: baking banana bread. She wrapped her tasty project in cloth to keep it warm for a little bit before stowing it in a basket. A few apples, two knives and a pair of plates were placed in next. After thinking it over, she decided to move things around a bit to allow for a small pitcher of warm tea and two cups. Trying to hold two cups while balancing the basket would have been a bad idea. Plus, she’d be going down a lot of stairs, so it was best not to risk anything she didn’t have to.

The second part, and certainly the point to her cooking at all, was to visit with Fox. While she still had feelings for the man that went deeper than friendship she’d come to the conclusion that he did not feel the same way. Still, she still wanted to be around him as much as was comfortable. And at least this way she knew he was eating well for at least one meal of the day.

On this particular evening, she did not find her path down the stairs blocked by a resting cat as it sometimes was and the journey down to the Skyhold basement library was uneventful. “I hope you’re at a place you can stop,” she called as she neared the archway to the library. Fox was almost always down here at this time, so she was fairly certain she wouldn’t be embarrassing herself by talking to air. Even with the prior warning, she wrapped her knuckles on the stone as she wandered inside with a small smile parting her lips.

“I’ve got something a little different today. Hopefully it’s good,” she chuckled, realizing that it was probably a bit self-deprecating, but she did honestly have a only mediocre track record when it came to successful cooking. “If not, I brought apples and tea as usual.”

“I’m sure it’s lovely, thank you,” Fox said. He looked up from his work and tidied his papers to the side.

Ariel smiled, but shook her head. He was always so nice about her shortcomings and she wasn’t sure why. Maybe that was why she couldn’t stop visiting him. He didn’t tease her, they just… talked. And she always looked forward to it even if they occasionally had disagreements. All that said, she scanned the desk he sat at before finding a relatively empty space to put down the basket. She wandered over to a chair she’d long since dragged down here so she could sit, since the last time she’d just flopped down on the floor next to him to talk he asked why she wanted to sit on the floor. It was a little plush since she tended to stay for a least a little while and large enough for her to sit with her legs crossed an an odd mixture of indian and lotus position that was simply her most comfortable and natural way of sitting at this point.

As she leaned up and around to pull out the pitcher and the cups to pour the tea for them, she spotted something different on his desk. It looked like the lantern he’d given her, and later she discovered everyone in the inner circle as well, but it was bigger and the spark was a different color. She gestured to the new item after pouring tea into their cups. “Are you refining the lantern design?”

Fox looked up from the basket and blinked. “The lan- Oh. Oh, no, this is different style. I just hadn’t made one recently.”

Ariel quirked a brow at his phrasing. “A different style?” she echoed, tilting her head slightly as she turned her attention fully onto the item to take in the details. There were intricate designs woven into the metal of the entire sphere and she examined it in silence for a few moments, gingerly tracing some of the pattern with a fingertip. There was a dull itch, so she knew it was just as magical as the lantern she already had from him, but it didn’t burn. “Well,” she said as she finally pulled away and sat up. “It’s very pretty. Must have taken you a while.”

“Thank you,” Fox said. In time with his words the lantern brightened slightly and the light shifted color to be slightly warmer. “The casing is Dagna’s work, of course, but she was delighted to work with my design.”

Ariel’s gaze flickered between the lantern to him several times, head tilting even further than it had been. “...did it just…?” she started, but then just shook her head and reached in the basket for a plate, a knife and the cloth-wrapped loaf. She needed to test that the attempt wasn’t deserving of being fed to Leliana’s crows. Despite her previous control, once she had cut a thin piece off to test and surprisingly found it to be fairly tasty she found herself looking at the new lantern again. “Is that connected to you, Fox?”

Fox took a sip of his tea. “Indeed. Watch.” He gestured to the lamp before narrowing his eyes at his cup. A deep crease formed in his brow and the edge of his mouth started to curl and the lamp glowed a violent red in response. After a breath, he released the emotion with a sigh.

She would have laughed at the idea that his example was him getting angry at his tea, but she knew surely there was nothing about tea that could possibly bother him enough to get that much of an expression from him. Ariel blinked as she watched the lamp interact with apparently his emotions, her mouth opening slightly in both surprise and awe. She could feel the magic itching through her arm and raising the hairs at the back of her neck as it changed color so it was clearly more powerful than the other lantern. “That’s really neat!” she chirped happily, eyes wide and glittering with the excitement of discovery. There were so many questions to its operation, though, and she didn’t hesitate to ask them even as she cut up a couple pieces of her bread. “Does it take energy to affect it? Is it always attached to you? Like, even if you went on a mission could I check on this and see if you’re okay?”

Fox laughed and pulled an apple out of the basket. He cut it up easily - and he looked to have a professional flare - but Ariel knew from the magebane incident that it was at least partially his magic’s doing. “It’s passive, but it also passively takes my energy. Yes, it’s always attached to me. As for if you can check on it… Like as not, I’ll have it with me. It has more functions than just light and even though it’s a passive drain, it’s a lower mana cost than casting new heating spells each night.”

Ariel smiled as he laughed, the sound putting her at ease. She took in all the answers with little nods of her head, but when he noted that he wouldn’t leave it here she snapped her fingers and put on a small pout. “Dangit,” she sighed. “Ah well,” she added after only a breath, pulling out the other plate and putting several slices of her baked good on it before gently placing it in front of him. “At least this turned out okay. Not even crispy.”

“I take it from the phrasing it’s not supposed to be?” Fox asked as he took a piece of the bread. He bit into it and then nodded. “Rather heavy, but not too sweet.”

“Well, I mean… it’s bread,” Ariel offered with a nervous laugh. “Kinda hard sometimes to make bread not heavy.” She finished the piece that she had nibbled on to make sure it was okay. “I’m just glad it’s good enough. I saw a couple shipments of bananas the other day and thought about doing this once they’d run really low so I didn’t interrupt the kitchen staff much. So, tadaa.” She let her voice take on a sing-song quality with the last word, gesturing lazily to the loaf. “Banana bread.”

She leaned back once she’d cut up half an apple and munched away on a slice while quietly observing him. “So,” she said once she’d swallowed, “have you made any progress down here with all this paperwork you’re married to?”

He considered her question as he ate. “It is, perhaps, a task with no clear end. Some things have been completed, but it is like moving sand from one beach to another.”

“Are the records secrets?” Ariel asked after taking care of another slice of apple. She’d stopped trying to pry when, every time Fox wasn’t down here, the books and papers were missing. But the way he phrased it, that the task was endless, made her both worried and curious. “Wouldn’t it help if you had someone, or even multiple people, helping you go through them?”

Fox didn’t meet her eyes. “There is no proper way to explain what to look for. Further, the contents are particularly distressing. You have enough of a burden on your heart without them.”

“And you don’t?” Ariel asked, the question falling from her lips before she could think better of it. “You carry just as much, since we’ve spoken about everything,” she reminded him. “More, considering your background.” She started on another slice, gaze averting from him for a little while as she chewed. She sighed before swallowing and looking back at him. “But I’ve learned that pushing you doesn’t help. Like pushing a cart sideways. Just… know that my offer to help is genuine, regardless of the difficulty.”

“Thank you, but this is something I must do.”

Ariel just shrugged and shook her head. She took a few sips of her tea before refilling it from the pitcher. It was lukewarm already, to her surprise. Another slice of her banana bread later and she felt like she had to break the silence with something. “Have you gotten any updates about the kids?” she asked him. “Is everybody okay? At this point things are settled enough around here that you could probably send Ivan back if you wanted to, if it were needed…”

That drew a full laugh out of Fox. “I think you’ve been rather focused. To answer your first question, I get an update every few days. As to the latter issue, he returns often handle business with the children before returning.”

She blushed a little, getting the distinct impression that he was laughing at her and it both irritated and concerned her. What was wrong with being concerned about an orphanage full of mage kids hidden away somewhere? A small frown pursed her lips and her brows knitted slightly even as she listened. “I guess that means that everyone’s okay, or at least well enough to send updates. That’s good. I don’t always see Ivan around but I guess I just didn’t think about him actually going anywhere.” Had he not laughed, she might have suggested that while Ivan was a good conversation partner she wanted to spend more time with him instead. As it was, however, she just sighed and tried not to beat herself up inwardly for being stupid about it as she cut up the other half of her apple to finish it off.

“Just because he’s not in your story, doesn’t mean he stops existing when you’re not around to see him,” Fox said.

Okay that was just unnecessary. Did she really come off that poorly? She seemed like some kind of supremely selfish creature that thought the world revolved around her or her perception? She stared at him as she finished her latest slice. “You’re not, either,” she reminded him, pointing at him with a new slice. “But I clearly don’t think you stop existing the moment you’re out of my sight or I can’t find you. Don’t know why you think I’d feel any differently about Ivan or anyone else for that matter. The kids weren’t and I’ve never seen seen or heard them and I was thinking about them enough to inquire. Taevel has been a good friend I didn’t know a thing about him being here. This world doesn’t revolve around what I know even though some days it can feel like it. I’ve long understood that. I live here now. Maybe I’m not as observant as other people, but that doesn’t mean I dismiss other people’s very existence just because I don’t see them.”

Whatever Fox thought about that, he kept to himself. Though he was silent, his lamp was still the same even, soft, blue-green glow it’d had when she first came down.

His silence was deafening and filled her with questions, but she remained seated and quiet long enough to finish her apple and calm down. Ariel knew he cared, after everything that had happened, so she had to remind herself of that. It was the dichotomy between how virtually anyone else in the inner circle saw her and apparently how he did that confused her. The only difference was how much she had told him about the ‘prophecy’. Well, that and her own feelings, she supposed. But those clearly didn’t change anything so they didn’t matter.

“Well, I guess I’ll leave you to your work,” she said, putting her plate and knife back into the basket after wrapping up her bread loaf again. She paused, holding it out as she realized she could offer it to him. “Did you want me to leave this for you?” she asked, deciding at least that was safe to ask. “I could leave a plate and knife too so you could cut it however you want.”

“I’m fine, but thank you. My room is next to the kitchens if I’m hungry later.”

“Okay then,” she breathed, carefully packing up everything. Once she’d tested the pitcher a bit to make sure it was secure, she looked back up at him. “Good luck, with all this,” she offered quietly before slipping the basket onto the crook of her arm.

She pulled the chair away against the wall again so that it wouldn’t be in his way if he needed to lean over his own desk for whatever reason. All that settled, she headed around the desk and towards the stairs. She was undecided on if she would keep the banana bread, let the crows have it even though it turned out well or ask Cole if someone would like some. In any case, she had to deliver the basket back to the kitchen and she planned to swing by the tavern for at least one mug of ale or mead. Sleep would be much easier after that.

[reminiscingdreamer]

Their Curious Case Through Discerning Eyes

Chapter 2: Coffee House Concerns

Rating: G

Pairings: Oda Sakunosuke/Dazai Osamu

Words: 2,176

Warnings: None

Summary: Every member of the Agency was strange in one way or another, to put it nicely. Among them, Dazai was definitely the strangest. It was a bit baffling how he could be in a relationship with the Agency’s most level-headed.

Notes: Considered to be in the same universe as The Title of Your Life.

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

You can also read this at http://archiveofourown.org/works/11769801/chapters/26627340

“What a day,” Atsushi groaned, plopping onto the plush seating of the café’s booth and sliding in to leave room for Oda to sit next to him.

“It wasn’t so bad,” Dazai-san disagreed, taking a seat across from them with a cheery smile.

Atsushi felt like that smile was sapping his own energy away to fuel Dazai-san’s cheeriness.

How could he still be so energetic after some terrorist sent them on a wild treasure hunt across the city for bombs? It was draining just watching him take a napkin and begin to fold it.

“Good afternoon, what would you like?” the waitress asked, coming up to their table.

Dazai-san perked up from his sad attempt at napkin origami like a dog offered a treat and he clasped his hands together.

“Ah, it is you, fair maiden! Your beauty is blinding as always!”

Atsushi could almost see the sparkle in his eyes as though someone poured glitter in the air around him.

Uh… ugh.

“I would love nothing more than for your very visage of you immortalized in my last moments! Yes! You are indeed the one I have waited for my whole life! Won’t you commit double suicide with me?”

There he went... Wait…

He’d seen Dazai-san flirt a few times with women but until that very moment, he hadn’t thought much of it. But with his skin prickling from Oda-san’s mere proximity, he was definitely thinking of it now.

Atsushi peeked at him, but Oda-san was as unreadable as ever.

Why was Dazai-san flirting with someone else right in front of Oda-san? Didn’t he have any consideration at all?

“No thanks,” the waitress replied with an unflappably pleasant smile.

Dazai-san swooned and pressed himself into his seat, one hand clutching his heart. If he could, he’d probably melt in his theatrics too.

“Ah! Your rejection burns the core of my heart, but even that is another sweet form of death!”

“I’ll have some black tea,” Oda-san said.

“Sure!” the waitress chirruped.

Atsushi’s jaw dropped.

Nonchalant! Way too nonchalant!

“E-eh? Oda-san, are you sure you’re okay with that?”

“I don’t want to have too much caffeine.”

“No, not that!” Atsushi curled his hands into fists on the tabletop. “I meant, are you okay with… with the way Dazai-san… with how he…”

He struggled over the words. He couldn’t say it, not with Dazai-san staring at him with an expectant grin that threatened to split his face and not with the waitress right there.

What was Dazai-san so happy about anyway? Getting away with flirting with someone else? That wasn’t something to be proud of.

“Am I okay with the way Dazai…?” Oda-san queried.

“Er… Never mind,” Atsushi mumbled. Much to his chagrin, Dazai-san’s grin somehow managed to widen even more.

Atsushi scowled at him, indignant.

After all the things Oda-san did for Dazai-san like making meals and putting up with his antics, the least he could do was have some respect!

“And what would you like?” the waitress asked Atsushi, breaking him out of his intense attempt to glare a hole into Dazai’s head. He had to blink a few times to rid his vision of the popping colors ringing his periphery and the fuzzy strain.

“Huh? Uh, umm, chazuke!” Atsushi blurted before flushing. He cheeks felt so hot, his face could probably heat a pot of coffee.

“I’m sorry, we don’t have chazuke,” the waitress said apologetically. Her tone wasn’t any different from before, but somehow he knew that she was laughing at him.

Atsushi slumped in his seat.

“I’ll just have some orange juice,” he mumbled, hands retreating to his lap. He stared at the wooden grains of the shiny tabletop, trying to wipe the last few seconds of interaction from his mind.

“As for me, I would love the feel of your soft, delicate, snow-white fingers around my neck.”

The smooth tone of voice made Atsushi twitch and he looked up again with a sullen glare at Dazai-san.

He’d taken one of the waitress’s hands like he was ready to kiss it.

Atsushi had nothing but admiration for Dazai-san, but this was the first time he had the urge to wad up his napkin and throw it at his smiling face. Oh god, was this how Kunikida-san felt when dealing with Dazai-san? Atsushi had the sudden urge to buy him a conciliatory gift basket. Wait… it wasn’t a good sign if he could empathize with Kunikida-san.

“He’ll have a latte,” Oda-san said, distracting Atsushi from his increasing panic about what it meant if he could creep into what Kunikida-san’s mindset was like.

“Okay,” the waitress replied. “By the way, you’re not allowed to pay for Dazai-san’s tabs anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Dazai-san’s tab should remain Dazai-san’s.” She turned to Dazai-san with that deceptively sweet smile. “If he can’t pay for his own orders, then he shouldn’t have someone else do it for him.”

Oda-san and Dazai-san shared a glance before Dazai-san widened his eyes at her.

“Ah, but shouldn’t two people who share the same life be considered one and the same?”

“Aren’t you just taking advantage of Oda-san’s kindness?” Atsushi mumbled. He couldn’t help it. Maybe it was a little mean, but what else was he supposed to think if Dazai-san accumulated a tab knowing Oda-san, who was responsible, would pay for it?

He meant his question to be rhetorical, but Oda-san answered anyway.

“I don’t mind.”

Of course he wouldn’t.

“I feel like you shouldn’t let Dazai-san take advantage of you like that,” Atsushi hedged, fingers fidgeting from how uncomfortable it was to tell Oda-san what to do.

“He’s not taking advantage of me.”

There was a vague note of confusion in his tone that made Atsushi wonder how Oda-san couldn’t mind.

Dazai-san was flirting with someone right in front of him! He made Oda-san pay for his tab! And any time Dazai-san got up to something, he passively accepted it unless someone begged him to stop Dazai-san! Heck, Dazai-san once made up an absurd lie about a bruise on his chin and Oda-san believed him! How was Oda-san not taken advantage of?

“Well, I think Dazai-san should pay for his own food,” Atsushi decided with a pointed look at Dazai-san.

There was an edge of a smirk on his lips as he turned to Atsushi, melting a bit of his façade of earnestness.

“So I guess I won’t be treating you from now on,” he said with a wave of his hand. “That’s too bad.”

Dazai-san gave a little sigh of disappointment that didn’t fool Atsushi for one second.

Gah.

“If… If that’s what it takes…” Atsushi forced from between gritted teeth.

But free meals…

“I’ll treat you if you want,” Oda-san offered.

Atsushi hung his head in defeat. There’s no way he could take Oda-san up on that offer. He didn’t want to impose on him more than he already did with the homemade cooking he made Atsushi. Dazai-san was probably counting on that too.

A peek through his bangs at Dazai-san’s knowing smirk confirmed it. It kind of annoyed him, but what could he do? Atsushi let it all out in a long exhale.

“No, I’m fine.”

It was okay. He still had Oda-san’s lunch and oftentimes both breakfast and dinner anyway. He didn’t need Dazai-san to treat him. Yeah! That’s right!

Atsushi picked up his head again and scowled at Dazai-san, defiant.

“We’ll all pay for our own orders.”

“Then if we’re all agreed, I’m going to make your orders now,” the waitress said, moving away.

Oda-san nodded.

“Thanks.”

Dazai-san propped an elbow on the table and rested his head in his hand with an amused smile.

“Heeh, Atsushi-kun, you’re pretty passionate about this.”

“It’s not as if I could just watch,” Atsushi said, starting to feel a bit embarrassed as the doubt crept in.

Was he overreacting? Nobody treated any of this like it was a big deal, after all.

“If only you could be this passionate all the time. Half the time you’re like a jumpy cat,” Dazai-san said with an air of slight lamentation. “Actually, even Sou-chan is more adventurous than you.”

“Sorry for being worse than Soukoku,” Atsushi grumbled.

“If you reach Kunikida-kun’s level of passionate, then that’s about enough.”

There was a certain glint in his eye that Atsushi didn’t like.

He thought of all the times Dazai-san led Kunikida-san by the nose for fun exactly because of Kunikida-san’s passionate nature and he shuddered.

“That… can never happen,” Atsushi shot down as much to himself as to Dazai-san.

“Excuse me, I’m going to the bathroom,” Oda-san said, getting up from his seat.

“O-kay!” Dazai-san sang after him and once he was a good distance away, he turned back to Atsushi. “Well, I can’t say your concern isn’t noted. Doesn’t change anything, but noted.”

Atsushi expected as much, but it still kind of irked him to hear Dazai-san say it out loud.

“You won’t catch me out on anything for Odasaku to scold me, but I’ll let you dream. You could go ahead and keep at it.”

Dazai-san shrugged and laughed, airy and dopey, but somehow, Atsushi felt like there was something else to what he was saying.

“Now then.” Dazai-san pushed himself off his seat and Atsushi watched him in confusion. “I’ll be right back.”

“Huh? Where are you going?”

Dazai-san didn’t answer and he walked away humming with his hands in his pockets.

The waitress arrived and placed his orange juice in front of him, pulling his attention away from Dazai-san’s retreating form.

“Thanks,” he said with a smile.

“You’re welcome,” she replied with a returning smile. “The way you tried to stand up for Oda-san was very admirable.”

Atsushi’s cheeks grew warm and ducked his head towards his orange juice as he took a sip.

“R-Really? Um, thanks.”

“I do, but you don’t need to worry. They were playing footsie under the table the whole time,” the waitress giggled.

Atsushi gaped at her.

“Footsie?”

She nodded.

He tried to picture it. He couldn’t.

“Oda-san?”

The waitress covered her mouth as she laughed.

“Yes, it’s surprising, isn’t it? But Dazai-san always manages to lure him into playing.”

“You said always. They do that often?” he asked, trying to straighten his head again.

“I don’t know about elsewhere, but sometimes, I catch them at it here.” She smiled, face soft with affection. “It’s cute.”

It was still strange to think about, but it did give Atsushi a warm feeling in his stomach, a lot like the low-burning coals during winters he managed to sneak beneath his shirt pressed against his belly.

Hearing about that small bit of playful intimacy reminded him that those two had a history together. They were together even before they joined the Agency. That wouldn’t change no matter who Dazai-san flirted with. Maybe that was why Oda-san was so unconcerned with Dazai-san’s obsession with beautiful women.

New customers came in and the waitress went to attend to them, leaving Atsushi alone with his thoughts and his orange juice.

Several minutes passed by and then a few minutes more.

Atsushi had finished his orange juice and he was growing antsy, casting glances around the café for any glimpse of Oda-san or Dazai-san.

Where were they? They were gone an awfully long time. He didn’t know what Dazai-san was up to, but shouldn’t Oda-san be back from the bathroom by now?

He was about to take out his cell phone to call Dazai-san when he spotted them making their way back to the table.

Relief filled him and he let out a breath. Nothing major happened to them, but that’s strange. Was it just him or did Oda-san look a bit flushed? He’d never seen Oda-san red before. Atsushi would’ve stared if he wasn’t so worried.

Was Oda-san sick? Was that the reason why he stayed in the bathroom for so long? Should they get him home? Wait, maybe a clinic would be better. Should he call Yosano-sensei? Why did Dazai-san look so smug? If Oda-san wasn’t feeling well, he should—oh.

It was a bit hard to see, hidden as it was under Oda-san’s shirt collar, but Atsushi could make out angry-looking red on his neck. Somehow, he didn’t think it was a bug bite.

The temperature of the room felt like it exploded. He… He had to get out.

Atsushi jumped to his feet, rattling the table as he tried to get out of the booth as fast as he could, arms flailing.

“S-S-S-Sorry!” His gaze swiveled everywhere, hoping for something—anything— to cling to as a distraction; just as long as he didn’t look at them, anything was fine! “Ihavetogosorrybye!”

Atsushi sprinted out with Dazai-san’s guffaws ringing in his ears even after the door sealed his laughter behind.

Atsushi’s head spun and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get the red marks out of his brain. It led him to all sorts of paths he did not want to explore and he scrabbled wildly at his scalp.

“GAAAAAAAAAH!”

He headed to the nearest river and jumped.

[lilyjane-e-blog]

Safe & Sound | Jily

@pottersuptonogood

Some nights Lily Evans did not sleep due to her own accord. Nervous thoughts and lazy evenings full of reading were typically the culprits. On even rarer occasions sometimes the distraction came in the form of her fiancé giggling and sharing secrets until dawn. Tonight was not one of those nights instead the sleeplessness due to the screams that had haunted every waking moment she had spent at St. Mungos. The agonizing cries were sounds that Lily knew would haunt her far beyond tonight. So much pain, so much hurt, and out of all the innocent bystanders injured in the blast she was a lucky one. What had she ever done to be so lucky? There were mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, and good people who were hurt beyond all fix and yet some random witch from Cokeworth was barely injured. The arm had been an easy fix, the scar on her collarbone not so much. It seemed no matter the spell the gash had no intention of healing. Lily blamed it on the stress the healers were under and after hours of wait time Lily finally had been released just as the sun was rising above the buildings. Impossible as it seemed a new day was starting and yesterday would one day only be a record in history books. Time waited for no one. A quick trip to the apothecary and then home was her next stop. Lily was expecting to see James Potter already curled up in her bed when she arrived, or maybe underneath her favorite blanket on the couch yet when she got there and the place was empty; she was not surprised, a little disappointed sure, but not surprised.  

Sleep was about the only thing Lily wanted yet there was no chance of sleep if James was not home. Instead Lily took to showering and untangling her long red hair, cleaning up her cuts and bruises and cleansing herself of the dirt from the previous day. The warm water did wonders to help her sore muscles and helped her to look human once more. She could not scrub hard enough to release the memories but she could at least remove their marks from her skin. By the time she left the shower the only signs from the previous day were the scars and bruises  that now kissed her milky skin. There was not an inch of pale flesh that wasn't marked and staring at herself in the mirror for a moment Lily could feel her breath catch in her throat. Hot, angry tears boiled and flowed freely finally witnessing the damage hidden under the caked dirt swirling down her drain. Each bruise, each cut some day they would be gone, she told herself. Though she claimed to not be vain, Lily was not immune to the pressures of society on her body. Every time a pound was added she quickly lost it, every time a stretch mark appeared she would remedy the stripes with muggle methods. Her body had always been an object of control and yet now the skin she had worked so hard to make pristine was battered by forces out of her control. It was a physical reminder that in war nothing was off limits. Letting her red hair hang in wet ringlets down her back Lily changed herself into an oversized t-shirt of James that she saved for particularly rough nights when she needed comfort. Today was definitely going to be one of those days, Lily could feel it deep in her chest. The bruises and cuts were only physical reminders of the day's attack but the moment James stepped through that front door she knew every emotional wound was to open and bleed more profusely than any injury she had received.  

This was the risk of being in love, Lily told herself as she curled up on the couch. The soul consuming, heart wrenching, worry that Lily was experiencing was a beast she had never battled before. Anxiety was normal and Lily could deal with that, but this was much different as she was not worrying about herself but the fact that she could have lost James. Growing up at Hogwarts her friends used to always say they were going to die of a broken heart after a break up. "Lily, I can't live without him." She had always thought it was weakness and had quickly told her friends it was medically impossible. Lily was not one for romantics nor was she one to believe in the dramatics of words but for the first time in her life Lily understood the thought. If this worry could manifest itself so strongly with James alive and well, she surely would have died if something had actually happened to him. The thought that she might never had seen his smile, or hear his voice, or even so much as catch a glimpse of him across the room again froze Lily Evans to the bone. This was vulnerability that she had never encountered before, she had never allowed herself to feel such a way. Lily could not live without James Potter and that had become glaringly obvious today.

There was no way to protect him. No matter how much she prayed and wished there was nothing Lily Evans could do to save him. If she had nearly been killed while in the International Magical Office in arguably one of the most safe buildings in the wizarding world, then there was no amount of precautions that could save any of them in the real world. James would never sit down and be passive, he would never put his life before his morals no matter how much she pleaded. Lily was helpless, fighting against a world that was headed to war. James had signed up for it, as had she, and the attack on the Ministry was only the beginning. They were going to be Order members and eventually they would be tasked to help lead the good and defy the bad. Was she ready for that? Was she ready for the idea that if someone wanted to blow up the Ministry that they would not think twice about slaughtering anyone who opposed them? The reality was that Lily Evans had given up any chance of being simply a bystander the moment she had agreed to go on a date with James Potter, and had only further cemented her role when she looked Albus Dumbledore in the eye and told him she would do anything for the cause. There was no take backs. There was no rewind. Not even a time turner could fix this. There was only one option and that was to fight. Fight for James, fight for Alice, fight for Mary, fight for Remus, fight for Peter, fight for Sirius, and mostly fight for herself. If the attack had shown her one thing it was that the wizarding world was not as innocent as she had hoped, they were capable of things far worse than she had realized. She could no longer stick her head in the sand and pretend that war was not on the horizon because attacks like this were an act of war. They were in war and the walls of Hogwarts were no longer there to keep them safe.

The thoughts were enough to start the tears once more but she did not allow more than a few to shed, quickly wiping them away. James was to be home soon and she was not going to let him come home to her being a basket case, he had already dealt with enough today and was going to need someone to take care of him. If she loved him so much then she needed to be strong for right now until he was tended to. Forcing her aching bones off the couch Lily went to the kitchen to both distract herself and make herself useful. Big breakfasts were typically a weekend thing and today was to be no difference. James was going to need the food anyway and something told her that her typical avocado toast was not going to quell the grumbling in her own stomach. Beans, toast, and hashbrowns were not difficult to cook one handed, bacon, eggs, and sausage was a little more difficult, and the only part of the meal that Lily found nearly impossible was slicing the mushrooms and tomatoes but there was no way she was cooking a fry up without them. That would have been sacrilegious. Cooking helped soothe her mind and quell the worry about why James had not arrived home yet. Honestly he was probably going to be the last one out of the Ministry, he wouldn't be James Potter if he wasn't. It was that innate sense of responsibility that made him the man he was. Plating the food and setting it on the table Lily was about to return to the couch when the sound of her door opening alerted her to someone coming in. Careful steps turned into quickened strides, turned into a sprint once the door was open and throwing herself at the man in the doorway Lily allowed no space between herself and him, "James..." The name was a prayer off her lips as she clutched him tightly, "You're safe. I've got you. You're home."

[topsink1-blog]

In The Marketplace For A New Kitchen Sink

Deciding how much the apron front sink will protrude above the counter and in front of the counter are choices that you will need to make prior to installation.

Beyond supplies, installation kind and configuration right here are some additional points to ponder (let's contact them the finer details) when selecting a kitchen sink.

I thought I was going to go for those new composite sinks, but I saw 1 a friend had, and it seemed to show dirt up truly effortlessly.

There are many on-line strong wood Bathroom Sinks shops accessible that will give your suggestions pictures. Grab a spoon and get ready to dig in with us!

I’m going to try some thing else to take those off and then 1 of these techniques ought to work for keeping it shiny.

Cast iron sinks are heavy so undermount installations need correct support utilizing either unique bracket kits or with custom-constructed bracing inside the sink's base cabinet.

The most typical kinds of sink that you will encounter are ceramic, glass, granite, stainless steel, and composite. Lastly, the unit is constructed to be tough and last a long time whilst resisting scratches, dents, and much more.

These different levels of undercoating are by no indicates universal amongst stainless steel producers. Whilst numerous producers do seal it prior to releasing the item to the marketplace, you might nonetheless have to reseal it from time to time to keep the staining at bay.

They act as a normal faucet, but you can also pull down the spray head and extend it for an elevated mobility. The stainless sink also consists of a basket strainer drain, and the height of the feet is adjustable.

The enamel surface of cast iron sinks is hard and nonporous, creating for easy upkeep. Beneath you will discover a gallery of granite composite kitchen sinks.

DO NOT use the green/yellow sunflower seed butter from Trader Joe’s. Did you make this recipe? Next up…. April READER RECIPE CHALLENGE! Whilst we will get to them in a bit, let us give you an concept of what we are speaking about.

Because they are not made of a singular material, composite sinks have the appear of luxury supplies without the complete cost that would accompany a fixture constructed completely from luxe supplies.

50/50 Answer of Water and Bleach, permit to soak in sink for 1 hour and then drain and scrub. It consists of two faucet holes, galvanized legs and has an NSF certification to give you additional ease of thoughts.

Taps with pull out nozzles for the cleaning of meals and pots, and taps with swivel nozzles for simple path of water jets.

Sinks are most generally made utilizing two (2) kinds of stainless steel. Washing dishes hasn’t been simpler to achieve till utilizing the Barclay Fire Clay Farmer Sink.

Most of the advertising for quartz sinks are underscored by talks about it being scratch, stain, bacteria, and odor resistant.

In the end, shelling out a small additional for the optimum steel will spend off both in longevity and in appears.

All stainless steel constructed-in sinks are fitted with a reinforcement bracket and double-thickness material to make sure steady tap fixture. It is because of this process that fireclay sinks are generally regarded as being much more tough than cast iron.

The classic deep bowl of the apron-front sink also indicates much less splashing and fewer puddles on surrounding surfaces. Uncle Paul offers an insightful and detailed evaluation on kitchen sinks in the marketplace. Read this if you have a hard time selecting 1!

Lift and turn sink drains are versatile they can be utilized with a selection of sinks, such as undermount, drop-in and vessel sinks, as well as sinks without overflow.

The place might lock you into a specific size, and stop you from getting that vintage double basin you had your eye on.

Did you make a recipe? Tag @pinchofyum on Instagram. Notify me of adhere to-up comments by e-mail. Notify me of new posts by e-mail. Pots can be placed on it straight off the stove with no consequences, and meals stuffs are unlikely to stain its surface.

Is much better to get those much better stainless steel which is darker in colour. Bright stainless steel.. if kena dent/acid burn.. The double basins will permit you to store much more dishes and wash bigger pots at the same time.

A heat sink is a passive heat exchanger, and it is developed to have big surface region in contact with the surrounding (cooling) medium like air.

These days, online looking has turn out to be 1 in all the most secured transactions done on the internet. Of the 3, stainless steel is the most well-liked because it is simple to clean up and matches most high-end kitchen appliances.

This enables the sink to have the appearance of stone while retaining all of the sensible advantages of moulded plastic. When you need to wash bigger products or just need higher capacity, fill it above the divide to fill both bowls.