#v:postwar

@honxrable from x

She had been engaged to Zuko for nearly a month now. Even so-- Katara had been  living in the Fire Nation, even after everything had happened.  --- It was hard for her to get used to.  This decision she thought she had made--- that was the right one, was that Gran was getting sicker.  She was old and in the latest letter from Sokka -- didn’t know how much longer she had to live.  Aang was busy with his new duties as the avatar, and  Toph--- well she was training a new generation of  benders back in the earth kingdom.  Katara had just  told him as they both were waking from a nice night  together. Sure, she could have left in the middle of  the night -- with or with out a note, but this was more  respectful to the both of them--- “Zuko-- Its-- Its not that I don’t want to stay”She said as she looked down. “Gran gran isn’t--- Isn’t doing well and  they don’t ---”She stopped as she went to the window to look out at the city crossing her arms.  Was she doing  the right thing by going.  She knew Zuko, couldn’t leave  the throne right now. Even though it had been only 5 months since his coronation, things were still difficult to try and get everyone to see that there is no quarrel  with the other nations.  

    He can taste acrid ash in the walls of his throat, blood in the clench of his teeth.

       He can hardly believe Zidane now, 

                           seeing the mass murderer before him now.

          --Alive and Well-- 

              “Ya got some balls to show your face here again...”

yourrealfriends

At three o' clock on a Thursday afternoon in June, The Three Broomsticks was quiet, the only sound the swish, swish of a broom that swept the floor on its own. Madam Rosmerta leaned on the bar, supervising, and dust motes spun dizzily in the golden light that slanted through the front windows. 

Despite the warmth of the summer sun, the back corner of the pub was still in shadow. Tucked into a table, illuminated by the flickering light of a candle, was the prim figure of Nell Clearwater. Her hair was pinned into a chignon, and she wore a cream-colored blouse tucked into a black pencil skirt - deliberately Muggle in dress, though professionally so. A glass of water sat by her left hand, while a quill and parchment lay on the table in front of her. She was clearly waiting, fingers folded together on top of her parchment, alert eyes glued to the door. 

The letters she had sent had asked, briefly and politely, for an interview, and had tersely set a time, date and location. She had given no indication of what, exactly, she wanted to interview Draco Malfoy about, though she had mentioned the success of the Malfoy family apothecary. Whether he swallowed her implied interest in flogging potion supplies was another thing.

diggvry

Nell banged on the door of the flat directly below hers. The unholy shrill of an alarm at arse-o'-clock in the morning was not conducive to either logic or forgiveness. In fact, Nell was five-and-a-half feet of pure rage.