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Old Survey Corps Headquarters, Levi and Saskia’s Bedroom, 7:02 PM “I just want to be sure. What if, what if we cannot prove either guilt or innocence and she’s detained? You know what happens to young women in prison…” “I do, and considering the person in question I don’t give two shits about what happens to her. I want her head on a pike.” “You’re impossible…First Mikasa, now Annie. Is everyone guilty until proven innocent?!” “Yes!” “…this is going nowhere.” Shoulders slumping as she sat on the bed, Saskia kicked off her boots, and tossed he

(All characters and locations within belong to J.K. Rowling unless otherwise stated.) Chapter 25   The Prediction    “There is great creativity in mischief. But also great risk.” General (ret.) Jigme Dorji Wengshuk     Rachel was finally allowed to leave the hospital wing the night before exams began on Monday. She also forgave Marcus for the using the flame charm, which fully brought Marcus out of his slump that weekend. However, the good mood was punctuated by a note from Hagrid. “Buckbeak’s appeal,” Harriet said, reading the note. “It’s been set for the 9th*.”

Peeling the suit's stretchy material from the plastic insert, he took a proper look at the artificial skin. Rubbery but somehow pliant and soft, it had been packed very tightly into the box, folding out and unravelling until it reached the floor. It was just about the right height, as far as he could tell, and the options he'd customised on the order page had come through just fine - silky shoulder-length copper hair, lightly freckled skin with sultry makeup pre-applied, gentle features and a cute nose. He ran his hands over its folds, gently poking through the eye holes, playing with the hair. It felt bizarrely realistic and artificial at t

~Author's Note: Esmeralda=Esmeraldo; I made him a bit more cynic than his female counterpart, just fyi. Some Romani definitions: ~Lyuba: love/Pakvora: beautiful~ ~Enjoy!!~ It’s January 6th, ten in the morning in Île de la Cité, France. The city is bustling with activity, and more so than usual—or from what you know, at least. You aren’t a native to city life, but rather trace your origins to the quiet countryside beyond Notre Dame. (The “coming of age” and, more importantly, need for money drove you to abandon your modest surroundings in exchange for that of a maidservant—not lavish, but well o