#CAN WE GET SOME COMMOTION FOR THE HAND??? im normally good at drawing hands anyways but even still this one i rlly rlly like

[dripgnoll]

crayola marker sniper...

[cynicalrainbows]

The Next Best Thing Chapter 15

Catalina arrives early, when they’re still finishing the last of the birthday pancakes.

Anna is spreading Nutella with a surgeon's precision to ensure it covers her pancake right to the edges; Anne is running her fingers through a maple syrup puddle on the table and licking them. Baby Catherine is chewing on a bit of plain pancake in her highchair and Mary is putting the pan in the dishwasher. 

She’s only eating the strawberries but she aims a cuff at Anne when Anne asks if it’s because she’s on another diet and tells her to mind her own business. 

Anne subsides with a giggle and steals a spoonful of Nutella straight from the jar, whispering that Mary couldn’t fit into her new jeans when she tried them on last weekend. Mary’s face goes redder than the strawberries and she looks crosser than ever- but they’re interrupted by the doorbell.

 Cathy abandons her own pancake-face (with a Father Christmas beard of snowy white whipped cream- it looks excellent even though she’s not really that fond of the taste of whipped cream) when she hears Catalina’s voice in the hall doing the boring grown up Garden’s looking lovely, traffic, parking, price of petrol stuff that all grown ups seem incapable of not saying when they meet each other.

(She’s glad that when she sees Anne and her other friends, they can just jump right into talking about interesting things like books and television and whether rubbing two jelly aliens together and putting them in the freezer makes then make a tiny alien baby, and is it murder if your tamagotchi dies because you weren’t allowed to get down from Sunday Lunch to feed it, and is it true that if you swallow chewing gum, it ties up your stomach and kills you, and how it is that the chocolate in the bottom of a Cornetto manages to taste so much nicer than normal chocolate, and why is it that sharpening your pencil is boringboringboring when you’re in the middle of drawing a picture but really satisfying and fun when it means you get to stop doing handwriting practise to do it, and is it true that there was a boy in Year Four who stuck his whole finger into the teachers special electric pencil sharpener on a dare and had the tip of his finger sharpened away to nothing?)

She doesn’t quite have the courage to interrupt- but when Catalina sees her hovering in the doorway, she interrupts herself and stops agreeing with Anne’s Mum that the price of petrol is extortionate nowadays and gives Cathy such a big hug it lifts her right off her feet.

‘Mija!’

She lets herself cling tight for a moment and then lets go- she isn’t a baby after all, although there’s a little bit of her that wishes she was Kitty’s age so she could be picked up and cuddled properly. 

‘How are you?’

She nods. ‘I’m ok.’

Anne’s Mum does a bit lipsticky smile like a lady in an advert and asks if she slept well and she nods again. ‘Yes thank you.’

She hopes Catalina has mostly forgotten last night and doesn’t bring it up to Anne’s Mum.

(She knows grown ups can be so sneaky like that sometimes, sharing your secret things with one another and pretending they’re doing it for your own good.) 

She especially hopes that Anna won’t say anything- she hasn't yet but you never know, and even though Cathy doesnt think she’d say anything on purpose, she might just by mistake. She can’t even ask Anna to keep quiet because then Anne will hear and want to know what it is that Anna is meant to keep quiet about.

And Anne is terrible with secrets.

Not with keeping them, she’s actually very very good at withstanding all sorts of secret-spilling torture, even Chinese Burns, but with wanting to know other people’s. Once she knows them, she’s always perfectly happy to not tell anyone else, on pain of death- but Cathy still doesn't want to have to explain everything about last night to Anne. She doesn’t want Anne to think that she didn’t enjoy her birthday after all.

Anne’s Mum says that Catalina would be welcome to stay for a cup of coffee- or a Cappuccino or an Afogato even- but that the Photographer will be arriving soon. She says the word like photographer should have a capital letter.

Anne bobs up out of nowhere, licking Nutella from her fingers and asking what photographer and can’t Cathy and Anna stay to play a bit longer.

 Anne’s Mum hisses at her not to be silly, of course they can't stay and of course Anne knows who the photographer is, she’s told her all about it.

‘It’s for the birthday photoshoot.’ She adds to Catalina and Catalina nods politely and says it sounds lovely.

‘But it's not my birthday.’

‘Well, it'll be like a second birthday.’ Anne’s Mum’s smile is still there but it’s looking a bit forced now.

Anne seems to perk up a bit at the idea of a second birthday, and Cathy is just wondering if she’ll be allowed to have two birthdays two if this is now a Thing, when Anne pauses.

‘But then Cathy and Anna have to stay or it won't be a proper party!’

Anne’s Mum gives an impatient little sigh. ‘Of course it isn't a proper party! I do wish you'd listen- it's a photoshoot, like I said.’

‘But you just said it was my second birthday!’

‘For goodness sake Anne! I shouldn't have to explain every little thing to you- you’re eight now, you're not a baby!’

Anne scowls.

‘You’re going to say goodbye to Cathy nicely and then go and have a shower so you can be ready…. With any luck, your friend’s parents will be here soon too before the other children get here.’

Cathy wonders if Anne’s Mum has forgotten Anna’s name.

‘But if there are other children anyway, why can't I have Anna and Cathy?’

‘Well it's only fair!’ The smile falters and is hurriedly replaced. ‘They’ve come to the sleepover so we thought it would be nice to spread things around a bit and let your other friends be part of the photoshoot!’

It’s uncomfortable and horrible listening to Anne get scolded: it feels like there is something sad and grey making the air heavier.

Anne’s mum is scowling like she’s really really annoyed and she’s so glad that Catalina is not like Anne’s Mum and doesn't get cross when she asks questions- she knows if she was suddenly told she was having a photoshoot, she’d be asking even more questions than Anne.

Actually, she’s glad Catalina is not like Anne’s Mum, full stop.

‘Which other friends?’

Cathy wonders if maybe Anne has got some other girls from their class coming to play once she and Anna are gone, and it’s not a nice thought, but then Anne’s Mum starts saying names and she doesn’t recognise any of them.

‘-and Ingrid and Patience and Harriet-’

‘But I don't like them!’

‘Of course you do!’

Anne does an experimental single stamp of her foot; it’s like a challenge. ‘I hate them-’

They don’t hear the rest, because at that moment, Anna comes into the hall, looking confused at all the commotion, and Anne’s Mum sighs and seizes Anne by the wrist and tugs her further down the hall.

It’s all a bit awkward. Catalina is asking Anna how she is and if she had a nice time at the sleepover but she can’t listen properly, because really, all she can pay attention to is the cross sound of Anne’s Mum’s voice as she hisses things in Anne’s ear while she Anne squirms and whines and tries to pull away.

When they come back, Anne has stopped arguing.

‘What do we say?’

 ‘Thank you for coming, Cathy.’ 

She hates how Anne looks now, all sad and crumpled and flat. It's not at all how you should look on your birthday (or even the day after your birthday) and she has to hang onto Catalina’s hand tightly to stop her stomach from squeezing uncomfortably.

She can only manage a little ‘Thank you for inviting me’ in response, which doesn’t really feel like a good enough response considering it was her first sleepover ever, but Catalina squeezes her hand and then smiles warmly at Anne.

‘I hope you had a lovely birthday, carino. A photoshoot sounds like it will be lots of fun- im sure Cathy will be very excited to hear about it on Monday. I'm certainly interested in hearing about it!’

(She might be annoyed, at any other time, at Catalina calling Anne one of the names that’s really just for her- but she isn’t now. She just wants Anne to go back to looking normal and happy like she usually does.)

Catalina squeezes Cathy's hand again, and bit more firmly this time and she realises she’s meant to add something.

‘It'll be like being a celebrity…’ She’s not sure if she sounds very convincing so she tries harder. ‘You’re so lucky, Anne! Everyone at school will be so jealous!’

Anne’s Mum gives an approving nod and beams at her, and she turns her head so she doesn’t have to see it. Anne gives a very small reluctant smile. She doesn't say anything but she looks a tiny bit more cheerful as she goes up to shower, Anna trailing behind her.

They say another goodbye and thank you to Anne’s Mum and then they’re out onto the pavement.

She’s still holding onto Catalina’s hand but Catalina doesn’t seem to mind, she swings their joined hands between them.

‘So how was the sleepover? Did you have a lovely time mija?’

She nods.

‘What did you do? Did Anne like her present?’

‘She loved it. She said it was her second best favourite present.’

‘What was her first?’

Cathy describes the heelies and Catalina laughs. ‘Thank goodness! I was going to ask if you girls had had a fight, to get those bruises-’

Cathy twists her arm and notices for the first time the purply blue bruises blooming. 

‘It’s ok, they don’t hurt. I only fell over a bit. Anne fell over much more but that’s because she was trying to do a jump like the ice skaters on tv.’

‘Well I'm glad she liked her presents so much. Poor little thing.’

(Cathy isn’t sure why Catalina calls Anne poor- everyone at school, even the teachers, know that Anne’s parents have more money than sense. This means they’re rich.)

‘Anna thought my present was really good too. She said her present was really boring next to mine and she’d have to think up something more interesting next time.’

‘What did she get Anne?’

‘Jewelry making set. You can make earrings that you can wear even if you don’t have pierced ears.’ She hopscotches along the paving stones- it doesn’t really work like proper hopscotch though because they’re too close together. ‘Although Anna has her ears pierced already.’

(She’s a tiny bit jealous of Anna’s tiny gold studs- they look very cool. They’re not enough to make her want holes punched in her ears though, even the thought makes her feel a bit sick. Anne thinks she’s silly- she’d LOVE to have her ears pierced. 

She’s not allowed though, because ear piercings are one of the few things Anne’s Mum and Jane agree on, albeit for different reasons: Jane thinks Anne is much too young, Anne’s Mum says it’ll make her look common.

 Anne doesn’t think she’s too young, and she says that she doesn’t care about looking common because she wants to look cool...but neither Jane nor her Mum will budge.)

‘Did Anne like it?’

‘I think she did. She said that we could all make jewelry for the Inca Princess next time Anna and I came over to play. And then Anna cheered up a bit. I think she was worried Anne wouldn't like her present.’

Cathy doesn't feel like saying that she was also worried Anne wouldn't like her present. It feels funny also to be talking about Anna and not talking about the night before….but hopefully, it maybe means that Catalina has forgotten all about it.

She doesn’t bring it up on the walk home anyway- Catalina listens with great interest to an edited version of the story of the little attic girl, giving very appreciative gasps in all the right places and not interrupting even once to ask silly questions about whether or not the little girl has a swimming pool. 

‘That was an excellent story mija.’

‘Really?’ Catalina looks like she means it.

‘Wonderful- very imaginative. Makes me glad we don’t have an attic!’

Cathy giggles. ‘Anne said the little attic girl would come to my attic tonight and I reminded her that we didn’t have one and she said that next time, she was going to make up a story about a little girl who lived in a flat. Anna said it didn’t sound very scary.’

‘I suppose you’ll have to wait to hear it to know if it is or not.’

‘Anna said I should make up another story for next time.’

‘Well, I hope you’ll tell me if you think any more up, I’d love to hear them.’

‘Ok.’ Perhaps she’ll make up a story specially for Catalina- a special grown up story that has grown up things in it, like when they play Soap Opera in the playground and everyone plays that they’re having cancer and babies and cocktails. ‘It might be scary though.’

‘That's ok, mija. You have to let the muses guide you when you’re creating.’ 

Cathy knows all about the muses already- they’re spirity things that give you ideas and imagination when you’re doing art or writing, they’re what Catalina blames when she’s having trouble phrasing an idea for work.

(Not only are the muses very friendly to Artists of All Kinds, they are actually rather useful when it comes to the resultant mess of artistic endeavour.

Catalina introduced her to the concept on The Muses on her second week, the first time she’d tried painting in her new bedroom and coincidently the first time she’d made any actual serious mess there.

It hadn’t been her fault that the paint had spilled like it did and it hadn’t spilled much, but it had been enough to make her ponder what it would be like to see her godmother Properly Angry.

She hadn’t, until that moment, considered what a Properly Angry Catalina would look like. As she thought about it- and it wasn’t a terribly nice thought- she also realised that whatever form it took, there was nothing she could do about it. There wasn’t anywhere else for her to go. 

She wondered if, seeing the paint, Catalina would think about that too. She wondered if it would make her regret having to be the one to take care of her.

She’d never been scared of her godmother, but she was when Catalina saw the paint.

‘Ay dios mio, what IS that?’

She tucked her chin down into her chest. ‘Paint.’ Her voice is very small.

Catalina fanned her face. ‘I thought it was blood, I thought-’ She shakes her head hard, like she’s shaking thoughts away, then touches it and frowns. ‘It’s dried. Why didn’t you tell me before, it would have been easier to- Oh mija, it’s alright, don’t cry-’

She started looking guilty rather than annoyed.

Once Cathy was settled in her lap, scrubbing her sore eyes with a tissue and only hiccuping a little bit, Catalina had very nicely explained that while it was technically Cathy’s fault for spilling the paint, it was also her own fault for not telling Cathy to put down newspaper before she started painting and that maybe having a cream carpet was just asking for it, whatever that meant.

‘So perhaps it all balances out, querida.’

‘Are you really cross?’

‘Do I look really cross, mija?’

She considered. ‘No.’

‘Good, because I’m not. I know it wasn’t on purpose. Let’s just both try to remember the newspaper next time, ok?’

‘Ok.’

‘And we’ll blame the muses for this one.’

Once Catalina had explained about the muses, she’d said that they should probably get on with cleaning it up ‘before someone else sees it and thinks you’ve got a body hidden under your bed.’

She’d still felt a bit wobbly, when she thought about the stain. Catalina had given her a big cuddle and said that a little paint wasn’t the end of the world and that it would probably come right out. It turned out though that Catalina herself wasn’t really sure how to get paint out of carpet, so she’d gotten out her phone to check- ‘There’s no excuse for not finding things out nowadays, mija’- and she’d even let Cathy type the question into google herself.

The paint had come out on the second attempt, and Catalina had made her promise to always tell her right away if anything like that ever happened again.

So everything had worked out alright after all, even if she still hadn’t seen Catalina really, properly angry yet.)

*

Going back to the flat feels funny because it feels like coming home but everything also looks a little bit different- Catalina reassures her that it’s just how things feel sometimes after a trip.

‘It’ll go away mija’

Cathay still cant help looking around though. ‘Why are the books different?’

‘What’s that?’

Cathy points at the bookshelf- the spines are different colours.

‘Just felt like it was time for a little shuffle around, it makes me remember which books I haven’t looked at for a while.’

This makes sense.

It’s the middle of the morning: Catalina has a mug of the dark, rich coffee that she buys in little paper sacks from the special food shop in town. Cathy likes the smell but not the taste, although she hopes that will change when she grows up because coffee seems to be all that grownups drink. Coffee and wine, except she isn’t sure if she likes wine yet- Catalina lets her sip at her coffee when she asks but she hasn’t yet given in over Cathy’s requests to be allowed a taste of her merlot.

(‘Maybe when you’re nine or ten, mija. I just don’t dare any earlier, the harpies would tear me to pieces.’

Harpies is what Catalina calls the other mums at school; Cathy isn’t allowed to tell anyone that though, even Anne, on pain of every unpleasant torture, mi vida.

‘A glass?’

‘A sip. A very little sip. And not until you’re older, like I said.’

‘I could just not tell anyone.’ 

Cathy is quite good at not telling people things, she’s good at keeping secrets- which is why she doesn’t even give Catalina a list of some of her best, most well kept secrets to prove it- like how Anne spilt blue nail polish on the carpet in Mary’s bedroom and blamed it on Kitty even though it wasn’t exactly a lie because Kitty had been playing with it too and it really could just as easily been her and honestly, it would have been fairer, all things considered, for Kitty to be the one to spill it, considering she’s only little.

Catalina is shaking her head.

‘But I’m very good at keeping secrets!’

‘I know, mija-’

‘I didn’t tell my teacher that you did the last sum for me on my homework.’

Catalins gives her a stern look. ‘Good because as I recall, that was a deal we made so that you would go to bed and stop worrying about it.’

‘And I didn’t tell her. So you could let me try and I wouldn’t tell anyone.’

‘But wouldn’t it be a bit pointless if you couldn’t tell anyone? Wouldn’t you want to tell Anne?’

This is true- it’s actually a bit pointless if she can’t even tell Anne, although Anne surely doesn’t count as anyone- but she doesn’t want to weaken her position so she shakes her head steadfastly, and Catalina laughs and says she’ll be a wonderful lawyer when she’s older and gives her a kiss on the top of her head rather than a sip of wine.)

They have fancy twisty pastries with apricot jam and Cathy has a mug of warm frothy milk with a tiny bit of coffee in it, a pinch of cinnamon and a sprinkling of brown sugar. It doesn't matter that it’s not real coffee- it's much nicer than coffee anyway.

The coffee milk in the special china cup with her name on it, even though she’s already had one breakfast because Catalina had said she hadn’t eaten yet and did she think she could manage elevenses even if it wasn’t quite eleven?

She thought she probably could, having not finished her pancake and she was right. The apricot pastries are delicious; she thinks it’s what sunshine would taste like sunshine was spreadable. Catalina says that’s the best description of apricot jam she has ever heard.

She’s reading one of her library books- the last time Catalina had visited her, back when her parents were alive, she’d brought one of the series with her and read it aloud while they were waiting for lunch to be ready and she’d quite liked it, but now reading it for herself, she doesn’t recognise all the characters.

Catalina had read her a story about Juliana and Diane and George (who was really Georgina) and Anne and Timmy the Cat, who were cousins and had adventures on an island- but when she tries to read it for herself, the names are different and the children are different and it’s a dog not a cat, who keeps on licking everything and barking and it’s just not as good as before.

(She has no idea why the children decided to swap lovely clever Timmy the Cat for a horrible barky, licky, bitey dog. She thinks it was a bad decision.)

 She wonders if maybe she picked out something different.

Catalina has a big thick book that looks dusty.

‘What are you reading?’

‘Mmm?’ Catalina looks up and then nods as if she’s had to replay it in her head. ‘Oh!’ She says something in Spanish and then adds ‘But it’s called something else in English, of course.’

‘What’s it about?’

‘A little boy called Pip and all his adventures.’

‘What sort of adventures?’ She’s wondering if it will turn out that they’re the sort of adventures the children are having in her book and Catalina smiles.

‘No island, mija, you’d be disappointed. He meets an escaped prisoner out late one night and he helps him to cut off his chains and run away. And later he goes to a big old beautiful house, which has a room all ready for a wedding that never happened.’

‘That’s strange. If it never happened, then it’s not anything, so how can she have a room for it?’

‘They had everything ready but the groom didn’t turn up so the lady sits in her wedding dress next to her old cobwebby wedding cake all covered in dust and thinks about how sad she is.’

‘Oh.’ That sounds spooky but also interesting- she thinks maybe there’ll be an old cobwebby cake in her next scary story because for some reason, the idea of something that’s meant to be so happy being all forgotten and abandoned makes her feel shivery and she’s sure Anne and Anna will feel just the same way. Then she thinks of something else.

 ‘Why was he out at night at all? Not the prisoner but the little boy.’

Catalina looks uncomfortable for some reason. ‘I think he was just playing.’

‘But weren’t his parents worried about him?’

There’s a little pause and then Catalina says ‘He didn’t have any parents, querida.’

‘Oh. How old was he?’ Maybe the boy is nearly grown up, like in Secondary School.

‘Seven.’

She isn’t quite sure how she feels about that but she doesn’t feel like asking any more questions so there’s a little silence before Catalina says that she’s just finished the chapter.

‘I think I need a little break from reading.’ She puts her book down on the floor, face down. ‘Want to come and keep me company, mija?’

Cathy nods slowly and puts down her own book, except she uses a bookmark because she knows that’s the proper way to treat a book. 

(Catalina is hopeless with bookmarks and always refuses Cathy’s offers to lend her one.

‘I’d lose it in a moment mija, and then I would have so much guilt! But thank you, all the same.’

Cathy has big plans for when her class starts their textiles projects, in which Catalina’s poorly treated books AND her sad, bookmarkless state, feature quite heavily. But she’s keeping this a surprise.)

 She hasn’t finished her own chapter but she doesn’t like the way that these strange new characters keep telling George she isn’t allowed to do things because she’s a girl. She supposes it’s nice that Anne is allowed to cook- cooking on a real fire outside sounds very exciting- but she wonders if she ever gets tired of it.

‘It’s not the same as when you read it. They’re really horrible to George. And they don’t even have a cat anymore.’

She climbs up onto Catalina’s lap and Catalina wraps her arms around her.

‘I might have….changed some bits when I was reading it to you. I thought it would make the story better.’

‘It DID make the story better. Now it’s boring.’

Catalina considers. ‘I could try reading it to you my way if you like, querida.’

‘That’s ok. I think I’m going to take a break from reading too.’

‘Ok.’

Catalina cuddles her closer and for a while they just sit like that. She thinks about the little boy meeting the prisoner out at night, with no one to worry about him, but it’s not too bad to think about when she’s got Catalina’s cardigan tickling her cheek and Catalina’s chin resting on the top of her head. 

Maybe she’ll include a prisoner in her next story too. Maybe he could even team up with the little attic girl and they could go around scaring people and sewing up mouths together.

‘Did he have a godmother?’

‘Who?’

‘Pip. Oh- no, he didn’t. He had an older sister, he lived with her instead.’

‘Like Anne and Mary.’

‘Anne still has her parents, mija, you know that.’ But Catalina doesn’t sound so very certain when she says it.

There’s a little pause, and then Catalina quietly asks if she’d like to talk.

‘About what?’

‘About last night mija.’

‘What about last night?’

 She's being deliberately annoying but she can't help it because maybe if she carries on, Catalina will change her mind and they won’t have to talk about anything.

 She wouldn't even mind Catalina getting really cross (she doesn’t think), whatever really cross is for Catalina (because she still isn’t sure), but she doesn’t, just puts her book down and takes another sip of naslty bitter black coffee.

‘About the phone call we had.’ She pauses. ‘There's no need to look so worried querida- I promise you're not in trouble, I'm not going to tell you off- and we don't have to talk now if you really would rather not. It’s just that last night, we talked a bit about some of the things you were worried about. And about your mum and dad. I think it would be a good idea to talk about some of those things properly- not because i think it will fix them but….maybe it will make them a bit more ordinary to talk about them. And perhaps less scary. I don't know.’

She actually sounds a bit anxious, much less self assured than usual. Usually, Catalina talks like she knows exactly what she’s saying and why. Now she keeps stopping and starting, like she’s worried she’ll say something wrong.

‘I want you to feel like you can tell me anything- that there isn't anything you have to keep secret unless you want to. And you can always always talk to me. About anything you want. Ok?’

She nods. She wonders if Catalina really means anything- anything. 

‘Good, bad, sad, happy, whatever. And you can ask me anything, I don't want you to ever feel like you can't ask a question.’

Cathy thinks. ‘What if you can't tell me? What if it’s secret?’

Catalina smiles. ‘Then I will explain to you why I can’t tell you. But I won't be cross with you for asking, that’s the important thing. And I will always try to answer, if I can, alright?’

She nods again. ‘Will you tell the truth?’

‘Yes. It doesn't seem fair to ask you to be honest if I won’t be honest myself. And we do need to be honest with each other, mija. It's the only way.’

‘The only way for what?’

‘The only way to….keep our family going. Going smoothly, I mean. We’ll be a family whatever happens, of course, smooth or not.’

‘Are we a family?’ It’s a surprise to her- she’d sort of assumed that wasn't a word that applied to her any more, like Mother and Father and Parents.

‘Yes i think so.’ Catalina looks serious. ‘You and your Mum and Dad are still a family, of course. But you and I are a family too. At least I like to think we are. If that's ok with you of course.’

Cathy thinks about it. ‘If we’re a family, does that mean I have to call you Mum?’

Catalina looks shocked. ;Oh no! No, definitely not querida, I promise I'd never want to try and take your Mum’s name or place. I never at all meant that. I'm still your godmother- your Mum will always be your Mum. Not all families have a Mum and a Dad.’

‘Like in the story about Tango the Penguin.’ It’s a book she had when she was very little, but she can still remember the story.

‘Exactly.’ Actually, she thinks maybe Catalina sent her the book in the first place.

She could ask more questions about it- some that she’s mildly curious about, and some that she could probably make up if she felt like making this bit of the conversation stretch out longer...but she decides not too because Catalina is looking all anxious now and it's making her feel a bit guilty.

It’s alright- the thought of her and Catalina being a family is ok. She’d rather have Catalina for her family than anyone else, if she can't have mum and dad and she knows that she can't.

She wriggles into a more comfortable position in Catalina’s lap.

‘Ok. We can be a family.’

‘Good.’ Catalina smiles like she’s really relieved. ‘Good.’

After a while, she says, ‘There’s something I thought you might like to look at mija. I’ve been meaning to for a while and then last night, I thought of it.’

She stiffens slightly. She isn’t sure how she feels thinking about last night- one minute, the scary feeling seems very far away and all she can think about is stupid things like how babyish she must have sounded crying into the phone, and then the next, she can remember it very very well and it makes her feel shaky and sick, like she’s standing somewhere high and looking down. 

She buries her face into Catalina’s cardigan and then has to come back out because the fluff is making her sneeze and Catalina laughs and slides her gently off her lap and says she’ll be back in a moment.

She wraps both arms around her tummy, hugging herself and wondering what The Thing will be.

When Catalina comes back in, she’s holding an old shoebox.

[yehet-me-up]

Playing Forward

Pairing: JB/Im Jaebum x Reader (female)

Word Count: 3,348

Rating: (F) for fluff

Summary: College!AU, Jock!AU. After a flying soccer ball knocks you over on your morning run, the player behind it aims for your heart as well.

Part 1 of the GOT7 colors series of oneshots! 🌈 Color: Green.

Music pounds in your ears as you sprint around the track, furiously swinging your arms. Legs straining, you round the turn, approaching the invisible spot on the track you’d marked as your starting place. The smooth sounds of James Blake carry through the headphones you wear, so incongruous with the frantic motion of your body as you run.

Ten more strides to the finish. Five. Three, two, one. You cross the imaginary finish line and stutter to a stop, breathing in deeply as you try to slow your heart rate and catch your breath. Quickly pulling your arm up to look at your Fitbit, you check the time.

One mile - nine minutes, seventeen seconds. You huff out a laugh, dropping your hand to your waist as you slowly start your cool down lap around the track. It’s not as fast as you like, but you’re pleased at the progress anyway. The endorphins flowing through you make you almost giddy with happiness, enjoying the exercise that’s slowly becoming a regular part of your morning routine.

Finally looking up from the track, you take in the scenery. The college’s sports field is lit by the early Friday morning sun. The dew on the track and the field it encircles is evaporating, creating little rainbows in the air. The rich green of the turf field shines, still damp from the heavy rain last night. The stadium, usually packed on busy game nights, is quiet save for a few athletes running up and down the stairs. At least, you assume it’s normally packed; you’ve never been inside for a game before. You’ve only heard the loud cheering from within on your way back to your dorm from late nights in the research lab.

Your breathing slows as you come around the second bend, sighing with pleasure at the satisfying feeling of exertion in your limbs. After a long first month of classes, labs, and hours spent at your internship, you began pushing yourself to get out in the mornings to run. Or at least, to jog. Anything to get your tired body moving, to give your mind a break from the busyness of your junior year and to ward off the malaise that inevitably came when fall made the sun rise later and set earlier.

After a lap of easy walking you pick up the pace, settling into an steady jog, planning to do a gentle mile and a half or so before heading back to the dorm to wash up before your first class. There’s a few other runners out on the track with you this morning. A pair of girls in sweatpants and messy buns, laughing together as they jog, and a few older runners, probably professors or grad students.

A group of men are making their way to the middle of the field, carrying mesh bags of soccer balls. They stretch and start doing warm up drills, you notice in your peripheral vision as you jog. They are all fit and good looking in that clean-cut, All-American way, joking with one another as they practice. They wear similar outfits; slim fitting track pants or purple and gold shorts, white tank tops or black sleeveless shirts with slits under the arms, revealing large swaths of toned muscle.

The song in your headphones switches up to an energetic techno track and you pick up your stride. A few minutes later as you’re winding down your workout, an electronic beep comes through the headphones and you pull out your phone, groaning when you see it only has 3% battery life left. You must have forgotten to charge it when you passed out after coming home last night from a study session.

You hear a muffled cry from the direction of the field, a raised voice above the music in your ears. You turn your head quickly to find the source of the commotion. In the seconds between noticing the soccer ball flying at you and it hitting you squarely in the chest you desperately try to turn out of the way. But it moves too fast for you to get very far and with a whoosh of air out of your lungs you fall towards the ground.

You wince as your butt hits the track, jarring you. Your headphones pop out of your ears as your phone falls out of your pocket and off to the side. You catch yourself on your elbows, thinking in a rush that you’re grateful you wore the long-sleeved exercise shirt today.

Dazed, you sit there for a moment, shaking your head. You bend forward, resting your arms on your knees, stretching the muscles, confirming that you’re unharmed. Bruised maybe, and you’re sure that your ass it going to hurt tomorrow, but thankfully not injured. Male voices are calling out from the field. A chorus of “dude, what was that aim?” and “you’re supposed to hit on girls, not actually hit them with stuff.”

Looking up you see one of the players sprinting toward you, the rest of the team paused in their scrimmage behind him. As he approaches, an apologetic look on his handsome face, you can’t help but notice his body. Toned muscles strain through the thin fabric of the exercise pants he wears. Long, lean sides and muscular arms exposed by the slits in his shirt. His black hair is heavy with sweat, brushing back and forth across his forehead as he runs toward you.

Even if you weren’t reeling from your fall, you think to yourself that you might be stunned just from how attractive he is.

He reaches you and crouches down next to you, eyes roaming your body, trying to assess the damage. “I am so sorry,” he starts emphatically, his dark eyes fixed on yours, his breathing still rapid from the game he’d been playing. “I blocked the ball to the side and it hit my foot at an odd angle. I swear it wasn’t intentional. Are you all right?” he asks anxiously.

You nod. “I’m fine. I just wasn’t prepared to encounter any flying objects on my morning run,” you say, teasing.  

“You sure you’re all right?” he presses, standing up and holding out his hands to help you up. 

You reassure him that you’re just fine, slipping your hands into his larger, rougher ones and letting him pull you up. You’re both still breathing deeply, and you can feel the heat radiating off his body at his close proximity. In the morning light his brown eyes take on an almost amber tone, striking as they meet yours.

After a moment he breaks the silence. “Let me make it up to you. Can I buy you coffee sometime?” he asks rapidly, looking hopeful. 

If he was just being polite, you would have waved him off, saying not to worry about it. But there’s an appraising look in his eyes as he takes in your body clad in your close-fitting workout clothes, pausing for a beat on your breasts, your legs. You can’t deny you’re attracted to him, and it has been forever since you made time to go on a date.

You nod. “All right, that sounds fair,” you say, smirking at him. He pats his pockets, as if trying to find his phone. With a look back at the distant end of the field you see a haphazard pile of bags and jackets. He looks down and finds your phone on the ground, and bends to pick it up. “How about I give you my number?” he says handing it to you.

“Sounds good,” you say and hit the button to unlock your phone, but it does nothing. Pursuing your lips you try again, confused that it’s not lighting up. For a moment you worry that the fall broke your phone, but then you remember that the battery was almost out a few minutes ago. “Shoot, my battery’s dead,” you say, groaning and shake your head.

“How about we pick a time and a place to meet,” he offers. “Let’s go old school,” he says with a lopsided, boyish grin.

“Hmm… how about Parnassus Café at ten on Sunday?” you suggest, naming your favorite little coffee shop on campus, hidden in the basement of the art building.

“Perfect. I’ll be there. What do you take?” he asks. His teammates start calling out from behind him, shouting sarcastic versions of Get a room already! and he turns and holds up a finger, telling them he needs another minute.

“Just a chai tea latte for me,” you say, turning to begin the walk back to your dorm room. “See you Sunday, champ.”

“See you then, gorgeous,” he says with a wink, and starts running back to the scrimmage.

You drag yourself out of bed Sunday morning, yawning as you go about your morning routine. The dorm is quiet as it only is on Sunday mornings, when everyone is wrapped up in bed, sleeping off the night’s activities or catching up on sleep. You stand in front of your closet, debating. Finally you settle on slim fitting jeans, a black v-neck shirt, and your favorite olive green jacket with a faux fur hood. Casual, yet flattering. You gather your hair up into a low ponytail and swipe on some light mascara.

As you approach Parnassus you see a man standing out front, holding two to-go cups. He’s wearing a cozy-looking blue sweater, his dark hair brushed back from his face; stylish black rimmed glasses perch on his nose. With a start you realize it’s the soccer stud. He looks so different off the field you hardly recognized him. He’s just as handsome as he was yesterday, only with a completely different vibe. When he notices you standing there his face cracks into a wide grin.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” he says and hands you the cup. You smile at the nickname.

“Hey there yourself, champ,” you reply, wrapping your hands around the warm cup.

“Well, thanks for the coffee. See you later,” you say brightly and turn to leave. A shocked expression comes across his face and you smother a giggle.

“Wait,” he says, reaching over to put a gentle hand on your arm. “You’re not going to even give me a chance?” he asks, his face light with suppressed laughter.

“Ohhh, you actually wanted to hang out?” you say, grinning, drawing out the words. He lets out a laugh, a pleasant tenor sound, and you laugh with him.

“Yes, I do,” he says, returning his gaze to yours, his expression turning intent.

You duck your head for a moment, pleasure coursing through your body at his obvious interest in you. You would have pegged him to be the “hit it and quit it” kind of jock, but you’re pleasantly surprised. 

“So, want to take a walk through the quad?” you ask, taking a sip of your delicious drink.

“Sound perfect,” he says, and he motions you forward ahead of him as you take the stairs back to ground level.

The campus is gorgeous in the fall, the plentiful trees on campus turning vibrant shades of red and yellow. When you exit the building he falls into step beside you, staying close. “So, I take it you’re on the soccer team?” you ask.

“Yeah, it’s my fourth year. I’m a senior,” he replies. “I play forward,” he says with a smirk.

“So I’ve noticed,” you joke with a wry grin.

He gives you a playful wink as you take the steps down into the quad, absent of it’s usual crowds of students this early in the morning. You fall into an easy back-and-forth of conversation with him. He tells you about the soccer team and you tell him about what motivated you to start running. He asks about your major and you tell him about what got you started on your Biology degree, and your desire to become a medical researcher.

“Going to save the world, huh?” he jokes, but his interest is obviously peaked. 

You turn the question back on him, and find out he’s a sustainable design major, interested in working in city planning to come up with affordable housing solutions. He speaks passionately about an internship he did freshman year that sparked his passion to create safe, accessible housing available to all. His soccer scholarship keeps him busy between classes and volunteering, but he says he loves the challenge.

“Who’s trying to save the world now?” you tease, even as you’re drawn in by his earnestness, and the cute way he uses his hands to emphasize his points.

As you walk laps around the large paved quad you learn that you share an interest in British comedy films and street tacos, and that he’s good friends with one of your labmates this semester. He launches off on a long story of the time that they almost got arrested together in high school, trying to figure out how to rig up a fireworks display for their friend’s sister who was stuck at home sick on the 4th of July. That in turn makes you recount a hilarious experiment a few weeks ago where the guy in question had slipped in a dissection and spilled squid samples all over the lab floor.

Eventually your rumbling stomach makes you realize it’s lunch time. Looking at your watch you’re bewildered by the fact that almost two hours have already passed; it hasn’t felt like more than fifteen minutes. You want to keep talking with him and venture a guess he’d like to as well. 

“So, how about we get lunch? This time it’s on me,” you ask, carefully watching his face for any sign that he wants to leave.

“Excellent idea,” he replies easily. “I know just the place.” 

You walk a winding route to the small Italian restaurant on campus. Cheap, big portions, and delicious baked lasagna; the perfect place for two college students. The two of you are so lost in conversation that you hardly break the flow as you get seated, quickly scan the menu, and place your orders.

Long after you’ve eaten and the waitress has cleared your plates and run your card, you’re still talking. His easy laugh, his obvious intelligence, and his warm eyes, appreciatively watching you from behind his glasses; everything about him is drawing you in. A while later a muted buzzing sounds from his pocket. He pulls out his phone.

“Sup?” he says into the phone once he sees who is calling, hitting the speaker phone button.

A loud, urgent male voice comes out. “Dude, where the frick are you? I’ve been texting you for like, half an hour.”

He wrinkles his brow in confusion. “What do you mean? Where am I supposed to be?”

“Umm, you idiot. It’s Sunday? The game starts in half an hour and no one has seen you. Get your ass over here,” the voice insists and he checks the time on the phone. It’s 4:30. His body goes rigid with shock.

“Oh, crap. I’ll be right there,” he says and rubs a hand over his face.

“I’ll keep Sully off you, just hurry up!” the voice says and the line goes dead.

“We’ve got a game at five tonight, I guess I lost track of time,” he says, giving you a rueful smile.

“Yeah, I can’t believe how late it is already. Don’t let me keep you,” you say, grabbing your purse and quickly signing the receipt. You’re acutely aware that this date, or whatever it is, is now at the point where one of you would make the executive decision of setting up another one. But he surprises you yet again.

“Have you been to a game before? I’d love to have you there,” he says with a sweet smile.

“No, I haven’t. Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to get in your way,” you reply.

“Not at all. Besides, with you there it will give me extra incentive to show off,” he says with a wink.

“All right, then. Let’s do it,” you say, beaming at him.

He reaches out to grab your hand, moving to the door of the restaurant. You hitch your purse higher on your shoulder as the two of you take off running across campus toward the stadium.

The stands are indeed packed, as you assumed they would be. The soccer team is ranked in the top ten in the nation, according to the girl next to you. Stephanie? Melanie? You can’t quite remember her name among the several girls you were introduced to in the “friends and family” section in the front row behind the team’s bench, where your date insisted you hang out.

She’s so sweet during the game, pointing out all the players, explaining their positions. She’s dating Daniel Sullivan, Sully, the captain of the team, “He’s a senior too, like JB,” she says. When you realize she’s referring to the guy you’ve been out with all day, you laugh to yourself. In all the talking you’d done, you’d never introduced yourselves.

It’s a close game, the rival team scores a point early after a miscommunication had two defenders both tied up on the other side of the goal. In the 38th minute of the game Sully manages to get the ball into the bottom corner of the goal off a corner kick. Caught up in the excitement, you scream right along with the girl next to you, hugging her back when she wraps an arm around you.

The minutes tick down and the team calls a timeout, running over to the sidelines to huddle up and discuss. JB looks incredibly hot, you think to yourself, his shirt damp with sweat, his broad chest on display as he stands his hands on his hips. When they break the huddle you call out, “Go get ‘em, JB!” He turns to you and blows you a dramatic kiss that makes you laugh.

Thirty seconds on the clock and the ball is in play. Sully breaks away and moves up the field toward the opposing team’s goal, JB tears down the field opposite him. A pass back to the midfielder. With a quick stop and turn, JB’s past his defender, breaking toward the goal. The midfielder heaves a huge kick, sending the ball into an arch. Leaping into the air, JB whips his head to meet the ball, sending it into the top corner of the goal, just out of reach of the goalie’s hands.

The buzzer announcing the end of the game sounds, but it’s hardly heard over the cheering of the crowd. You grin as you watch him get swept up into a hug by his teammates, everyone smacking him on the back and rubbing his head. You’re pulled into another joyful hug by Melanie, you clarified her name during a snack run at halftime. After a few minutes JB turns to look at you, smiling widely, and starts running over.

He reaches you in a rush, leaning against the low dividing wall. Your hands come out to hold onto his shoulders so he doesn’t fall forward, both grinning excitedly at each other.

“Congratulations, stud,” you say cheerfully. His gaze drops to your lips and then back up to your eyes, darkening as they seem to decide on something impulsively.

His hands slide up to cup your face as he leans down to you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of objection. Your hands tighten on his shoulders and you give him a broad smile. Satisfied, he closes the distance and kisses you in earnest. 

His passion catches you off guard but you catch up quickly, burying your hands in his sweaty hair to hold onto him. You taste the sweat on him as his lips work against yours. He smiles against your lips and his eyes are bright when he pulls back, keeping you close.

“So, can I buy you dinner? It’s on me,” he says with a grin.

You nod, smiling back, and grab his jersey in one hand to drag him in for another kiss.

[theyoungest-weasley]

Newt Scamander Imagine 3 soulmate au

In which people who have a soulmate will see whatever is written/drawn on each other’s skin.

Newt remembered the first time any marks from his soulmate had turned up on his skin. Of course he had tried to connect with whomever it was before, but there had always been no response. Eventually he just assumed he didn’t have a soulmate. 

But one day when he was in potions class during the beginning of 6th year, he was giving a presentation on how to make Amortentia (due to the fact that he had skipped class the day before to sneak into the forbidden forest and this was part of his punishment) when someone from the back of the room yelled out, “Woah!! What’s on your hand?” 

Newt stopped and looked over at the short, blond haired boy with large glasses confused before holding up his hand to see what all the astonished looks were about. His hand was covered, front and back, with black ink that drew out flowers and swirls and intricate designs. He pulled down he sleeve and watched as slowly, another flower was being drawn on his wrist on its own. Only, it wasn’t appearing on its own. His fantastic soulmate was drawing the art on his/her arm, which was appearing on Newts. 

“Damn!” one girl yelled out, “Your soulmate has some skills!!”

“I have a soulmate,” Newt whispered to himself, “I thought I would die alone and i have a soulmate!” 

“Ah, thank you, but shall we return to the potion,” to Professor interjected, giving Newt a glare for disrupting the class. 

Newt nodded, his spirits lifted immensely, and rolled his sleeve all the way up so he could watch the illustrations growing on his arm from the corner of his eye while continuing the demonstration. 

———

You rolled up your sleeve further to continue the flowers and designs your were drawing with ink when you heard your name. 

"Y/n?" 

"Y-yes?" you said, snapping out of a daze. 

"What do you think?" 

You laughed nervously, "Oh, um, ha, could you repeat the question?" 

Professor Rose sighed, "Y/n, if you are incapable of focusing during my lessons maybe it would be wise of me to confiscate the quill that distracts you." 

You put the quill down, "No! I swear, I'll listen!" 

The Professor gave you a skeptical look but turned and continued the lecture. You sighed in relief and sat back in your chair before turing back to your friend Queenie. 

"Y/n! Pay attention!" she whisper-yelled. 

You rolled your eyes thinking 'fine, I guess I won't tell you about my soulmate.'

Her eyes went wide and she smiled, "You never told me you had a soulmate??!!" 

"Miss Goldstein!" 

Queenie winced and looked up, "Sorry Professor." 

"Perhaps you and Miss y/l/n would like to take this conversation outside? And then come talk to me when class is over?" 

You and Queenie glanced at each other before gathering your things and going to sit in the hallway. 

"Tell me everything!!" Queenie was beyond exited. 

You laughed, "Alright, alright. So whoever it is has tried to contact me a couple of times but I haven't responded-"

“Why?" 

"Oh, because-" 

"Oh you don't want to 'tempt fate'? That's foolish, don't you want to know them? Oh you do but you want to meet in person normally?" 

"Well, anyways, I was drawing on my arm in class instead of my paper and look what they wrote!!" 

You showed Queenie your bicep proudly, which displayed the words 'you're a bloody amazing artist!!' 

Queenie smiled, "Aw how cute! But what's with the 'bloody'?" 

"I don't know. I read in a book that brits say that. Do you think they could be British?"

"Yeah, why not?" 

"God, I'm going to have to wait forever to meet them then." 

"Don't worry honey, it'll feel like no time has passed when you meet them."

----------

You walked into the living room of the apartment you had spent the night in wearing nothing but your undergarments. Queenie smiled as she was magically tending to both of your outfits for the day. You were about to ask where Tina was when the door opened and she slipped in, two men following her. You stood up, shocked. 

"Teenie! You brought men home!" 

"Tina!" you sounded much less enthusiastic than Queenie and more alarmed, "You brought men home?!" 

 She nodded, "Why don't you two put something on." 

You were still in disbelief at the strange round man wandering around, seemingly lost in his own world. 

"Is he okay?" You asked no one in particular. 

"Got bitten by a murtlap," the other man responded. 

"Isn't that harmful to no-maj- woah." 

You looked up only to be meet with a shockingly handsome face with bright eyes and countless freckles. The stranger gave a weak smile and you heard Queenie giggle in the background. 

"I'm Newt." 

"Y/n," you responded, still in awe. 

You looked down after a moment and realized you still weren't properly dressed. 

"I-I should-" 

"Yeah." 

You walked over to Queenie and grabbed your clothes. 

She elbowed you and whispered, "Y/n! Remember, I know what you're thinking, you naughty girl/boy!" 

You shot her an angry look and slipped away, going to get dressed and collect yourself before returning to the main room. 

----------------------- 

 You and Newt had become very true friends, and you couldn't wait for him to return back to New York with his newly published book. You had developed some feelings for him, but you tried your best to shoo them away, falling for your best friend was a one-way ticket to HeartBrokenville. The only person who knew of your feelings was Queenie, and only because it was impossible to hide things from her. Finally, after what seemed like hours, there was a knock on the door if Queenie and Tina's apartment. You stood up, filled with excitement, and Queenie gave you a knowing look before following Tina to answer the door. 

"Hello." You heard Newt's sweet voice and you couldn't help but grin. 

 He greeted Tina and Queenie and before turning in your direction. 

"Y/n," he spoke your name breathlessly, as though he had been incapable of speaking or breathing or living until he saw you. 

You flashed a smile. 

"Newt." 

He opened his arms and you ran into them, "It's been too long, Newtie!" 

Newt laughed, "I missed you too, love." 

You pulled away, "So... Let me see it!" 

He smiled and held up the book, the bright orange cover making everything else in the room-aside from Newt's proud smile- seem dull. 

You took it in your hands and felt the cover, "It's beautiful! I love the smell of a new book!" 

Newt laughed, "I hope you'll buy it for more than just the smell." 

You faked contemplation, "Nah, that's it." 

Newt rolled his eyes and you pushed his arm gently. 

"I'm kidding, don't worry. But I am serious when I say I am so proud of you!" 

Newt's face turned red. "T-thank you, y/n." 

 -------------------- 

You could hear the laughter coming from the kitchen in the bathroom. Earlier you had excused yourself to freshen up before Newt's welcome home dinner, but had become somewhat side-tracked looking at your face in the mirror, you looked over at the quill on the desk in the connecting room and back in the mirror. Wouldn't it be kinda neat to draw on your face and neck? You could make it look like a tree was growing up your neck and around your face, then wash it off before dinner. Yeah, that would be super neat! You hadn't drawn on your own skin since Illvermorny years, but it was worth a shot! Besides, you'd had plenty of practice drawing on paper. You dipped the tip in in and began drawing on your neck as you looked in the mirror. You had gotten a little past your chin with the branches and leaves when your ears tuned in to the commotion coming from the living room. You heard shocked tones and rushed words turning into arguing. You didn't take the time to drop the quill and rushed out to make sure everyone was okay. Newt was looking in the mirror and Queenie, Tina, and Jacob were huddled around him, all shouting suggestions to a distressed Newt. 

"Just wash it off!" Tina recommend. 

"Leave it for a moment!" Queenie interjected. 

"Will you get ink poisoning?" Jacob asked Newt with concern, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

You remained confused and speechless for a moment before yelling, "What on earth is going on?" 

All four turned to you in a rush to explain themselves before pausing. 

You sighed, "Look, I was going to wash it off before I came back but then I heard all the commotion and-" 

"Y/n," Queenie interupted, "Look at Newt." 

Your eyes made contact with his and you noticed the black in his neck. 

Branches, leaves, and flowers were delicately drawn all the way up to his chin, identical to yours. You remained speechless and looked down at the quill before looking back up at Newt. You took the quill while watching his face and dragged in down your cheek, watching an identical mark paint itself on Newt's face. 

"It's you," you both said in unison. 

Newt and laughed, almost in disbelief, "How lucky can a man get?" 

You smiled, "I guess this would be a good time to say I love you." 

He took in a breath, "Good idea." 

You laughed, joy ringing through the gentle melody coming from your moth, and ran to Newt, who was ready to pull you into a hug and spin you around before looking into your eyes, "I think, deep down, I always knew it was you, y/n y/l/n."  

You smiled, "I may not have guessed you were my soulmate, but hell, I knew I was in love with you." 

He laughed and smashed his lips against yours. You pulled apart and noticed your three awe-struck friends. Queenie winked and looked back and forth between the two of you, "Why don't you two go wash that ink off, maybe a shower would work?" 

"Queenie!" Newt scolded and blushed. 

 "Honey, you're both thinking it!"

hey so im on mobile bc my computer got taken away half way through this, sucks right? so ill fix the other half tomorrow but i really want to get this up for yall!!! pleaseeee remind me if you want to be tagged in anything!! also i loveeee you!!