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voidcat · 4 years ago

Text

— take me home

Characters: Dazai Osamu/gn!reader (+agency members)

Genre & wc: fluff — 1.9k

a/n: happy Valentine’s Day!!! Normally I was gonna make this one big thing but my writing style for all this so far and “the second part” don’t carry the same vibe. (Also it was getting v long) Anyways, enjoy. I still suck at naming fics. — part 2 !!

“You could feel the bomb going off and suddenly-“ Doctor Yosano stops looking at the clock, “Oh it’s been that long already? I shouldn’t keep you waiting for any longer” she motions with her hand to you with a smile.

“It’s alright, I enjoy hearing your stories.” You smile back. “If it’s alright with you and no new cases show up, would you like the finish the story tomorrow at my place? Maybe over a cup of tea or a glass of wine?”

The glint in her eyes tell you the answer long before. “Only if the infamous pastries Ranpo cannot get enough of are there!” Yosano says with enthusiasm and all you can do is nod and share the excitement.

As she proceeds to get her coat and bag, you decide to wait until you hear someone else speak up.

“I thought you didn’t like to have people over?” Atsushi asks standing behind you with a stack of papers and files.

Eyes closed, you hum “True, true… But I make an exception for some, dear. Where did you think we baked all those for Kyouka?”

Stopping for a second to recall that day Atsushi scratches his head. The moment of realization comes to him fast, apparent from the sudden change of expression and the wide smile on his face “Oh! You’re-“

“I thought you didn’t allow anyone in the kitchen!” Ranpo exclaims rather loudly, slamming the newspaper he was reading moments ago onto his table.

Tilting back and forth from where you’re standing and occasionally looking for Yosano to come back, you turn to where his voice came from. “That rule only applies to you, I’m afraid. No matter what an amazing detective you are, cooking and baking simply aren’t your forte.” With one hand in the air as if offering the plainest of truths, you say.

“However you’re still my most trusted taster, so please don’t make that face?” You finish with an apologetic smile and hearing a low rumble coming from him, you let out a breath thinking you’re off the hook.

You thought wrong.

As Yosano’s heels clank against the surface, you can feel a persistent gaze on your back, already sensing what’s to come next. Before you can make an attempt to the door however, Dazai announces your name, in a whine no less, coming a little too closer than you expected right behind your ear.

Slowly turning back to see his smug face, right in your personal space just as you guessed, you refrain from rolling your eyes. “What was it Dazai? Is something the matter?”

Coming all the way from wherever he was previously , he couldn’t be here now for anything other than to bother you. You just hoped Yosano would show up and drag you away before your patience was tested again.

Raising his arm and resting the back of his hand against his forehead, eyes closed and mouth open, as if a he were a character straight out of a tragedia, Dazai opts for the dramatic route. “Yes! I’ve just been informed of horrifying news!”

“Which is?..” you leave the statement unfinished, already knowing what’s to come.

“That you never invited me over to your house! And we’ve been friends for the longest time! What our live have come to, have we driven so far away from ea-“

“Enough with the antics Dazai, we’re busy, can’t you see?” Your savior, Yosano cuts in putting a hand over your shoulder. Turning to look at her, you mouth a ‘thank you.’, and you think she has never looked as beautiful as she does in this moment now, with the golden sun behind her setting, the lights illuminating her face, making her look like those heroes painted to be immortalized.

As you step out, you hear Yosano stop and say: “And for the record, I’ve known them the longest.”

The day spent with Yosano goes better than you could accept. By the end your face hurts from laughing, your stomach full from all the food and drinks you’ve consumed, times flies away like a plane and by the time Yosano makes way to the door, it’s dark and you’re both dragging your feet.

Despite the enjoyable day off, Dazai’s recent behavior starts to make you question if it was worth inviting her over so publicly.

At any chance he gets, he tries to get you to give away something about your location, who has been over before and how many times, what type of hosts you prefer and ‘oh maybe we never got the chance because of our schedules, you should invite me over some time’, ‘don’t be so shy, we’re friends after all! Oh is it your place you’re ashamed of? Worry not, I won’t judge!’, ‘hey are you free on a Thursday night?’s met with ‘No, I don’t want you over.’, ‘Yes, I have a very good reasoning.’ And almost a slip up of a ‘I’m free- Oh wait, I have a date with Sergio, sorry no can do!’.

For each cheeky smile he offers, you give back a grunt or a snarl, one time almost yelling right in front of the director and another time you stomp out of the office in fury while Atsushi watches in horror.

Fifth time of your hiding in the café and you find yourself wishing for a crisis to surface, the carefree Dazai to be replaced by the serious and logical man that manages to impress you no matter how hard the case, counter measure after counter measure, even if he takes reckless risks once in a while.

Inhaling the sweet smell of your tea before taking a sip, your wish seems to have come true partially, from the set of steps approaching you in a determined yet unrushed pace.

Taking a long sip, savoring the taste and the warmth of it, you slowly place the cup down and open your eyes to see Dazai standing in his neutral and calm state.

The two of you stay like that for a while, like a photograph, the café empty and the mixed smells of coffee and tea lingering in the air, not quite looking at one another but not dozed off either.

When he opens his mouth, it doesn’t feel like the moment has been broken, not even a clearing of throat or a quite mumbling under his breath beforehand, yet his voice flows along the smells despite the absurdity of the topic of conversation.

But you beat him to it. “If you’re going to be standing for so long, you might as well sit down.”

He settles down as you reach for your cup again.

“So, how are things with Sergio?” He says the name with a hint of hostility.

It takes everything in you not to spit out your tea laughing. “Sergio is a street cat I take care of.”

Composure and crossed arms off, Dazai’s eyes widen. “But- you said that-“ “A date with Sergio, yes, for his yearly check up at the vet.” You finish for him.

“That was just an excuse to get you to stop bothering me.” You add.

“Fair enough, I deserved that.” He chuckles “but you did mention you had a very good reasoning for not inviting me over. I know I pestered you enough about that…” he trails off, reaching for your hand with his. “And yet, would you be so kind to tell me why?” he asks, eyes locked into yours.

“My cat doesn’t like you.”

And this, you think, is the exact moment the atmosphere is ruined, the photograph ripped apart in the middle.

Dazai just stares at you, still holding your hand.

Blinking few times, rather unimpressed, you notice a waitress by the counter, probably there to rearrange something.

“Alright, I’ll be off now if that’s all!” You say a bit too cheerfully, pull your hand before Dazai can do anything, pay and leave as soon as you can.

Dazai just blinks, hands still in the air, stays frozen like that until Kunikida drags him back to work.

Bad decision after bad decision seems to follow you wherever you go because after that interaction at the café, it gets worse.

You thought Dazai was like a fruit fly before? It gets more irritating than an army of them. And on top of that, Kunikida scolds you to undo whatever you’ve done on Dazai, his already poor work ethics now on the floor, getting on Kunikida’s nerves and yours.

Hearing your name spreads terror in you now, the second your ears catch the familiar tone of Dazai’s voice, you fleet for your life.

Coming clean and explaining your statement from earlier would be the logical way to end this but fate disagrees as it laughs you in the face.

“Why wouldn’t your cat like me? I didn’t even step foot into your place before!”

“Hey Dazai, remember the day you wouldn’t get off my back? Trying to embrace at any chance and I gave up in the middle of the day at one point?” Resting his hand under his chin to think, as if his face doesn’t make it obvious he remembers the day crystal clear, he lets out a “hmm…”

With a snap of fingers and a “Ah! I remember now! You were so comfortable, I almost fell asleep.” He grins.

With a shake of your hand, trying to dismiss the memory of how he basically trapped you to the couch, you cough and continue. “That evening, when I got home, my clothes must have reeked of your smell.” He nods, good, so far he seems to follow. “My cat just sniffed the air once and stayed in the living room until I washed those clothes and took a bath.”

Hands resting on his hips, he keeps nodding and humming in understanding. “I see…”

You let out a breath, thank god it’s over.

“Nope! Still makes no sense.” Hs exclaims suddenly, turns away and leaves. You just stare at his back, now it’s your turn to blink in ‘unbelievable, is this real?’

The loud chatter and pestering doesn’t stop however and with each word, it gets more ridiculous.

“Is your cat perhaps jealous of me? That you secretly love me and they don’t want competition?”

“The cat is just another excuse, isn’t it! Admit it, you have a secret! It must be something you’re afraid I won’t like.”

“Is it Chuuya? Did you take pity and let him rent a room?”

“I don’t even know a Chuuya…”

“Maybe a weird collection…” he gasps and says your name. “Are you a hoarder? Is that why you won’t let me in? I told you already, I would never judge your lifestyle!”

“Dazai, please stop-“

“No, no, I got it this time. It’s a shrine of me! Isn’t it? Your face tells it all, it is a shrine! Ah, I must say I’m flattered, if not a little scared now.”

If anger could set a fire, you think Kunikida would be arrested of arson right now. You just rest your head in your palm, trying to ignore Dazai’s ongoing nonsense.

“Is there really a-“ Kenji begins a question as Ranpo ends it with a firm “Nope!”

Getting up from your place at last, you grab Dazai by his coat and drag him out.

“There is No shrine, no other human, no hoarding or weird collections. It’s just me and my cat who scrunches his nose when I bring home a file that sat in your desk all day!”

Before giving him a chance to reply, you walk away.

The next day, and many other days to follow, goes uneventful, Dazai’s never ending bickering about your house seems to have reached a stop. Everyone, especially Kunikida, enjoys the newly achieved peace of going back to normal. You hope this marks the end of this whole nonsense, and that the Dazai everyone knows with a little mix of annoying and impressively serious has returned back to his sense of regular.

Tags: @atsumusdomain @celosiiaa @ywanfen

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sunshineandaisies · 4 years ago

Text

Tuesday

Words: ~3.3k

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: language, mentions of blood/injury, a tad bit angsty?

Note: I haven’t written anything new in the marvel fandom for 4+ years now, so this is me dipping my toes back into it before I start working on new series that I have planned. And because I hate myself sometimes, I decided to write something for a character I’ve never written for, our smol bean peter. Hopefully I did okay???

A typical Tuesday for you was, well, normal.

You’d go to school, mildly pay attention in class, and do your best to stay out of whatever drama was currently overtaking the halls of Midtown High. When the final bell of the day rang, you walked home with your headphones in, playing loud music to drown out the sounds of the city. You’d get home from school, maybe have a less than healthy snack, and watch a random television program until your mom was trying to pull you away from the couch for dinner. After dinner was eaten - and the dishes were cleaned and drying, because you needed that weekly allowance money - you shut yourself in your room to work on homework and to subsequently procrastinate that homework by playing mobile games on your phone. Usually, you’d end up falling asleep with one of your textbooks open to the page you’d been in the middle of reading and with your phone slowly dying in your hand because Candy Crush was lighting up your screen and draining the battery.

Pretty uneventful, right?

This Tuesday, however, was anything but uneventful.

You should’ve known from the moment that Peter Parker spilled chocolate milk on your white top at lunch that the day was going to be anything but your typical Tuesday. It only got worse when he shoved a handful of napkins onto your chest, dabbing at the stain while stammering and blushing and being so frustratingly cute that you couldn’t bring yourself to yell at him for practically pawing at your chest in the middle of the cafeteria.

It didn’t end there.

Your locker jammed between fifth and sixth period, preventing you from grabbing the calculus assignment that you had spent hours trying to complete over the weekend and making you unable to turn it in on time. The worn strap of your backpack finally broke on your walk home from school, and you were forced to carry the heavy bag in your arms, making the limbs numb and tingly by the time you finally reached your apartment. Your mom had picked up a rare night shift at the hospital at the last minute, leaving you to fend for yourself for dinner – which, in normal circumstances, would have been fine, but the Moroccan place down the street that you ordered from had given you the wrong food and you were too hungry to call them and have the order corrected.

You figured that would be the end of it. You figured that there was absolutely no way that anything could go wrong as you spent the rest of your evening actually working on homework, sprawled lazily across your bed, and bopping your head in time to the music coming through your headphones.

Oh, how wrong you were.

It had to be nearing midnight when you were startled from your chemistry homework by the sound of banging on the fire escape outside your window. You paused your music, slightly startled and more than a little confused. Sure, there were occasionally stray cats that somehow found their way to the metal platform outside your window, and sure, sometimes those cats where assholes and pushed each other around every now and then – but this…that thump either came from a very, very large cat, or someone was outside your room.

You got your answer when a very sweaty, very tired looking Peter Parker stumbled through your window and landed face down on the floor, groaning softly. Your mouth soundlessly opened and closed, opened and closed, opened and closed as you tried to find your words, but the Spider-Man suit that he wore and the red mask clutched tightly in his hand had left you absolutely speechless.

You easily stared at him for five minutes, trying to process what had just happened. Did Peter Parker really just crawl through your window and then pass out on your floor? Was Peter Parker fucking Spider-Man? Was Spider-Man – the Spider-Man – in your bedroom? Did Spider-Man touch your boobs today?

“What the fuck?” you finally spoke, startling Peter as he looked up at you with wide chocolate eyes before panic sunk in and he jumped up to his feet abruptly, which in turn only served to startle you more and make you repeat, “What the fuck?”

“Y/N?” he asked, as if he wasn’t sure that it was truly you that sat in front of him. “Shit, shit, shit,” he muttered as he started to pace, pulling at his hair nervously. “Mr. Stark is gonna kill me.” He glanced back up you, eyes still wide. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

“It looks like you’re Spider-Man,” you countered, eyes flitting over the tight suit before focusing on the mask in his hand. “You’re Spider-Man, Peter.”

“Okay, so- so maybe it is what it looks like, but I-” He cut himself off, and you could tell that he’s struggling to explain the entire thing away. Finally, he sighed. “Okay, yes. I’m Spider-Man, but you can’t tell anyone. Please, Y/N. No one else can know about this.”

You nodded slowly, abandoning your textbook and sitting at the edge of your bed as you stared at one another awkwardly. “Don’t tell anyone. Got it. But, like… Are you- Can I ask questions?”

“Um, yeah, I- I guess.” You watched him scratch the back of his neck nervously as his checks tinted pink. “Ask away.”

“First question – why are you in my room?” It seemed like the obvious question to ask. If Peter – Spider-Man – hadn’t crawled through your window in the first place, you wouldn’t even need to ask him any questions at all.

You had to bite back a laugh as you watched his eyes widen momentarily as he finally took in his surroundings, his gaze lingering on the few photos you had of you and your friends hanging on the walls and the stack of books that sat on your desk just waiting to be read. “Your room? I, uh- To be fair, when I crawled through the window, I thought it was my room.” You opened your mouth to interject, but he continued, “I live here. Well, not here, here, but in this building. With my aunt May. We live here. In this building. I must’ve swung to the wrong fire escape.”

“Swung?” you asked, his explanation providing more questions than answers. “Like with your webs?” He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “And you swing around the city and fight bad guys?” Another nod. “You’re Spider-Man.”

He paused, as if thinking his answer through. “Yeah.”

“This is wild,” you commented more to yourself, leaning in closer and poking at the material of his suit. He stayed completely still as you prodded the suit some more, feeling the thick fabric beneath the pads of your fingertips. You let out a short laugh and looked up at him, repeating, “You’re Spider-Man.” You laughed freely then, and the little smile he gave you was enough to make your heart pound wildly in your chest. “Don’t worry,” you assured him once the laughter died down, “your secret’s safe with me, Parker.”

You could almost feel the tension and nervous energy leave his body, and you watched as his shoulders slumped forward, finally relaxed since he first realized that you saw him as Spider-Man. “Thank you, Y/N. I know I’m asking a lot, but I- It’s really important.”

You smiled. “Don’t worry about it, Parker. My lips are sealed.” You mimed zipping your lips and locking them before throwing away the key, and it made a small burst of laughter escape his lips. “Besides, you have more things to worry about than me telling the world that you double as a superhero after school hours. Like our Spanish test in first period tomorrow.”

“Spanish test t- Shit!” You watched his eyes widen again at the reminder of the test that you both had to take in eight hours, and you couldn’t help but laugh as he quickly scrambled towards the window. Halfway through your window, he glanced back at you with a soft smile curling his lips. “I, uh- Thanks again, Y/N.”

“You’re welcome, Spider-Man.” You winked, and he was gone, crawling up the wall to the fire escape above yours. You crouched down at your window and listened for a moment longer as the sounds of Peter hauling his body over the rails of the fire escape and the opening of a different window – presumably his – echoed through the alley between your apartment building and the building next to it. Knowing that he’d be able to hear you, you called out, “Goodnight, Peter,” and shut your window.

After that night, your typical Tuesday was anything but normal.

Your mom started to regularly work night shifts on Tuesdays, and while there were no more mishaps with incorrect takeout orders, no more chocolate milk spilt on shirts, and no more jammed lockers, there was Spider-Man.

Peter was quick to realize that every Tuesday night, you would leave your window slightly open just for him regardless of how cold the autumn air outside was. Some nights, he crawled through your window as early as eight. Other nights, you didn’t see him until nearly midnight. Some nights, you would spend hours going over chemistry and calculus homework with him – because, seriously, Peter Parker may just be the smartest sixteen-year-old you’ve ever met – and discussing his latest superhero escapades. Other nights, you simply sat together on your bed, sharing candy as you talked about school, friends, family, and everything else that happened to come up in the course of your conversation.

The easy friendship you had formed with Peter had confused a few people, to say the least.

His best friend, Ned, had openly stared at you with wide eyes the first day you sat beside Peter in the cafeteria, and your friends looked at you with confused expressions before quickly following suit and taking a seat at the table. MJ – who you thankfully already had somewhat of a tentative friendship with thanks to a history project during freshman year – simply lifted her gaze to you, shrugged her shoulders in greeting, and returned to the book she was reading. Flash was quick to make a mean comment about Peter once he noticed you and your friends sitting at the table, but after you made a passing threat of sharing his Spider-Man fanfiction with the school, he scurried back to his own table with his tail between his legs.

Peter, though. Peter looked at you with such a tender expression that made your heart flutter uncontrollably in your chest and your cheeks flood with warmth as you settled into your seat beside him. You playfully knocked your shoulder against his and made a quip about Spanish class that made him laugh before falling into easy conversation with the others, though your mind never drifted far from the way that your thigh was pressed against Peter’s or the way that his pinky finger would occasionally brush over yours.

That first day you sat with Peter in the cafeteria had a domino effect. Over the course of a few weeks, you spent an increasing amount of time with Peter, both during school and outside of school hours. You walked home from school with Peter every day (or at least every day that he didn’t disappear for Spider-Man duties); you joined him, Ned, and MJ for movie nights on Fridays; and you even had dinner with Peter and May on the rare nights that you spent hours studying in Peter’s bedroom rather than alone in yours.

But the domino effect didn’t stop at just changing how you typically spent your days.

Without any warning, you found yourself falling painfully in love with the nerdy boy that lived in the apartment above yours and that masqueraded as a crime fighting superhero in the evening and on weekends (though you knew that if he were really needed during school hours, he would find an excuse to disappear from class for as long as Spider-Man was needed).

You thought about telling Peter, you really did. Every time he crawled through your window, a wide smile on his face and his cheeks tinted pink from the exertion of swinging through the city, you thought about telling him how he made your heart race in the best way. Every time his fingers brushed against your arm as you walked home or across your fingers as you sat in the cafeteria, your thought about telling him how he made your skin tingle pleasantly with just the slightest touch. Every time he appeared at your place with sandwiches from Delmar’s and spent hours on your couch watching old sitcoms, you thought about telling him how moments like that were what made you happiest.

You thought about telling Peter, but you never found the courage to speak up.

Your friendship with Peter was too valuable to risk losing it because of your feelings, and you didn’t miss the way that he would look at MJ when she wasn’t paying attention, the way that he would go out of his way to speak to her in the halls between classes, the way that he seemed so in tuned to everything that she was doing and saying. Your feelings would fade eventually, so you kept them to yourself and told yourself you were content with just friendship.

It was only fitting that it was a Tuesday night when everything changed nearly three months after Peter mistakenly crawled through your window.

Despite the December chill and the light dusting of snow on the fire escape outside your window, you left the window cracked open just enough for Peter to easily pull it open and crawl inside. It may have made your room almost unbearably cold, but it was nothing that fuzzy socks, a comfy sweatshirt, and a heated blanket couldn’t fix.

It was later than usual when Peter finally arrived, stumbling through your window when he finally managed to open and it, and it didn’t escape your notice that his fingers had left bloody streaks on the glass pane of the window.

“Peter!” You heart leapt to your throat as you scrambled from your bed to support him, and he slumped forward, struggling to stay on his feet. “Pete, c’mon. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“Stabbed,” he mumbled into your shoulder. “He had a knife.”

You were not prepared for this. Absolutely not. No one had ever told you that being friends with a superhero would mean them stumbling into your apartment at two in the morning with a fucking stab wound. “Okay. Uh…” You led him to your bed, helping him lay down before scanning your eyes over his body. And just as he said, there was a large slash across his abdomen, his red suit staining an even darker red as he bled from the wound. “Shit, I- Pete what do I do? Tell me how to help you.” You tugged at his suit with shaking hands, trying – and failing – to pull the material away from his body. “How do I take this fucking thing off?”

You stepped back as his hand pressed against the spider symbol on his chest, and the suit instantly enlarged, allowing you to pull it away from his body and to bunch the material around his hips. (If it hadn’t been entirely inappropriate given the circumstances, you most certainly would have taken your time appreciating the sculpted muscles on Peter’s chest and abdomen).

You inspected the damage, your eyes burning with unshed tears and the fear you felt increasing exponentially the longer you looked at the gash that marred his skin. It wasn’t too deep, but it was deep enough to nearly send you into a panic. “We should call 911, Pete,” you told him once you found your voice, though it was still thick with fear. “I- I don’t think I can help you. I don’t know how to-”

“Hey,” he whispered, his warm hand curling around yours and squeezing reassuringly. “I know you can. I watched you stitch that pig up in biology at the end of the dissection a few weeks ago.”

“I just didn’t want to leave it cut open like that,” you defended, though you knew there was really no need to. “But a dead pig is much different than a living human, Peter. I don’t…” You took a deep breath, squeezing his hand even tighter. “I’m scared, Pete.”

“It’s okay, Y/N. I promise.” He let out a hiss of pain, his jaw clenched tightly. “Your mom has a first aid kit, right?” You nodded. “Get it.”

You did as you were told, grabbing the first aid kit from the cabinet in your mom’s bathroom before returning to Peter. You worked slowly after you had cleaned his wound as well as you could and threaded the needle. Your hands shook as you started stitching the wound back together, careful to not make it any worse than it already was. Peter hissed in pain each time you poked the needle through his skin, but he whispered reassurances to encourage you. Soon, his abdomen had been stitched together, and while it certainly wasn’t pretty and would definitely scar, it looked stable.

“Thank you, Y/N. I don’t know what I would do wi-” he began, but you cut him off.

“Don’t,” you hissed. “Do you have any idea how fucking terrified I am right now?” The tears you’d been holding back while you stitched him up finally spilled from your eyes. “Do you have any idea how much it fucking hurt to see you like this?”

He sat up on the bed, bracing himself on his elbows. You didn’t miss the way he winced in pain from the movement. “Y/N, I-”

“I’m not done talking, Peter,” you snapped, wiping your tears away with the sleeve of your sweatshirt. “I get that you’re Spider-Man, that you feel responsible to protect the city and do whatever it takes to stop the bad guys, but- Fuck, Pete! You could die!”

“But I won’t!”

“You don’t know that!” you shouted, your lip trembling as you sat next to him on the bed. You lowered your voice to a whisper and repeated, “You don’t know that, Pete. You just don’t. Tonight, you got lucky. But what if next time, instead of a knife, they have a gun, and you get shot.”

He glanced up at you sheepishly, his chocolate eyes pleading with you to stop crying. “I heal fast,” he tried to reason, but it wasn’t enough to appease you. You looked away, but a gentle hand on your cheek brought your attention back to him. “Besides, I’m pretty motivated to not die. I can’t take you on a date if I’m dead.”

You opened your mouth to argue with him before promptly snapping it shut. Did he really just say that? Was it the pain and the exhaustion talking, or did he really mean it? “Date? Did you just- What did you say?” It was definitely the pain and exhaustion talking, right? It had to be.

He leaned forward and rested his head on your shoulder, and you froze, concentrating on the way his warm breath ghosted over the skin of your neck. “A date, Y/N. Uh, if you- I mean, only if you’d want-” You giggled as he stumbled over his words, tilted your head slightly to rest atop his. The action must have soothed his nerves, because he took your hand in his and confidently said, “I wanna take you on a date, Y/N.”

Your lips curled up into a wide smile, unable to contain how absolutely giddy you felt in that moment. “I’d like that, Pete,” you told him. “But we really need to have a conversation about superhero safety.”

He laughed, but it was cut off by a groan of pain. “We can probably do that.”

And unsurprisingly, your first date was on a Tuesday.

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x fem!reader #spider-man x reader #spider-man x you #spider-man x y/n #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker reader insert #spider-man fanfiction #spider-man reader insert #marvel reader insert #marvel fanfiction

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kerwritesthings · 4 years ago

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Sunshine Surprise

Summary: Birthdays deserve over the top decadence

Word Count: just a hair over 1k

Warning: stupid soft silly fluffy fluff fluff

Author Notes: Little birthday surprise for @miracleonice87 - Happy, happy birthday M! :) Something for that other stupid boy of ours who has been dearly missed. I hope you enjoy the day and this little nifty gifty.

Words have been hard, life has been hard - but used this happy day as a little bit of a nudge to at least try. It fell back into lockstep.

A tiny peek in on Tyler and Clementine not too far after the first, Orange Blossom At The Bottom Of A Shot Glass. I guess three stories actually makes a verse now right? I need to get a hockey masterlist started. Also please to enjoy this photo which just solidified that I picked the right thing to write.

“Em. Why did I have to find out from Dicky that your birthday is coming up?” Tyler asks cautiously as his face pops through on FaceTime.

“Hi, how are you? I’m good. It’s been a busy day,” you tease as he groans.

“You’re just gonna dish the sass today straight out before you even answer me?” he questions.

“Tyler, we’ve been on a grand total of five and a half actual dates, it’s only been like what – just three weeks since we said we’re in on this as a dating thing? And yeah, we were friends before, but I wasn’t sure if we were that good of friends, you know?” you bite your lip. “Also, how the hell does Dicky even know?”

“Half?” he laughs. “When the hell was a half?”

“Lunch with me, you and Dicky does not count at all,” you explain. “Half is me coming to the first game and dinner and drinks with the boys after.”

“Ok yeah, I guess that’s fair. But we have been at least friends for a good clip. Plus, dates and times don’t matter like that with us at least for me, I’m one hundred percent in on this. I’m stuck on you, babygirl,” he starts. “So, back to the task at hand. When’s the big day Emmy? Birthdays are a big deal around here. I think his better half mentioned something about trying to do brunch but didn’t want to interrupt any birthday plans.”

“Beginning of next month, the fifth it’s a Friday. It’s at the very end of the big western swing. Alandra asked about doing brunch while you guys were gone, she found this pop up that was kicking off that weekend. Wasn’t sure what the final travel plans were for you guys,” you reply. “So, we can do something when you get back. We have time to figure things out. You guys need to get out of Chicago and St. Louis with some points and in one piece first.”

The conversation wanders from there, until he had to catch his pre-game nap. His yawn is a perfect time break.

“Go get your rest, Tyler. Play hard tonight, I’ll be watching,” you blow him a kiss.

Tyler runs a hand through the mess of his hair after the call disconnects, he’s got plans to start making once they get through Chicago. He starts a list before he begins to doze off.

It wasn’t so much the flowers that are delivered promptly at 7:45 in the morning on your birthday, as stunning and lovely as they are, it’s the card that’s attached with it. Surprises begin now babygirl, happy happy birthday Will be cashing in on giving you all birthday kisses later Emmy and I can’t wait

“What the hell is he up to?” you murmur as the doorbell rings again.

“Special delivery birthday girl,” Alandra calls out a Cheshire cat-like grin forming before leaning in for a hug. “I am here as special envoy!”

She hands you a small gift bag that just screams pulled together by Tyler, colorful and loud and just a little messy. Inside the gift is a bit of a puzzle: a luggage tag, a tiny squeaky palm tree and a new pair of your favorite Ray-Bans, exactly like the ones you were complaining that you needed to replace.

“What the fuck?” your eyebrows knit down. “He wouldn’t…”

“You better get packing, I’m your ride to the airport,” she exclaims, wrapping you in another hug.

“Airport? What?” you shake your head. “Alandra, are you serious?”

“Go, we’ve got to leave here by 9 to get you to the airport in time. There’s coffee waiting for you in the car,” she pushes you out of the living room.

As you’re digging out your weekender bag from the closet, you yell at Alexa to make a phone call.

“Happy birthday Emmy. I’ll spare you from singing for now, we’ll do that later,” Tyler says, voice bright.

“Are you fucking crazy?” you volley at him, tossing things onto the bed in the direction of your open bag.

“Just about you babygirl,” he sasses back.

“How I just, when and what the hell Tyler,” you sigh as you plop down on the edge of your bed, overwhelmed and surrounded by a flurry of clothes.

“I wasn’t letting you spend your birthday alone. It’s the last game of the trip and it’s LA. We’re doing well enough in this stretch. Well enough that Bones is letting me fly back with you tomorrow night and we’ve got a late skate on Monday. It just made sense to try. So, we’ll have tonight after the game, which is already planned, then we can figure out what we want to do tomorrow but we should hit the beach at the very least. Flight back is just on the border of a redeye, so we have the whole day.”

“Ty. I was thinking dinner when you got back, maybe me finally dragging you to that art gallery I was telling you about. That would have been enough, just time with you. You know I don’t need all this right? That’s not why, it’s not…” you trail off.

“It’s exactly why I’m doing it, Emmy,” you can hear the sincerity in his voice. “Let me do something absolutely ridiculous to celebrate you, ok?

“You’re still crazy but thank you Tyler. Really, this is just beyond,” you exhale.

“Barring any delays, you’ll get here just as we’re getting back from morning skate so I’m stealing you for pregame nap and cuddles,” you can just picture his smile as he says it. “Go pack. Bring something semi fancy for tonight after the game and then maybe anything pretty for me to enjoy, cause it’s your birthday and well you know, you want to thank me for all this.”

“You would Ty, you absolutely would,” you chuckle, thinking of what you could bring for that very reason. “But really, this is amazing. Thank you.”

“I’ll see you in a few hours, birthday girl.”

#Tyler Seguin #hockey fic #hockey imagine #tyler seguin fic #tyler seguin fluff #tyler seguin imagine #tyler seguin writing

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matildashoney · 4 years ago

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Golden

an ‘all i’ve ever known’ first look.

MOODBOARD // TAGS // PLAYLIST // TAGLIST

let’s talk about harry and amelie!

“Not letting you listen to the album all about you in your studio,” Harry says, holding his hand out and waiting at the door of the art studio. “I’m taking you on a drive so you can hear it how it’s meant to be heard.”

“But it’s not even out yet. I want to wait until it’s released, like I always do,” Amelie pouts, holding her paintbrush between her fingers and wiping the excess paint on the linen tarp beneath her.

“Only want you to hear the first song.” Harry walks into the studio and turns the stereo off. “Can listen to the singles and all that, or repeat one, on the way home and then I’ll let you listen to the rest later.” His mouth tugs into a smile as she rolls her eyes, setting her paintbrush down and beginning to twist the caps onto the tubes of paint. “Have to listen to this one as the sun is setting because it’s based on a conversation we had at sunset, and yeah. Trust me on this one.”

“You say that as if I don’t,” Amelie laughs, shaking her head and walking towards him. Harry reaches out for her hand, kissing her hairline as he flicks the light to the studio off and they make their way to the garage, his hands pulling his keys off the hook and mumbling a goodbye to their cat before Amelie is yanking her hand away and bounding up the stairs. “Hold on, I forgot my ring!”

“Only going for a drive!” Harry calls, laughing as he opens the door and waits for her to rush through the walkway and into the garage with him. “All better?”

“Much,” she smiles, running her fingers through her hair and slipping her sunglasses – the sunnies she bought for their holiday last summer that are shaped like hearts on the eyes – on her nose before turning to face him. “Alright, it’s golden hour and we’re about to drive on the highway. Care to tell me what song we’re listening to?”

Harry’s teeth bite into his bottom lip, squeezing her thigh and turning the radio on, his phone connecting through the bluetooth and the chimes beginning to play before it could be paused. “I will, but, I want to share something first.”

Amelie raises her eyebrows suggestively, holding her breath while Harry backs out of the drive into the street, his hand holding her thigh as they begin to navigate out of their neighbourhood and to the furthest end of the highway. “Share with the class, Mr Styles.”

“Fine Line is about you,” Harry starts, sucking in a deep breath and taking the moment in traffic to meet Amelie’s stare, “about the good and the bad that we’ve gone through, especially over the last year. All that we’ve done, all that I’ve done, is because of you reminding me that life is the good and the bad times. I tell you this all the time, but I do this all because of you.” Amelie nods, squeezing his hand on her leg. “This song, “Golden”, is about the day before we started writing in the studio, and we sat on the beach and we talked about everything, and how you always feel like the first instinct you have is to shy away from me, to not be vulnerable.” His tongue wets his lips, the hum of the engine filling the void silence between his words. “Made me think about how in the first few weeks we met, that we became friends, I was so vulnerable with you, telling you about Mum and Dad, telling you about the things going on with the band, m’anxiety and all that. That night, you told me that you might not ever be that open, but it meant a lot that I was. And two weeks later you told me about Jack.” Harry’s throat bobs as he swallows down any tears in his eyes. “Never told you this, but you have no idea how much that meant to me, that you told me; not because of what it meant for our relationship afterwards, but because it meant that you trusted me.”

“Always have,” Amelie says, taking Harry’s hand and kissing his knuckles. “Baby, it’s alright.”

“Fuck. Know it’s alright, ‘s just, yeah,” Harry sniffles, taking a turn and parking in the cove at the beginning of the highway, his eyes meeting hers as she pushes her sunglasses into her hair to properly look at him. “That night we were at the beach and you told me that you get scared with how open I am sometimes; it gave me this idea. I was staring at you, and you hadn’t dyed your hair the peach colour yet and it was still a bit blonde and the sun was setting over you and I couldn’t get it out of my head that you were as bright as the bloody sun. And that reminded me of the years of other memories that have to do with you and the sun and that’s where the name came from.” Harry smiles so wide Amelie swears that his cheeks are going to ache, and then she realises that she’s smiling exactly the same. “This song you have to listen to driving down Pacific Coast. It’s a coast song.”

Amelie’s eyes are so bright under the setting sun that Harry swears he could go blind. “Let’s listen, then. You have a show tomorrow and I want to listen to the album at midnight.”

Harry shifts the gear and reverses onto the highway, turning the song on and cranking the volume, rolling their windows down and soaking in the way Amelie’s smile changes into one that is wide enough to reach her cheeks and her eyes are squeezing shut to have only the music in her ears, all of her senses working to take in the vocals and the melodies and the chimes and the guitar and the drums. His hand is on her thigh, his thumb rubbing the skin lightly as her tongue wets her lips and soaks in the beginning moments of the song, no vocals or lyrics.

Golden, golden, golden as I open my eyes. Hold it, focus, hoping, take me back to the light.

“Harry, your voice,” Amelie says, eyes wide and staring, shaking her head and staring out the window, the ocean passing in a blue haze beneath them. “Already, I love it.”

You’re so golden. You’re so golden. I’m out of my head, and I know that you’re scared because hearts get broken.

“Holy shit.” Amelie’s eyelashes are wet, her thumb brushing away a stray tear as she sucks in a deep breath and swallows any tears threatening to fall, wanting to fully immerse in the song before giving her thoughts and sentiment. “All in one go, you wrote this?” Harry nods and smiles at her warmly.

I don’t wanna be alone. I can feel it take a hold, I can feel you take control, of who I am and all I’ve ever known. Loving you’s the antidote.

“Harry.”

Harry smiles, “To be fair, you are all I’ve ever known. All of my twenties are with you. All of me becoming an adult.”

Amelie stares at Harry as if the words that have come out of his mouth are that of a revelation that should be spoken about until the end of time, until they no longer have air in the lungs or beats in their heart. His words are truthful, honest. Because they have been together for nearly the entirety of their twenties. Her twenty-fifth birthday was barely over a month ago, Harry’s twenty-sixth coming soon. They’ve known each other since Harry was barely twenty-one, and the growing that they’ve done together is more than either of them could have imagine being apart. Harry’s being honest, yes, but there is also a sentiment to his words, that they’re all each other has known, that they know everything about each other, the good and the bad, and have been through life together. Amelie thinks that she learns something new about Harry every day, a new quirk or habit, sometimes it’s something that Harry doesn’t even notice himself, and it reminds her that they’re friends, first and foremost, at the beginning of everything, they’re best friends.

“All that we go through,” Harry says, cutting Amelie out of her thoughts, “I know that as long as I get to love you, I’ll be okay. We’ll be alright. Hence, ‘loving you’s the antidote’. It’s like, loving you is the solve for it all. It’s pretty cliché, to be fair, but love is pretty cliché.”

“Love is both skill and enthusiasm,” Amelie smiles, leaning over the centre console and kissing Harry’s cheek. “Think we’re doing alright with both.”

“I’ll say,” he laughs, reaching for her left hand and lifting it slightly, nodding to the diamond ring sitting on her third finger.

Amelie gasps, undoing her seatbelt and scrambling into the backseat, mumbling under her breath as Harry stares at her through the rear-view mirror and bites his nails worriedly, asking to have her come back to the front and buckle in her seatbelt for her safety. “Can you please put on your seatbelt? Gon’a scare me half to death, I swear.”

“Needed to grab a polaroid and we left our second one in here after last weekend.”

“Need it for what?”

“Have to take a picture of us listening to the album for the first time. Did it with the first and I want to keep the tradition.”

Amelie kisses Harry’s cheek, again, as she manoeuvres her way to the passenger seat, prepping the camera and leaning into his chest, smiling as the flash goes and the picture is taken with Harry kissing her hair and her smiling at him, “Watermelon Sugar” beginning to sound through the speakers.

“Looks cute,” Amelie grins, setting the photo near her phone to ensure that she wouldn’t forget it on her way inside when they get home. “Which song has my voice on it?”

“That’s ‘Cherry’,” Harry says, turning rolling the windows up slightly to alleviate the volume of the wind inside the car. “Can’t listen to that one until midnight.”

“Is that the one you talked about in the Zane Lowe interview?”

“Mean when I said, ‘That’s my girlfriend’s voice’?” Harry asks, smiling as Amelie’s fingers lace through his, squeezing his hand sweetly. “Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Not too sure how we’re going to keep hiding everything when we make slip ups like that, Harry,” Amelie hums, her elbow propped on the windowsill, her cheek resting in her palm as she stares at him. “Not that it matters all that much anymore, I mean, it’s been almost five years.”

“Having your name on the album is going to have some conversation stir.”

Her hand sticks out the window, the ocean breeze waving against her palm and the sun shining over her face as she lays her cheek against her arm. Malibu is breezy for December, and it’s nice, it reminiscent of London which has become closer to home than Los Angeles or Malibu have ever felt. “Have to be careful about where we’re taking pictures tomorrow night.”

“Make sure we tell Helene in the morning. Jeff said that there have been fans camping all week for the show,” he says, his fingers tapping along her inner thigh as the trumpets sound through the speakers. “How’s your tattoo?”

“Healing nicely, I’d say,” she shrugs, looking at the freshly inked flower on her forearm, one single flower that they got together, matching, after her birthday. “Met me with two tattoos,” she hums, pausing for a second to count the tattoos scattered on her arms and torso, “Now, I have six. How do you feel?”

“Very attracted to you at all times,” Harry laughs, squeezing her thigh a bit tighter and bellowing a laugh as she smacks his hand away. “I adore you; you know that?”

Her voice is etched with sarcasm and teasing in the most flirtatious way. “Oh, so that’s why you wrote a song about me and named it that. Good to know. I wasn’t sure.”

Harry rolls his eyes, “To be fair, I write a lot of songs about you, Ames.”

“Fair enough,” Amelie giggles, sitting upright in her seat and leaning over to kiss the corner of his mouth, turning the volume louder and letting the salty breeze wash over her skin. “Are you excited for tomorrow?”

“I am,” Harry nods, brushing his fingers through his hair and taking a moment to admire Amelie staring mindlessly out to the sea. Moving to Malibu was their best decision at the beginning of the year. “Have the setlist finalised, Fine Line all the way through, Stevie is coming to sing ‘Landslide’ with me.” His eyes run over Amelie’s face, the way she’s listening to him so adamantly and adoringly. “Have you there. ‘s all that counts at the end of it.”

“Doing that ‘Behind the Show’ thing, aren’t you? I’ll have to make myself scarce,” she laughs, tugging her tie out of her hair and letting the waves fall over her shoulders. Her hair was meant to be dyed light blue two weeks earlier, and then there was a delayed flight from New York and a stressful reschedule, and there they were, dying her hair pink to match the album cover a week before the album was set to release. Harry always loved that about Amelie, the expression and the change, it was felt very natural, very her.

“Mean, how horrible would it be if you were in it? One day the world is going to find out.”

“One day the world will know, yeah,” she says, humming along to the melody of the very first released song of the album and laying her hand over her heart, “but maybe we should do that when you’re not releasing the best album of the year.”

“Already have the ring, Cherry,” Harry snorts, indicating his turn and navigating back to the highway to head home. Only a few more hours until the album would be officially released, and they could listen to its entirety. “Don’t really have to flatter me all that much.”

“How many nicknames do you have for me, now? You say Ames and Cherry. Doll. Angel,” Amelie teases, her fingers lacing through Harry’s as he lays his palm open on her thigh. “Going to add any else any time soon?”

“Wife sounds like a good one to add to the list.”

Amelie turns away from Harry, her cheeks flushed and a blushing colour adorning her skin. “Harry Styles, if you say that one more time, I will be leaning over and sucking your dick as you drive us home. Give you road head or summat for saying a thing like that.”

“You say that like I’ve just said something horrible!” Harry bellows, his laugh making her want to cry out of pure joy, the squeak and giggle that follows suit making her heart so swollen she swears it could break her ribs in half. “Asked you to marry me because I want you to be my wife. Therefore, I’d call you m’wife.”

“I’ll lean over and unbutton your trousers, right now. Don’t think I won’t.”

“Amelie Fay!”

“Do you know how many years I waited to hear you say those words? Too many,” Amelie breathes, her sunglasses pushed into her hair and her eyes meeting his. “My wife sounds hot coming from you.”

Harry shakes his head with a smile, “Heading back home so that we can have dinner and you can finish working because we have a busy day tomorrow.”

“Got me all bothered, now,” she sighs, sinking into her seat and letting the glasses fall over her eyes with her hair tugging along. “Come and keep me company in the studio? Have to finish one of the imitation pieces for the Kahlo Exhibition that’s in Italy this summer.”

“That’s the one I’ll be able to come to, right?” he asks, his mind trying to remember the dates for the exhibits that align with the tour dates they scheduled nearly six months ago. Amelie wanted Harry there, and that isn’t something to take lightly. “Don’t want to miss that.”

Amelie nods, smirking at Harry and taking in the way his features are tightly wound with nerves and anxiety for the evening, his hand swiftly pausing the music before the remaining eight songs can play through the stereo for her to listen to early.

“Quit looking at me like that,” Harry says, smacking her thigh and bringing his hand to his legs, laughing when Amelie furrows his brows at him and laces their fingers together to bring his hand back where it belongs, as she would say.

“Can see why you named the song what you did, baby.”

“Why’s that?” Harry muses, wanting to hear her understanding even though he’s given her the entire reasoning behind the song already. Amelie’s interpretations were always so unique, so interesting to him.

“Because I’m looking at you, right now, and the sun is right there, and it looks like you’ve created the whole universe just like that.” Her tongue wets her lips for a moment. “Like you just shine brighter than every star. Golden, it’s what you are, I don’t know how else to describe it. It’s like a feeling, isn’t it? Isn’t that how you felt? Like you’re looking at the sun and there is nothing else that would ever look the way this does.”

“That’s exactly how it felt.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　✧･ﾟ

i wasn’t thinking about posting a preview for the sequel for another few weeks into august, but with this challenge going around i thought it was the perfect opportunity! thank you to @helladirections for making the summer fic challenge that this prompt was part of!

welcome to the world of harry and amelie, for a second time. this is a scene from the sequel that quite literally fulfils the vibe of ‘driving down the pacific coast highway’ and introduces the song that started it all! their story is one that i love so much and i hope you start to fall in love with them all over again.

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spine-buster · 4 years ago

Text

The President Wears Prada (William Nylander) | Chapter 8

November 10th, 2019

Aberdeen Bloom was in her hotel room.

The Leafs had lost to Chicago. Chicago scored four goals in the first period. It was a shitshow. And although the boys rallied back late in the third period, they just couldn’t get that fifth goal to send it into overtime and at least get a point. William scored two goals – en route to a hat trick – but didn’t get it. He did get third star of the game though. Aberdeen knew he was trying to impress his parents and show off in front of his brother.

The team was spending the night in Chicago before leaving late tomorrow for Long Island, meaning that Aberdeen had the day off and could actually go and explore. She’d never been, and she knew eight or ten hours was not nearly enough to really explore a city, but she thought about taking a city bus tour that hit all the major sites. Truthfully, she was learning more towards just spending the entire day at the Art Institute of Chicago. It was on her bucket list.

After the stress of travelling and the back to back games, she was tired. She’d taken a long, hot shower before putting on her pajamas and slipping into the hotel bathrobe. With her hair wrapped in a towel, she ripped open a sheet mask and put it on, massaging it onto her face. She texted Kasha, who sent her some pictures and videos of Minerva sleeping on her bed, which calmed her down but also made her wish she was curled up with her cat. Eventually, Aberdeen lay upright in bed, trying to get some reading of Women Talking by Miriam Toews done before she fell asleep.

But then there was a light knock at her door.

She was so tired and so annoyed and so engrossed in her book that she didn’t even bother to look through the peephole to see who it was. She forgot she was in her pajamas and bathrobe. She forgot she had an entire sheet mask on her face that made her look like Jason. She just opened the door, not thinking about anything.

Which made seeing William on the other side of the door all the more frightening.

He had quite the amused look on his face. “Hey.”

She shut the door in his face. She turned around so her back was against the door, internally freaking out, looking around for a means of escape. She seriously contemplated jumping out the window. It was only eight floors – that didn’t mean too many broken bones, right? She could…she could…

“Open the door, Aberdeen,” she could hear him from the other side, his voice low but loud enough that only she could hear.

“No,” she said, having the wherewithal to finally rip the sheet mask off her face and shove it into the pocket of the robe. It was still wet, damn it. A sheet mask wasted.

“Come on, Aberdeen.”

“What are you even doing here?” she asked.

“Would you rather Brendan find me outside your hotel room or would you rather hide me in the shower where he wouldn’t see me?” William asked rhetorically.

Aberdeen’s heart and her mind started racing, thinking that Brendan was on the way down to her room or down the hallway or something. She rushed to open the door and stuck her head out, looking down both ends of the hallway. William, for his part, slipped past her and into her room. “Is he here?!” she asked in a harsh whisper.

“God no. Brendan’s asleep,” William said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s eleven at night, Aberdeen. The man needs his rest.”

She looked back at him practically sauntering into her hotel room and shut the door, locking it behind her for full effect. She crossed her arms to make herself appear angry. William still had an amused smile on his face. “I reiterate my question – what are you even doing here?”

“Why wouldn’t I be here?”

“Weren’t you going to dinner with your parents and Alex?”

“That’s done.”

“So, like, don’t you want to spend time with your parents?”

“They have an early morning flight to catch to Dallas to visit Jackie at SMU,” he said. “They went back to their hotel and went to bed.”

“And shouldn’t you be doing the same thing?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Cause I wanted to see you, minskatt.”

A blush overcame her cheeks. “Will, this is really inappropriate,” she said, trying to mask it.

“Why?”

“You’re a hockey player in my hotel room,” she felt like she had to spell everything out for him. “If Brendan finds out he’d freak. If Kyle or Peter found out, they’d freak. Hell, if your teammates found out—”

“Even if they did, they wouldn’t say anything,” William interrupted her.

She stopped dead in her tracks. That was not plausible. Any single one of them would go to Brendan in a second if she and Will were caught together like this. In her hotel room. At night. Alone. “I have a hard time believing that.”

“They wouldn’t. They know that I like you, so they wouldn’t.”

Aberdeen couldn’t respond with anything because she could think of anything to say. He flummoxed her constantly. He kept rendering her speechless and she didn’t know what to do about it – didn’t know if she could do anything about it. She watched as he leaned against the TV stand, crossing his own arms over his chest. “I’m asking for a third time now – what are you doing here?”

“Was that a sheet mask you had on your face before?”

“Yes.”

“For what?”

She gave him major side eye. “Moisturizing. The traveling is drying out my skin.”

Will let out a slight chuckle. He looked past her towards her bed, and she followed his eyes and looked behind her. “What book are you reading?”

Was he being serious right now? Had he seriously made his way into her room to ask her about sheet masks and books? Not like she’d do anything else with him. But still. “Women Talking by Miriam Toews.”

“Do women talk in it?”

She audibly scoffed. “It’s about sexual assault in a Mennonite community.”

Will’s face dropped. “Oh fuck.”

Aberdeen couldn’t help but snort as she saw the look on his face. She tried to cover her mouth and her smile but the attempt was futile. He looked so embarrassed and it just brought her so much…well, delight. “God, Will,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning back to grab the book. “You are something else.”

“You like to read, then?” he tried to recover the conversation.

“I have a major in English, Will. And I want to become a writer. You can’t become a writer if you don’t read. Well I mean, you can, but you won’t be very good. And beyond that, I’ve made it my goal to read the shortlist of the Governor General Awards and the Giller Prize,” she said. She saw a slightly confused look on Will’s face. “They’re Canada’s highest literary awards. They’re like – well, not really, but you’re Swedish, so – it’s like being a Nobel Laureate, but obviously the Nobel is much more prestigious. I read them too.”

The smile that appeared on his face was so innocent and pure that she wanted to wipe it off his face. She couldn’t handle it. “I remember that you want to be a writer. You told me the first time we met,” he said. Aberdeen shivered. “So what are you doing here with the Leafs?”

“In my quest for any type of job, they were the only ones that called,” she informed him. “No newspapers or magazines came calling, so it was this or bank telling.”

He pushed himself off the TV console, making his way over to sit beside her on the edge of the bed. He looked over at her. “I think you’d make a great writer.”

“Thanks, but you haven’t read any of my writing.”

“Can I?”

“No.”

It was Will’s turn to snort. “Fair enough. Maybe I’ll get to read it one day.”

“I don’t know about that,” she said, smiling down at the book as she held it between her hands, being very careful not to lose the page. “How was dinner with your parents?” she pivoted, not wanting to talk about herself or her writing anymore. “I bet you miss them a lot.”

William shrugged his shoulders. “I’m kind of used to it. When I was a kid my dad would be gone a lot.”

Aberdeen thought the worst. “Why?”

William looked at her weirdly. “My dad was an NHL player, Aberdeen.” He saw the shock on her face and couldn’t help but chuckle. “Do you not, like, google these things?”

“Why would I google your dad? I thought he was just…I don’t know, your dad!” she tried to defend herself.

“Well, he is just my dad—”

“But he was an NHL player,” she said. “What team did he play for?”

“A bunch. He was a journeyman. Alex and I were actually born in Calgary, but then it was Tampa, Chicago, Washington, Boston, New York…then back to Washington,” William listed off the cities he’d lived in. “It was a lot of moving around. A lot of back and forth. A lot of missing dad.”

Aberdeen could never imagine moving around that much as a kid. She was very fortunate to have lived in the same house her entire life, however old and small it was. She knew William’s life growing up was probably very nice – much nicer than hers, in the sense that he had a lot more money with his dad being an NHL player and all – but all of that couldn’t make up for missing your dad because you couldn’t actually see your dad. The first time Aberdeen realized she actually missed her parents was the grade nine orientation retreat her school ran, when she went to a camp in Muskoka for three days and two nights and got eaten alive by mosquitos. She couldn’t imagine that feeling happening over and over again. And not just over and over again…but throughout her entire childhood. “But Sweden is always home?” she asked, trying to brighten up the mood.

“Always,” he replied automatically, resolute in his tone. “In the summers, when we’d be all together in Sweden, and it was just…you know, family time…that was the best. Our house in Stockholm, or our house in the countryside…it was always amazing.”

Aberdeen smiled at him. He was so clearly fond of Sweden and fond of his family. If their Halloween talk didn’t secure it enough, this did. She wondered how much he missed his siblings on a regular basis; how geographically, they were so far away from each other, but in every other way they were so close. Much like she and Siena. She missed Siena every day.

“Hey Aberdeen?” Will’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“You haven’t kicked me out yet.”

She gave him a look. He started chuckling at her scrunched up face, still glowing with moisturizer. “Don’t push it.”

***

November 13th 2019

Aberdeen felt both mentally and physically exhausted as the charter plane landed in Toronto just before midnight. The Leafs suffered another loss to the New York Islanders, John’s old team (who booed him every time he touched the puck, the savages), even though they battled back again from a goal deficit. Will scored. John scored too. But it wasn’t enough. Now, the team was officially on a three game losing streak (okay, technically only two if you didn’t count the shootout loss against Philly). Aberdeen was just…tired. She had the day off tomorrow to prepare for the Major Donor Dinner that night, worked Friday, and then – surprisingly – a full weekend off, since Brendan wasn’t traveling to Pittsburgh.

To says she was looking forward to it was an understatement.

“Who’s driving Aberdeen home?” John asked out loud as he always did when they came back from road trips late at night. She didn’t know if he’d taken it upon himself as the team captain to spearhead the movement, but she didn’t oppose it anymore. If they wanted to be chivalrous, she wasn’t going to stop them.

She usually rode into the city with Morgan, with Bee picking them up. Twice she’d gotten driven back into the city with Saylor and Kasperi. She was fully ready to hear Morgan’s voice pipe up like it always did – especially because Bee was always on time and already waiting for them by the time they landed. She even saw him about to say it, but he was cut off. “I’ve got it,” Will said immediately, not even looking at her. Morgan looked back at him, shrugging his shoulders. That was that.

Aberdeen noticed he drove a Volvo – of course he would, the Swede. She put her carry-on in the trunk and slipped into the passenger seat, waving goodbye at Justin Holl who had parked beside Will and was already backing out of his space. Will slipped into the driver’s seat, starting the car. He looked over at her, the smallest smile on his face. “Hey.”

“Hello.”

“You tired?” he asked.

“I’m exhausted.”

“Good,” he said, backing out of the parking spot, making his way out and onto the street.

“Good?”

“I’ve been waiting for this moment for a while,” he said, a smile on his face.

She side-eyed him. What exactly did he think they were going to get up to in his car of all places? She was wide awake now. “Why?”

“You always have your headphones in on the bus or plane when Brendan doesn’t need you.”

“So?”

“So it’s obvious you like music, and I’ve curated a playlist for this exact moment,” he smiled, fiddling around with his phone. He really shouldn’t have been doing that, since he was driving and it was illegal to do so. Aberdeen looked as he swiped through Spotify quickly, obviously knowing exactly where he needed to go.

“What moment is that?” she asked.

“Driving through Toronto at night,” he said, stopping at the red light. She chuckled slightly to herself, leaning her head back on the headrest and looking out her window. Of all the guys on the team, only Will would do something like this. Bee never made any playlists for driving Morgan home in the middle of the night. Hell, Saylor didn’t either. She was more preoccupied with telling Kasperi the exact details of what she’d been up to while he was gone, or telling him where they were going to go for drinks and oysters after they dropped Aberdeen off. “You ready?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

“If you put on Drake to drive through Toronto at night, Will, I swear to God…” she warned.

There was a dramatic pause. The opening notes of Drake’s ‘Passionfruit’ played. Aberdeen overexaggerated her scoff and disgusted face, and William’s infamous laugh was so loud it could be heard over the music. “God, William…” she chastised playfully.

“Oh come on! It’s a good song!” he tried to defend himself.

“It’s one of his better songs, sure. I’ll give you that,” she said. “But what a lousy start.”

Will’s jaw dropped. “Oh, really? You can think of something better?”

“I can think of a million different songs that are better,” she quipped. She looked down at his phone sitting in the little cubby and went to grab it. She scrolled through the list, getting more and more disgusted by the songs and artists he’d added to the playlist. “Your taste in music is awful,” she scoffed again.

“HEY!”

“It’s true!”

“Okay Miss Superior Music Taste—”

“Okay, first of all, if you’re going to choose a Toronto artist to start a ‘driving though Toronto at night’ playlist, it should be The Weeknd,” she began, typing his name into the screen and swiping to add ‘Starboy’ and ‘I Feel It Coming’ to the playlist. “Like, where is Tory Lanez? Where’s Daniel Caesar? And why is it all rappers? This is so stereotypical. You need better music.”

“It doesn’t just have to be people from Toronto,” he said, making a turn. “And it’s all rappers because I li—”

“Seriously, this is awful.”

“You’re really mean when you’re exhausted,” he quipped.

“If it doesn’t have to be just full of people from Toronto then I’m hijacking this playlist and making it good,” she ignored his comment, already swiping her fingers all over his screen and typing in name after name.

Will would glance over occasionally, trying to keep his eyes on the road but finding it hard. She looked so cute concentrating so hard as Passionfruit played in the background. He bit his lip, trying to remain composed. “God, you’re gutting that thing,” he said.

“That’s how bad it is.”

He shook his head playfully. “You better hurry up. Passionfruit’s almost over.” Aberdeen finished off, keeping his phone in her lap as she let Passionfruit end. “It better be good,” he said.

She shot him a playful glare. “It’s awesome, thank you very much.”

As ‘Passionfruit’ ended, ‘Bride’ by San Fermin came on. Aberdeen was immediately pulled into the sounds and beats, closing her eyes and let it wash over her. William, on the other hand, furrowed his brows. “What is this?”

“San Fermin.”

“Who?”

She shot him another glare – how many she’d shot him in this car ride alone, she couldn’t even say. “Can you just listen?”

William gave it about a minute before he began shaking his head again. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”

“You’re weak.”

“Put on something good this time,” he said as she picked up the phone again. He switched lanes to get onto the onramp for the Gardiner Expressway. He saw Aberdeen scrolling through the playlist, finally picking a song. ‘Green Light’ by Lorde. “Lorde? Really?”

“Don’t you dare say a bad word about Lorde,” she warned. “She’s perfect. Her music is perfect.”

“You think so?”

“She wrote Pure Heroine at sixteen. Sixteen!” she exclaimed. “I would give my left arm to have written like that at sixteen. I was writing awful, pretentious poetry about stupid boys in my high school at sixteen. And she wrote that entire album!”

William laughed, her clear enthusiasm and love of Lorde shining through in her words. It was adorable. She was adorable. She was many things, but right now, she was adorable. “Is she your favourite?” he asked.

“I have a lot of favourites,” Aberdeen admitted. “But yeah. She’s up there. Do you not listen to her?”

William shrugged his shoulders. “I know Royals. That was the big one, right? That’s basically it.”

“Well, you need to listen more.”

“Not the first time someone’s told me that,” he joked, keeping his eyes focused on the road.

Aberdeen bit her lip. She knew they were in the context of talking about music and her favourite artists, but that was a loaded sentence. When she and Brendan made their way to the locker room after the Islanders game, she could hear Mike Babcock’s voice from down the hallway. She’d watched and listened to some of his post-game interviews, and she wasn’t completely ignorant to the fact that he constantly, constantly, backhand complimented William and his skills. It didn’t matter if William got an assist, got one goal, even two goals – it was like Mike couldn’t say a good word about Will without undermining him somehow. She remembered the season opener, when William told her “I’m used to it” when she asked about it. She shifted uncomfortably in the passenger’s seat. “Will…”

“Hm?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course, minskatt.”

She paused to try to collect herself. “What, like…I mean, I don’t mean to be nosey or whatever, or intrude…but what – I mean…like what kind of like—”

“Spit it out, Aberdeen.”

“What’s the issue between you and Mike Babcock?” she finally asked.

Will looked over at her quickly, shocked that she’d asked the question. “Hell if I knew,” he mumbled, shrugging his shoulders. That was a lie – he did know part of it. At least, he thought he knew part of it. “I don’t…I…okay. Last year,” he began, “the 2018-2019 season. It was my contract negotiation year. I went unsigned throughout the summer because I was holding out for a specific number and a long-term deal instead of what we call a ‘bridge’, so like a two or three year deal. I…I didn’t want to be anywhere else but Toronto, no matter what anyone else said. I still don’t want to be anywhere else but Toronto,” he explained. “And so, because of that holdout, I didn’t attend training camp. I didn’t play basically for the beginning half of the season. There…there was a lot of drama. A lot of rumours in the Toronto media – really nasty rumours, some of them. A bunch of talk about trading me. It produced this really…I don’t know, this really toxic, like, cloud surrounding me. A lot of people were angry about it. But I got my deal – I signed on December 1st, the last day legally possible to be able to play.”

Aberdeen thought back to what he told her about his dad. How much Will missed him as a kid growing up because Michael would be travelling for hockey. How much Michael was gone all the time. How every few years, the family would have to pack up and move to a completely different city, in a completely different part of the country, following Michael on his journeyman hockey career. Of course William wanted a long term deal. It was no wonder. He didn’t want to experience what he had to experience growing up – being shuffled around the league – now as an adult.

“The media did their job though,” he continued, breaking her train of thought. “They were relentless. Malicious. They turned a lot of people against me – a lot of fans who were influenced into thinking I was a spoiled Swedish brat. Overhyped, overpaid, waste of money. A plug. Getting in the way of hiring a good Canadian boy, forgetting the fact that I was born in Calgary,” he almost smiled to himself, shaking his head. “So…I don’t know. I guess Mike didn’t get over my holdout. Maybe he feels bitter about it. Maybe he thinks I’m selfish, that I shouldn’t have held out. Maybe he thinks I’m an overhyped, overpaid plug taking a spot from a good Canadian enforcer or something. But it’s all hypothetical. It’s all maybes. I can’t tell you why, exactly, he always says those things.”

Aberdeen didn’t know any of this. She didn’t know William held out on his contract. She didn’t know there was a portion of the city that hated just him specifically. She didn’t know about bridge deals, long term deals, and about him wanting to be in Toronto – nowhere else. She didn’t know any of it. And that’s when she finally realized: that was her exact problem. This was why she kept making careless comments that made Brendan so upset. She didn’t know anything about the team; she didn’t know anything about its members, how they got to Toronto, how they liked being here. She didn’t know the history and barely took time to learn.

“You need to walk into this building everyday knowing and understanding the history of this hockey club beyond just the surface level and what Brendan tells you,” Kyle told her after she went crying to him like a baby. “But you already know what to do, Aberdeen. You just need to find it within yourself and do it.”

She needed to understand the team as an institution, but also as a group of guys creating and carrying on the legacy of that institution.

Now she knew.

“That’s awful,” she said, considering everything he told her. She couldn’t believe a coach would hold something like that against a player. “You…you don’t deserve that, Will. Any of it.”

“I know,” he said, nodding his head slightly. “You don’t have to tell me that, minskatt. Mike’s just…listen, he’s a good coach – a great coach. I mean, he’s won two gold medals. And he has a very specific system—”

“William,” she interrupted him. He looked over at her. “Don’t make excuses.”

He smiled at her – a true, genuine smile. And as he did, the opening notes of ‘Style’ by Taylor Swift began to play, and a shiver ran up Aberdeen’s spine. She had to look away – had to – because if she looked any longer at him, she would spontaneously self-combust. That, or lean over the centre console and do something she would immediately regret. As she looked out the front, she saw them approaching downtown – all the lights and the skyscrapers illuminating the city, and the CN Tower lit up brightly in red. “This is my favourite drive,” she mumbled.

“What?”

“This is my favourite drive,” she repeated, speaking up. “This…the Gardiner going into the city. Swerving through all the buildings. All the lights. And this song is perfect for it. Absolutely fucking perfect.”

William continued to smile at her, looking between her and the road as ‘Style’ continued to play. The riff, the beat…everything was perfect. She was busy focused on the view, and on the beat of the song, singing it lightly to herself, her voice getting above the volume of the song only minimally. She even took out her own phone and began recording the drive and the lights, no doubt to post on Instagram later. She looked perfect. She was perfect, at least to him. He needed to utilize every ounce of self-control he had in him as he continued to watch her. “This is really hard,” he said out loud, breaking somewhat.

“What? Listening to Taylor Swift?”

He laughed. “No. All I really want to do is reach across the dash and hold your hand but I know I can’t.”

She blushed, looking down at her hands instead of looking at him. She always had a few rings on – a few dainty ones, stacked, and one her mom gave her that once belonged to her grandmother – and she began playing with them nervously. He signalled to get off at the appropriate exit. “Will…”

“I know, I know,” he said. He was biting his lip down, hard, probably to stop him from saying or doing anything else. “I’m sorry.”

The rest of their ride was silent, since it wasn’t much longer until he reached her condo. When they finally arrived, she made sure he knew he didn’t have to get out of the car when he popped the trunk for her to get her carry-on. She rolled it back to the passenger window. “Thanks for the ride Will,” she smiled.

“Will I see you at the dinner tomorrow?” Will asked out the window, leaning over the centre console.

She paused for a second. He knew about that? She thought it was an office personnel only event. “You’re going?”

“Of course I am,” he smiled.

She rolled her eyes. “Of course you are.”

“Brendan likes to shuffle some of us out as a surprise for the donors. It’ll be me, John, Jason, and Mitch,” he explained quickly. “So I’ll see you there?”

“Yes. You’ll see me there.”

#william nylander #william nylander imagine #william nylander fic #william nylander fan fic #toronto maple leafs #toronto maple leafs imagine #toronto maple leafs fic #toronto maple leafs fan fic #nhl #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl fan fic #hockey #hockey imagine #hockey fic #hockey fan fic #the president wears prada series

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heartslogos · 4 years ago

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the declassified texts of the inquisition’e slite [157]

(610): I have cats now. Five of them. (301): Have you considered starting a global domination firm? -

“I thought that the Lavellans had a monopoly on the whole animal collection schtick.”

“No, no, not the Lavellans. Lavellan, singular. Ellana Lavellan,” Varric corrects as Merrill cheerfully foists off a fifth cat into Fenris’ waiting arms. The black and white tuxedo cat immediately starts purring and kneading against Fenris’ chest, looking like a smiling cartoon of a creature. “And her animal hoarding tends to stray towards the undomesticated kind. I mean. I’m sure if you sat her down in an animal shelter she’ll have an instant cult following but no one’s going to actually try that. I mean. Pretty sure head boss Trevelyan’s still trying to get her to get rid of some turtledoves.”

“Turtledoves?” Ander’s fine eyebrows raise as he happily cradles a calico cat in his lap, letting it play bite and bat with his hands.

“Don’t ask.”

“I’ll give you fifty bucks to ask,” Marian immediately says.

“Double it and not only will I ask but I’ll also get photos,” Isabela says, carefully moving Merrill’s cat crates to the side to give them more room.

“What are you going to do with five cats?” Fenris asks, nudging a fluffy white ball of fur to the side so he can sit down. “I thought your apartment didn’t allow pets."

Merrill doesn’t say anything to that, she just smiles and waves around a piece of string with a butterfly toy tied to one end. The fluffy white cat and the brown tabby that was hiding underneath the sofa immediately dart out to play with it.

“Merrill, have you learned how to not incriminate yourself?” Anders asks, attempting to set the cat in his lap down. The cat immediately turns to liquid in his hands, refusing to be moved.

“Do you need help apartment hunting?” Isabela asks. “I could probably find a place that would allow pets and is within budget. Give me two weeks tops.”

“Varric just helped me get this one, though,” Merrill frowns. “I’d feel bad to move again.”

“Daisy, we moved you in two years ago.”

“Yes, and I’ve just gotten comfortable. I know all of my neighbors and everything. I’ve been very meticulous in learning about my neighbors this time, Varric. You’d be very pleased with me. I know everyone’s schedules’ by heart now. I always know when something is wrong or suspicious.”

“Are you training her to be in your network of gossips and spies?” Fenris asks, lowering the cat in his arms to join the rest of the cats on the floor playing with the string and butterfly Merrill is wiggling around.

“Not intentionally, but I’ll take whatever I can get,” Varric replies.

Garrett sits down next to Merrill and starts swishing around his sister’s red bandana.

“Aveline said I ought to start my own company now that I have so many cats,” Merrill says. “Is that what normally happens? You get several cats and then you’re a business owner?”

“If that’s how it goes then I’m going about this all wrong.” Isabela smirks, lightly elbowing Marian in the ribs. “And Sebastian says I’ve got to straighten up my act.”

“Please don't straighten anything about yourself up, we’d all be suffering a terrible loss if you did,” Marian replies somberly.

“I don’t think that’s how it goes unless you’re in a really cliche movie,” Anders replies to Merrill. “How did you get five cats?”

“Would you believe it was entirely an accident?”

Everyone assembled says ‘yes’ at the same time, not sounding particularly surprised.

“I miss having a cat,” Anders sighs, “But I’m moving around too much right now. It wouldn’t be fair of me to adopt one.”

“Are you okay handling five cats?” Garrett asks Merrill. “That’s a lot of vet bills. Let me know if you need any help. It’ll be like I’ve got little nieces and nephews.”

“Thank you Garrett. Honestly, mostly they play with each other. I think they think I’m just their nosy school teacher come to spoil their fun. That’s how they act whenever I stop them from jumping inside my freezer. Not like they could all fit, mind you!”

Fenris hums, smiling a little as the brown tabby cat meanders over to him and tentatively starts sniffing at his pants.

“Do you think your cats would get along with our dog?” Marian asks. “I mean. Our dog is pretty good with all animals and all, but maybe your cats haven’t interacted well with a dog before.”

“We can try it,” Merrill says, “I mean. I don’t think they would have any problem with a dog. We can set up a playdate to see how it goes. What kind of company would one start if they have multiple cats? I don’t think I could handle global domination. I can’t even dominate my living room.”

“Cat cafe,” Anders says immediately. “If you start up a cat cafe I want it known that I suggested it first and I’d like some kind of VIP membership access, please.”

“I don’t think a cat cafe is a good match for Kirkwall.” Isabela’s eyebrows raise as she glances towards Varric. “Thoughts?”

“Any business can be Kirkwall business if you make it Kirkwall enough.”

“Helpful,” Fenris deadpans, “Incredibly insightful of you. I thought you were some kind of entrepreneurial expert?”

“Nah. I’m a writer through and through, I’ve got a poet’s soul and a dreamer’s imagination,” Varric waves his hand. He smiles as the white cat comes up to him, raising its front paws onto his knees and meowing for attention. “Any kind of business success I’ve had is pure luck.”

“I’m sure knowing all the dirt on literally everyone in Kirkwall doesn’t hurt either,” Anders says, “And having good friends in strategically high places.”

“You make it sound like I made friends with you lot for your connections.”

“No, it’s more like we were your friends and then you gave us connections.” Isabela reaches over to tug at the back of Varric’s short ponytail. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Just start a bodega, you’ve got the default bodega cats to go with it,” Marian says. “And you’re always getting your hands on a million strange things to sell. Might as well throw it all into one shop along with some common off-brand goods and call it a day.”

#heartsfic #gather your party and venture forth

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charmandhex · 5 years ago

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Ready, Set, Go

Read on ao3 here.

Sloane breathes a sigh as she turns the final corner. Not of relief, mind you. There’s no reason for relief at finding herself free and clear if there was never any risk of her being caught to begin with. And Sloane would never let herself get caught. She’d never even let herself get close. Even if that halfling lieutenant has gotten just a little closer to catching her than Sloane might like. But hey, it’s all part of the fun, all part of the game of cat and mouse, of raven and… okay, Sloane has no idea there. But anyway, Sloane can’t exactly flirt with and fluster the only cute detective on Goldcliff’s payroll if she keeps the other woman at a distance, now can she?

Sloane darts across the street, stepping under an overhang where the shadows are just a little deeper, courtesy of a broken streetlamp (and a rock Sloane had thrown months earlier). And then she steps into the garage. Her garage. Her sanctuary, the safest place she knows, a place for Sloane alone.

Sloane turns on the light.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

Sloane’s heart nearly takes flight out of her chest as the lieutenant steps out from behind a carefully covered battlewagon. The monk crosses her arms, raising an eyebrow, with a smug smile playing about her lips. Sloane is supposed to be the one with a smug smile playing about her lips! She’d joked just last week about the other woman having to kiss it off her to get rid of it!

“Ah. Um. Ahem.” Sloane says, her usual eloquence for the moment misplaced.

“I bet you’re wondering how I found you here,” the other woman says proudly, gesturing at the garage at large. “It was actually pretty easy. I’m a really good cop, you know. I-”

Sloane finds her voice. “Actually, I was wondering what your name is. It seems to me we know each other well enough that I should be able to call you something besides nicknames. Unless that’s what you’d prefer, beautiful?”

As expected, the monk’s face turns pinker than her hair. “You- ah- are- shit- under- shit- arrest- SHIT.” The lieutenant buries her face in her hands. She mumbles something, the words muffled by her hands.

“Sorry, I didn’t get that.”

The detective jerks her still very pink face out of her hands to glare at Sloane. If Sloane didn’t know any better, she might be intimidated. But as it stands, with more than a dozen interactions with the detective to date, Sloane has to hide a laugh. “Why would you say that? I’m trying to arrest you here!”

Sloane hums before giving a shrug and striding forward, making no effort to hide the bag she drops on her worktable. The stolen coins clink against each other at the collision. “Name’s Sloane,” Sloane says as she spins around, facing the monk once more.

For her part, the detective blinks. “Are you… are you sure you want to introduce yourself to the person arresting you?” She asks, somewhere between bewildered and concerned.

“Call it a gamble,” Sloane says, tilting her head to the side, bird-like, before she pulls off the mask as well, making sure to give her hair a toss as she does. Gratifyingly, the halfling woman turns even pinker than she had before. “I don’t think you’re going to arrest me tonight.”

“Uh-huh. Why? Are you- shit, do you think you’re going to persuade me out of arresting you? ‘Cause that’s not happening, no way, ma’am.”

“Oh, but I have naturally high charisma. Wouldn’t you agree?”

And face back into her hands. She murmurs something else, this even quieter and near inaudible behind the shield she’s set for herself.

“Again, didn’t quite catch that.”

“Hurley. My name is Hurley.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Hurley.” Sloane takes a step forward and extends a hand to the other woman. Hurley peaks out from behind her hands before sighing, taking Sloane’s hand in her own.

“Don’t get it twisted. I’m still arresting you. Yep. Definitely, definitely still arresting you. Because I am a cop. I’m a good cop.”

“Right. That’s why you haven’t let go of my hand.” Sloane teases gently. “You’re just waiting to get the cuffs on me.”

Hurley drops her hand like it’s on fire. To be entirely fair, Sloane’s own hand seems to be burning where Hurley had held it.

“No! I mean- listen, it’s not just- you’re just- I’m just- shit.” Hurley slumps against the side of the covered battlewagon, eyeing Sloane wearily. “You’re a battlewagon racer.”

Sloane blinks. That was… unexpected. Almost as unexpected as finding Hurley in her garage to begin with. But wait. Wait a second. Sloane might just be able to roll this to her advantage. “Yeah. Yes. Yes, I am. The Raven, master thief and master battlewagon racer, at your service.” Sloane says with a graceful flourish.

Hurley pushes off the battlewagon. She opens her mouth, and it’s like a dam bursts. “You have one of the best records out of all the regular racers, regardless of who you’re racing with or against. You’ve only placed below fifth once, and you’ve never had a serious crash in your battlewagon. And that, that thing you did two weeks ago, with, with the whip and how you knocked a boarder off while still driving! That was- that was amazing.” Hurley takes a breath.

“It’s always nice to meet a fan.” Sloane grins, watching closely. “You like battlewagon racing, Hurley?”

Hurley breathes out again, a small, quiet sound. “I love it,” she admits softly. But then she seems to remember something, straightening up and squaring her shoulders. She meets Sloane’s even gaze squarely as she says, “But it is illegal, and I am a member of the Goldcliff militia.”

Sloane is unperturbed, offering an easy smile as she says, “Most fun things are.”

“No, most fun things are not- illegal- just, just that fun thing. So, here, I’ll arrest you now, and we’ll add that to your list of crimes, and we’ll be on our way-”

“Do you want to try it?”

“Try… try it?”

“Try battlewagon racing.” Sloane pauses. “With me.”

“Try battlewagon racing… with you.”

“You know, repeating what I’m saying back to me isn’t really an answer.” Sloane leans down, her face close to Hurley’s, lowering her voice as she says, “C’mon, Hurls, just one race. If you don’t fall completely in love…” Sloane pauses, and Hurley takes in a breath. “If you don’t fall completely in love with racing, then you can arrest me.”

Hurley nearly squeaks. “I… I…”

Sloane takes a step back. “Really, Hurley, you should take the deal. I mean, you could still try to arrest me now, but we both know I could run and escape easily. But if you try racing and decide it’s not for you, then I’ll come quietly. If you really want to arrest me, you’ll know that’s the best option.”

“I’ll do it.” Hurley’s voice comes out in a rush, seeming to surprise even her. “Shit! But only, but only in the pursuit of justice, you know.”

“Naturally,” Sloane says. Her mouth quirks into a grin. “Then let’s get started.”

“Started? Now?” Hurley looks around, confused. “It’s the middle of the night! And the next race isn’t for another week!”

Sloane gives a mock gasp of shock. “Lieutenant Hurley! Now whyever would you know when the next illegal battlewagon race is taking place?”

Hurley sighs. “All right, what did you have in mind, Sloane?”

Sloane’s grin returns. “Lesson One. You know about racing. But what do you know about battlewagons?” She asks as she grandly whips the cover off her battlewagon. From the duly impressed look in Hurley’s eyes and the tentative way she reaches out to carefully touch the battlewagon, the answer to Sloane’s question is a lot. “Excellent. Let’s get started.”

And the two do just that, Hurley getting acquainted with the battlewagon and all its various trappings. Sloane makes a mental note they’ll have to meet up again to take the battlewagon out for a spin (not because she needs more time to convince Hurley not to arrest her, just to make sure the other woman is a competent driver of course). And the two spend time getting more acquainted with each other. After all, flirting and playful banter tossed onto the wind over the streets of Goldcliff is fun, but really not the best way to get to know someone. And Sloane would dearly love to really get to know Hurley.

Sometime later, the two are sitting, leaning back from a schematic they’ve been poring over. Sloane looks over to Hurley, clearly tired after a long day and a longer night but still with a determined sparkle in her eye.

“I’ve figured it out.” “Figured what out?” Hurley asks around a yawn as she stretches, the monk’s motions fluid and graceful.

Sloane leans forward, resting a hand on Hurley’s forearm. Must be some weird monk thing, a distant part of her thinks, the way touching Hurley’s skin seems to set her own ablaze. “What your mask should be of course.”

“And what would that be?” Hurley looks at Sloane skeptically. Sloane retreats, but she is in no way defeated.

“Ram.” Sloane declares proudly.

“A ram?” Hurley’s skepticism only deepens. Clearly she’ll require a great deal of convincing. Luckily, as they’ve seen so far, Sloane is more than equal to the task.

Sloane carefully reaches forward, as carefully as Hurley had reached out to the battlewagon at first, watching Hurley’s reaction as she does. When she sees only amusement with a touch of surprise and the first hint of fondness, she lightly taps Hurley on the nose. “Ram, definitely.”

“Okay, why?”

“You’re stubborn.”

“You really know how to flatter a woman.” Hurley throws her head back and laughs, and Sloane watches, even more delightedly satisfied in making Hurley laugh than in making her blush.

“You’re stubborn. You’re the only one out of that whole damn department who could have ever caught me. You’re the only one who ever came close, and you did that several times over. And you actually found me. And to top it all off, for me, at least, you’re clearly going to be a wonderful partner. You learned everything about battlewagon racing despite the questionable-”

“Entirely illegal.”

“The questionable legality of the sport.” Sloane finishes, ignoring Hurley’s amused interruption. “You’re fierce and strong, and you keep fighting. You’re a ram. My ram.”

Hurley smiles, now leaning over to Sloane, her face close to Sloane’s. “In that case, I know why you’re the Raven, Sloane,” She says slowly, her voice like warm honey, her hand reaching out to run her fingers through Sloane’s hair, hanging loose like a curtain around them.

“You do?” Surely, surely, that wasn’t Sloane’s heart skipping a beat. She lets out the smallest of coughs. “So, ah, because I’m proud, beautiful, and incredibly smart?”

Hurley leans even closer and whispers directly in her ear. “It’s because you like stealing shiny things.”

Sloane jerks backward, staring at Hurley in shock as the other woman starts laughing uproariously. After a moment, Sloane’s lips curve into a smile, and she joins Hurley in filling the garage with laughter that sweeps over every surface, much like the dawn light now peaking in through the windows.

Their laughter gradually dies down, and it’s then that Hurley finally seems to realize the hour.

“Oh, oh shit! I have to get to work!” Hurley jumps up. Sloane rises more slowly, and Hurley looks at her. “I’ll… I’ll be back later? If later is good? To- just to practice driving? Not to arrest you, no, I’m a woman of my word, and I’m not going to arrest you until after the race!”

As she had done earlier in the evening, Sloane extends a hand out to Hurley, which she takes. And as earlier, Sloane feels a warmth like fire in her hand. A smile spreads across her face.

“Lieutenant Hurley, I think we’re going to be wonderful partners.”

#taz #taz balance #taz fic #taz fanfic #hurloane #taz sloane #taz hurley #the adventure zone #charm works #I saw the pttm graphic novel previews and this was the result

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kuro99kaede · 5 years ago

Text

Catradora fanfic (4) So here´s the fanfic I mentioned... I hope it´s...acceptable (PD: I´m still working on it)

Chris had the sword in his hand to protect himslef. He found a place to hide and run towards it tiptoeing. Despite his effort he knew his siblings will find him like they always did. But this time, he thought, it would be different, this time he was going to win.

But then he heard some feline growl near him and he begun to sweat.

Chris: Oh, boy...Please, go away, go away.

He looked up and her green eyes where there wathing him and a dark blonde tail twitching.

Rebecca: (smiling) Hey, little brother. Whatcha doing? No talking? Cat's got your tongue?

Then his older brother's yellow eyes appeared.

Johnny: There you are, you sneaky mouse!

He hit his sword with his stick and Chris inmediately reacted at deflected it. He got up to face him.

Johnny: You should really take a shower before training and...after training, that's for sure. But my point is...you stinck. It's really easy to track you.

Chris: But admit it, I almost lost you, guys.

Johnny: Hmm,...nop. You weren't even close. I hope you at least impress me with that shiny sword which, if I'm not mistaken, it's not yours. It does look familiar to me, does it look familiar to you, Rebecca?

Chris: Stop distracting me! I...I have mom's permission, okay?

Rebecca: Is that so?

Chris: Yes! Can we fight now?

Johnny: I thought you would never ask.

Rebecca: You go first. I'm just gonna wait here if you guys don't mind (she sat on the floor). I can be pretty savage while fighting and and don't want to hurt you, Chris.

Chris: Oh, come on! I don't care, I just need to practice.

Rebecca: Sorry not sorry. But Johnny, on the other hand, he can control himself. Besides, you can't fight us both at the same time, can you?

Chris: I can take it!

Rebecca: Riiiight....

Chris: Okay, whenever you are ready.

Chris attacked first but Johnny evaded him. And when he finally struck back, Johnny fell.

Rebecca: Should I bring some band aids?

Chris: I'm okay!!!

Chris tryied to defeat him for the fifth time. He was already covered in band aidsand some bruisses.

Johnny: Okay, take it easy. And careful with mother's sword.

Chris: Yeah, yeah.

Johnny: Don't get me wrong, you are good but-

Rebecca: Buuut...not as good as he is.

Johnny: Really? I'm trying to do a motivational speech over here.

Rebecca rised her arms so as to show her surrender.

Johnny: So where was I? Don't hate me for this but I think you need another instructor. Maybe the fact that we are your family is holding you back. But you're thinking with the muscle, you want your oppenent already on your knees but you're not thinking how are you planning to do that.

Chris:...Maybe...

Johhny: And you're moving slower that the previous time. That's it. No more comments.

Rebecca: (with sarcasm) Wow, very motivating indeed. Soooo inspiring.

Johnny: You okay there, little bro?

Chris: Yup, I've never been better.

Johnny: Do you want to take a minute?

Chris: I think...it would be for the best.

Johnny rubbed his hair and head for the showers before breakfast could be served. Chris sat down beside Rebecca.

Silence...

Rebecca: (teasing) Is...mom's sword too heavy for you?

Chris: Shut up. Johnny is allowed to use mom's jacket from the Crimson Waste but I can't use mom's sword. It isn't fair.

Rebecca: Hey, first of all, that's nit her jacket. He likes to think it is but it's not. They are not the same size! And secondly, our fashion sense doesn't compare to the fact that that sword belongs to mom and it's bigger than you. I'm serious, our moms are awesome and we should take their example but don't put too much pressure on yourself, okay? That sword, for instance, is meant for her, you should find your own weapon. And last but not least, she always fricks out when someone steals her sword and I would really like to avoid her noisy complaints, don't you want that, too?

Chris: Yeah...

Rebecca: Good boy.

Chris: You know, that was much more inspiring that Johnny's speech.

Rebecca: You're flattering me. I'm glad someone has finally recognised my qualities. Johnny tries, though. He wants you to succed as much as you do, he worries too much. I do, too. You should, too. This is important but it takes time aaaanddddd you're safety comes first so...be careful, okay, kiddo?

Chris: I'm not a kid anymore. I'm a man!

Rebecca: Woah, get ahold of yourself. You're a...little man. Not even Johnny and I are adults yet. Don't rush it, you can't beat us in that race, kiddo. Whether you like it or not, we are older. But if you are soooo desperate to follow mom's steps, remember that she was young too when she figured out she was She-Ra.

Chris: But she was young as you...

Rebecca: Shhhh, but still. She was young. Now come on, let's have breakfast. I'm starrrrvingggg.

Chris: Hahaha so am I!

From the showers:

Johnny: Did someone say breakfast??? Are you guys going to eat without me??? Why isn't anyone answering me??? I know you're listening! Did you left without me???

Chris and Rebecca were laughing.

Rebecca (still laughing): YES!

Johnny: Rebecca! Don't leave me and don't you dare drinking all the milk like you did yesterday! I know you did that just to mess with me! Chris, buddy! Tell her!

Chris: I mean, if she is thirsty...

Rebecca: Did you hear that? The human has chosen his side. Welcome to the dark side, little man.

Johnny: REBECCA, NO!

Rebecca: REBECCA, YES! Let's go, Chris! At any moment now he'll get out of the shower and hunt us down. I bet I can get that milk carton before he does.

Chris: Do you think he'll slip on the way here?

Rebecca: For the love of Grayskull, no. It would be wrong to wish harm on somebody...

Chris: ...

Rebecca: ...

Chris: ... Are we going to the kitchen or-?

Rebecca: Did you bring the camera with you by any chance?

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Glimmer: Adora, there's no time for this.

Adora: Come on, you are gonna love this. We can relax and hang out with your aunt later. This location was on the way here...

Glimmer: How is this temple close to Mystacor?!

Bow: Adora knows what she's doing, right Adora?

Adora: Yup. Just follow me.

Bow: She thinks this can help us so we believe it too.

Glimmer: I know but...I just...I would really like to feel that steam grotto right now.

Bow: Oh, don't even mention it...

Adora: Ehem! Focus! So here's the plan: we are gonna drop by, say hi to Light Hope, ask her some questions and get out and then...I'll have time for your apologies.

Glimmer: You won't get any! Adora, the last time we were here that thing didn't even recognized you at all. It's broken!

Adora: That was a long time ago and she's not! Light Hope is fine. Yeah, she's a little rusty and she has still difficulties to understand me BUT we actually did have a normal conversation the other day. I believe she can give us some good intel. You won't believe how much information she has.

Bow: Well, it's not Mystacor...but still, I can't wait to spend the weekend in a...temple.

Glimmer: WHYYYYY?!

Adora: Come on, guys! This is fun, too! It's not just any temple, it's my temple!

Bow: Tecnically,-

Adora: MYYYYYY TEMPLE! Just give it a chance, okay? For me?

Bow: Hmmm...Okay, I'm in.

Glimmer: As if we had a choice! The temple is right there!

Adora: (speeding up) Woohoo! I can't wait! Light Hope has some tricks up her sleeve and I tell ya', it's gonna blow your minds...

. . .

Adora: Light Hope? It's me! Do you...remember me? Hehehe Please work.

Light Hope: Adora. How could I have forgotten you?

Adora: Phew...

Light Hope: I wasn't expecting you today. Is there something I can do for you?

Adora: Funny you should ask hehe

Light Hope: How is my question...funny?

Adora: It's not- (sigh) Nevermind. So, as you know I've been improving so much these days thanks to your help, of course, and as you are all-knowing, I thought that...maybe...as a reward you could tell me everything I don't know about the Horde and, I don't know, about myself.

Light Hope: You need to be more specific, Adora. But you are correct, I am all-knowing, in fact-

Glimmer: How long is this going to take?

Light Hope: Proccesing query.

Adora: She's getting there.

Light Hope: Recalculating.

Adora: Just give her time...

Bow: Glad I brought my card game so no need to worry. Now, who wants to see a magic trick?

Light Hope: ...I have information about the Horde, their plans and ambitions, I also happen to have information about you're childhood, you're former friends,-

Glimmer: I wouldn't call it magic, though...

Adora: Guys, I'm trying to listen to her.

Bow: You know what I mean, Glimmer. So... prepare to be amazed.

Glimmer: (ironically) I'm so ready for your...magic, is it? Whenever you want, I'm waiting.

Light Hope:...As you should know, my purpuse is to assist you, and in order to know all about you I also posses information about the future aswell. For instance, I have recieved accidentaly a signal from an unknown source which would allow us to see your children and possibly communicate with th-

Adora: Woah, Woah, Woah. Hold on right there. What did you say?

Bow and Glimmer stopped playing around and paid attention.

Light Hope: I said a lot of things.

Adora: The things you said about the future? You said something about my kids.

Light Hope: Oh, yes. Are you interested about that information?

Adora: I mean, yes! Who wouldn't want to know about the future? (She touched her forehead with the palm of her hand) I can't believe I have kids...

Light Hope: Three of them. Would you like to see them? I can show you.

Adora: S-see them?

Glimmer: (whispering) Yes, say yes!

Bow: But, Adora, are you sure? We shouldn't mess with the future.

Glimmer: She's absolutely sure, Bow! Adora, don't let him get in your head.

Bow: Well, it's not like were going to travel through time because that would be (awkward laugh)..so messed up. We could just take a look, right? What would be the harm in that...?

Light Hope: Shall I?

Adora waited a few seconds then nodded nerviously.

A huge screen appeared all of a sudden and the three of them were caught off guard and screamed. Bow jumped in Glimmer's arms and they fell. Adora took a step back but then she was already hipnotized by the screen and sat down. She put her elbows in her legs to support her head. The screen showed a big training room from above.

Adora: That's...the Fright Zone. How can it be? (She looked at Light Hope) It's a little different, though. It has more windows than I can recall.

Light Hope: Apparently the Rebelion won this war and everyone in Etheria is on your side, even Hordak. I've been watching your kids for a while now-

Glimmer: Stalker much?

Light Hope: And I found out that your family goes there on the weekends to, how do you people say it, "hang out"?

Bow: Yeah, but please don't say it again. It's weird.

Light Hope: Hmm, I shall make a note of that. As I was saying, The Horde is not longer The Horde as you know it. There are no cadets now and Hordak abandoned his cruel personality. He spends most of this time with princess Entrapta. No one else is allowed in there, appart from your family, Adora. You came back to the Horde because you once believed it felt like what it should be called a home and you made it your home. With regard to your children, they make the most out of The Horde. See it for yourself.

Adora: The Horde, huh? Yeah, I admit...I still...miss it. Can you like...zoom it?

Light Hope: My pleasure.

The screen was focused on Chris.

Bow: It's a boy! And Adora, look! He has your eyes!

Adora: And my shoulder pads. This young man has style. He's definitely my son, for sure. Yup.

Glimmer: And...he seems to have your attitude, too...

Chris was kicking the air with his hands.

Bow: The kid has some moves.

Chris: Hey, thief, you looking at me? (And he resumed to fight with his imaginary oppenent) Take that!

Glimmer: Oh, please...

Chris (reaching for Adora's sword in his back): I guess I should say goodbye to you. Meh, it can wait. (And then he began to swing the sword violently)

Adora: Oh, how cute he has a-...IS THAT-!? OH, THAT LITTLE SHIT IS GOING TO PAY! (She inmediately got up and and rolled up her sleeves to fight with the screen but Bow and Glimmer took her by the arms)

Glimmer: Whaaat...do you think you're doing?

Adora: I'M GONNA TEACH HIM SOME RESPECT! LET ME GO!

Light Hope: You seem to be angry, how can I make you feel better?

Bow: Adora! Listen! What you are seeing tecnically it didn't happened yet. See? Your sword is right here.

Adora stopped and looked at her sword mesmerized and hugged it.

Adora: Yeah, yeah, I-..I know that. You're right here. I've got you. (She slowly sat down).

Then someone they coudn't see said:

"Chris, he's coming! Stop playing with that thing and get the camera!"

Chris: On it! (He grabbed his pad)

Adora: Guys, guys, guys, get the popcorn and the soda!

Bow: But here there isn't any-

Adora: Of course there is. I...might have stolen some food from Brightmoon to have some supplies just in case. What? I get really hungry after training.

Glimmer: You're always hungry, Adora.

Adora: Yeah...

Glimmer: Now, come on.

Bow: But...the movie...

Glimmer: Get your ass over here, Bow!

Bow: I'm going, I'm going!

Light Hope: Do you wish to coninue?

Adora: Yes, please. So, I've met Chris, what else do you have for me?

Chris and Rebecca were hidding. Johnny begun to run while holding the towel he had on his waist.

Johnny: WHERE ARE YOU? COME BACK HERE! YOU CAN'T HIDE FROM ME FOREVER! YOU'RE GONNA REGRET THIS!

And then, as predicted, he fell.

Adora: Okay, hmm, wasn't expecting that.

Rebecca showed herself and walked towards him with her arms crossed.

Rebecca: Hey, brother...Hahahaha I may not know a lot of this but I certainly do not regret this. Did you filmed that, Chris?

Chris gave her the thumbs-up.

Johnny: What?! Delete that now, Christian!

Rebecca: You should see your face, you're like "Ahh, no! Betrayal!"

Johnny: I can't believe you're encouraging him to do this kind of things, Rebecca. (He got up)

Chris: That's right, Rebecca. I can't believe how are you to still pulling such childish, immature,- IS THAT A MOUSE!?

Rebecca oppened her eyes widely, her hackle rised and her claws were out.

Johnny: HAHAHAHAHA Nice one, buddy. Consider yourself forgiven. Is she ever not going to fall for that?

Rebecca: ...I hate you.

Johnny: We love you, too, sis. Now, tell me you didn't finish the milk.

Rebecca: Ugh, you're unbelievable. (pissed) Here! (She throw the milk carton at him and he grabbed it in the air). Let's go, I got bored. This is not funny anymore.

Johnny: But it is funny when you make fun of people, right?

Rebecca: I don't know what you are talking about.

Johnny: Speaking of, do you mind if I take a look to that video you recorded, Chris? (He tryied to grabb it with his tail)

Chris: No way! Get off me! And put your clothes on!

Johnny: I would have if someone hadn't threatened me and my milk.

Rebecca: Our milk! Are you looking for an apology? Because you're not getting one. Can we go now? I need food!

Chris: So do I. How are we so hungry? I can't believe I'm still in shape after all the food I eat every day.

Johnny: It's normal, kiddo-

Rebecca: Normal? (jocking) We are mom's kids, of course we are hungry. (Chris laughed)

Johnny: That...explains it, too.

Chris: Oh, man, it's 11:00 already! We should finish our breakfast and head off to Brightmoon quickly!

Johnny: Shit! Fine, let me get changed.

Rebecca: Uh, where do you think you are going with that milk carton?

Johnny: The milk is coming with me! I don't trust you, miss.

Rebecca hissed.

Chris: Guys, come on!

Rebecca: Take it easy, little man. Uncle Bow and auntie Glimmer will understand. Our parents, on the other hand, won't be happy about us showing up late, though...

Chris: Do you think Bow and Glimmer will recognize us after three long weeks?

Rebecca: Sure! I mean, you are a little chubby but they'll guess who you are.(she put her arm behind the back of his neck and let her body rest on his shoulders for a minute)

Chris: Hahaha, you are the worst sometimes.

Rebecca: Hey! Watch it, now look who's being mean.

Chris: Not as mean as mom.

Rebecca: Savage! But...which one of them are you referring to?

Adora was speechless.

Adora: They are...cats?

Light Hope: Just to be clear, just two of them have feline characteristics but the third one is human.

Adora: Right, right...But...they...are...cats.

Bow: We are here! (They entered the room as soon as they could and sat down next to Adora).

Glimmer: Sorry we are late. Making popcorns without a microwave was quite...challenging.

Glimmer took a long sip from her refreshment. Bow with his mouth full of popcorn said:

Bow: What are we looking at?

Glimmer: What did we miss?

Adora breathed and closes her eyes but left one open just to see their reaction.

Adora: Nope, nothing at all, apart from, well, the fact that,,...hmmm, I think Catra's the daddy? As for your question, nope, you guys didn´t miss a thing.

Without warning, both Bow and Glimmer spit out what they had in their mouths and then said in unison "WHAT?!"

Glimmer: HOW CAN THIS BE? WHY HER? OH, GOD! WHY HER?????? (She begun to eat the popcorn Bow had nonstop) Those poor kids, Bow..

Bow: Relax, Glimmer.

Adora (already blushing, she placed a hand behind her nape): Yeah, it's not...that...bad.

Glimmer: "NOT THAT BAD"! (still crying) OH, BOW, WE LOST HER!

Bow: But Adora when you say you think she is you mean you're not sure if she is-

Light Hope: Your assumptions are correct. Catra is the children's mother and Adora's wife in this unchangable future.

This time Glimmer spit the popcorn and grabbed her head desperately and Bow passed out in Adora's lap.

Light Hope: I believe your friends are in distress because of the news I gave them. Should I turn off the screen?

Adora: Emm...No, no, that won't be necessary. They'll be okay, I-I promise.

Light Hope: And are you..."okay"?

Adora looked at the screen:

Chris (looking at Adora´s sword): I should return you now so...see ya later, okay? Mom´s gonna be furious!

Adora giggled.

Adora (moved): Yeah...I am, Light Hope.

...

#catradora #catra x adora #adora x catra #she-ra #she ra #to be continued...

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amyscascadingtabs · 5 years ago

Text

i’ll walk through hell with you

chapter 4: i’ll crawl with you on hands and knees

read on ao3

read previous chapters

A medical process begins, bringing with it a rollercoaster of emotions.

may

“If this had been a crime scene,” Jake says, looking at the medication vials lined up on their meticulously cleaned kitchen table, “my first impression would be that the people in this home are drug dealers.”

“And if you’d been a better detective,” Amy counters, “you’d have done a quick search of the names to find out they’re fertility drugs.”

“Hey! I’m a great detective!”

She points to the engagement ring on her finger and then to herself. “But I’m the best detective. No take-backs.”

“If I’d known you’d be using my proposal speech against me six years later, I would have written it down first.”

She laughs, shaking her head and unfolding the instruction paper from their doctors to reread the information for the fifteenth time. If Amy had to do a theoretical exam tomorrow on how to administer these injections, she’d get a solid A+, but, gathering the actual courage to do it isn't something you can study for. She's feeling increasingly shaky at the thought.

It's been over a month since they made their decision. Getting insurance papers in order takes time, as does binder-making, as does confirming each micro-decision with the clinic. For an entire month, Amy's been itching with anticipation and nerves, and she’s both bursting with excitement and sighing with relief over feeling in control for the first time in seven months, but she’s also being struck by the realization of what she’s about to do. As many borderline-insane experiences as she’s lived through, she’s never done this before, and she’s clueless what to expect.

She reads through the instructions yet another time before she starts.

Jake doesn't look much more stable. He's eyeing her carefully, biting his lip as she prepares the injection, measures up the medication and twists the needle on with minute, precise movements.

“You look like a professional,” he comments on her focused expression, and she makes a doubtful grimace. “Are you sure you haven't done this before?”

“Shot hormones into my stomach? It’s a first.”

“Are you nervous?” It could have been a teasing question, a reason to make fun of her, but when she meets his eyes she sees only concern. It peels away the tough facade - which she was barely grappling onto as it was - instantaneously.

“I'm really nervous,” she says, feeling her heart thundering in her chest like it’s about to break through her skin, and he nods.

“Me too.”

“Do you think you could give me the shot?”

Jake blinks. “You want me to do it? I… are you sure, Ames?”

“Please?” She gives him a pleading look as he looks from the syringe to her and back again, twisting his hands in his lap. “At least the first time, before I know what it feels like?”

And we said we’d do this together, she opens her mouth as if to add, but the words feel superfluous. They’re a given, and from the way he reaches out his hand to gently hold hers, stroking his thumb over her wrist as he nods, she knows that he knows, too.

She folds the hem of her tank top to sit underneath her chest and grabs an alcohol wipe before there’s time for either of them to change their mind.

“I don’t like this,” Jake confesses as she gives him the syringe, quickly instructing him on the procedure another time. “It feels like I’m hurting you. ”

“You’re not.” She closes her eyes, grabbing the disinfected skin with both hands. “Just inject me.”

“Title of your sextape?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Fair,” he says, and then she feels the quick pinch.

The injection burns. It’s better than she feared, but far from pleasant, and she tenses for the few everlasting seconds it takes before it's over and Jake presses a bit of gauze to the area.

“Wow,” he laughs, drawing a relieved breath when she opens her eyes again. “I can't believe I did that. I am so brave.”

She glares at him. “Excuse me?”

“Kidding, kidding.” He chuckles again before wrapping her in a tight hug. “You did great, babe.”

She can feel the liquid stinging beneath her skin. Despite the discomfort, Amy already prefers this over the frustration of the last seven months - at least it means they’re actively doing something. The physical pain is a drop in the ocean compared to the mental agony of endless disappointments she's gone through, and she’d choose it above the latter in a heartbeat.

Maybe, she lets herself think, a timid but golden glimmer of hope shining through the grey clouds of hesitance. Maybe this could actually work.

Jake kisses her cheek before his head moves lower. Just as she's about to ask what he thinks he's doing, she feels his lips brush against her skin, once, twice, a few inches from the injection place.

“Better?” He asks, and she manages a weak smile.

“Much.”

The second shot is easier than the first one, the third easier than the second. By the fourth night, she's gathered enough confidence to do the procedure all on her own when Jake has to stay late at work, and by the fifth night, she no longer winces at the stinging sensation.

It's absurd, she thinks as the burning slowly fades, the things you get used to.

She plans their schedule around level checks at the clinic, taking blood tests and doing ultrasounds while Leah happily lays a puzzle on the floor of the examination room. A nurse compliments the toddler’s skill and Leah shines up like the sun itself, and after Amy’s told her body’s reacting perfectly to the stimulating hormones, they both leave the clinic grinning. She’s in such a good mood, she can’t even bring herself to say no when her daughter points to the frozen yogurt place across the store and looks at Amy with the pleading puppy-eyes that are so hard to resist. She’s not too proud about breaking their rule of ice cream being a weekend treat, but she has to admit that watching Leah shine with pride as she makes varyingly successful attempts of feeding herself without spilling is both an awesome celebration and happiness boost.

Even without the level checks, she would have been able to tell the injections are taking. She’s sore, her head wrecks, and she feels bloated enough to consider changing into yoga pants several times a day. She’s exhausted in a way she hasn’t been since she had a newborn, nearly falling asleep at her desk in the afternoons and being nudged awake by a worried beat cop, and it takes every ounce of her willpower not to start crying herself when Leah has her third breakdown for the day over the disappearance of a puzzle piece. On day eight of injections, Amy falls asleep on the couch before it’s time to take them, and when Jake wakes her up there’s a part of her wishing he hadn’t.

“We could still change our minds and get a cat instead,” he suggests in a half-hearted attempt at a joke as she mumbles a curse when she feels the stinging. “Way fewer needles, just saying.”

“Please don’t tempt me right now,” she mutters. He laughs nervously before repeating the same action he’s taken to each time they do this together, leaning down and placing a feather-light kiss right above the injection area.

It’s transient, but for a second, she allows herself to think there’s a certain beauty to this process, too.

The night before their egg retrieval, she scratches that thought.

It’s the first evening in twelve days she’s not taking any injections. It should be a relief, a long-awaited and much well-deserved break after the previous night’s final trigger shot, but she’s too nervous about the next day to enjoy it. Jake’s working late - something about a time-sensitive lead he promised would be handled in a couple of hours - and Leah falls asleep with her head on Amy’s shoulder somewhere around their fourth reread of Guess How Much I Love You, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She brews a cup of green tea and goes to change into pajamas before sinking down on the couch to watch Jeopardy!, and she’s doing okay until she catches a proper glimpse of her body in the wardrobe’s full-length mirror and breaks down.

The bloated feeling isn’t just in her head. She’s swollen, looking three months pregnant for the wrong reasons, and it's painful on so many levels. She thinks it would have been fine if it’d been the sole notable difference, because a bit of temporary weight-gain rarely bothers her, but it’s not the worst thing. What makes her do a double-take is the bruises scattered across her lower abdomen, an uneven pattern of dark violet, red and yellow marks after the needles. The reflection in the mirror looks like it’s been beaten up, literally punched in the stomach with a knuckle-duster, and Amy feels as if she’s entirely separate from the person she sees.

This isn’t her.

This isn’t what she’s supposed to look like.

This isn’t how it was supposed to be.

She doesn’t feel brave or beautiful, doesn’t recognize even a shadow of a stubborn fighter in the reflection staring back at her. The only thing she sees is sheer exhaustion, a person tired of fighting for control over the uncontrollable, and it’s a haunting image nowhere close to how she’s used to seeing herself. She throws on an oversized NYPD sweatshirt and closes the wardrobe door in a swift moment before she can stare any longer, but it’s too late - the sight is etched on her memory, and the silent tears take several minutes to stop falling.

There’s no beauty in this process. If there was, surely she wouldn’t be feeling this way.

Amy doesn’t get much sleep that night. She’s tossing and turning, lying awake and staring at the ceiling between short bits of light slumber. When her alarm finally sounds, she feels less rested than before she went to bed. On top of that, she can't have coffee because of the anesthesia, and has to be satisfied with casting longing looks at Jake's takeaway Starbucks cup. She swears the paper mug is ogling her by the time they reach the clinic’s parking lot.

“Ames, I’m sure one sip won't matter if the alternative is you staring at it like a psychopath.”

“It's not a clear liquid. I'm not risking it.”

“Fine. But if you murder me for this, I will tell people I gave you the offer.” She snorts, the corners of her mouth twitching, and there's a look of pride on Jake's face when he realizes he’s made her smile. “How are you feeling? Aside from the coffee-abstinence?”

“Tired. Disappointed.”

“Ah, yes, something gave that away.”

“Not because of the coffee,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I mean of this whole thing. It's not at all what I was picturing when I suggested we’d have another baby.”

Jake doesn't reply immediately, twisting the cup’s plastic lid back and forth while he stares out the window, watching another couple enter the building with hands intertwined.

“I know it wasn't, babe.”

“I'm sorry I suggested fertility treatments,” she mumbles, and he looks at her with a curious countenance. “I bet it's not even going to work.”

“Hey, you don't know that yet.” He places a hand on her thigh, getting a bit of coffee foam on her jeans. “We’ve gotten this far, right? Shame to give up hope now.”

“The eggs could be bad quality. They might not fertilize, they might not implant. So many things could still go wrong.”

“Sheesh. Ever the optimist, aren’t you?” She glares at him, but he’s unbothered by her bitterness, a confident smile on his lips as he finishes the last of his coffee. “If you bet it's not going to work, I'll bet it will. Mind you, I have a history of winning most of our bets.”

“You do not.”

“Agree to disagree,” he laughs, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear and stroking her cheek. “Let’s just do it and see what happens, okay? You wanted to give this a try, we’re giving it a try.”

“You have to hold my hand.”

“I’ll hold your hand.”

“We’re going for coffee as soon as they release me.”

“I thought we were trying to save money?”

“We are going for coffee.”

“Okay, so non-negotiable. Cool.”

It might be the cup of coffee she finally gets to consume when they stop by Starbucks on the way, or that she’s feeling less like a hormone-inflated alien after the procedure, but Amy’s mood is much improved by the time they’re back home. For a few days, it’s all out of her hands. She can’t do anything but hold onto the thought of six eggs, less than ideal but more than the zero she feared, about to be fertilized and left to grow in perfect lab conditions for at least five to six days. On the one hand, she’s powerless, but on the other hand, it’s outside her realm of control, literally taking place outside of her body. In a certain sense, it's relieving.

She’s dizzy after the anesthesia. She claims she’s fine, because dizziness is nothing compared to the pain and crushing anxiety she felt before, but she stumbles over their doorstep and nearly loses her balance, so Jake takes a careful grip of both her shoulders as he leads her to their bed and helps her lay down.

“You should take a nap,” he whispers, stroking her hair as she gives him a faint smile.

“I’m not that tired.”

“I have to pick up our two-year-old from daycare in two hours.”

“On second thought I will be taking that nap.”

They end up taking it together. Jake’s arm is wrapped around her waist, their heads are resting so close together that the tips of their noses touch, and when she wakes up a punctual thirty minutes later, she wonders if it’s the first romantic thing they’ve gotten up to this month where needles haven’t been involved.

“If I get pregnant,” she whispers in his ear, daring to pronounce the word for the first time in weeks, “I promise you we’ll take an honest-to-god babymoon or something. Just the two of us on a beach somewhere.”

He responds with a loud snore, and it takes more of Amy’s self-control than it should not to laugh at him.

She must have both fallen asleep again and slept through Jake disentangling himself from her, because the next time she regains conscience, it’s to the feeling of her favorite three-feet-tall human climbing on top of her back while giggling uncontrollably.

“Carefully, bumblebee, I said carefully,” she hears Jake’s exasperated voice, and then a high-pitched complaint from her daughter as he lifts her off of Amy. “Most people like it when you wake them up more calmly.”

“It’s okay,” Amy says, sensing without opening her eyes that Leah's close to bursting out into tears. “Do you want to snuggle with me for a bit, Lee? You're invited too, Jake.”

“Oh, yeah, Lee, what do you think?”

“Go to the park,” the toddler insists, shaking her head. “Swinging!”

“If you cuddle with us in bed for two minutes, I will take you to the park after.”

“Swinging,” Leah repeats grumpily.

“But first cuddling?” Jake tries.

“Swinging!” Her expression softens, lower lip pouting and eyes widening like she's learned to do so masterfully. “Please?”

She can't yet pronounce the word correctly, so it comes out more like a pleath, but it's the cutest thing in the world and has both parents exchanging meaning looks, knowing they've already lost.

It must be Leah's lucky day, because there's a toddler swing free already when they get to the park. Amy thinks it must be her lucky day as well, because there's also a bench free with a perfect view of the swingset, meaning she can watch Jake and Leah play while she soaks up the afternoon sun. The toddler is squealing with joy, her excitement getting louder with each push of the swing. Jake’s asking her if she wants to go higher, urging her to hold on tight while he pushes the swing slightly higher than Amy would prefer, but Leah’s thrilled and Jake is beaming as he watches their daughter have the time of her life.

Amy doubts she’ll ever tire of watching the two of them interact. Part of her always knew he’d make an amazing father - despite his own doubts, she’s never wavered. Still, she could never have imagined just how present, loving and dedicated of a parent he would become, and she feels blessed to get to see it in action day after day. Although she wishes she was hanging out in the shadow and pushing a sleeping baby in a stroller, or feeling them move around inside her, she has this. She’ll always have this. Nothing can take the family she already has away from her, and as difficult as it is to feel grateful for anything after nearly two weeks’ worth of needles, she's indescribably thankful for them.

“Monkey!” Leah exclaims, pointing at a squirrel rushing between trees while Amy tries to feed her small pieces of dried fruit-bar. They’re taking a snack break to replenish their energy, but the toddler is distracted to say the least.

“That’s a squirrel, baby.”

“Monkey,” Leah repeats, pointing to another squirrel.

“Still a squirrel. Monkeys are bigger.”

“Also much less commonly found in New York,” Jake adds. “Presumably. I’ve never been sure about Hitchcock.”

“Monkeys!”

“Ames, did we ever teach her animals?”

“We must have. I distinctly remember reading those god-awful books about animals at the zoo over and over for three months.”

“Oh, right!” Jake lights up. “How could I ever forget your incredible dolphin voice? Truly haunting. You turned her against SeaWorld from the start, babe.”

“Shut up, your gorilla voice wasn’t much better.”

“Monkeys,” Leah repeats in a serious tone as if to remind them of the matter at hand, and then she’s almost up and chasing after another squirrel before Amy catches her and tickles her. She falls back against the picnic blanket, squirming to get away while she keeps laughing her infectious toddler laugh, and Amy’s trying hard to keep a poker-face but she’s overtired and relieved and so absolutely happy, it’s worthless. It’s mere seconds before all three of them are laughing uncontrollably, and for a moment, every bit of heartache she’s felt over the last days is cured.

The day before the transfer, they have to go in for a meeting to decide how many embryos to transfer. It’s an interesting discussion, with Amy and their doctor arguing in favor of one and Jake hung up on the idea that an increased chance of twins would be the coolest thing ever and they should do two, but they eventually end up making the decision to transfer one and freeze the remaining two embryos.

“Chicken,” Jake tells her when they’re leaving the clinic. “Two for the price of one, right?”

“You try being pregnant with one child before deciding you want to try two.”

“Fine,” he laughs. “So you think it’s going to stick, huh?”

Amy blushes. “Maybe? She did say they were high-quality.”

“I'm sure she'll give you a gold star if you ask.”

“Ha-ha.”

“Keep up the optimism,” he says, and the wide grin he gives her makes her want to follow his advice. “You know, in two weeks you might be pregnant.”

Hearing the words makes her heart flutter with joy, making her halt suddenly to wrap her arms around him, kissing him so hard it takes him by surprise. His hands wave, hesitating before they find their spot on her waist, but then he’s as wrapped up in it as she is. She cups his chin with one hand, stroking her thumb over the light stubble and pouring all of her cautious hope into this kiss, soaking him up, taking him in. The moment is short-lived, but it’s enough to bring out the spark she hopes they’ll never lose.

“What was that for?” He asks when she pulls away.

“Luck,” she smiles.

It feels like a monumental day when they pull into the parking lot the next morning. Amy supposes if everything goes well, it will be, and then she reflects upon how in that case, she'll always know the exact date and hour for when something could have started to grow.

Her first pregnancy had been such a shock in the beginning; not unplanned, but happening way faster than she’d anticipated. Amy wonders if she glorified the welcome surprise in her memories, romanticizing the feeling that this little person had, in a sense, chosen them. If their first round of IVF works, it's going to be a result of medicines and treatments and them being so proactive about wanting this, and although she places no value in the discrepancy, it feels clearly dissimilar. Equally as beautiful, but in an entirely different way.

She clings to the beautiful parts. The long hug Jake gives her before they go in because he can tell she's shaking, and how nice and considerate everyone who introduces themselves to them is. She focuses on Jake's hand squeezing hers throughout the short procedure, and on getting to see the quick flash happen on the ultrasound screen. The giddiness between them as they drive home after, the way he insists on tucking her into bed for her advised day of bed rest, and the buffet of snacks he runs and gets them.

Most of all, she clings to the monochrome printed picture of the embryo, looking like nothing but a tiny bubble against some light background but giving her hope all the same.

Please, she thinks before they turn out the light that evening, clutching the thin paper over her heart.

Please, please, stick.

june

If Amy found the days between egg retrieval and transfer were nerve-wracking, the ten days between her transfer and blood test prove to be yet more agonizing. She tries her best to stay distracted, letting the days pass by in a flurry of work shifts, toddler meltdowns and even a visit to Shaw’s Bar for a sense of normalcy on a night when Karen is babysitting. Charles gives her bottle of non-alcoholic beer meaning looks throughout the whole night, and she mumbles something about her low alcohol tolerance to which he just nods, one eyebrow raised in disbelief. She tries to ignore the persistent thought in the back of her head, reminding her his suspicions could technically be correct.

Hope is a dangerous thing, Amy thinks as she goes through the first pages of the diary she kept during her first pregnancy, desperately trying to remember what early signs she felt the first time. Hope makes you crazy. Hope is what’s making her overanalyze her every sensation and shift in mood until she barely trusts herself anymore. Is she experiencing the first hints of first-trimester fatigue, or has Leah just woken up at four-thirty a.m. for the last three mornings? Is she nauseous, or did she simply drink coffee on an empty stomach and forget to eat until early afternoon? Is her sense of smell heightened, or did Charles bring an extra eye-watering lunch today? The question marks are endless, and they make the ten days until her blood test feel eternal.

The day before the test, Leah and the rest of the kids in her daycare group put on a little show for the parents. It’s the sort of thing Amy always suspected parents lied about or greatly exaggerated, but it turns out watching her daughter proudly march in uneven circles while happily singing along to songs about numbers and letters all while waving to her parents is more than enough to ensure there are tears of pride in Amy’s eyes throughout the performance.

“You’re not going to stop crying, are you?” Jake teases her as they’re pulling out of the parking lot, Leah still singing a song about cows.

“I’m emotional,” she laughs through the tears, and she can tell from the way his eyes narrow that he’s thinking it, too - even more than usual.

The following night, Amy jolts awake at 3 a.m.

She tries to fall asleep again for a good thirty minutes, tossing and turning and snuggling closer to Jake to make herself calm down, but nothing works and she's as awake as if she’d just chugged a thermos of black coffee. She solves a crossword puzzle on the Times app on her phone, hoping for it to either distract her or tire her out, but it manages neither. She is physically unable to relax. There’s no way for her to stop thinking about how today’s the day, today’s the day they’ll find out whether or not the money, time and bruises led to somewhere, if they’ll be adding another member to their family in nine months, whether or not she’s finally pregnant.

There are five hours left until her scheduled appointment. It’s not a long time, not when Leah will be up in three hours, but it feels like forever. She wants to know now, and she’s not going to fall asleep again before she does.

One at-home test can’t hurt, she decides.

Grabbing her phone and a sweater Jake must have thrown on the floor yesterday, she crawls out of bed and pads into their modestly sized bathroom, praying there’s an unused test left somewhere.

It takes her a couple of minutes to find one. The package is stashed deep in their cupboard behind bottles of shampoo, its hiddenness former evidence of a moment’s weakness when she must have been unable to even see it. It’s been a long and frustrating eight months, but as Amy places the plastic stick down on the floor to let the result develop, washing her hands carefully before starting a timer and putting in contact lenses, she can’t help but wonder if their struggle has come to a much yearned-for end.

A small hourglass flashes on the little digital display, and her heart is full-on racing, pounding with each appearance and disappearance of the symbol.

Then, with thirty seconds left on the three-minute timer, the result appears and she swears fireworks go off outside.

There aren’t any actual fireworks, of course. To anyone else, it’s an ordinary night in early June, but to Amy, it’s the night of a forthright miracle. It’s an indignity there are no fireworks.

The screen reads Pregnant, 1-2 Weeks, and she feels happy tears form in her eyes as the relief floods her, a maelstrom of emotions coming at her without warning.

Pregnant.

They’re having another baby.

Her hand goes instinctively to her lower abdomen, where the bruises from the injections are still fading, and something unimaginably small but existing, has started to grow.

“Jake.” She shakes his shoulder as she repeats his name. “Jake. Babe.”

There's a low groan and a sigh, but he doesn't open his eyes. She shakes him carefully again.

“Jake, please wake up.”

“Hmm. No.”

“I promise you're going to want to wake up for this.”

He makes another gruff sound, somewhere between a grunt and a yawn. “S’the middle of the night. S’ anything wrong?”

“No, no. The opposite,” she says, and he looks at her for a second before his eyes fall shut again.

“What d’you mean?”

She leans closer, kissing the back of his neck before she whispers the words. “Babe, I'm pregnant.”

“What?” He sits up straight so quickly, Amy almost flies back on the bed as she loses her balance. “Wait - how d'you know - what?”

She laughs, because she's barely believing it either, and hands him the minutes-old test so he can see for himself. “I couldn't sleep, so I took one to see, and… it's positive.”

“Oh my god,” he blinks, twisting the test in his hands while a wide grin takes shape on his lips, his expression morphing from sleep-deprived toddler parent to overjoyed child on Christmas morning. “Oh my god, Ames.”

“I know!”

“This is - we're having another baby?”

“Yeah! It worked!”

“I can’t believe it.” He shakes his head, and then he wraps her in a tight hug while pressing kisses to her cheeks, her neck, her shoulder, every spot he can reach. “You did it, babe.”

“You helped.”

“Eh, barely. You were the one who took all those shots.”

“I did,” she grimaces. “They were worth it, though.”

“We’re having a baby,” he whispers, and the smile on her lips grows impossibly wider.

“We’re having a baby.”

It’s dusky inside their bedroom, but the world has never felt brighter.

Neither of them gets more sleep that night. All they can do is lay next to each other, watch the sun rise through the window and repeat their shock and immeasurable happiness to one another.

They’re having another child, and they are going to be the two-kid-family she always pictured. She is going to experience the few magical parts of pregnancy and times with a newborn she couldn't accept never experiencing again, Leah will have a sibling to grow up next to and possibly an automatic best friend for life. For the last few months, Amy's been scared to death it wouldn’t ever happen to them again, and now she's blessed with the knowledge it will.

She's not broken. Her body can still do this, albeit with a bit of help to get there, but it can and it is, and she feels like the luckiest woman in the world.

It's the first time she's purely confident when they park outside the fertility doctor. A quick little blood test to confirm what she already knows to be true, and she can move on with her life, pregnant, and put all this behind her.

“Did you take a home test?” The friendly nurse asks as she adjusts the tight band around Amy’s upper arm. Amy’s not even making an effort to hide her proud smile.

“Maybe,” she confesses, and it makes the young woman chuckle.

“Congratulations.”

The results will take a couple of hours, she's informed, and the clinic will call and leave a voicemail when her numbers are in. The screen lights up when she's in the middle of a conversation with Detective Alvarado later in the afternoon, and it takes a lot more self-control than it should for Amy to not instantly reach for her phone. The last hours of her workday seem to stretch forever, and by the time she meets up with Jake in the precinct’s garage to listen to the message, she's bursting with excitement and joy.

He’s not much better, looking at her with the heart-eyes that still make her blush as she gets into the passenger seat. The happiness is infectious, so she leans over to kiss him a few seconds longer than she'd deem appropriate for technically being inside the workplace.

“I was thinking we should celebrate with pizza tonight,” he says when they break it off. “Both because well, pizza, and also because I couldn’t have pizza at home for months last time you were pregnant or you’d be sick. I figure I need to take my chance while I can.”

“Planning ahead.” Amy raises an eyebrow. “Impressive.”

“Well, I’m a super-experienced dad now, right?” He leans back in the seat, crossing his arms behind his head. “I’m going to have two kids! That’s grown-up for realz.”

“As opposed to having one?”

“I’m just saying it’s next level,” he remarks and it makes her laugh. “Let's hear the voicemail, shall we?”

She nods and reaches for his hand before pressing play on the voicemail recording.

It only takes the few seconds their nurse takes to say who she is and why she’s calling for Amy to realize something is wrong.

It’s in the worried tone, the hesitant atmosphere emanating from the speakers, and it feels like her heart has stopped dead in her chest when she hears it.

“So you’re in a bit of a gray area,” the nurse explains, pronouncing each word with great care. “Your level showed up at a 13. As you know, any hcG level above 25 is pregnant and anything below 5 is not. Anything in between needs a retest.”

Jake squeezes her hand harder, and she can sense his eyes on her as if he’s trying to read her reaction. She tries to squeeze back but finds she can’t move her fingers or turn her face, can’t do anything but stare straight ahead with her lips pursed.

“This could, of course, be nothing and your pregnancy could just be slow-starting,” the message continues, each word still being spoken as slowly. “But since we would prefer to see your levels above 50 to be certain, you’ll have to come in for a retest in two days to see if they’ve increased.” The nurse sighs. “I am so sorry about this trouble. You two take care and I’ll see you again soon.”

There’s a click and a dial tone as the message ends, and they’re left with a silence that seems to weigh tons.

She notices her tears first when Jake wipes them away with the pad of his thumb, his hand warm against her cheek.

“It’s just slow-starting, babe. The test said you’re pregnant.”

“Not pregnant enough, apparently.”

“You don’t know that yet,” he says, decisively. “Our kids are stubborn as hell. It’ll be okay.”

“You really think so?”

“I do.” The hand still intertwined with hers squeezes harder again. It’s an effort, but she manages to squeeze his back. “Somehow, we always end up okay.”

She nearly makes a snarky comment about death threats and witness protection, trials and prison sentences, but stops herself. It’s not comparable, and she knows the Amy who stayed up all night working on her boyfriend’s case before crying herself to sleep in the early hours of the morning would probably have been content with never having any kids at all if it meant Jake could come back home, but times have changed since then. It doesn’t matter that she knows they’ve been through worse, because the level of pain and worry still feels unbearable when they’re in the thick of it, the letdowns and disappointments so present here and now.

“I hope so,” she whispers and lets his warm smile give her an ounce of comfort, a sliver of sparkling hope. “Can we go pick up Lee now? I just… need to think about something else, for a while.”

“Yeah, of course.” His lips brush against her forehead for a second. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“It’ll be okay, Amy.”

She nods, undecided as to whether or not she believes him.

She knows the next day must pass, because she wakes up two mornings later when it's time for the retest, but there aren't any memories there when she tries to think back at. It's like she's been sleepwalking for the entire day. Nothing feels real except the overwhelming worry and the voice in her head repeating you’re worthless, a failure, your body can't even do this.

She peels away the skin on her lips and fingertips until both are bleeding in an attempt to feel something. She doesn't remember this, either, but there are bandaids on her fingers when she wakes up the next morning and her lips are all cracked even though it's summer.

“You know it’s not over yet,” Jake mumbles as they’re waking up and she gets stuck on the edge of the bed, unable to tear her eyes away from the embryo picture on her nightstand.

It looks like a foggy soap bubble, she thinks, and wonders how she could pour so much hope, love and blind faith into something that might never make it past the very first steps of existence.

She nods and abstains from telling him what she’s really thinking.

It feels like it is.

There’s a dull ache in her stomach as she takes the blood test. At first, she chalks it down to nerves and that all she could get down for breakfast was coffee and half of an apple, but as the pain level increases and begins imitating an all too familiar sensation, she realizes what it could be. There aren’t any tampons in her bag, so she curses her past, temporarily optimistic, self for not putting new ones there the last time she ran out, and drives to the nearest CVS.

When they were starting the procedure, she was worried and desperate, clinging onto the little bit of faith that came with knowing they were at least being proactive about it. After the transfer, she was cautiously optimistic, reading into each sign and even daring to feel hopeful about the outcome. Now, she’s just numb. She can’t think, can’t feel, can’t react to what’s happening around her if so somebody slapped her in the face. Amy has lived her life being anxiously alert to every shifting detail around her, but as she browses the CVS aisles in a coma, she’s never felt more cut off from reality.

She does note how the cashier in the checkout has a pronounced baby bump. It feels like a sick joke.

The joke continues, because she’s just stepped out of the building when her phone vibrates with the call from the fertility doctor’s office.

“Amy Santiago.”

“Hi, yes.” It’s a different nurse than for the previous call, Amy notes, but the serious tone is the same. “I’m calling with your results from today’s blood test.”

She bites her lip, tasting blood from the already broken skin. “They’re not good, are they?”

“Your hCG was down to an 11.”

“Oh.”

“Unfortunately, it means you’re going to lose this pregnancy.”

“Yeah. I… figured.”

“I truly am so sorry about this,” the nurse assures her. “If it’s any comfort, know this means the pregnancy wasn’t ever viable, and your body simply did what’s best and terminated it before anything ever fully implanted. You’ll possibly get a bit of a more painful period, but after, nothing should stop you from trying again as soon as you feel ready.”

“Okay.”

“I know that might not make it feel better, but this is not uncommon, and it’s not something you could have prevented, either. Sometimes it isn’t meant to be.”

“No, I understand,” Amy manages to get out, and the nurse hums at the other end of the phone.

“You can take as much time as you need, and then get back to us about whether you’d like to start another cycle. Does it sound okay?”

“Sure.”

“Perfect, then. Take care,” the voice advises, and two repeated beep-sounds signal the end of the call.

There aren’t any benches nearby. Thus, when Amy feels her legs give way in the next second, all she can do is slide down until she’s sitting down on the sidewalk outside the store, her back against the wall and her arms around her knees as the panic crashes over her. Her lungs feel tight, getting tighter as she gasps for air between the ugly crying that’s slipping out of her before she can control it. Although she’s cried her fair share of tears in the last few weeks, it’s been a long time since she cried like this, forceful and broken in a wounded animal-type of way that earns her weird glances from the people walking past, but she resolutely shakes her head when a stranger tries to come closer. With trembling hands she manages to press the favorites button, calling Jake, and then she tries to take a deep breath and force air into her lungs while she waits for him to pick up.

“Ames?”

She can’t get out a single word before her voice breaks. Instead of a comprehensible pair of sentences comes a blubbering string of words, not one of them sounding the way they’re supposed to, and she can hear his confusion as he repeats her name in a questioning tone but she can’t explain. Her head hurts, her lungs hurt, and hearing the sudden worried edge in Jake’s voice hurts.

“Where are you? Send me your location.” She stutters a vague description. “Okay, stay where you are and I’ll be there in ten.”

It ends up only being seven minutes before he’s kneeling in front of her, still wearing his badge and all out of breath as he helps her stand up and leads her to their car without asking a single question of what she’s doing here or what’s happened. She figures he understands - or at least, has drawn the conclusion from her wrecked appearance. She makes several attempts of opening her mouth, trying to apologize for her shattered state as the traces of her eye makeup are smudging on her cheek and she’s fighting for breath, crying so hard it feels like she’s going to throw up from the mix of snot and hysteria stuck in her throat, but it's impossible to speak.

“Ames, can you try to breathe for me, please? In for three and out for three.” He’s holding both of her hands as he guides her, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over her knuckles. She manages to hold her breath for two seconds, shaking as she exhales, and he nods. “Good, you’re doing great. Try another time.”

They go on like that for several minutes. Eventually, the vigorous bawling calms into a quieter sobbing, and she nearly collapses into his arms as he strokes her hair, whispering soft I love yous to which she can only respond with more crying.

“Let’s go home,” he suggests, his voice stable and solid even as everything is crumbling around them.

“Are you sure you don’t have to go back to work?”

“Yeah. Rosa owed me one.”

“Did you call Holt?”

“I will.” His lips brush against her neck. “Later.”

They're laying on the bed, Amy being the little spoon for once. The waves of intense panic have quietened down thanks to exhaustion, and she's breathing properly, in and out as Jake holds her. Rays of sunlight are shining through the curtains, alerting her to the beautiful summer’s day outside, and she wishes Jake would close them. She doesn’t want to be reminded of the outside world. It means nothing to her, anyway.

They should have been celebrating, making sure to get off work early, picking up Leah from daycare and going for celebratory ice-cream in the middle of the week. Now they’re here, her wrapped in an extra blanket because she couldn’t stop shivering, Jake playing with her hair in a fruitless attempt of making her feel better. He’s made her coffee and a sandwich, too, insisting she needed to refill her energy after the panic attack, but she hasn’t managed more than a couple of bites. The picture of the embryo she’s about to lose still sits on her nightstand, and she’s tried but she can’t stop staring at it.

“I’m so stupid,” it slips out of her without thinking, and Jake freezes.

“You’re not stupid, Ames.”

“I really thought it was going to last,” she continues, unaffected by his protest. “I really did.”

“So did I.”

She ignores that too, finally tearing her focus away from the picture and rolling on her back so she’s looking up at the ceiling instead. “You know it barely counts as a miscarriage at this point?”

“Hmm?”

“It’s called a chemical pregnancy because it didn’t get far enough to be visible on an ultrasound. Chemical. Like it’s just… an error.” She snivels. “That’s what I feel like. An error.”

“You’re not an error,” he says, in a low voice like it’s hurting him to hear her say it. “We’ll try again.”

“How many times, Jake? How many damn times do we have to try again?”

“We said two before we reevaluate - “

“I know what we said,” she cuts him off. “But I’m exhausted.”

“We could take a break?”

“No, we’re trying again.”

“Okay.” His fingers move over her cheek, cupping her jaw and pulling her towards him so they’re face to face. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” She swallows the tears that seem to be on their way back. “I can't believe I thought it was real.”

“It felt real.”

“So real,” she breathes, and he hugs her tighter.

She's gotten so tired of crying.

#my writing #b99 #brooklyn 99 #brooklyn nine-nine #peraltiago #jake x amy #b99 fic #brooklyn 99 fic #brooklyn nine-nine fic #b99 fanfiction #brooklyn nine-nine fanfiction #jake x amy fic #jake x amy fanfiction #peraltiago fic #peraltiago fanfiction #iwthwy #coming through with a little distraction from the election chaos i guess #i just wanted to get this chapter out there lol

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inmyownlittlecorner5 · 5 years ago

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Rota Fortunæ

A “Missing Moment” from Moonlight+ la-topolina

Rated for All Audiences

Unstoppable Force/Immovable Object Masterpost+

I know that Aunt Electra was mad as a hatter, but I am glad that she taught me to play the piano. I’ve found it to be a very useful skill during my time here at Hogwarts. You see, I’m not very pretty and I’m not very clever. I am a pure-blood, of course, but otherwise I’m quite average. It seems to me that everyone in Slytherin house is jockeying for position all the time, and I’d rather stay out of the fray. So, I sit over here in the common room, playing the piano while everyone else studies and talks and laughs. They’re so used to me by now that I overhear the most interesting things. Everyone assumes that I don’t pay attention to what’s going on around me when I’m playing. And if I’m hearing something I’d rather not—well, I can always play a little louder, can’t I?

Playing the piano has won me a bit of respect, too. I know a decent amount of classical repertoire, but I also know popular tunes and dances. There’s a reason that everyone in Slytherin house could dance so well at the Yule Ball last year. The older students have been teaching the younger ones since I first started school here and everyone appreciated having live music to practice with. I think the idea of Professor Snape coming in to teach us terrified everyone, so we made sure that we wouldn’t have to bother him with something we could take care of ourselves. He likes it when we manage things ourselves.

It was Sunday evening and the common room was full of my lethargic housemates. Everyone was trying to deny the fact that we had classes the next morning. It had been, well, an eventful time at school to say the least. The discovery of Dumbledore’s Army, followed by Dumbledore’s escaping arrest, followed by the installing of Headmistress Umbridge, followed by the chaos of Fred and George Weasley’s escape from Hogwarts—and we fifth years still had O.W.L.s to study for. It was a wonder that anyone could concentrate at all.

I was halfway through Rondo alla Turca when Pansy Parkinson walked up behind me and set a note on the piano. I could tell from the cramped handwriting that it was from Professor Snape, even though it only said my name, Cassandra Borgin, on the outside of it. And I already knew what it was going to be about. I already knew that I was going to be expelled.

As I hit the off-set octave section of the Rondo, I played as loudly as I could. Pansy’s voice was pitched annoyingly high as she informed everyone in the common room that I was in trouble. I fairly pounded on the keys through the fanfare at the end of the piece, striking them so hard that my fingers hurt. I knew I shouldn’t care what Pansy said. I knew she’d already told everyone anyway. After all, she was there when the D. A. meeting broke up that night. I had managed to slip away, but Headmistress Umbridge had the list of the members and my name was on it.

I finished banging, snatched my note, and shot off the piano bench, hoping to escape from the common room. I thought it was reasonable to want to open the thing and endure my shame in private. But Pansy and Millicent were there, blocking my path. I have never hated being short so much as I did in that moment. I briefly considered trying to dart between their legs to escape, but thought better of it. Millicent would probably sit on me if I tried, and then I would be expelled AND dead.

“Open it here, Cassie,” Pansy said with a cat-like grin. “We all want to know what the punishment for treason is.”

I glared at her, but I opened the note. I knew they would wrestle it away from me if I didn’t.

Miss Borgin,

I expect you in my office at six o’clock Monday evening.

—Professor Snape

“It just says I have to go to Professor Snape’s office tomorrow evening. Nothing exciting,” I said, trying to move past them.

They stayed where they were and Pansy taunted, “You’d better pack your little trunk tonight so that you won’t have to show your face back here after you’re expelled.”

I tried to look as though I wasn’t worried. “Then how would I be able to tell you what the punishment for treason is?”

She seemed mildly confused by that and I took the opportunity to slip past her and away to the dormitory. Maybe she was right. Maybe I should pack.

*****

It hadn’t been easy for me to convince Harry Potter and his friends to let me join the the D. A. I wouldn’t have known anything about it except that I happened to overhear Marietta and Cho talking about it as they came out of the Hog’s Head that day back in October. They didn’t notice me following them and I heard enough to realize that Harry Potter was starting a secret club to practice Defense Against the Dark Arts. I was sick of Professor Umbridge’s classes by then and the fact that we weren’t learning anything in them. I knew that Draco, Pansy and most of Slytherin house was sucking up to her, but I thought it was stupid that she refused to teach us anything. I mean, even if she just gave private lessons to Slytherins that would have been something. But we were being kept just as ignorant as everyone else, and I couldn’t stand it. Uncle Orestes was holding a job for me in his shop in Knockturn Alley, and I knew he wouldn’t like it if I didn’t do well on my O.W.L.s. And how was I supposed to do well if no one would teach me?

I also thought it was stupid of Draco and his friends to alienate Harry Potter and Gryffindor house, although I made sure to keep such thoughts to myself. Draco had been doing it since day one. It seemed now that Slytherins were in the ascendancy, but that wouldn’t always be the case. No matter how secure your power seems, eventually the wheel will turn and you’ll be on the bottom again. And you can be sure that your enemies will remember every slight you ever did them and pay you back when that happens. Better to maintain a cordial relationship with everyone as much as possible. Then they won’t notice what you do behind their backs. But maybe that’s just the apprentice shopkeeper in me.

I approached Harry, Ron, and Hermione in the library one Tuesday not long after that Hogsmeade trip. They didn’t remember my name and I saw them all exchange an unhappy look when they saw my Slytherin colors.

“Hello,” I said. “I’m Cassandra Borgin.”

“Wait, as in Borgin and Burkes?” Harry interrupted.

“Yes. Mr. Borgin is my uncle.” I swallowed hard as they frowned at me, clearly wishing I would leave. I decided it was best to cut to the chase. “Listen, I know there’s a lot of bad blood between our houses, but I want you to know we don’t all agree with Draco Malfoy on everything.” I smiled at Harry and added, “I think you were just brilliant last year in the Tri-Wizard Tournament.” He shifted uncomfortably and I rushed onwards before they told me to scram. “The thing is, I want to join your secret club.”

Their eyes widened and Harry said cooly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I expected this. “You can put whatever jinx on me you think necessary. I’ll even take the Unbreakable Vow that I won’t reveal any of the secrets if you want me to. I just want to learn this. I need to learn this and you’re the only one who can teach us right now.”

The golden trio exchanged a look and Hermione said, “We’ll think about it and let you know.”

I nodded. That was probably the best I could hope for at that point. It took a few more weeks, but I wore them down and the let me join. And, when they did, they didn’t ask me to do anything more than sign that jinxed parchment.

The D. A. meetings had been brilliant. We were working together, learning together without any teachers at all. It felt so liberating, to take matters into our own hands in that way. After a while, the fact that I was a Slytherin didn’t bother anyone in the D. A. anymore. I was one of the secret group—learning even when the teachers refused to teach us. But, when we were caught, Headmistress Umbridge certainly remembered that I was a Slytherin. And Professor Snape obviously remembered too.

I sighed and decided I would hedge my bet and pack half of my trunk. Part of me still hoped that I would be allowed to stay, but if my trunk were half packed then it wouldn’t take me very long to escape if I were expelled.

*****

My hands were sweating the next day as I approached Professor Snape’s office. I was trying to put on a brave face. We all knew he hated it when members of his house acted like sniveling cowards in front of him. He was fair to us, most of the time, but he expected a certain amount of decorum, too. If he saw me shaking or worse—crying—he’d have me on the train home tonight. I had to keep myself under control.

I reached the door and my hand only shook a little bit as I knocked on it. The door swung open and I saw Professor Snape standing by a shelf, eyeing a jar of bat skulls. I took a deep breath and walked into the office. The door slammed shut behind me and I stood there awkwardly in the dim light.

“Sit down, Miss Borgin,” he said quietly.

I climbed into the chair across from his desk. I had to perch on the edge of it and still my feet barely touched the ground. As much as I had hated being short the day before, I think I hated it a lot more today. I felt like a little kid about to be read the riot act by my father. Except that Professor Snape was a lot scarier than my father.

“You are, of course, aware of the reason I have called you here,” he said, still not looking at me.

“Yes, sir,” I muttered, my eyes on the ground.

“Speak clearly, Miss Borgin,” he snapped as he stalked to his desk. He sat down at it and stared at me with that look that made everyone think he could read their minds.

“Yes, sir!” I repeated. My voice cracked a bit, but at least it was loud enough to hear this time. He said nothing, just kept staring at me over his steepled fingers. Finally I added miserably, “You want to know why my name was on the D. A. list, sir.”

“Very good, Miss Borgin.” How could his voice be so quiet and so frightening at the same time? “I find it most disturbing that a member of my house was involved with such nonsense.”

I gulped. I had hoped that I could convince him to at least let me take my O.W.L.s. I thought that would be enough for Uncle Orestes. But the way Professor Snape was staring at me, I knew I was done for.

“If you have some sort of an explanation, now would be a good time to give it,” he said lazily.

I’d been dreading this meeting ever since the D. A. was broken up that night two weeks earlier. Now that I was actually here and about to be expelled, I felt a sudden surge of courage. After all, if I was going to be expelled, it didn’t matter so much what I said. Maybe I should just be honest.

“Well, sir, I….I wanted to learn,” I said slowly. “That’s why I came to school, after all.”

“You are aware that you have been provided with teachers and classes for that purpose.”

I flinched. “Of course, sir, that goes without saying. It’s just that….well…..our DADA classes weren’t terribly helpful this year. Not that I blame Headmistress Umbridge at all.” I was starting to feel very exposed and my voice trailed off as he raised an eyebrow at me. But, in for a knut, in for a galleon. “It’s just, well, Harry Potter was the only one offering us an option to be ready for our O.W.L. practical, and I wanted to do well. You see, I’m going to work with Uncle Orestes in his shop when I’m finished with school, but he won’t take me if I don’t do well on my O.W.L.s, especially the DADA one.”

“You seem oddly confident that you will be here to take your O.W.L.s.”

“I didn’t mean to assume, sir.” My eyes dropped back to the floor and I could feel his cold stare boring into the top of my head. He was silent for so long, that I just started talking again. “I know that Harry Potter is an arrogant prat, but he knows his Defense. I wanted to learn, so I took the option that was available to me. I know it was against the rules, but I’d do it again if I were faced with the same choice. I’ve always thought it was a bad idea for Draco and his friends to be so openly antagonistic to Harry and his friends. We’re all just students and making enemies when you don’t absolutely have to seems like a bad idea to me. I know we’re on top now, but someday we might not be.”

I suddenly realized that Professor Snape’s stare had become more of a glare. I had obviously said something very wrong.

“But that’s just my opinion, sir. I’m probably wrong,” I finished lamely.

“And what did Potter teach you?” He spat out the name Potter as though it tasted vile.

I wracked my brain, trying to figure out the right answer to this question. This was my last chance to prove that I was justified in my actions. My last chance to stay at Hogwarts. I had to think of just the right thing, but what was it?

I lifted my eyes from the floor, trying to get a hint from him. His face was as stony and unreadable as a statue’s. I chewed on my lips, desperately thinking. And then, suddenly, it came to me.

“May I just show you, sir?” I asked humbly.

“Very well,” he said, his tone implying that he did not expect to be impressed.

I got up slowly and took out my wand. I closed my eyes and imagined the summer sun on my face. I was in a field of flowers with Aunt Electra. We were weaving daisy chains and she was sending them careening through the air like flowery eels. We were laughing and shouting and we hadn’t a care in the world.

A wide smile spread across my face and I shouted, “Expecto Patronum!”

A silvery robin flew gracefully out of the tip of my wand. She circled around the room a few times and disappeared through the door. I watched her, smiling proudly. Maybe it wouldn’t matter to Uncle Orestes if I wasn’t allowed to take my O.W.L.s. I could still study after all. There were accomplished witches and wizards in my family—I could always learn from them. And I could read, couldn’t I?

After my robin patronus flew away, I turned back to Professor Snape. He was giving me a calculating look. His hand was in front of his mouth, but I thought it was possible that he was smirking. It was a look I had seen him give Draco and Pansy many times when they had done something clever. It was a look he had never given me.

“Sit down, Miss Borgin,” he said and whatever smile might have been there was gone.

I sat and waited for my sentence. He was silent again for a long time. I assumed he was doing it to make me nervous. He had probably made up his mind about my punishment before I had even set foot in his office today. I guess I should have packed after all.

“I believe that detention on Fridays and Saturdays for the rest of term are called for in this instance. You will report to the potions room at six o’clock in the evenings and juice flobberworms.”

I blinked. Did this mean I was going to stay?

“Yes sir,” I said hopefully.

“And I expect an Outstanding in Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

“Yes, sir!”

“You may go, Miss Borgin.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

I stood, feeling as light as air, feeling like my robin flying through the sky. I almost skipped to the door, I was so relieved. But I knew that Professor Snape might change his mind and expel me after all if I did that, so I restrained myself.

When I reached the door, I paused and turned back to him.

“Sir, there was something I have been meaning to ask you, if it wouldn’t be too much of a bother.”

“What is it?”

“Sir, I was just wondering, why are some magics called dark magic at all? It seems to me that any spell could be dark or light, depending on how you used it. If I transfigured someone into a mouse and let a cat eat him, that would be dark, wouldn’t it? But transfiguration isn’t considered dark magic. Or what if I used Petrificus Totalus on someone when he was crossing the street and he were hit by a Muggle car? Wouldn’t that be dark magic? Or what if a Healer used Imperio to force an unconscious patient to take a potion he needed. Wouldn’t that be light magic then? I just don’t understand how these distinctions are made. It seems to me that anything could be light or dark—it just depends on how you use it.”

He gave me that calculating look again—and this time I could see his smirk.

“My thoughts exactly, Miss Borgin,” he said.

“Thank you, sir. Good night, sir.”

I was about to open the door when he added, “Miss Borgin?”

“Yes, sir?”

“The next time you decide to take matters into your own hands, see to it that you do so without being caught.”

I smiled. “Yes, sir.”

I went out into the hallway and saw my robin still circling. I was able to watch it for a few seconds before it disappeared completely. Then I headed back to my part of the dungeons, skipping and humming Rondo alla Turca all the way.

*****

End Notes:

I take my hat off to Mr. Zingarella, who beta-ed this story. He also occupied the little Zingarellas while I banged out the draft of it. And it was a conversation we had a while ago in which he expressed his opinion that dark magic in the HP universe didn’t seem very different from light magic in the HP universe that sparked my idea for this story in the first place. I’m a lucky lady to have him.

Rondo alla Turca is the third movement of Piano Sonata No. 11 in A-Major by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

*****

Unstoppable Force/Immovable Object Masterpost+

#harry potter #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #oc #ocappreciation #severus snape #pro snape #snape fanfic #snape fanfiction #severus snape fanfiction #severus snape fanfic #hogwarts #second wizarding war

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howtohero · 5 years ago

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#258 Light Burglary

Let me just start off by saying that stealing is wrong. Of course it is. We all know that. You can’t just go on around taking things that don’t belong to you. That would be quite mean. Stealing is wrong... most of the time.

What, don’t look at me like that. Definitely don’t zip zap zoop over to my house to bring me to justice for advocating thievery. I’m not, for the most part. Really, ask anybody*, I’m not the kind of guy who publicly advocates for thievery. (*Don’t ask my cousin Clive, he’s still bitter because I took his “lucky” marble after I won it fair and square in a bet when we were 7. It wasn’t thievery Clive! We both signed a blood oath! If I hadn’t taken the marble, both of us would’ve lost our souls to the dark lord Druegamethoon!) Yet, as superheroes, you occasionally do need to take things that don’t belong to you. Don’t pretend that you’re not guilty of it yourself. You’re gonna really tell me you’ve never taken something from a villain, even if they’ve purchased it with money that they legitimately earned? You’re going to speak to me right now words that say that you have never commandeered a super cool spacecraft from an invading alien fleet? Am I to just sit here while you go on and on about how you’ve never broken off the horn of some quasi-mythical monster so you could turn it into a paperweight and flex on those two bumbling cops who insist that the Minotaur isn’t real????

Puh-leez. Being a superhero isn’t about always doing what is lawful in ever situation without paying any heed to extenuating circumstances. If it was you wouldn’t be putting on a mask and beating on criminals in the first place. Being a superhero is about doing the right thing and protecting the world and the people who live in it. That’s the deal. I don’t see anything in there that specifically says you can’t steal things while doing that. It goes back to what we’ve said about prioritizing. Sometimes it is necessary to do a small bad thing in order to prevent a large bad thing from coming to pass or in order to facilitate large good things. So, for example, if the world is going to be blown up by a bomb that is rapidly burrowing into the Earth which will detonate once it reaches the Earth’s core, you’re obviously allowed to (and encouraged even) to steal that bomb. Or the drill that is bringing it to the center of the Earth. Probably best to take both actually. I can’t imagine a bomb anywhere inside the Earth is great. And I can’t imagine even a non-explosive drill burrowing into the Earth’s core is going to do anyone any favors. You shouldn’t refrain from taking it just because it’s got a big ol’ sticker that says “Property of Az Kubikus”. (Cork)Screw that guy! He’s trying to blow up the Earth. He can file larceny charges against you all the live long day and I guarantee you you’re still going to be granted the key to the Earth’s core!

Additionally, being a superhero is like, really expensive. We touched upon it a little bit when we spoke about how many superheroes need to live with roommates to offset the costs of being a repeated world-savior, but really we were barely scratching the surface. Superheroes need to be able to maintain their super souped up vehicles. They need to pay for daycare for their child sidekicks. They need to contribute to the pooled fund that all superheroes contribute to in order to keep Grexyl, the fifth-dimensional imp who keeps trying to reboot and retcon everybody’s lives at bay. That all adds up, and that’s not even considering the fact that one of the most popular superhero careers is reporter, which, well, yeah. (Ok, just to follow up with that marble thing from before. I shouldn’t have said “lucky” in quotes like that. It actually was an enchanted marble that brought luck to whomever held it but we didn’t know that at the time because, again, we were 7. We only discovered that fact much later after I’d already chucked it off a bridge, to see how far I could throw it, and it was caught by an evil mermaid who had went on a very lucky crime spree before Clive and I eventually stopped her. But that’s a story for another time...)

So, in order to pay for all of this everything, would it really be so wrong for a superhero to take a little something now and again? To pay for future do-gooding? Who knows! That’s not really for me to determine, I am not an ethicist. I can however, recommend a solution with only minimal moral murkiness! Throughout our years together we’ve discussed time travel and the wibbly-wobbliness of the time stream on numerous occasions, so I’m sure it will not surprise you to learn that, with enough research and prep, you can use the time stream as your own personal bank account. The key here (assuming you have access to safe and reliable time travel but I’m going to leave that up to you) is to know exactly what it is you plan on “stealing.” You need to do a lot of research before you do this, assemble a list of high-value artifacts or objects that, for one reason or another, have completely disappeared. Missing paintings, vanished diamonds, lost golden money clips. If something has gone missing, that’s your invitation. Generally, when things go missing without a trace, especially highly valuable things, it means that someone has plucked them from the time stream in order to make some money in the future. So if you’ve identified a valuable object that’s gone missing, all you need to do is make sure that you’re the person who plucked it from the time stream. Time is fluid so that even if you weren’t the original person to take it from its time, you still have a shot at stealing it as long as you take it a few seconds before any other time travelers get there.

You really only need to use this method once or twice to be financially set for life! And you don’t need to have any moral qualms because history has already recorded that the object in question has vanished. You’re just making sure it vanishes into your hands. Fabulous! See stealing doesn’t have to be wrong! Just make sure you don’t do this too many times. (And don’t all of you try it at once.) As too much tampering with the timeline could have disastrous consequences. But hey, probably you’ll be fine. And what’s a little risk to the time-space continuum if it means you can pay rent on your hideout on time so you can continue to fight crime!

Stealing is generally wrong. I’d say almost always. Don’t even get me started on robbery which always implies some act of violence in addition to the pilfering. But burglary? Even cats do burglary. You can definitely do some light burglary from time to time. Just as long as you don’t mention me at your arraignment.

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eldritchsurveys · 5 years ago

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545.

if someone wanted to really understand you, what would they read, watch, and listen to? >> I don’t think reading, watching, or listening to a bunch of things would give anyone proper insight into me as a person -- not without at least a basic understanding of my personal narratives, for context, you see. But provided someone already knew a decent amount about me (for example, they’ve followed either my main or this tumblr for at least a year), I’ll suggest the following: Anthem by Ayn Rand (this is her shortest book, extremely short in fact, so don’t whine), The Fountain, and... well, I don’t know what to pick for albums or whatever. That one’s hard. I’ll have to make you a playlist.

have you ever found a writer who thinks just like you? if so, who? >> No. I’ve found pieces of myself in a variety of authors’ works, of course, but none of them have been comprehensively relatable.

list your fandoms and one character from each that you identify with. >> I don’t even know what my fandoms are anymore. I consume a lot of media, and some of it I’ve even written fan-fiction for, but I’m not going to list it all here. That’d be a prohibitively long list.

do you like your name? is there another name you think would fit you better? >> Yes, I like it. I chose it, after all.

do you think of yourself as a human being or a human doing? do you identify yourself by the things you do? >> I don’t think of myself as either, most of the time. I also have found “identifying” myself as anything to be a disappointingly dry experience. Identification with any sort of label encourages me to bind myself to it, at the expense of any other thing I might become -- for example, if I identify myself as “goth”, then it feels like pressure to... behave quintessentially “goth”, at the expense of any other nuances of my subcultural being. I don’t like to reside in identities, as if they were forever-homes; I like to wear them like gauzy clothing and discard them when I grow weary of their weight.

are you religious/spiritual? >> Something like that. It’s difficult for me to say one way or the other, because I’m not entirely sure what being “religious” or being “spiritual” actually means.

do you care about your ethnicity? >> No. I do sometimes feel pulled towards certain things from the country of my mother’s birth, and I do feel cultural solidarity with other people of Black American experience. I also think ethnicity is interesting because of the idea of “genetic memory”, what is passed down from our ancestors and so forth. But, you know.

what musical artists have you most felt connected to over your lifetime? >> Eddie Vedder and David Bowie, primarily.

are you an artist? >> Sometimes.

do you have a creed? >> No.

describe your ideal day. >> I don’t have an ideal day. Most of the days I have are pretty well-suited for me, and I don’t feel like I need to pursue an “ideal” version of them.

dog person or cat person? >> I can get along with either, but I am usually most interested in dogs.

inside or outdoors? >> I have no preference aside from logistical ones.

are you a musician? >> No.

five most influential books over your lifetime. >> The Fountainhead, The Phantom Tollbooth, American Gods, The Gunslinger, A Wrinkle in Time.

if you’d grown up in a different environment, do you think you’d have turned out the same? >> Of course not.

would you say your tumblr is a fair representation of the “real you”? >> I don’t believe in a “real me” as a concept. My tumblr is definitely “real”, though, in the sense that I’m not putting on a persona when I post on it.

what’s your patronus? >> The Ravenstag from Hannibal, probably.

which Harry Potter house would you be in? or are you a muggle? >> I would be in Slytherin, although I also have Ravenclaw tendencies.

would you rather be in Middle Earth, Narnia, Hogwarts, or somewhere else? >> I don’t really feel like I’d rather be anywhere. Fictional worlds are a lot of fun to spend time in, but that doesn’t mean I want to relocate to them. They all have huge downsides -- some of them even more drastic than the downsides of living on Earth. I’m fine with being on Earth.

do you love easily? >> No. Unless you’re an inworlder.

list the top five things you spend the most time doing, in order. >> I don’t know how to put them in order because I don’t measure how long I spend doing shit, but for the most part I spend my time: playing video games, being on tumblr, watching tv shows and movies, reading, and... more reading, I guess. I can’t think of a fifth thing.

how often would you want to see your family every year? >> ---

have you ever felt like you had a “mind-meld” with someone? >> Yeah. We also did the same drugs, and tripping with someone else (and often) can often encourage that sort of mind-meld-y feeling.

could you live as a hermit? >> I don’t think so. The sweet novelty would wear off and I’d just get bored and restless, like I would in any other low-stimulus situation.

how would you describe your gender/sexuality? >> I wouldn’t, actually. It’s a lot easier for me to just exist in my constant state of liminality than try to pigeonhole these things for the sake of others’ understanding. But for the sake of conversation, I usually just say I’m nonbinary/agender and grey-asexual (the “grey” is mostly because of inworld. and that weird feeling I get when I see two Jeremy Ironses on the screen at once).

do you feel like your outside appearance is a fair representation of the “real you”? >> There is, once again, no such thing as a “real me”. My outside appearance is just whatever it is, I don’t expect it to tell any grand stories about me.

on a scale from 1 to 10, how hard is it for someone to get under your skin? >> (Assuming “1″ is “very easy” and “10″ is “very hard”.) On a good day, a solid 9. On a bad day, somewhere around a 4.

three songs that you connect with right now. >> Map Change by Every Time I Die; I Have Forgiven Jesus by Morrissey; *grumble* Sunlight by Hozier.

pick one of your favorite quotes. >> I should really just make an Evernote file and save quotes in there so I have one ready to go every time I get this question on a survey.

#surveys #survey #random survey

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canyouhearthelight · 6 years ago

Text

The Miys, Ch. 24

The following morning, I slid Arantxa a mug of coffee as she sat next to me with a groan. “How do I feel even more tired than I did when I went to bed last night?” she grumbled before making a valiant attempt to drown herself in the hot beverage.

I raised my matching mug in a silent toast. “I know, right? I couldn’t sleep for anything. I have the big sister of the migraine I went to bed with last night, to boot. I had to ask Miys to get a batch of analgesic patches from medical, which turned out to be a good idea because I am apparently not the only one. Xiomara looked at me like I single-handedly ended world hunger when I told her.”

She grunted before coming up from her coffee for air and a refill. “We are all under a significant amount of stress. Everyone seems a little dazed today, even Councillor Hodenson, if that helps.”

“No way,” I murmured in disbelief, looking around. Sure enough, Grey was standing with their data screen up, but staring off into the distance over it. “I didn’t think anything could get to them. At least I don’t feel as bad knowing they’re rattled, too,” I shook my head, groaning slightly as the pain in it intensified.

I didn’t even realize I had closed my eyes until they flew open at the sound of something being set in front of me. “I swear, for someone who likes to cook so much, you sure forget to eat an awful lot,” the familiar voice of Zach Khan trickled in my ear as I stared at a plate of scrambled eggs piled high and topped with salsa and cheese. “Your sister said your favorite breakfast is huevos rancheros, but this is the best I could do with what they brought in.”

Pushing down the rolling nausea in my stomach, I took a tentative bite. As much as I knew he was right, migraines always made me sick. I just reminded myself that dry-heaving was worse than throwing up and forced myself to swallow. “And everyone calls me a mother hen,” I tried to joke. “Thanks, Zach.”

“No prob,” he waved off. “I already took something to Derek and Tyche. She said she thinks she’s coming down with something at the worst possible time, so she asked me bring you something to eat while she tries to cool off in the shower. I would have grabbed you something, too, but I didn’t know what,” the last part was directed at my friend, who was showing heretofore unknown talent in chugging scalding beverages at this point.

She paused long enough to shake her head. “I don’t eat breakfast, but thank you. Once I am more awake, I will find something, I promise.”

After throwing a scowl at her for not eating something, I turned back to Zach. “What are you even doing up already?”

He shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. Plus, someone had to be on hand to set up the headsets for the drone pilots. They’re pretty bootstrap since our host had nothing like them on hand, but we’ve got them working. The pilots report some nausea and dizziness from prolonged use, but that’s pretty standard with prolonged VR use, which is essentially what we’ve got them doing. Pranav was going to ask Derek to take a look at them, but Maverick and I pretty much put the kibosh on that until he’s recovered from yesterday.”

“How’s he doing?” I asked, worried.

“Eh, he ate, so that’s good. I took him as much water as I could carry, and he’s holed up in the farthest corner of one of the sleeping areas, spoiling your cat. Conor brought up some of his modelling clay, so he’s got that, Mac, and a few ice packs.” A huge wait I wasn’t previously aware of fell off my chest at the information.

Arantxa’s face made a sudden appearance from her fourth – fifth? – cup of coffee. “Conor was here?” she asked excitedly.

As I smothered a grin, Zach shook his head. “Negative. He was on Level Three, where Miys met him to pick up the clay. Security is still super tight until we find out who or what caused the sensor damage.”

My poor, lovesick friend deflated at the news, and I was torn between laughing and crying to see how much she missed our friendly giant. “We were supposed to have a date, today,” she grumbled.

“Nuh uh!” I cried, echoed by Zach’s “No way!”

She nodded. “We were going to visit BioLab 2, and he was going to teach me to swim.”

“Uh, Rants, you already know how to swim,” I pointed out.

“He doesn’t know that,” she declared imperiously. “It was the best I could do, since I have absolutely no help.” The last was accompanied by a playful glare.

“Wait wait wait,” Zach held up his hands. “Did Conor know this was supposed to be a date? Deets! I need deets!”

“Are you going to give me dating advice?” she asked eagerly.

“Who? ME!?” he pointed at himself. “You’ve got to be kidding. I’m pining over the Ace Ace over there, which is the dumbest thing ever for a bisexual horndog, so I’m the worst person to ask for advice.”

“Are all bisexuals disasters?” she asked skeptically.

“Yes,” Zach and I replied in unison before glancing at each other and laughing.

I had to stop when the small man in my head found a bigger hammer to pound my skull with. “Ugh, I need to wait until my pain meds kick in before I have the rest of this conversation. Y’all have fun, though,” I waved at them as I stood.

“No, no, nope,” the programmer gently pushed me back in my chair. “Tyche and Derek both insisted you eat all that before I let you out of my sight. We’ll change the subject, but you have to eat.”

“All of it?” I asked with horror before looking down at my plate. A mountain of eggs stared back at me.

“Four ounces of eggs, one ounce of cheese, an ounce of salsa. Roughly two hundred calories, Tyche’s orders. And she scares me more than you do – I’m pretty sure she actually could kill me with one eyebrow – so you gotta eat that.”

I grumbled and started forcing down the eggs as Arantxa continued her impressive performance at breathing coffee and Zach filled us in on everything that happened while we were asleep. I only understood about a quarter of what he said, just enough to understand that we were in orbit around one of Eenie’s moons, and in ten hours would be moving to the next for additional materials. Also, lunch would apparently be vegetarian. Finally, I finished my eggs (much to Zach’s relief) and was free to hunt down Xiomara and another analgesic patch while I waited for my food to settle and coffee to kick in.

When I found her, in the same place I left her the night before, she didn’t seem to be in any better shape than I was. She sighed gratefully at the sight of the coffee I brought her – a near repeat of the night before – before taking in the pinched look I knew sat around my eyes and just asking “Stress?”

“Yup,” I confirmed. “But life carries on, I’ll be okay once everything calms down.”

“I know the feeling,” she sighed after a sip of coffee. “Unfortunately, it’s ‘hurry up and wait’ right now. All the pilots other than Maverick and Evan are taking turns piloting drones while those two crash until further notice.”

“Short notice,” I observed as I gestured to where Maverick was hovering around the jury-rigged controls to the Ark.

Xiomara groaned. “He has decided the Ark is his ‘baby’ and doesn’t want anyone to even come close to the controls until the sensors are fixed and the Miys take back over.” A brief scowl was shot in his direction before she took another swig of steaming caffeine. She made a remarkably good impression of Mac’s look of satisfaction as she enjoyed her coffee.

“Have you had a chance to talk to Pranav about the sensors?” I asked, hoping she would understand what I meant.

“Mmm,” she hummed enthusiastically. “Yes, I have. Two of the pilots on file are currently in genetic surgery bays, about halfway through treatment. The other ten, we’re looking into alibis. There’s an incredible amount of metadata collected by the systems, so Pranav is personally going through that. It’ll take a few days, but we want to be completely clear rather than chasing rabbits.”

“If there’s so much data, how do we not know who destroyed the back up sensors,” I asked quietly, mostly thinking out loud.

“Temporary systemic blackouts from all common areas to the location of the sensors,” she muttered unhappily. “Tracing that is Zach’s next job, and once Mr. Okafor is recovered and has checked the VR rigs, we’re hoping he can take over as primary.”

“Normally, I would be incredibly defensive at the idea of Derek being expected to do so much, but honestly I don’t know how anyone will be able to stop him once he finds out that someone played jiggery-pokery in his playground. He’ll do it anyway, so I’m glad he’s at least allowed to this time.” When she raised an eyebrow at me in question, I waved her off. “Nothing major. He may have hacked the medical database to make sure the evergreens that Conor Mac Maoilir decided to spread all over the ship for winter holidays wouldn’t mess with people’s allergies? He was grounded from my cat for a week, and I made him fix the security weakness, I swear!” I explained hastily when she gaped in horror.

“You are telling me a seventeen-year-old hacked an alien data system for a medical bay that we have no training for, just to make sure a bunch over oversized shrubs wouldn’t make anyone sneeze!?” She demanded.

“Like I said, he fixed it?” I responded sheepishly. “To be fair, that’s part of the reason Pranav trusts his skills so much. Every programmer and network security specialist on this ship, including Noah, can’t figure out how to keep him out of literally anything. Fortunately, he generally does it just to see if he can, or because he’s looking for something very specific. Since he isn’t hurting anyone, and actually usually does it to avoid hurting people, it’s really difficult to convince him not to do it.”

She just shook her head. “Good thing he’s a good kid. That’s… it would be horrifying if it wasn’t just incredible.”

“Right?” I asked in agreement. “On another topic, how’s Grey holding up? I saw them just staring into space earlier, which is unusual.”

“Grey is unusual in general,” she shrugged. “People are more your thing than mine. Why don’t you go check on our fellow Councillor, and I’ll ride herd on the pilots?”

I smirked before I could stop myself. “Coward,” I accused in a teasing tone.

“People shooting at me, piloting in wild new frontiers, I’m good. People? Not so much,” she shrugged. “That’s why I’m Safety and Security, and you’re People.”

“Human Resources and Social Engagement,” I scowled.

“Right. People. Go people at Grey, see if they’re okay,” she shooed. Softer, she tilted her head. “Seriously. This is pretty much their show right now, so we really need them to be okay.”

I took a deep breath before nodding. The second painkiller patch had made a significant dent in my migraine, downgrading it all the way to a screaming headache. I could work with that. I’d worked with worse. “If I’m not back in two hours, send Noah. Or my sister, if she’s feeling better.”

Grey startled as I gently touched their elbow. “Grey. I’m sorry for touching you – I know you don’t like it – but I’ve called your name ten times. I even tried waving my hands in front of you. Are you okay?”

They shook their head like they were waking up before pushing their glasses up. “My apologies, Councillor Reid. I have had difficulty focusing today. My assurances that I will endeavor to correct this.”

“Whoa,” I stood back, alarmed. “Grey. Since when do you call me ‘Councillor’? And you never have difficulty focusing. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I am only distracted, I promise. I admit I am distressed by the lack of materials for repairing the sensors. The drones are bringing in a satisfying amount of elements to replenish what we have used by being on board, but less than a tenth of what we need for the sensors. It is frustrating that we have no data we can use to narrow our search to only locations that would yield what we need.”

“So, what do we need?” I asked, happy to play rubber duck if it would assist my friend.

“Silica, mostly, for the necessary optical fibers. Iron, aluminum, gold or at least silver for plating and wires,” they rubbed their eyes tiredly before replacing their ever-present glasses.

“Okay, that makes sense,” I nodded. I was mildly concerned that I actually understood the majority of what they were saying. “So what are we not locating?”

“Iron,” Grey replied. “This particular moon is very iron poor, it turns out.”

“Iron,” I repeated. “Wasn’t Mars iron rich? That’s why it was red, right?”

“Correct, but atmospheric neon would also cause a planet or moon to be red if the atmosphere was charged.”

“Still, it narrows down the search, so that may help,” I pointed out. “What else?”

“Aluminum, and before you ask, aluminum does not have a distinct color that is observable from atmosphere,” they glanced at me knowingly. “It is white or grey, and in cases where it is found in the form of bauxite, it is blue or green. Several minerals and atmospheric gases create the same color. Additionally, it would take significant concentrations to cause it to be visible from orbit.”

I shrugged. “Worth a try. So, next question: What can you do, right now, to improve any of this?”

They let out the most defeated sigh I think I ever heard. “Honestly, nothing. All I am doing is worrying. I feel there is something that I am missing.”

“Honestly, it doesn’t sound like it to me,” I assured them. “Have any of your researchers come up with any other ideas?”

“They have not,” Grey conceded.

I smiled. “In that case, ask Miys for something to help you sleep – I know you don’t like medication, but you’re exhausted,” I cut off their rebuttal. “Even the finest computer needs to turn off sometimes. And you are decidedly not a computer, so you need rest even more.”

They blinked at me owlishly. “Is this what Councillor Kalloe refers to as you being a ‘mother hen’?”

“Bingo,” I winked. “You get used to it, I promise. Now go. Sleep.”

<< Prev Masterlist Next >>

#the miys #original fiction #original scifi #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #earth is space australia #science fiction #aliens #apocalypse

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vgckwb · 5 years ago

Text

ML: Are They Worthy? Chapter 25: Game Plan!

Alya and Nino were stunned. “You may call me Master Fu” he said, trying to welcome them.

“Master Fu is the Last Guardian of the Miraculous” Wayzz said.

“I bet you have several questions” Master Fu said.

“Um, yeah” Alya said. “Do you know why Ladybug chose us? I know that we use the miraculous temporarily, but to give it to us permanently...it’s a lot.”

“Ladybug’s reasons are her own. I am not at liberty to divulge them. If I were, it would be as if I told you who Ladybug was under the mask” Master Fu said.

“Well, if you can’t tell us that dude, I mean Master Fu, then can you tell us why you need more full-tie superheroes?” Nino asked.

Master Fu sighed. “We are afraid Hawk Moth has more allies.”

“He has more miraculous?” Alya said.

“No” Master Fu responded. “But we believe that he may be blackmailing other people, like he did with Lila. He’s making moves to strengthen his hand, so we have to follow in kind.” Alya and Nino looked sad. “Ladybug did tell you that you did not need to dawn the costume every Akuma attack, didn’t she?”

“Yeah, but why wouldn’t we?” Alya said.

“She’s right. We’re heroes. We have to do what we can to protect people” Nino chimed in.

“I admire your spirit” Master Fu said. “You know, she didn’t tell me she was doing that.”

“Then, how’d you know?” Nino asked.

“I could see it in your heart” Master Fu said. “It weighs heavy on you. I think she just wants to protect you from the hardships she has to endure. All of the secrets. The lies. The running away from the people in your life just to save them. It’s a lot to take on.”

“It’s not fair” Alya said. “Why does Ladybug have to go through all of that, and yet she wants to protect us from it? It’s not fair!” Nino comforted his girlfriend.

“I understand your reasoning” Master Fu said. “I also understand Ladybug’s reasoning. She’s been keeping Paris safe for so long, it’s become second nature to her to want to protect people.”

“I know. It’s just hard” Alya said. “Thinking about her all by herself, struggling to keep everything together. She should be doing it alone.”

“She isn’t” Master Fu said. “She has Tikki, Cat Noir, Judgement Wolf, and myself. Not to mention she has her friends and family in her civilian life.”

Alya smiled. “I guess you’re right.”

“So, what should we know that Ladybug knows?” Nino asked. Master Fu smiled.

“A video game?” Mr. Chastain said.

“Yes sir” Max said nervously, with Markov to his left, and Vlad to his right.

Mr. Chastain sighed. “I wish you had come to me sooner. Now, I’m going to figure out how to get the set-up just right so it doesn’t disturb anything else.”

“You mean?” Max said.

“Of course” Mr. Chastain said. “I did say all forms of art, didn’t I?”

“I can help with setting up” Markov said.

“As can I” Max said.

“I gladly appreciate that” Mr. Chastain said. “Luckily, this isn’t last minute.”

Max, Vlad, and Markov left the art room. “I can’t believe he accepted.”

“Told ya. You just need more confidence in yourself” Vlad said.

“Of course, we might need help setting up the game, but with enough people, it should work,” Max said.

Adrien, Marinette, and Kim met them in the hall. “Ready to go?” Adrien asked. “I got my driver waiting for us out front.”

“Of course Adrien” Max said. The six of them went to the limo.

“So, what’s the game plan?” Adrien asked.

“Me?” Max said.

“Of course you, Max” Kim said. “You’re the one who knows the Nighthawks the best.”

Max thought about it for a minute. “OK. First, we need a fifth.”

“I’ll talk to Nino” Adrien said. “I’m sure he’ll be willing to help.”

“Let’s not forget Alix, or anyone else in our class good at the game,” Kim said.

“Right” Max said. “The exhibition match is a best of five. We only need to win three matches, but those three match-ups should be favorable. I suggest Adrien be the final fight.”

“Adrien?” Marinette said.

“But what about Marinette?” Adrien said.

“I know it sounds weird, but according to Markov, yours is the latest gamertag that has gotten the achievement for double-perfecting the final boss” Max said. “We need that kind of skill and freshness at the match.”

“Oh, that?” Adrien said. “Well, see, Marinette recently stayed at my place, and I asked her to get that achievement for me.”

“So, that was Marinette playing?” Max said.

“Yup” said Adrien. He felt it was a good time to crack his first joke among friends. “That achievement was nothing but ‘nette.” Marinette giggled. She then looked at Vlad who was rolling her eyes at her. She glared at him.

“OK. So Marinette, you’re going to be fighting Carter” Max said. “Adrien, I’m putting you against Gerard. Unless any of your other achievements in the game were performed by Marinette as well.”

“No, of course not” Adrien said.

“Good” Max said.

“Why aren’t you taking on Carter Max?” Kim asked.

“As much as I want to, I want to win this thing,” Max said. “That spot needs to go to the most experienced player. I could never topple Carter even on a day when he sprained his wrist. No, I will be taking on their replacement for me.”

“Max, that’s crazy!” Kim said.

“Is it? Because he’s the only one who wasn’t on the team when I was” Max said. “Everyone else knows me too well. I’m a bit rusty, so they would easily beat me.”

“I see” Kim said.

The limo arrived at the mansion. The group walked in and were greeted by Gabriel Agreste himself. “Father!” Adrien said, stunned.

“Hello Adrien” Gabriel said. “I see you have company.”

“Yes father” Adrien said.

Gabriel smiled. “What’s the occasion?”

“Well, I saw a flyer advertising that the Paris Nighthawks are doing an exhibition match against anyone willing to step up” Adrien began. “Then we found out that Max here used to play for them, but their relationship soured. Now, we’re going to form a team and give them a fight.”

“I see” said Gabriel.

“Actually, I’m also here to begin work on my outfits, Mr. Agreste” Marinette said.

“And I’m here to keep her company” Vlad said. “I’m not great at video games.”

“I see” Gabriel said. “Well, you three head to Adrien’s room, I’ll lead Marinette and Mr. Brodeur to my work station.”

“Four” Markov said. Gabriel looked at Markov. “I am also here, and real.”

“Of course. My mistake” Gabriel said.

“Apology accepted” arkove said.

“WAIT!” Marinette said. “Um, before we split up, I was wondering what two-color color scheme the two of you want. I need a base and an accent.”

“Black and green” Adrien said.

“Purple and gold for me” Vlad said.

“Thank you” Marinette said. The group split up.

“That’s...a lot” Nino said.

“Yes” Master Fu said. “But if we want to defeat Hawk Moth, we all need to be on the same page.”

“Of course” Alya said. “Speaking of same page, do you think you could tell us who Ladybug, Cat Noir, or Judgement Wolf are? So that we’re all on the same page?”

“As well as any of the other temporary heroes?” Nino added.

“Ladybug and Cat Noir don’t even know each other’s identity yet” Master Fu answered. “I don’t see how I could reveal that information to you yet.”

“Yet?” Alya said.

“I have someone working on that front” Master Fu responded.

Marinette couldn’t believe her eyes. This was Gabriel’s private clothes making office. It was stocked with all sorts of fabric, sewing machines, and anything else necessary for making clothes. “As the head of the company, I don’t usually get the opportunity to manufacture my designs much” Gabriel said. “I use this room for personal projects. Or, at least I did. Now all this room does is collect dust. I haven’t really used this room since...since my wife’s disappearance.”

Marinette looked at Gabriel and saw how depressed he looked. “I’m sure she’ll return” she said. “In fact, I think Ladybug would be willing to search for her. You know, if you told her.”

“A nice sentiment, but my wife disappeared half-way around the world,” Gabriel said. “And so long as Hawk Moth is running amok, Ladybug’s place will always be in Paris.”

“Of course” Marinette said. “But I’m sure after they’ve saved Paris from Hawk Moth, they’d be willing to help you.”

“Ladybug is doing enough just by being there,” Gabriel said. “Anyway, if you need me, I’ll be in my office.” Gabriel left.

Marinette started grabbing some fabric to begin working on her design. “By the way, what was with that eye roll earlier? Don’t pretend I didn’t see it” she said.

“It’s just, you never giggle when Cat Noir makes puns, but the instant Adrien does it, it’s comedy gold” Vlad retorted.

“Well, I don’t want Adrien to think I don’t like him” Marinette said.

“But it’s OK for Cat Noir to think that?” Vlad asked.

“NO! Of course not” Marinette said. “I just…”

“You just love him” Vlad concluded. “Look, I get that, but Adrien doesn’t like being coddled. I mean, you’ve heard him complain about how restrictive his father has been. He likes it when you’re open and honest with him, even if it means pointing out his faults.”

“But, when I’m open and honest, I’m probably going to say something about how I love him so much he consumes my every thought, and I dream of he and I together on a candlelit beach, staring at the stars, hoping for moments like that to never end” Marinette spewed, while continuing her work.

“You know, Adrien is that much of a sap when it comes to love, so maybe saying that will work” Vlad said.

“I’m not going to say that to him!” Marinette said, bright red.

“Of course. Just take it slow” Vlad said.

“He’s right Marinette” Tikki said, popping out.

“Thanks Tikki. Vlad” Marinette said.

“After all, you’re here today working on two very important tasks” Vlad said. “I’m sure your mind will be consumed by things other than Adrien.”

“Markov, you’re taking notes, right?” Max asked, in Adrien’s room.

“Affirmative” Markov said.

“Alright then” Max said, taking the second controller. “Who’s up first?”

“Um Max, why do you have the second controller?” Adrien asked.

“Well, I know how everyone else on the team plays” Max explained. “I can recreate their style fairly well. Not to the point where I can execute it as well as they can, but I can replicate it well enough so that you have an idea on what to do when the time comes.”

“I see” Adrien said. “Kim, mind if I go first?”

“By all means” Kim said.

Adrien sat down and grabbed the first controller. He selected his main, NAD03. “Like I said before, I’m putting you against Gerard” Max said. “He usually plays UFO.GR.”

“Isn’t that a bad match-up for NAD03?” Adrien asked.

“Yes, but I’m confident you can overcome the odds” Max said. “You’re a really good player Adrien. I think you can do it.”

“I sure hope you’re right” Adrien said. The two begin a match.

“So you mentioned that Marinette stayed over” Max said.

“Yeah” Adrien replied.

“What was that like?” Max said.

“It was fun” Adrien said. “My first sleepover with someone who isn’t Chloe. It was wonderful.”

Max smiled as Adrien was focusing on the game, while answer his questions with ease. “Did anything happen?” Max asked.

“Well, we were hanging out with Vlad, Alya, and Nino before” Adrien said. “Really, the only thing that happened after they left was her getting that achievement for me.”

“I see” Max said. “Was she wearing anything special?”

“Why do you need to know that?” Adrien said.

“Because this is how Gerard battles” Max said. “Not only does he play his character well, he also tries to get into the mind of his opponent.”

“Oh. So, he presses buttons and talks?” Adrien said.

“Basically” Max said. “You need to be prepared for whatever he says. This is the other reason I suggested you play Gerard. You know how to keep cool in almost any situation.”

“I see” Adrien said. “If you must know, Nathalie bought her a nightgown. It looked radiant on her.”

“Oh, well, thank you” Max said, surprised. Based on that, he was sure that Adrien was the right man for the job.

Despite this, Max won the fight. “Alright Adrien I’m just going to program your CPU to mimic my movements, and I want you to practice against it as much as you can until Friday” Max said.

“Sounds like a plan” Adrien said.

“And done. Kim, you’re up” Max said.

“So, Judgement Wolf is working on a plan to get Ladybug and Cat Noir to a place where they can reveal their true identities?” Alay asked.

“That is correct” Master Fu said.

“Why?” Alya asked.

“You two know each other’s identities, correct? Does this help you when you are in action? Or when you are discussing ideas or things that happened?” Master Fu inquired.

“Yeah…” Alya said.

“Imagine if Ladybug and Cat Noir could do that” Master Fu said.

“I see” Alya said.

“I mean, they knew who they were after Oblivio wiped their minds, and they came back and won” Master Fu said.

“Wait, they knew each other?!” Nino said.

“Yeah, what?!” Alya said.

“I can say no more” Master Fu said.

“We should get going” Trixx said.

“Right. We shouldn’t be here for too long” Wayzz added.

“Of course” Alya said.

“You got it, little dude” Nino said. “Seeya, Master!” The two of them began to leave.

“Come by anytime you need some help” Master Fu said.

“Will do” Alya said. They left.

Gabriel was looking into the Paris Nighthawks. “Sir, why are you taking an interest in a professional video game team?” Nathalie asked.

“Adiren told me that one of his friends had a falling out with them. Now they’re going to go head-to-head this Friday” Gabriel said. “Just imagine the intense emotion.” Gabriel pulled up some information on Carter. “And things just got more interesting. In the meantime, I feel a strong emotion. A seething hatred.” Gabriel got an alert on his phone. He checked and it was a text from Lila. “You’re welcome boss” it said. “I wouldn’t expect any less.”

Marinette was working on her design when she asked Vlad “By the way, why did you tell Adrien we went to different places on Saturday?”

“Oh, that” Vlad said. “Well, I didn’t want Adrien getting suspicious is all. It covers our tracks better.”

“Oh. OK” Marinette said. An explosion could be heard from outside. “What was that?”

Adiren, Max, Kim, and Markov heard the same noise. “What was that?”

Alya and Nino heard it as well. Only, they were a lot closer. “What was that?” Nino asked.

“Probably an Akuma” Alya said. She looked around for a place to hide. Once she found one, she dragged her boyfriend to it and they both transformed. “Trixx! Let’s Pounce!”

“Wayzz! Shell On!”

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