#because its such a neat idea and i love the idea of stacking words
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itsbumblebunnybee · 7 months ago
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You know the drill guys, its kandi time!!
Lots of letters this time! And can you tell I’m trying to use up my gems to make room for new beads? 😅 i do love them but i prefer beads that can be used with thicker elastic.
Pretty colors tho!!
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em1i2a3 · 22 days ago
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Some Kind Of Love
Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Pregnant!Thunderbolt!Fem!Reader!
Summary: You and Bob find out that you’re expecting, and things get extremely complicated when you realize that the good news comes with its own set of interesting side effects.
Warnings: Fluff, Discussions surrounding pregnancy and pregnancy symptoms, Exploration of fear surrounding pregnancy, Scenes involving medical checkups, There are some supernatural elements to this
Author’s Note: This was a request by a cool ass anon, and it’s a two parter! I really enjoyed writing this first part and exploring the ideas that were brought up in the request itself, I really took the idea and literally dashed off with it screaming. Absolutely loved it! Thank you so much for the neat request and I hope I did it justice <3 (so far at least lol)
Word Count: 6,198
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Four little pink plus signs greeted you that fateful morning.
They all sat in a neat, trembling row across the marble lip of the bathroom sink–each with a soft pink plastic cap, each window displaying the same quiet verdict in unwavering lines. The morning light slanted through the frosted glass window, shining down on them like a hand reaching out to caress it, as if even the sun understood the gravity of what was resting there.
You were only supposed to take one.
One test. One answer. One more gentle disappointment that you would tuck away like the others–stacked quietly in your memory alongside months of calendar calculations and hopeful silences. But the moment the positive result came up–faint but immediate–you froze in your spot. You weren’t relieved, or joyful, you were in pure disbelief.
Then, almost without thinking, your body moved quickly–muscle memory taking over your actions completely. You grabbed another box from the cabinet under the sink, ripping it open with shaking hands before opening up the plastic that the test was surrounded in. Your heart was hammering inside your ribs like it was trying to escape from the confines of your body–or like it was trying to wake you up from this dream. When the same result came back, you took a third test, doing the exact same thing.
By the fourth test, your hands were shaking with pure relief and excitement. You couldn’t stop staring at the results, as if it might somehow change if you closed your eyes for too long.
You needed to be sure that this was real.
Because after eleven long months of trying, hoping, and hurting together–you didn’t know how to trust good news anymore.
You and Bob had started the journey together with optimism. The kind that sits high in your chest and makes you whisper things like ‘this could be the month’ after every kiss, and every breathless evening tangled together in bed, sweaty and laughing and full of quiet wanting. He had taken the liberty to mark the dates in a small notebook, it was chalked full of ovulation windows, fertility reminders, and soft little smiley faces in the margins beside your initials.
It had been romantic, even magical at first.
Until it wasn’t.
By the seventh month, the intimacy had begun to feel clinical, timed, and mechanical. The warmth that once bloomed between your bodies–those breathless nights laced with quiet laughter and whispered I-love-you’s–began to thin under the weight of expectation. Sex became a checkbox, with each wave of hope that came crashing down with another let down. You’d lie tangled in the sheets afterward in a haze of silence, with Bob’s thumb stroking the back of your hand absentmindedly, while neither of you said what hung between you.
The tension settled into your bone like a second skin. You started visiting the med bay together after returning from missions, but it wasn’t just for bruises or being patched up–it was for answers. The techs ran every test they could think of. Hormone panels, sperm counts, uterine scans…Everything under the sun. You sat side-by-side on sterile white exam tables with your hands clasped tightly together while polite professionals told you the same thing, over and over again:
”Everything looks normal.”
But normal didn’t help, because no matter how normal everything looked, nothing was happening.
And that was the part that began to hurt the most.
Bob tried to hide it, but you saw the guilt spreading inside him like a quiet rot.
One night, after a particularly long debrief, you came into the bedroom to find him sitting on the edge of the bed in the dark. The lamp on his side was still on, casting soft golden light across the sheets, but he wasn’t moving. He sat hunched forward, elbows on his knees, hands twisted into his thick light brown hair, like he was holding himself together by sheer force.
You stepped toward him, wordlessly, and wrapped your arms gently around his shoulders. At first, he didn’t move. He just let out a quiet, shaking breath–one that you felt creep down your spine. Then his hands found you, pulling you closer to him, arms curling tight around your waist like he needed you as close as possible. His head dropped forward until his ear was resting against your stomach, and you slid your fingers into his ruffled locks of hair, smoothing them down as you always did when he was unraveling.
It took him a long time to speak, and when he did, it was barely a hushed breath.
”M-Maybe it’s me…” You froze in your spot, “Maybe it’s the…The Sentry s-serum. It wasn’t properly tested…I–I don’t even know what it did to my body. To my cells…” His voice cracked, low and raw and ashamed, “Maybe i-it broke something inside me…Maybe it’s my fault.” Your heart shattered. You pulled back just enough to look down at him, your free hand coming up to the curve of his jaw to tilt his head up. You brushed your thumb across the soft skin beneath his eye–where tears began to well up in the corners–watching his lashes flutter at the touch. His face was flushed in the amber glow, lips parted like he was struggling to breath through the thoughts that plagued his mind.
”Don’t say that Bob…” You said gently. He swallowed hard, his lashes dampening.
”Everything came back fine for you. But for me…T-They don’t even have a panel that goes into d-depth enough. That’s probably w-why we don’t have answers.” You shook your head slowly, pressing your forehead to his.
“It’s not your fault. It’s not mine either. It’s just…” You paused, barely able to say it. “It’s just happening the way it’s happening. And I know that hurts. I know.” He curled his arms tighter around you, before burying his face into your soft stomach again. You could feel how hard he was holding himself back from breaking further. It was like being loved by someone standing at the edge of an earthquake, afraid to fall in too deep in case he took you with him.
Then some nights, Sentry would surface.
In the quiet moments between sleeping, and turning over to reposition yourself, when you were both too exhausted to pretend you weren’t hurting, his golden eyes would flicker and overtake the ocean expanse of Bob’s. He would lay behind you, with one arm slung protectively over your waist, palm pressed flat over your womb, like he could feel a future there, and he never stuttered or hesitated when he made his claims.
“I will make it happen, my love,” He whispered, voice like honey and heat curling against the shell of your ear, “Even if I must pull the stars from the sky and set the world ablaze to do it…You were made to bear my light…And I won’t stop believing that.” He kissed the back of your neck, his hand stroking along the softness of your stomach.
”I can already picture them…I can feel them in the ether…Yours and mine.” And for the briefest second–you believed him.
There were other nights like that. Quiet ones, where you woke to find Sentry’s arms curled around you like a shield, his forehead pressed to yours, whispering promises you didn’t know how to hold.
By the ninth month of trying, the emotional weight had started to wear thin. You’d stopped tracking your cycle. Stopped buying ovulation strips. You even started pulling away a little when Bob reached for you–not out of rejection, but exhaustion.
The joy was gone, and that magic and closeness ceased to exist.
One night, you lay on the couch together after dinner, half-draped over his chest, your fingers curled loosely in the hem of his shirt. You could hear his heartbeat in your ear–steady and strong–and it made you ache with love for him in ways you didn’t have words for.
So you finally said it.
“…Let’s stop trying.”
Bob went still beneath you. His arm around your shoulder froze mid-stroke, the fingertips that had been tracing idle patterns against your skin stilling in surprise.
“What?” he asked softly.
You looked up at him, eyes glassy but calm. “Let’s stop tracking it. Stop planning it. It’s making us miserable.”
He stared down at you, concerned. “But–what–if?”
You shook your head slowly.
“If it happens, it happens,” You whispered. “And if it doesn’t…Maybe we weren’t supposed to be parents.”
His face crumpled like you’d reached in and crushed something inside him.
But then he pulled you in tighter.
And replied, “O-Okay. I just…I don’t want you to think it’s your fault. Ever.”
“I don’t,” You lied softly. “Not anymore.”
You nestled against him and didn’t speak again. You didn’t have to. Because in that moment, the two of you silently agreed to step back, to take your hands off the wheel and let the universe drive–even if neither of you liked where it might go.
And now…Here you were two months later, with four positive pregnancy tests in front of you, beaming the news that you had been wanting to see since the beginning.
“Just one more…” You whispered to yourself, like it might bring even firmer proof that this was real, that you weren’t dreaming still. That the aching quiet of the last year had finally given way to something more.
But before you could tear open the packaging to one more test, you heard a gentle knock.
“Y/N…Is e-everything okay?” Bob’s voice asked, soft as a breath through the wood. You froze, your fingers tightening around the unopened test. Your heart thudded, and you glanced back down at the row of pink plus signs. Your throat tightened as you stepped toward the door, swallowing against the wave of emotion building behind your sternum. You cracked it open just a sliver, and the moment you did, your eyes found him.
He was already staring at you.
Messy hair from restless sleep, light brown strands sticking out like he’d run his hands through it a hundred times. His grey sweatpants clung to his hips from where he’d thrown them back on half-asleep, and his chest was bare–warm and flushed from the heat of the sheets, freckled skin rising and falling with each nervous breath. His eyes scanned over your face, and you saw the way his brow pulled–worried, tender, and afraid.
”…Y/N…What’s w-wrong?” He asked gently. That was the moment you realized you were crying. Silent tears rolled down your cheeks without fanfare, without permission–carved straight from disbelief and joy and exhaustion. You lifted your hand quickly, wiping at your face with the back of your wrist like it might erase what he saw.
“C-Can I come in?” You gave a shaky little sniffle and nodded, stepping back just enough to open the door wider. He didn’t hesitate. The moment there was enough room, Bob stepped in and reached for you like he couldn’t stand a second more of distance. His hands came up to your face instantly, gentle but urgent, tilting your chin so he could see you properly in the light. His thumbs swept across your cheeks, brushing away the tears that continued to fall.
“Why are you c-crying?” he asked, searching your expression like he was bracing for heartbreak. “Did you…D-Did you get your period?”
You shook your head immediately, the denial spilling from your lips in a breathless rush. “No. No, I didn’t.”
His hands stilled on your face, and you felt him pause–completely, fully still like he was afraid to breathe.
“That’s…That’s why I took the test,” You whispered. “I’m three weeks late. And my body’s been…” You faltered, eyes fluttering shut as you tried to explain. “It’s like I’ve been feeling these little…Pins and needles? All over. Especially in my stomach. I didn’t really think much of it until–until you said it.”
Bob blinked. “S-Said what?”
Your voice was nearly a whisper.
“That maybe it was happening.”
You saw the way his expression shifted then. How that sentence came back to him like a ghost. He had said it so gently, with that hesitant hope he always laced through his worry, like he didn’t want to jinx anything but couldn’t stop believing in you anyway. He had stood beside you in the kitchen just last week, watching you rub your stomach absentmindedly–trying to ease the discomfort you were feeling–and said it so quietly you almost didn’t catch it.
Now, with his hands still holding your face and your eyes glistening beneath the bathroom light, spilling tears, he looked terrified.
“I–I didn’t mean to get your hopes up,” He said quickly, stammering over the words. “I–I just…I thought maybe, maybe it was finally–God, Y/N, if I made you think–” You shook your head again, cutting off his spiral before it could build into something heavier.
“Bob,” You breathed. “You were right.”
His eyes widened slightly, lips parting as if the air had suddenly gotten too thin.
”W-What?” Your hands found his wrists gently, fingers curling around them as you guided him across the bathroom, his socked feet shuffling quietly across the tile behind you. The sunlight had shifted again, now casting a warm halo over the sink–and over the four test sticks aligned like sacred relics, their soft pink caps and double lines shining beneath the golden hue.
Bob followed your movement, as you stopped and tilted your head toward them, wordlessly telling him to see for himself.
He looked down.
And everything about him seemed to slow.
He hunched forward slightly, blinking hard like he didn’t trust his eyes, his hands still hovering in the air like he didn’t know what to do with them. His brows furrowed, mouth falling open slightly as he looked closer–at each plus sign, one after the other, as if he needed to study every single one before the truth could bloom fully in his chest.
“…Holy…” His voice cracked. “Holy shit.”
His eyes snapped back to yours.
“Y-You’re pregnant?”
You let out the softest breath, almost a laugh but caught halfway by tears, and nodded.
“I’m pregnant,” You whispered, your voice breaking mid-syllable.
And just like that, he crumpled into you.
He let out a laugh–a huff of disbelief, breathless and wild–and then wrapped you in his arms so tightly you felt like the only thing anchoring him to the earth. His face buried itself into the crook of your neck, warm and damp with tears as his arms closed around your back, curling in like he wanted to disappear into the moment and stay there forever.
You held him just as tightly, your fingers sliding through the soft mess of his hair, your chin resting on his shoulder.
He breathed against your skin.
“You’re pregnant…You’re really… Oh my God.”
You nodded into his shoulder, laughing gently through the tears. “We’re gonna have a baby, Bob.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you again, his eyes glassy, lips parted like he still couldn’t catch his breath. Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips—soft, slow, and full of wonder. The kind of kiss people write about. The kind that tastes like the end of grief and the beginning of something holy.
When he pulled back, he was smiling.
Then he laughed–really laughed–and looked down again at the row of tests before glancing back up at you with wide, teary eyes.
“W-Who takes four pregnancy tests,” He said, breathless with awe and amusement, “When the first two should be perfect confirmation that it’s happening?”
You let out a small laugh and swatted playfully at his chest. “I was in shock!”
He caught your hand and kissed your knuckles, then pressed it to his cheek like he couldn’t bear to let go of you.
“I’m only joking…I-I probably would’ve done the same…” Bob’s laugh rumbled low in his chest, soft and breathless, the kind that bubbled up from somewhere deep and warm. He leaned forward again, unable to resist the gravitational pull of your joy, your eyes, your mouth–and kissed your cheek. Then your nose. Then another to your brow.
And another.
And another.
You giggled, trying to wriggle away from the onslaught, but he held you fast with both arms, kissing across your face like he was tracing the constellation of his entire future.
He pulled back just an inch, golden warmth shining through the tears in his eyes. “S-Sentry is g-going to flip his lid.” You snorted, forehead resting lightly against his, your smile tugging at the corners of your lips like it had been waiting to return for months.
“I’m glad I got to have this moment with you first,” You whispered, voice softer now. “I feel like…Now that this is really happening, he’s going to be even more protective of me.” Bob brough his hand up to his chest, eyes wide in playful mock offence.
”A-And I’m not as protective as h-him? Is that what y-you’re saying?” You gave him a teasing smile, poking your fingers against the muscles that lined his stomach, leaning your weight towards him.
”You’re just the right amount of protective,” You said sweetly, “But…Unlike you, he would destroy the entire planet if something were to happen to me…So…” The corner of Bob’s mouth twitched up into that crooked little grin you loved.
”T-This is true…” He murmured, nose brushing yours. “Won’t fault you for w-wanting him to be a bit calmer…M-Maybe I can talk to him about that.”
You raised your brows. “You think he’ll listen?”
His arms slid tighter around your waist. “He listens to you m-more than he listens to m-me.” His voice was quieter now, like the truth of it was something he didn’t quite know how to say louder. “A-Always has.”
Your eyes flickered over his face, studying the curve of his mouth, the warm flush in his cheeks, the awe still settled in the crinkle of his brow like he hadn’t fully come down from the miracle of it all.
“Are you flipping your lid too?” You asked.
Bob let out a low laugh and leaned into you again, burying his face against your neck, his voice muffled but full of that same breathless wonder. “I-I already did, sweetheart,” he said, kissing the hollow of your throat. “L-Lid’s long gone.” You laughed, tears slipping freely again, and you reached for him–both arms looping around his neck as you pulled him into a real embrace. No more shock. No more waiting. Just you and him, wrapped in the truth you both thought you might never hold.
He squeezed you so tight you could feel his heartbeat pressed against your chest.
“We’re gonna be okay,” He whispered, almost to himself.
You nodded, closing your eyes. “Yeah,” You breathed. “We really are.”
———————
About five and a half months later the couch had practically grown to match the shape of your body. It groaned beneath you like an old friend as you shifted, the fabric warm from hours of lingering and the soft cream blanket wrapped around your legs knotted somewhere at your knees. The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the ceiling vent and the occasional scrape of Bob’s pen scratching against a mission log from down the hall. Sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains in lazy streaks, painting everything in muted golds, the kind of light that made the world feel soft-edged and far away.
Your eyelids were heavy. Not just from the long day–but from everything. The weight of your limbs, the steady ache in your lower back, the constant fluttering exhaustion that had been clinging to your bones like static for weeks now. The med bay techs said it was normal. “Just your body working overtime,” They’d chirped. “Perfectly healthy. Nothing to worry about.”
Still, it didn’t feel normal. It felt cosmic. Like something else was siphoning your energy on purpose.
Your hand slid across your belly, fingers tracing the curve that had blossomed so quickly over the past two months. The baby had started kicking last week–gentle taps at first, like your stomach was tapping back whenever you pressed your hand there. But now, the little one responded to everything. A shift in temperature. Bob’s voice. And most of all, cravings. The second one popped into your mind, you immediately felt the odd sensations of taps against your stomach, like the baby was telling you to get up and get it–and right now was one of those times.
You let your head fall back against the cushion, palm warm on the swell of your bump, rubbing gently.
“…Just give me five more minutes, kiddo,” You whispered, voice hoarse and affectionate. “Mommy just needs to rest a bit longer…”
As your eyes slipped shut, the room dimmed–but not from your eyelids.
You cracked one eye open again just in time to see the lamp beside the couch begin to flicker. Not a casual bulb hiccup. A slow, pulsing flicker. Like something breathing. Or responding. Your brows pinched faintly, heart skipping a beat.
”Sentry,” You called out, eyes locking in on the lamp, “Can you stop please?” There was no response–only another pulse of light. Then another. Then the faintest hum, low and glassy, vibrating somewhere behind your ears like a tuning fork deep in your skull.
Footsteps padded out from the hallway, and Bob appeared in the common room, damp hair curling slightly from the heat of the shower he had taken about two hours ago before he started working on the mission report, with a towel slung around his neck to keep his hair from dripping onto his shirt.
“H-Huh?” He questioned, surprised at the sight of you sitting upright on the couch. You turned your head slowly toward him and motions toward the flickering lamp.
”Stop flickering the light.” Bob glanced over to where you were gesturing, then brought his gaze back to yours.
”D-Do you see Sentry h-here right now?” He joked, pointing at his eyes, which were shimmering their normal deep blue. Your brows furrowed, your fingers still splayed protectively over the gentle curve of your belly as the lamp pulsed again–once, twice, slow and drawn out, like the rhythm of a second heartbeat.
“Then…What’s happening–” You began, but you didn’t get to finish the thought. Because just as the question began to leave your lips, a soft, undeniable movement rolled beneath your palm. A shift. A stretch. A little thump against your palm.
The light flickered again.
Your lips parted, eyes widening just a little as your heart stuttered in your chest. You looked down, then back at the lamp. And that’s when your pulse spiked with something other than fatigue.
“…Bob?” You said slowly, not taking your eyes off the softly pulsing bulb. He stepped toward you, towel now loose around his neck, one brow arched slightly in concern.
“Y-Yeah?”
You swallowed and turned toward him fully.
“Can you…Go grab me some chocolate ice cream?” You asked. “And crush up some potato chips onto it?”
He blinked. “R-Right now?”
You nodded, voice even and quiet, eyes drifting back to the lamp again. “Yeah. I need to try something.”
Bob didn’t question you further–just gave a soft little hum of acknowledgement, a small smile, and padded into the kitchen, leaving you with the low, steady flicker of the lamp and the strange thumping in your belly that had synced to its rhythm like a song only the two of you could hear.
The hum in your ears didn’t fade. If anything, it deepened the longer you sat still.
He returned quickly, careful hands cradling the bowl like it was precious cargo. The clink of the spoon against ceramic echoed through the quiet room.
“Crushed the chips in nice and good,” He said softly, still clearly trying to read your face. “L-Like you like it.”
You nodded slowly, lips pressed together in something between gratitude and concentration as you took the bowl, your gaze never leaving the flickering lamp. You dipped the spoon into the ice cream, scooping up a messy, jagged mound where crushed chips poked out like salt-dusted glass. You brought it to your mouth and took a bite–cold, crunchy, sweet and savory all at once–and chewed slowly, watching.
Bob sat gently on the edge of the couch beside you, towel still draped across his shoulders, eyes shifting between your face and the lamp.
“You okay?” he asked, voice low, fingers brushing your knee through the blanket.
You nodded again, slowly swallowing. Another bite. Another crunch.
Then the light stopped flickering.
Everything went still.
You paused mid-motion, the spoon still hovering near your mouth as you stared across the room.
No hum.
No pulse.
Just silence.
Your tongue flicked absently over your bottom lip, catching a bit of melted ice cream. Then you slowly dragged the back of the cold spoon across your mouth, down to your chin, and turned your head toward Bob.
“…I think we may need to go to the med bay.”
His whole body tensed. His hand stiffened against your knee. “W-Why?” he asked immediately, voice rising an octave. “Is everything okay? Are you n-not feeling good?”
Your eyes searched his, calm but certain. “I’m fine,” you said gently. “I just… I have to ask them something.”
Bob’s brow pinched, his free hand gripping the towel now like he was bracing for bad news. “O-Okay. What…What do you think it is?”
You hesitated. Your fingers brushed your stomach again–this time slower–as the tiniest tap fluttered beneath your skin. Then you looked at the lamp, still quiet and dim. The air around it no longer vibrated and it was no longer looking like it was flickering Morse code at you.
Your voice was barely above a whisper.
“…I think the baby was doing that.”
Bob blinked. “The…The lights?”
You nodded slowly. “It stopped when I gave in and ate what I was craving. Right after I told them to wait.” He stared at you, eyes wide, and you could see the gears turning in his mind–sifting through possibilities, logic, science, the unknown. His lips parted as if to speak, then closed again. You could see the flicker of gold rising just faintly behind his pupils.
“S-So…Our kid…Might h-have Sentry’s abilities?” He said, stunned.
You looked down at your belly, brushing your fingertips gently over the fabric of your shirt.
“I think they already do.” You replied.
————————
The med bay was unusually quiet for midday.
The sterile hum of overhead lights buzzed faintly above, softened only by the muffled whir of machines in the background and the occasional tap of booted footsteps down the hall. You sat perched on the edge of one of the exam room chairs, an old grey hoodie stretched over your bump, the sleeves pushed up as you spooned another mouthful of half-melted ice cream and chips into your mouth.
It was more soup than sundae at this point–cool and salty-sweet–but you didn’t care. The moment it hit your tongue, the baby gave one tiny, satisfied kick. You exhaled, easing back slightly, your eyes drifting across the room to where Bob sat hunched on the edge of the medical table.
He was picking nervously at the bandage on the inside of his elbow–the cotton ball barely hanging on beneath the crinkled tape where the lab techs had drawn a fresh round of blood.They’d also asked for a sperm sample, just in case.
“I-I didn’t think it could p-pass on like that,” He murmured now, eyes still fixed on the loose edge of his bandage, his voice soft with guilt. “The Sentry stuff. I mean…” You sighed quietly, resting the bowl of ice cream on the counter beside you.
“We don’t even know for sure yet,” You said gently, licking a bit of salt from your thumb. “Let’s just wait for the results.”
Bob gave a slow nod but didn’t look up.
“I-I’m sorry,” He said quietly.
Your hand stilled, and you looked over at him. “Bob, I’m not mad at you.”
His head lifted slightly, eyes flickering to yours. “I-It seems like you are.”
You groaned under your breath, pushing up from your seat. “I’m not.”
Crossing the room, you moved to stand between his legs, resting your hands on his knees first, then sliding them up to gently take his hands. He resisted for a second–unsure, sheepish–but let you guide them forward. You brought them to your stomach, pressing his large palms against the gentle curve of your bump. The baby shifted almost immediately, a subtle little roll beneath your skin like they were saying hello.
Bob’s lips immediately turned up into a smile, as his fingers twitched against the spot that had flinched beneath his touch just moments ago.
Then you reached up, fingers curling softly against his jaw as you tilted his head up
“I’m not mad, Bob,” You said again, quieter this time. “Look at me.”
His eyes finally met yours.
Soft and heavy-lidded, lined with something old and aching–guilt, maybe, or worry dressed in too many layers of silence. You could see the shimmer of doubt flickering behind the blue, the way he was already bracing for worst-case outcomes before anyone had said a word. The way he always did when it came to you.
“All I want to do,” You said gently, voice low and even, “is make sure I don’t have to be doing something extra to keep both of us happy and healthy, okay? That’s all this is.”
Your thumbs stroked along the curve of his cheek, slow and patient.
“This isn’t about blame. It’s not about anything other than making sure we’re safe. All three of us.”
Bob let out a short breath, his jaw shifting slightly beneath your touch. “Y-Yeah, but… what if this makes it harder for you?” He murmured, his voice cracking just a little. “W-What if this causes problems further d-down the line? If Sentry is u-unhinged with me sometimes…I-I can’t imagine what a baby could do…E-Especially when it’s relying on you…” You let out a quiet huff, somewhere between a breath and a laugh, and your hand slid up to the soft mess of his hair.
“Well, that’s exactly why we’re here, isn’t it?” you said, arching a brow playfully. “We update the techs, and they figure out a plan. That’s kind of their whole job.”
He opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, but stopped when you leaned in a bit closer.
“Bob,” You whispered softly, your fingers tracing just beneath his eye, brushing over the faint circles that had deepened in the past weeks. “We’re a team. Me, you, Sentry…” Your lips tugged up slightly, “…Even the Void, when he’s behaving.” That earned a barely-there smile from him. But it was real. You felt it twitch beneath your palm.
“We’ve gotten through worse. We’re managing all of this together just fine,” You continued. “And we’ll manage this too. Whatever it ends up being…We’ll figure it out.”
He swallowed hard, but nodded–once, then again, a little more firmly this time.
“…Okay,” He said, the word soft but full of trust. “O-Okay.”
You leaned in and gave him a kiss.
It was gentle, slow, and unspoken–the kind that didn’t need to ask for anything. The kind that just reminded him he was still yours. Still enough. Still good.
When you pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours, and his hands remained where they were, settled protectively over the curve of your belly like he was guarding something sacred.
The baby stirred again beneath his touch.
And this time, neither of you flinched.
Just sat there in the quiet, holding each other–wrapped in warmth and soft light and the simple truth of your bond, waiting together for whatever came next.
The quiet knock came like a break in static.
You and Bob both looked up, heads lifting at the same time as the door creaked open and the med tech stepped inside with a tablet pressed against their chest. Their expression was professional, but there was a distinct glimmer of curiosity behind their eyes–the kind of barely-restrained intrigue that only showed up when science started tipping toward the supernatural.
“Hey,” The tech greeted, voice gentle but brisk as they closed the door behind them. “Sorry for the wait. We wanted to run everything twice just to be sure.”
Bob straightened on the edge of the exam table. You could feel the shift in his body beside you–shoulders rising, grip instinctively tightening over your hand as if to brace for something he couldn’t stop.
You stayed still, your thumb tracing over the back of his knuckles as the tech swiped through the tablet, pulled up a screen, and angled it slightly toward the two of you.
“So, we compared the blood sample we pulled from you,” The tech said, gesturing toward you, “With the fetal cell-free DNA that circulates in maternal blood during pregnancy.”
Then they paused, looking directly at Bob.
“And we compared both directly with your sample and a read of your original Sentry serum signature on file.”
Your breath caught quietly. Bob’s leg bounced once, then stilled.
The tech continued, eyes flicking back to the screen. “There are definitive traces of the serum’s presence in the fetus. Not the exact structure, but markers–identifiers–that mirror your serum signature almost exactly, including some of the same regenerative protein indicators we’ve flagged in your biology before.”They glanced up at you now, more focused.
“Which likely means that yes, the serum has been passed on in some form. And based on the movement patterns and the report you gave earlier about the lamp responding to emotional states or cravings…” They paused, lips pressing into a tight but impressed line. “…Your baby may already be exhibiting early-stage sensory projection or electrokinetic response. We’ve seen something similar in third trimester post-enhanced cases–but this… This is a bit earlier than we’d expect.”
You blinked, slowly. “So they’re…Already developing powers?” you asked softly, though it didn’t really feel like a question anymore. Just a breath. A confirmation.
The tech gave a small nod. “Looks like it.”
You felt the lump begin to rise in your throat–slow, thick, humming beneath the surface.
“So…They’re only going to get stronger?” you asked, your voice hoarse and tight. The tech offered a small smile, like they were trying to be as reassuring as possible.
“Well, yes. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing.” They glanced down at the readout again. “As long as you keep satisfying your cravings and listening to your body, the fetus will likely stay balanced. Think of it like…Emotional regulation but you’re doing it from within the womb.” You choked out a laugh at that despite yourself, and Bob exhaled a tense breath beside you, the corners of his mouth twitching.
“You just want to be able to keep them under control,” The tech went on. “Y’know what I mean? Stable inputs. Satisfied cravings. No high emotional spikes or power surges. As long as you do that, you and your baby should be completely fine.”
You and Bob both nodded.
His hand tightened slowly around yours again, anchoring you–his thumb curling along the side of your wrist, as if grounding himself through your pulse.
You looked up at him, then smiled faintly as you murmured, “Well, Sentry is going to be buzzing about this for the rest of the time I’m pregnant.”
Bob let out a soft, defeated groan and dropped his forehead briefly to your shoulder.
“P-Probably for the rest of our lives…” He muttered, half-laughing, half-dreading.
You felt his hand slide gently over the swell of your stomach again–warm and gentle–and you knew he was trying not to panic. Not to think too far ahead. But his touch lingered like a prayer all the same. The baby gave a little thump beneath his palm in response.
“Jesus,” He whispered under his breath, bringing his other hand to his temple, massaging it slowly, before adding, “He’s d-definitely buzzing already.”
You snorted and leaned your head against his, your smile widening just a little as the tech chuckled lightly and excused themselves, giving you space.
You didn’t say anything for a few moments after the door clicked shut.
Just breathed.
Together.
And let the truth settle around you like gravity–sacred, strange, and somehow just right.
917 notes · View notes
fervidgrey · 5 months ago
Note
hello I've always wanted to request a fic lol sorry it's my first time 😞
Can you write a femreader x Jo Togame where Jo wants to impregnate reader and make a family with the reader haha I know I'm freaking obsessed lol 😭😭
Thank you for feeling brave! I love getting requests! 💋 While this isn't my strongest subject (fluff), but I hope you enjoy!
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FOR YOU, ANYTHING
Pairing: Togame Jo x Reader
Rating: Mature.
Word count: 2700~
Note: no use of y/a, talks of pregnancy, fluff, unprotected sex, use of pet names, no beta, nurse kink if you squint, wasted pancakes because that is a crime for me...
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A soft humming filled the kitchen as you folded the pancake batter in an extra large bowl. You look down at the ingredients on the counter, still on the edge of picking between blueberries, strawberries, or chocolate chips. Maybe you could arrange them all on the top instead of the inside, but your man was a bit more fickle with toppings. 
You glanced over the counter looking at Togame Jo, your long term boyfriend of 3 years, he is peacefully spread out on the couch watching TV. It was a rare morning for you, he was normally out of the apartment by now, off doing work he wouldn’t tell you much about. You had an idea, the rumors about the symbol on his jacket, the way his knuckles would be red sometimes- you were sweet on him but not dumb.
You decide to go with the blueberries, knowing they're his favorite when he's in a good mood. As you sprinkle them into the batter, you steal another glance at Togame. His long frame is draped across the couch, one arm behind his head, the other lazily holding the remote. His black hair is loose today, falling around his shoulders instead of in its usual braid.
You pour the batter onto the griddle, the sizzle filling the air. Togame's green eyes flick towards you, a lazy smile spreading across his face.
"Smells good, babe." he calls out.
You return his smile, but there's a tightness in your chest. You want to ask him to stay home today, to spend more time with you, but you know better. His unpredictable nature means you never quite know which version of him you'll get, and for how long.
As you flip the pancakes, you hear him stand up and stretch. He saunters over to the kitchen, his tall frame filling the space immediately. "You spoil me," he says, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind while planting soft kisses to the back of your neck.
You lean into him, savoring the moment. "Maybe you could stay home today?" you suggest, testing your luck. For an extra boost of luck you wiggle your hips against his body. But when you feel him stiffen slightly, you immediately regret asking. After a few silent moments he relaxes, his breath warm on your neck as he speaks.
"I suppose I could be under the weather today..” He offers another kiss against your neck.
Your heart skips a beat at his words, but you try to keep your composure. You don't want to seem too eager, even though you’d been together for a few years he still made you feel shy at times. Instead of dwelling, you focus on plating the pancakes, arranging them in a neat stack.
"Well, if you're feeling under the weather," you say, keeping your tone light, "I guess I'll have to take care of you."
You turn in his arms, offering him the plate. His green eyes sparkle with amusement as he takes it, his fingers brushing against yours. "You always take such good care of me." he murmurs. “You’d make a good mother.”
You feel your cheeks flush at his words, a mix of emotions swirling inside you. The thought of starting a family with Togame was a pretty picture but you've never discussed it before, and you're not sure if he's serious or just teasing.
"Let's focus on breakfast first," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. You grab your own plate and follow him to the small dining table.
As you sit down, Togame reaches for the syrup, drizzling a generous amount over his stack. You watch him take the first bite, his eyes closing in appreciation. "Perfect as always." he says with a big smile.
You start eating your own pancakes, stealing glances at him between bites. It's rare to see him so relaxed, so unguarded. You want to memorize every detail of this moment.
"So," you venture, "what do you want to do today? Since you're feeling under the weather and all."
Togame leans back in his chair, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Oh, I don't know. I was thinking we could stay in bed all day. You could nurse me back to health."
Your heart races at the suggestion, but you try to play it cool. "Is that so? And what kind of treatment did you have in mind?"
He leans forward, his voice dropping to a low, seductive tone. "I'm sure you can think of something, babe. Considering patients don’t normally set their own treatment.”
You feel a shiver run down your spine at his words, heat rising to your cheeks. You try to maintain your composure, taking another bite of pancake to buy yourself a moment. "Well," you say, setting down your fork, "I suppose we could start with some bed rest. Maybe a full body examination to check for any... issues."
He pushes his plate away, half his pancakes now forgotten. "I think that sounds like excellent medical advice. Shall we begin the treatment now?"
You stand up slowly, your heart pounding. "I think that would be best. We wouldn't want your condition to worsen." you pause looking at his pancakes “Did you have enough to eat though?” you ask quickly, normally he ate everything on his plate.
He rises without answering your questions, towering over you. In one swift motion, he scoops you up into his arms bridal style. You let out a surprised laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck.
"Togame! I thought you were the patient here!" you tease.
He grins down at you, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. "Just making sure you don't strain yourself, babe. Wouldn't want both of us out of commission."
As he carries you towards the bedroom, you nuzzle into his neck, breathing in his scent. These moments of playfulness are rare, and you intend to savor every second.
He lays you gently on the bed, his body hovering over yours. "Now then." he murmurs, his lips inches from yours, “Lets begin my treatment.” You reach up and cup his face, pulling him down for a deep, passionate kiss. His lips are soft against yours, and you can taste the lingering sweetness of syrup. As the kiss intensifies, his hands begin to roam your body, leaving trails of heat in their wake.
You break away, breathless, and look up into his green eyes. They're dark with desire, but there's also a softness there that makes your heart skip a beat. "Togame," you whisper, running your fingers through his loose black hair.
He smiles, a rare, genuine smile that reaches his eyes. "You're beautiful," he murmurs, leaning down to place soft kisses along your jawline.
As his lips move to your neck, you let out a soft moan. Your hands slide down his back, feeling the taut muscles beneath his shirt. You tug at the hem, eager to feel his skin against yours.
Togame chuckles, his breath hot against your ear. "So eager?" he teases, but obliges, sitting up to pull his shirt over his head.You drink in the sight of his toned chest and abs, tracing the lines of his muscles with your fingertips. Your touch lingers on a scar near his ribs, a reminder of the dangerous world he inhabits outside these walls.
He catches your hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing your palm. "Don't worry about that," he says softly, reading the concern on your face. “Hard to forget.” you mutter back, an annoying cocktail of lust and sorrow make your skin feel tight.
“I love how much you worry about me.” He dips down to suck on your neck, peppering you with hot kisses. “Maybe it’s time to split up that worry..add more to the household” He says casually. You freeze, a bit confused but his comment until you recalled the mother comment from earlier.
Your breath catches in your throat, unsure if you heard him correctly. "What do you mean?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.
Togame pulls back slightly, his green eyes searching your face. "I mean," he says slowly, "lets start a family. You and me."
You blink, stunned by his words. This was so far from what you expected when you woke up this morning. "Are you serious?" you manage to ask, your mind whirling with possibilities.
He nods, a small smile playing on his lips. "I've been thinking about it for a while. Seeing you in the kitchen this morning, taking care of me- settled it."
You reach up, cupping his face in your hands. "Togame, I... I don't know what to say." you were shocked but not upset, the idea of him having you forever was something you always wanted.
He leans into your touch, his eyes closing briefly. "Yes or no will do."
You stare at him, heart hammering against your chest. "Are you sure you're ready for that kind of change?" you ask softly. Togame's eyes open, meeting yours with an intensity that takes your breath away.
"I've never been more sure of anything." he says in complete seriousness. "I want to build something real with you, something that lasts."
Tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "Yes." you whisper, pulling him down for a tender kiss. "Yes, I want that too." you mumble into his lips.
He kisses you back with a passion that makes your toes curl, his hands roaming your body with renewed purpose. When he pulls away, there's a gleam in his eye that's equal parts mischievous and loving. "Well then," he murmurs, his fingers playing with the hem of your shirt, 
"Shall we get started on making that family?" he teases. 
You laugh, hoping to sound less nervous than you feel. "I thought you were supposed to be the patient here." you tease, even as you lift your arms to help him remove your shirt.
"I'm feeling much better already," he grins, trailing kisses down your neck and collarbone. "Must be your excellent nursing skills."
As his lips move lower, you thread your fingers through his hair, your mind still reeling from the sudden turn of events. You know that life with Togame will never be predictable, but in this moment felt right, felt whole.
As Togame's kisses trail lower, a shiver runs through your body. Your fingers tighten in his hair, drawing a low growl from him that vibrates against your skin. He looks up at you, green eyes dark with desire.
"You sure about this?" he asks, his voice husky. "We can wait if you're not ready."
Your heart swells at his consideration. Even in the heat of the moment, he's putting your feelings first. You nod, pulling him up for a deep kiss.
"I'm sure," you whisper against his lips. "I want this. I want- us."
His smile is tender as he cups your face. "I love you," he murmurs, the words still new and precious between you. "I love you too," you reply, your voice thick with emotion.
Togame's hands roam your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. You arch into his touch, desperate for more. As he removes the rest of your clothes, you can't help but marvel at how his gaze was different. He looked lovesick, but determined.
Your hands explore his muscular body, tracing old scars and new bruises. You want to memorize every inch of him, to claim him as yours in this intimate moment. Togame's lips find yours again, kissing you deeply as he positions himself between your legs.
He enters you slowly, both of you gasping at the sensation. For a moment, you're perfectly still, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other in. Slowly, Togame begins to move, setting a gentle rhythm that soon has you both panting.
You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper. Your nails rake down his back as the pleasure builds, and he groans, picking up the pace. The room fills with the sound of skin on skin, punctuated by soft moans and whispered endearments.
"You're so beautiful," Togame murmurs, his voice strained with effort. "So perfect. I can't wait to see you round with my child." The comment startles you for a moment but then sends a warmth through your spine, landing in between your legs. He groans at the sudden increase in wetness between your legs, fluid dripping between your bodies.
"Fuck you feel soo good." His words send a rush of heat through your body, intensifying every sensation. You pull him closer, kissing him fiercely as your hips move in sync with his. The thought of carrying his child, of starting a family together, fills you with an unexpected longing.
"Jo." you gasp, feeling yourself getting close to the edge. "I want that too. I want everything with you."
He groans, his thrusts becoming more urgent. One of his hands slides between your bodies, his fingers finding your swollen clit. You cry out at the added stimulation, your back arching into his body.
"Come for me, baby." he murmurs in your ear, "Let go. I've got you."
You cling to Togame, crying out his name as you shudder beneath him. He holds you close, his movements remaining unbothered by your climax. You watch him stare at the sight of his cock moving in and out of you. You bite your lip, moaning at how entranced he is with the display. One of his hands moves to your waist, holding you steady while he plays with the speed, watching himself enter you slowly but deep.
You feel every inch of him as he moves in and out at an agonizingly slow pace. The intensity of his gaze makes you feel exposed, vulnerable, yet incredibly desired. Your body trembles with aftershocks of your orgasm, heightening every sensation.
"Jo," you breathe, reaching up to cup his face. His eyes meet yours, dark with lust and something deeper. You pull him down for a kiss, pouring all your love and desire into it.
The kiss seems to break his control. With a groan, he begins to move faster, deeper, head rolling back. You wrap your legs tighter around him, meeting him thrust for thrust. The room fills with the sound of skin on skin, punctuated by your shared moans and gasps.
"I'm close," Togame pants against your neck. "You feel incredible, baby. So perfect."
You run your hands down his back, feeling his muscles flex with each movement. "Please." you whisper in his ear. "Come inside me, please." you moan into his ear, voice shaking with his thrusts.
With a final, powerful thrust, Togame stills above you, groaning your name as he finds his release. You hold him close, savoring the weight of his body on yours, the intimacy of the moment.
As your breathing hitches as he pulls out, then rolls to the side, pulling you with him so you're draped across his chest. You trace lazy patterns on his skin, feeling utterly content.
"I meant what I said," Togame murmurs, his fingers gently tracing your hairline and jaw. You look up at him, heart fluttering at the sincerity in his eyes. "About starting a family?"
He nods, a soft smile playing on his lips. "I know it's sudden, but I've been thinking about it for a while. You make me want to be better, to have something real and lasting."
You prop yourself up on an elbow, studying his face. "What about Shishitoren?"
Togame's expression turns serious. "I've been making plans. Setting up legitimate businesses. It'll take time, but I want to do it right. For us. For our future."
Your eyes widen in surprise. You'd always hoped he might leave that life behind, but you never dared to ask, tried to never think about it. "Jo, are you sure? I know how important the group is to you."
He reaches up, tucking some hair behind your ear. "You're more important. Our family will be more important. I want to be someone our child can be proud of."
Tears prick at your eyes, overwhelmed by the depth of his commitment. You lean down, kissing him softly. "I'm already proud of you," you whisper against his lips.
Togame pulls you closer, deepening the kiss. When you finally part, both slightly breathless, he grins up at you. "So, ready for round two? We've got a family to start, after all." You laugh, playfully swatting his chest but don’t fight him when he rolls you onto your stomach. His stamina would be a problem in future if you weren’t careful. 
126 notes · View notes
dawneternal · 9 months ago
Text
The Benevolent | Eleven
☁︎ Eris x Healer OC
☁︎ notes: we will see Eris again next chapter I promise lol
Definitely pictured Nuan's workshop like Tinkerbell's workshop in the old pixie hollow books. (pic here)
Also the clock Nuan gave Aya is inspired by the Egyptian myth about the beetle that pushes the sun across the sky every day.
warnings: none for this one, just a little angst and Aya being hard on herself again.
☁︎ a drawing of Nuan to go with this chapter
☁︎ word count: 3.5k
☁︎ AO3 Link / Masterlist
☁︎ taglist (as always lmk if you want on or off): @cauldronblssd @teddyhoneybear @tele86 @mybestfriendmademe @imma-too-many-fandoms @allyjoe755 @milswrites @shadowdaddies @zenkindoflove @landofpetrichor @secret-third-thing @bookwormysblog @mal-adaptive-dreams @daycourtofficial @roseodelle @sbgal @adventure-awaits13
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After Aya's visit to the Night Court, something within her began to settle in a way that she had never hoped for. Something ever moving finally stilled, tamed by the knowledge that what she was had a name.
But as lovely as it was, the quiet was unnerving. As much as she had hoped and prayed for it, now it served as a wide open space for other thoughts to invade.
Welcome or not, the stillness did not last long anyways, because where one ceaseless search had miraculously ended, another began. Before the battle of Hybern, Eris had occupied Aya's thoughts more than she'd like to admit. But now he was like a permanent fixture in her mind - a certain shade of red tinting every facet of her world. It was as if her heart had adopted a new beat, reaching for her mate with every thump,
Find Me Find Me Find Me
There was no call from the Forest House, for which Aya was grateful. There was no telling what impulsive decisions her heart may have made for her. What would it be like to bear her soul to him and tell him what she had learned about herself? Would he be frightened of her power? Or maybe even threatened?
To stave off the incessant pestering of the bond, she spent every spare moment pouring over the stacks of books Rhysand had lent her. So far, they did not offer any new information. But each one was carefully read, notes and references copied into a notebook dedicated to the cause. Each finished book was sent back with a snap, and once or twice over the days a new one was sent back with pages bookmarked with notes in Nesta's neat script.
Videmati Videmati Videmati
The other rhythm of her heart, competing for Eris's attention in her mind, filling every vein with the desire for more knowledge. If she could bottle the feeling of hearing that word for the first time, she would drink it one drop at a time, drawing it out for the entirety of her immortal life.
Perhaps this desire would not be quite so voracious if there were not an underlying feeling that there may be answers closer than she once suspected. This inkling began halfway through her tour of Velaris, in a tinker's shop somewhere in the rainbow. Vague whispers of memories and ideas pulled for her attention, but refused to reveal themselves fully.
One night, as Aya studied another book of magical history under the full moon, she finally understood. The grandfather clock beside her desk struck midnight, the mechanism clicking and whirring as a door below the shining clock face popped open. She watched the little mechanical beetle roll its sunstone orb across a painted pastel sky, so lovingly and painstakingly crafted. Miniature clouds drifted across the scene, fading to nothing as the minute passed, enchanted to return again in another twelve hours. One of her most treasured gifts.
As she thought of the hands that had created such an incredible thing, the book fell from her grasp and clattered to the floor. Nuan. The one who had made this clock. A clock whose mechanical song sounded just Lucien's eye, like a signature of her work. An eye that had abilities nearly identical to Aya's powers.
⋆。˚ ☁︎ ˚。⋆。˚☽˚。⋆
Aya crossed the bridge to Nuan’s workshop as slowly as she could manage. Each level of the tower was comprised of open arches, obscured only by creeping vines and drooping flowers. In the upper levels, an enchantment turned the exposed arches into a mirror, reflecting an image of the sky instead of letting anyone see inside.
From the level that connected to the bridge, the clanking of metal and snap of magic was a quick giveaway that Nuan was home and hard at work. Each tall arch was also enchanted to keep out the weather, but it apparently did not keep any sound inside. The inventor did not care much if the outside world could hear the sound of her tinkering.
Aya had visited the workshop a few times, and admittedly held great admiration for it. But there was an uneasiness that crept up on her in Nuan's presence that caused her to avoid her when possible. Aya did not care to examine the source of that uneasiness. Any time she got too close, it began to look something like jealousy.
To Aya, and many others, Nuan was the embodiment of the Dawn Court. Beautiful, clever, and a force to be reckoned with. There was plenty to be jealous of. Face to face with the curtain of ivy that veiled the entrance, the healer chewed her lip. It would be worth any awkwardness, she reminded herself. She could survive this visit.
Nuan found her before she could get any further in her pep talk.
“Aya,” She called, pushing the leaves aside to reveal her smiling face. She had pushed her work goggles back, strands of dark hair sticking up beside them and framing her sweaty brow. Even with smudges of grease across her slender nose and round cheeks, she still looked beautiful.
“Hello,” Aya banished anything but warmth from her expression, “I hope I'm not interrupting you.”
Nuan waved a hand and tilted her head in invitation.
“I was just taking a break actually. Please come in, I haven't seen you in so long.”
Aya stepped through the doorway into the magic of Nuan's workshop. The space was utter chaos - workbenches lined every wall of the tower, each one covered in half finished projects. Cabinets and shelves overflowed with materials and scraps, a few dedicated just to salvaged parts from old clocks and machines. A miniature forge filled the room with heat and smoke, and an apothecary cabinet of enchantment components gave the air an herbal scent. Against the far wall, a set of stairs spiraled up to the second floor, covered in dishes from meals eaten in haste and set aside to be forgotten.
Nuan had a reputation of precision, elegance, and cleanliness. Which is why not just any visitor was allowed in this tower. The inventor insisted that this chaos was the secret to her success. But it may still come as a shock to those who had a certain image in mind.
Aya loved it. The space thrummed with hidden colors and the buzz of magic coming alive with the help of her power.
“I was happy when Thesan told me you wanted to see me,” Nuan began, filling a beat up kettle in the sink. Aya pushed down the pang of guilt that rose in her stomach. She should see Nuan more often, not just when she needed a favor.
“Yes, I had a question for you,” Aya said shyly, choosing an empty stool near the sink.
“Do tell,” Nuan sang, a note in her voice suggesting that perhaps Thesan or Zoren had hinted at some of the recent events in Aya's life. She set the kettle on the hot plate and then leaned forward on the counter, chin propped up in her hands.
Heat crept over the tips of Aya's ears and for a moment she considered indulging and confessing about the bond, but she feared that if she began talking about it, she wouldn't be able to stop herself. So she said instead,
“I learned something about my powers recently.” It was strange to say it out loud. She knew Nuan was aware of her powers, but Aya had never talked much about her magic outside of her family and her mentor. Though it had been Nuan who had delivered her daily dose of faebane to keep her powers hidden from Amarantha.
Her eyes stayed glued on the table, running her finger over a nick in the wood to hide its trembling.
“And?” The excitement in Nuan's voice hit Aya with another twinge of guilt. Nuan genuinely cared for her.
“I'm a videmati,” Aya raised her eyes, watching the inventor carefully. The word still tasted strange on her tongue, though just as delicious as the first time.
“A videmati,” Nuan breathed with heavy reverence, her eyes widening. “That's amazing.”
Aya’s finger stilled on the table as she stared at Nuan, an ache in her chest easing. So she did know what the videmati were. And she was not afraid. How was this the first time Aya was realizing that Nuan always spoke to her as an equal?
The inventor watched her with her chin propped in one hand, waiting with eager eyes for Aya to go on. Nothing in her posture to indicate that she was only humoring the girl before her.
“Please, tell me everything you know,” Aya blurted, spurred by this realization. Her fingers began to tremble again, this time in anticipation.
“I'm sad to say that I don't know much,” Her smile turned to a grimace, “Everything I know came from one chapter in a book.”
“And that was the inspiration for Lucien's eye?”
“It was,” Nuan's dark eyes sparkled, “Very clever of you to figure that out.”
“How did you learn about it?”
She turned and began rifling through collections of books and papers lining the shelves above the worktables behind her. Her long, glossy hair swayed as she moved, and loose papers fluttered to the floor as she carelessly shuffled the stacks around.
“It was a long time ago” Nuan answered, “During a visit to the Day Court, and I bought a copy of the book to bring home.”
She paused, and Aya felt her chest tighten with the hope that it was not a book that Aya had checked already. She had already returned over a dozen back to Rhysand, to be declared as dead ends. Even after checking the extensive references and footnotes of each one.
“It may be worth a visit there, if you haven't tried already.” Nuan went on.
Aya pursed her lips. It definitely would be. An expert could be invaluable. But Thesan was too busy to go with her, and she did not like the idea of visiting on her own. Helion had a way of working gossip out of the most unwilling of victims. He often proved to be a particularly difficult challenge for Aya's social anxiety.
“This may take me a minute,” Nuan moved to a different cabinet, a stack of spare parts clattering to the floor as she opened the glass door that had been holding them in place, “Feel free to look around. Window shop a little.”
Aya had already been skimming, eyes drifting over wooden crates of raw gemstones, jars of marbles, and spools of thick wire in every color. Finished suncatchers, wind chimes, and drying flowers and herbs hung from the rafters. Fae lights bobbed among them, painting the room in their pale glow. A canopy of beautiful things.
“How's the clock holding up?” Nuan's voice drifted over from behind some shelf.
The healer had slid from her stool and begun to move through the room, wings tucked in tight to avoid upsetting any of the precarious piles. The anticipation thrumming in her body would not allow her to sit still while she waited.
“Lovely as ever,” Aya smiled to herself, stopping beside a row of jars, each filled with colorful liquids and half-submerged sticks with crystals growing on them. That clock was one of her most treasured belongings.
“Has it slowed down at all?” Her voice was a bit muffled this time.
“Not at all,” Aya ran her finger over the edge of a small watercolor painting taped to the wall. “It's still very smooth-”
Her voice guttered out as her gaze moved to the next little painting above it. A sparrow sitting on a branch, enchanted to blink at the viewer, an invisible wind ruffling its feathers.
“This is beautiful,” She murmured. Nuan's head appeared again as she scoffed. “Will you paint me one like this? I'll trade you some tonics.”
“You can take that one,” Nuan waved her hand irreverently, “No tonics needed. Sit tight, I'm going to look upstairs.”
Aya was still staring at the painting as Nuan bounded up the stairs. Her boots rattled the ceiling above with each footstep, making a few of them wind chimes sway and sing.
Gingerly, she pulled the paper from its place on the wall and held it in her hands. As the little bird blinked at her, alarmingly life-like, Eris’s voice echoed in her mind. The moment he found her after the battle. Her skin burned as if it was only a moment ago that he had held her face in his hands. Seemingly the last simple moment between them before everything grew so complicated.
Would Eris react as Nuan had, if she told him what she was? What would he think, having a mate with such strange and rare powers? Her fingers tightened on the paper as she wondered - would Eris know anything about the videmati?
It felt like only a minute that she stood there, reveling in the memory of that moment, all of her wonderings whirling through her mind like snowflakes. But the next thing she knew, Nuan had appeared beside her again.
“I didn't know you liked birds so much,” She said softly.
“Oh,” Aya blushed, finally setting the painting aside, “It's a newer interest, I suppose.”
That twinkle returned to Nuan's eyes, like she knew a little more than she let on, but she said nothing more about it.
“Here,” She held out a leather-bound book, “This is it.”
Aya read the title hungrily, and her heart sank to the ground. A lump formed in her throat as hopes she'd forgotten were dashed.
“What's wrong?” Nuan's brows drew together and she tilted her head, trying to catch Aya's eye.
“I already have this one,” Aya swallowed hard and met Nuan's gaze, plastering on a smile, “I'm very grateful for your help.”
“Oh no,” Nuan frowned, “I'm sorry I don't have any more.”
“It's alright,” Aya mustered a small smile.
A moment passed and then Nuan asked, “Do you need someone to go to the Day Court with you? I imagine Thesan is too busy to go. Unless you'd want to ask Zoren instead.”
Aya looked up, throat sore from swallowing tears and the shame of her childish disappointment.
“Why would you do that?” She croaked, “I've never been a very good friend to you. I don't deserve your kindness.”
“What do you mean?” Nuan asked, bewildered. She frowned again and shook her head. “You've been a perfectly good friend to me, Aya. You're always so hard on yourself.”
Aya was quiet, looking down at the book in her hands. A single tear dropped from the tip of her nose and landed on the worn leather.
“You have nothing to punish yourself for, Aya,” Nuan said softly. Her hand landed gently on the girl’s shoulder, “You push people away because you think you didn't deserve them. But the truth is, that just deprives us, too.”
Aya shut her eyes tight, tears falling onto the leather cover with a soft patter. Aya knew she was hard on herself. Those feelings were a slog she walked through daily - a weight that was not as easy to shed as people made it sound. ‘Be easier on yourself,’ She heard many times. A command, as though her problem was obedience.
But the way that Nuan said it made Aya feel as though the inventor knew. It was not commanded, not even a chide. She was reaching through the fog in Aya's mind and placing the words there like seeds in a bed of soil. To grow and bloom.
Aya had not realized that Nuan had drifted away to give her a moment alone. Until she let out a frustrated groan, making Aya jump.
“Oh, Mother,” Nuan stood by the hot plate, frowning at the silent kettle. “No wonder the kettle never boiled. I never turned the hot plate on.”
Aya could not suppress her giggle, her already bubbling emotions promptly turning it into roaring laughter that would not make sense to anyone else if she tried to explain it. Nuan laughed with her just as uncontrollably, cheeks pink from embarrassment.
Their laughter faded into soft conversation, Nuan apologizing a few more times for not being able to help more. She recalled everything she knew about videmati powers just in case, and promised help in every way she could think of.
Aya determined to find some way to show her appreciation. For her efforts to help and also her friendship. Despite the aching disappointment, Aya was happy to simply bask in the presence of someone who cared for her as she was.
A long, comfortable silence settled between them. Aya cradled her tea cup in her hands, drinking in the warmth of it, trying not to let it remind her of certain fiery autumnal powers. Every once in a while, Nuan would hum to herself, eyebrows drawn close together as she was lost deep in the thought. Eventually, she returned to the present moment and drew the quiet to a close.
“I like your sash,” Nuan tilted her head, gazing at the beaded waistband of Aya's skirt. A pattern of lotus flowers was embroidered into the pink fabric. “Lotuses are often a symbol of new beginnings.”
She took a sip of her tea and murmured through the steam dancing above her cup, “And power.”
The words echoed, resonating with something in Aya's heart that she had not yet named, but had been making its way to the surface. And with that, she realized how tired she'd become. The sky surrounding Nuan's tower was slowly sinking into a gentle crimson as the sunset approached. She was ready to go home, to lay down and let her mind sort through everything she'd learned as she slept. Tiredness seemed to hit her so much faster these days.
Even still, Aya said farewell with a lighter heart. Even the disappointments of her visit could not weigh her down. Not with a new friend and so many possibilities on the horizon. Nuan's words continued to wind through her thoughts, both thrilling and foreboding.
As she passed back under the curtain of ivy, a sweet and almost spicy scent caught her attention. Something vaguely autumnal.
A pot of calendula flowers sat just outside the archway, surrounded by several other planters to adorn the main entry.
With that scent overwhelming her senses, Aya remembered something she had not thought about in a very long time. Perhaps it was fate, or the mother, or a mind preoccupied by new beginnings. She was not sure what exactly placed the thought at the forefront of her attention. But she decided to indulge it, wherever it had come from.
Peeking back into the workshop, she caught no glimpse of the inventor. She’d probably retired to her room upstairs. But anyways, Nuan was always so generous, she likely wouldn't mind one borrowed flower.
Aya plucked one of the lovely golden flowers from its stem and scurried away, heart pounding with anticipation.
⋆。˚ ☁︎ ˚。⋆。˚☽˚。⋆
Chamomile for clarity
Chrysanthemum for hope
Calendula for the mother
The old wives tale had been nearly lost in Aya's memory. Her cheeks flushed as she stirred honey into her cup of tea, feeling a little embarrassed over what she was about to do.
But she'd heard others swear by it, that the little spell worked. A cup of chamomile tea before bed, a smear of chrysanthemum oil over the heart, and a calendula placed under the pillow as an offering to the mother. The combination would allow one to dream of the bond. And if one used the spell before a mating bond had snapped, whatever dream that followed would contain hints of their future match.
If it did not work, and all Aya woke up to was wasted oil and a crushed flower under her pillow, she would feel incredibly foolish. But no one would ever know, and the components were easy enough to gather.
And how was she supposed to make any sort of decision when she had no idea how Eris felt at all?
The healer breathed deep and downed the last of the tea before crawling into bed. The stolen flower was placed carefully under her pillow, and a dot of sweet-smelling oil applied above her heart.
Aya pulled her blankets tightly around herself, closed her eyes, and sent one last desperate plea to the mother.
⋆。˚ ☁︎ ˚。⋆。˚☽˚。⋆
Sleep carried her away faster than it had in weeks now, pulling her away to a world dappled in golden sunshine. Billowing clouds filled the sky, tinted lovely colors by an iridescent dawn. Aya stood on a bridge carved of sunstone, the structure seemingly inspired by the intricate architecture of the Autumn Court. Torches lit the bridge at intervals, filling the half-translucent stone with light, as if it was lit from within by embers and flames.
Aya could have sworn she felt the cool, smooth stone beneath her feet, too real to be just a dream. She remembered her ritual, but nothing of the time it had taken to fall asleep. Unusual, since that state of in-between was lately occupied with dark and painful memories.
But the spell worked. She was here, seeing the bond with her own eyes. And it was beautiful.
Drawing in a deep breath, she began the journey across the bridge before her, toward the tall, foreboding
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somberjoon · 1 year ago
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SYZYGY [1]
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✩ pairing: alpha namjoon x chubby fem!omega reader
✩ genre: wonderous , soulmates , strangers to "friends" to lovers , fluff , romance🔞 , life lessons , slice-of-life , brief angsty situations , happy ending
✩ word count: 6.4k
✩ chapter warnings: cussing , cover art does not depict fmc features, drinking / mention of bar hopping , Namjoon is drunk upon meeting FMC but there is nothing that happens! , lots of inside feelies and thought processes
✩ summary: Namjoon would say that he truly lives the normal life. As an alpha, he works the job he wants, he goes out when he has time, and he has never received a single late-fee on payments. He's living the mundane life- until an unknown omega literally drops into his life. Where did she come from? Why him?
✩ cover: me
ch.1 , ch.2 ...
“It is your time, precious one.” 
“What if- what if I’m scared?” 
“You have no reason to be fearful.” 
“I was born to do this- he is just a man, an alpha that I know nothing of- what if we are not compatible like you say we will be?” 
“Do you find me inconsistent in the success of my pairings, precious one?”
“No, I am just afraid I will not live up to your expectations now that I am to be on my own.” 
“Oh, my dear, that is the reason you were matched.” 
“What?”
“Please, trust me once more and trust yourself always from now on.”
“Of course.”
“It is she that loves all thy flaws.”
“It is she that loves all thy flaws.”
Namjoon
It’s another small bar that plays shitty remixes. The only good things about these places are the owners with their intimate service and the perfectly made drinks. 
“What song is this?” Namjoon just about screams into Jimin’s ear. Another remix plays, probably by a newer pop star that he has yet to familiarize himself with. 
“I don’t know or care! It’s your turn!” Jimin points at the messy stack of cards in the middle of the small table. Namjoon gives a lazy eye roll and intently looks at the cards in his hands once again. 
“Do you have a five?” He turns to Seokjin to scream into his ear. 
“Hah! Go fish, bitch.” Namjoon begrudgingly pulled another card from the only neat stack on the table. 
“Can we pick something else?” Namjoon yells between the two, hoping to God that they heard him and will take pity on him. 
This is the one night in a whole month that he has had time to go out and forget about his job. The first shitty bar was just what he needed. Drinks were made with alcohol that was poured with a heavy hand and the music was chosen perfectly. You always have to start with the loud, dance club settings when you bar hop. Then, by the end of the night, you’re sitting at a chill bar that provides board games for its patrons and puts the correct amount of alcohol into drinks. Plus, if you have the right vibes, you can score some free samples. By now, the owners have given them a few too many and all three of them should definitely leave soon. 
“I have a better idea!” Jimin yells. Instead of the others responding, they just wait for Jimin to say what’s next on the agenda. He’s basically been running the whole night, deciding where they go next and what the feel is after each one. He’s the pro. 
“Let’s go home.” 
“Thank god.” Namjoon mumbles to himself. Immediately starting to put their cards away in a mess of backwards and upside down stacks. It was Seokjin’s turn to pay for the tab, so he’s up and heading for the main bartender in a hurry. Apparently they’ve all had enough for the night. By now it’s not just fun noiseless thinking and laughing about ‘the good old days’, it’s tired mumbling and sighing at the hit of cool air that greets them outside of the bar. 
“Ugh, Joon, you should just let us crash at your place. I really can’t imagine the price of a cab right now.” 
“I don’t care, I just wan' be horizontal as soon as possible.” Namjoon mumbles at them, already leading the way to his studio apartment. 
"You're such a fuckin' nerd." Seokjin giggles to himself, making Jimin join in."
"Because I use 'horizontal'? Ya'll can fight over the fuckin' couch cuz' you're not sleepin' withme in my big, sof' bed." 
That just eggs them on more, leaving Namjoon to lead the way as they stumble along behind him.
-
“Uh…Namjoon?”
Seokjin’s unsure voice asks behind Namjoon as he clicks his apartment door’s locks into place. His limbs seem to lag as he tries to peel his shoes and jacket off. 
“What?”
“I thought you said you didn’t go out last night.”
“Bro, I didn’t.” Namjoon adds a whiny ending in his answer. Both Seokjin and Jimin have been asking if he went out without them- the whole night he’s had to convince them he stayed in on a Friday night to work.
“Then, why is there an omega in your living room?”
“There’s not an ‘mega in my liv-” Namjoon finally pries his shoes off and turns to find a female standing just next to his couch. Her scent hits him like a bag of bricks- it’s fucking everywhere, like she scented ever piece of fabric in the house and pushed out some more just for extra measure. 
“Alpha!” Her bright eyes land on his still adjusting eyes. He’s trying his best to piece together why the fuck this is happening. He must be really fucking drunk. They must all be. There wouldn’t be a random omega in his home. He hasn’t touched another person in months thanks to the workload he has. 
“Namjoon? She’s talking to you.” Jimin pipes up, trying to cover his nose with his jacket sleeve. He can’t think the smell is bad can he? Namjoon thinks her scent is nice, really good, perfect even- but as his eyes turn to Jimin and Seokjin he can see their discomfort. 
“You’re talking to me?” Namjoon asks stupidly. He can’t, for the life of him, get ahold of a single thought. There’s no reason for her to be here talking to him. 
“Yes. I’ve been waiting for you.” She says surely. “She sent me to you.” She ends with a giddy smile. 
“Namjoon if you’ve got some weird roleplay going on please let us leave.” Seokjin says finally, pushing Namjoon into his apartment more to dispel the situation and- apparently- leave the stunned, drunk alpha alone with this unknown omega. 
“Who are you?” He asks, studying her to try and figure out if this was an omega he forgot he had a thing with before. Namjoon can’t imagine her as anyone he’s been with before- he’d surely remember a face like her’s, a scent so perfect. 
“Y/N. I’m your gift!” She says with certainty, never letting her smile leave as she waits for him to react to her. Instead, he just feels extremely light headed. With a few slowed-blinks, Namjoon collapses to the ground with a few thuds. 
-
"Please don't die. Please, please don't have drunk too much and die before I could do anything."
Namjoon wakes to a pounding in his head that seems to be speaking to him as well. A foreign voice worries around him. It isn't until a touch to his forehead that has him bolting up from a lying position to come face to face with a woman that he definitely thought he dreamt up.
"Oh, thank The Goddess! I thought you drank too much." Namjoon tries to push himself away from the woman, going as far back to his headboard as he can get. 
"I definitely drank too much, 'cuz who the fuck are you?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you'd remember." He watches confused as she seems to straighten the hoodie she has on- a hoodie he realizes is definitely his- and prepares herself for an introduction. 
"I'm Y/N, your personal omega match." She gives him a grinning greeting that shows her confidence and content in a situation he sure as hell isn't familiar with.
"What- what does that mean?" Namjoon tries to rub the hangover from his eyes, an ache being soothed only when a constant pressure is held to his temples. He listens to her as he continues his ministrations.
"The Goddess raises us, teaches us how to be perfect for our matches. No matter the combination, no matter the gender identity- there's always a match for someone. But, the chosen match only goes through if the one we are matched to deserves it. Our safety is her number one priority."
He takes in this headache of an explanation, trying his best to piece together why the hell he was chosen. He's trying to figure out if this is really happening to him- if this is real, despite him knowing of those that had been 'gifted' an alpha, beta, or omega. 
"I can help you with the pain, I was taught how to alleviate hangover symptoms."
"No, no it's fine, don't touch me." Her face falls at what he says upon opening his eyes. The look of devastation on her face worries him, itching to figure out why what he said had made her so unsettled.
"Oh, I'm so sorry."
"Why?"
"I have been touching you. I brought you to the bed and made sure you didn't sleep with your jeans on. And I've been switching out the cool rags all night to check if you were still sweating. I definitely should have asked."
The scent he was so used to he forgot about it, is now mixed with a burnt equivalent. 
“It’s alright. I was- yeah I don’t remember much. So, thank you for helping me.” 
“Of course! I love helping, I could make you soup if you’d like. I- I don’t know what you like yet but if you let me know what you need right now I can figure it out.” 
Namjoon gives pause at the sheer want that’s on her face, the softness in her scent now. He’s never had another person in his home making him things and wanting to take care of him besides Seokjin and Jimin. Those two will try to help him out whenever he even voices a discomfort, but this stranger is sat kneeling on his bed, tending to him as if he means something to her. He doesn’t know how this works exactly, where she comes from and why she’s so comfortable with him without knowing anything about him. He can’t just take advantage of her either. He’ll learn. 
-
Even as Namjoon prepares a soup he would most definitely not have put the effort into making any other time he was drunk, Y/N is looking over his shoulder and watching what he does every step of the way. Just as his dog at his parents house used to do, she’s right on his heels, trying to memorize the steps. Even worse, her scent is giddy-ingly releasing as if she’s not in control of it. Luckily, he finishes it without spilling or burning himself, setting the bowls on his only place to properly eat in his apartment- a small peninsula in his kitchen that extends to fit four people. He sits to find one Y/N having already gotten him water and found acetaminophen to set next to his bowl. 
“So, you were busy while you were waiting for me, huh?” Namjoon quips more than anything. He gestures to the air around them, the scent. His dry humor doesn’t seem to hit the spot, though.
“I’m sorry about that as well. I was so excited to see a home, your home, and your space. And- I know it’s important to not interfere but it just- came out.” She cringes at herself, her eyes finally leaving him to focus on her bowl of food. Namjoon finds himself hiding his smile in his bite of food, savoring the flavor that he hasn’t had in a while. His amusement doesn’t last long with his overthinking. The first bite of her soup is at her lips before he asks. 
“Did it smell bad? Is my scent not- ya’ know? Not good?” 
“No! Not at all. Your scent is- well- really good to put it simply. At first I was just so excited my own scent was pushing out, but then- I smelled you. It was addicting, and I found I was just curious about what our scents are like together. I’m sorry I disturbed your space.”
“It’s okay-”
“You don’t have to lie to me to make me feel better.” She states. 
“I’m not. You’ll come to learn I’m very verbal about my wants and disinterests- so I’m telling the truth when I say that your scent is ‘really good’ as well.” Namjoon makes a point to jab at her earlier description, finally bringing another smile to her face. 
“Okay, I’ll remember that. And I’m glad you like it.” She shyly admits. 
“Now that we know that, though, let’s just try not to push it out as much until we get to know each other better- just so we don’t act on instincts too haphazardly.” Namjoon politely suggests. He’d never put someone’s scent over consent and their verbal wants and needs- but if they are truly matched by The Goddess, then he knows that an interest will develop and then scents cloud instincts and will make them both do things they may regret. 
Looking at Y/N now, he can imagine it. He can imagine her being the omega he’d do anything for. Right now, his imagination is only based on what The Goddess has given him, though. That’s the problem. He needs to know her inside and out, not just her sweet, warm scent. The softness of her hair- long, warm brown curls that cascade down to her hips- needs to be a feeling that he could recall into his fingers at any moment. He would need to be able to lick his lips and taste her on them. She’d need to be ingrained into him, just as much as he makes sure he’s the same for her. They are the only two that will know each other as intimately as he wishes. Until then, he will care for her as he’s supposed to, and they will get to know each other- as friends. 
“Okay, I can do that.”
“And I’m guessing you had no clothes?” 
“I didn’t know they’d drop me here naked, I just grabbed the first things I found comfortable.” Again, she seems to be more embarrassed of herself in that realization, but she pushes on. “I can get a job. The Goddess taught me how to have good communication and hard work.” 
He didn’t think of that. Should she work? Does she want to work?
“For now, let’s just see how things workout, and if you wish to work, I’ll help you with the process. If you enjoy being here without one, or find out you hate it, then no big deal- I earn enough. Let’s get you some clothes today, though, some things that are better suited for your skin, yeah?” Her eyes light up immediately, her eyes never leaving Namjoon in the dark about how she feels. He likes that already. 
“I can go outside today?” 
“Y/N, you can go outside whenever you want-” He catches her ready to interrupt but he can already guess what she’ll ask. “We’ll talk about scenting another time. But, I am not going to tell you what you can and can’t do. I’m assuming you want to stay here-” A few satisfied nods from her is the answer. “Then we’ll have some basic rules. We tell each other where we’re going, or if we want to go out and do something- just so we know and just so we’re both as safe as possible. We don’t invade each other’s privacy ever- when doors are shut we always knock and when we’re curious about something we ask. We tell each other how we feel if we are having issues or when one wishes to communicate a change in the rules. We are two separate people who have our own needs, and we both need to respect that. I think those are most important, but- do you want to add or change anything?” 
“I appreciate how thorough you are, but where do I sleep?” 
-
"How about this? It's soft and similar to the one you're wearing." 
"Hmmm, I don't know if this is what I want to wear daily, though." 
"How about we just get some basics you immediately like and then we'll get more later on when you figure out what you like in broader areas."
The main issue with shopping for a once-celestial-being is that clothing was never a unique-based choice for them. Everything was uniform and based only on what that person chose to cover. 
"I like simple things, but I just want some more color." 
Namjoon scans the racks of the clothing, but only the sections with more colors. Even then, all of the clothing in the women's section is different. Cuts and flares are different or nonexistent. He finally just looks up to ask a question, but finds Y/N with two arms full of choices. 
"There's just so much and I've never tried them before…can I just try stuff on?" 
-
Namjoon waits an odd amount of time to see the first outfit that Y/N shows him. It's not a crowded store, nor are the stores around them busy. But, when she walks out with a tight forest green crop top that obviously shows she has no bra on he immediately feels like every eye is on them. He's not one that cares about it, he's definitely a 'free the nipple' kinda' guy. But the very brief sight has him standing up immediately from the waiting chairs and blocking her from the small entrance that people could see through. 
"This one is so soft and I love this color. The skirt is a little weird, though. Does it look okay?" 
Namjoon pulls his glued gaze from her face to travel down her body. A body that he is now seeing in a new light. The clothes fit as if they were made for her- even a small pudge of her stomach sticks out between the top and the skirt to pull his gaze in. The skirt isn't weird, it's a creme colored, long cargo skirt that is probably a new style he's a little unaware of. If anything, it's perfect and is as lovely as she sounds. It matches her, unlike his hoodies and matching sweats- though he has to stop himself from wishing she’d just wear his clothing all the time. He gets to her feet, his oversized socks and the smaller pair of slippers that Jimin usually wears in his apartment are on her feet. It's so cute and so soft that he has to completely ignore it to give her an honest sounding answer.
"It looks really good." He says it with a heady voice, already obsessed with how everything looks on her. "Is it comfortable?" He changes the topic to not have to say more than he needs to.
"Yes! I tried on some jeans but the baggier stuff and skirts are more comfortable right now. I can try those later on. I like the sweats and softer stuff, this one was just one I wanted your opinion on." 
"Okay, grab whatever you'd like and then we can get shoes and bedding." Namjoon turns before she answers, hoping he isn't stinking up the damn shop.
Now that they’ve left the clothing shop, Namjoon feels like he can breathe. Despite Y/N having already chosen what she’d found comfortable, she wanted his opinion on a few more options just so she didn’t get ‘too much’. He really didn’t mind buying everything she liked, but she was insistent on living with only necessities- just as she did before she was ‘dropped’. That’s how she describes it, so he will as well. All her clothing is plain and is like her clothing before, as she described. Tight, simple bands and flowy fabrics that were different shades of and between white and black. Now, she just wants to add color and, apparently, his opinion. 
“Why do I need extra bedding? Is there an omega version of most personal items? It was always pretty equal before- everything was perfect.”
“I think that’s the point of being directly raised by The Goddess, it’s all catered to you. You don’t think that a blanket could be two different things to one person there? Like, perfectly soft and fuzzy to you but silky and cool for another.”
“Oh, I never thought about it that way. We just got necessities there and, to be honest, there wasn’t a need to share.”
“It’s just easier for those here to have their own stores or versions of preferred necessities because of your skin. Clothing and bedding is softer in certain stores, products can be found in a large variety based on needs and wants as well, and depending on your second gender there are just other needs you have- you know that though.” Namjoon really hopes that this won’t be a conversation he has to have when they barely know each other. He couldn’t imagine The Goddess making things as important as heats and ruts to be something unnecessary in Her ‘magical land above’. 
“Yes, I know. I’m already recognizing that face you make. Please don’t be shy with me- I kind of lied about sharing things back then- we shared heats and ruts with each other if we wished. It wasn’t sacred there like it is here- it was just a means for survival and The Goddess knew it was something that was our choice. Here, though, it’s far more special and we are taught that- I’m only yours, and if you'd like, you’ll be mine.” 
She says these things with such confidence and assurance. He can’t just let her be this open without him giving that energy back, but he’s more so just not ready. This time to get to know her is crucial and keeping their personal information separate if wanted is important to him. He also can’t blame her, she just told him that their bodies were shared if wanted based on survival, and they were watched over all the time and provided for without having much of a say. It’s all just another thing to learn- he’ll learn to get used to her nonchalance. 
“When it comes up we’ll talk about that then and figure it out together.” Namjoon assures her, hoping he sounds as reassuring as possible. 
“Okay. Ooh, these are nice!” Y/N points at a specific type of blanket in one section. She touches the samples of comforters that line the wall under each different type on the shelf. He likes these comforters as well, the airy, padded blankets provide warmth but don’t make you sweat in the hotter months. 
“These ones are good during the hotter seasons as well- I think they’d be good.”
“Can I get two? For nesting.” 
This part doesn’t take long at all. Namjoon suggests some things and lets her pick out whatever her heart desires as this is all stuff he’ll be less helpful in. By the end, Namjoon is carrying the two clothing bags, and two regular pillows while Y/N’s usual giddy face doesn’t struggle at all to carry the two comforters and two plushies she thought ‘looked like him’. He tried denying the panda, but the koala wasn’t an awful comparison. (He folded immediately). 
“What’s next?” She asks with excitement on her face.
“We plan dinner and then go to bed.” 
“Oh..okay!” The excitement leaves her, but only for a second. 
She never thinks long about what it is she’s taking in. She’d definitely not one to take things lightly, as she said she’d been memorizing his fucking expressions, so it’s probably just content. She’s content to be here and do whatever he suggests because that’s all she knows. 
“How about we go out to dinner? Is there anything you like?” He watches her think for another slow couple of seconds, and then she’s excited again to talk to him. 
“Whatever is your favorite. I’d like to just try something new.”
“You’re going to be sorely disappointed.” Namjoon gives her a mischievous smile that’s more fond-looking when it’s directed at her. 
-
It’s a seedy pizza spot that is honestly not actually all seedy. Namjoon was never one to judge a place or person on how they look- so, when he stumbled upon this place that seemed to be the only thing open after a late-night recording session, he gave it a shot. It’s shitty on the outside with a dirty, worn down awning that could just be black on purpose and a sign that you can barely read. The inside is far better, luckily. It’s as clean as you could probably get the place without gutting it, and the owner is the one making the pizzas. It’s not very seedy because of that and the fact that the owner won’t share his real name. He named it ‘Mario’s’ only because he likes the games and wanted people to think he knew what the fuck he was doing. So, Namjoon isn’t sure- but the pizza’s fucking amazing. 
Y/N doesn’t look like she should be walking into the establishment. She’s bright-eyed and wanting to take in the world as it is her first time seeing it, technically. He doesn’t know how exactly she lived or what she has seen, but it really seems as if she’s appreciative of even the dust lining the crevices of the flooring. 
“Hey, music man. The usual?” 
“Yeah, but double it, please.” 
“Ooh, pretty lady here.” Despite Namjoon never having a jealous moment in his life before this, he immediately tenses up at the attention he gives her.
“Hi! I’m Y/N.”
“Very sweet, well I’ve seen you in here by yourself too many times- so, I’ll charge you for one order today, ey? Nice date, nice price.” 
“Thanks, man.” Namjoon tries to get the conversation over with, looking over to Y/N to see that she doesn’t mind one bit.
“Is this a date?” She suddenly asks, bouncing off the idea that the owner obviously put into her head.
“Just dinner as friends right now. I’d let you know if it was a date, I’m really possessive.” Namjoon says it a little louder than necessary as he leads her to a booth seat that conceals her from the counter’s view. “Let me pay, I’ll be right back.” 
Namjoon misses the giddy smile that Y/N has at the new information she now holds in getting to know her alpha. They aren’t each other’s yet, but he’s all she knows right now and he’s treating her so well. It seems bound to happen that he’ll become closer to her- her's, in all senses that she finds meaningful. It’ll mean she’s doing well, and that she won’t disappoint The Goddess or Namjoon. 
The wait isn’t long, Namjoon’s favorite part besides the perfect slices of pizza. 
“One pepperoni slice and one cheese. I’m a simple man.” 
“I like simple.” Is all she tells him with a shrug before she greedily eats the cheese slice. She talks as she eats, not caring for the food in her mouth. “Wow, there was nothing like this! We didn’t need to eat, but there were cravings in our time of heat. I usually craved something sweet, and with only the necessities being our priority it was usually fruit. We learned to cook basic things as well- breads, soups, and different kinds of rice.” 
Namjoon feels comfortable talking with a half-full mouth now as well, becoming more and more comfortable with a stranger that he just acquainted himself with this morning. 
“You’re in luck, besides music, I’m a professional take-out order-er.” 
“Mmm,” it seems she takes that information and is already imagining the good food that she doesn’t know exists yet. “I didn’t know you made music- that’s your job?” 
“Yeah, I produce music but I’m mostly at home doing it. Sometimes I’ll go in to help with a recording, but that’s not often. I just get paid to make the beats or change lyrics whenever they need help with that.” 
“That’s really cool. Could I hear something sometime?” She looks so interested, so enthralled by him that he almost chokes up at the attention she’s giving him. He doesn’t feel worthy as an alpha to be someone she’s interested in. He’s never had someone look at him like he has all the answers and can provide for her without a second thought. He knows this is a learning process for them both, but he’s thinking that she’s already set on whatever it is she was made for- while he’s just a man that is still figuring out everything himself. A stable job and a home that he can provide isn’t enough. He isn’t enough yet. 
“You’ll probably hear it all the time when I’m working during the week.” 
“Yay.” She gives him that same smile, now with her lips sealed because of the food in her mouth. Grease stains her lips and he has to push down the want to wipe it from her. Her lips, now that he’s looking, are plump and the pink of them is hiding under a layer of orange grease. Despite that, they’re still kissable, memorable, probably soft and pliant in times of need-
“Here’s a napkin.” 
“Thank you!” She takes it and immediately uses it. 
He has to stop doing that.
-
It’s only once they’re home and have hauled everything up to the apartment that Namjoon realizes it was a horrible idea to share the bed. He wants to be a gentleman and he doesn’t want to just push her away. She’s here for an obvious reason, they were matched- supposedly perfect for each other- and he only feels like a dick pushing her away to sleep on his uncomfortable couch. 
He shows her how to use the washing machine, and as they wait it’s far more awkward than he means for it to be. 
“Have you tried the TV yet?” Namjoon asks as she goes through her bag of clothes to show Namjoon the contents. He mentally smacks himself, he really didn’t have to ask, he could just turn it on and put a random show on to end the night. 
“No, I didn’t want to touch anything I wasn’t familiar with.” She’s nonchalant about it, why can’t he be nonchalant about it?
“Okay, I got these to sleep in, they didn’t have that many options so I hope I can borrow a shirt to sleep in if that’s okay?” She holds up a pair of sleep shorts that has far too little fabric. It’s her choice to wear them- he’s not a fucking teenager, he’ll be fine. 
“And I know it’s most decent, so I did find these to wear…” she has to find the tag and read them. “Sports bras.” She holds up the three-pack proudly to show him. Despite her being the one to show him, he feels invasive, immediately turning away after a quick smiling nod to turn on the TV.
“And then this skirt as well as this smaller one, and a more flowy one. The fabrics are nice- I like how different they are here.” 
“Very pretty.” He says, hoping it was normal enough. 
“Thank you! And then just a few more of those shirts like the green one and a couple hoodies and sweats like yours. We’ll match! Plus these shoes and socks will go with everything I got.” She excitedly looks over her things again and again. She’s so happy with just those, so happy with the simple things and the shitty restaurant that he’d never even think about taking a woman to unless they were much more comfortable together. 
In his thinking, he doesn’t notice Y/N standing in front of him until she’s holding up that pair of sleep shorts for him. He takes them without thinking, looking up from the couch to give her a questioning look. 
“You said we could talk about scenting later. Is scenting my clothes off-limits?” She looks down at him with worry in her eyes and a peak of worry slips through to make him weak in the- everything, really. 
“No, uh, no that’s okay.” It’s a possessive thing he feels when he scents the shorts, looking up at her as he gives them a good rub against his neck and even going the extra measure to make sure his scent is thick and potent. 
“There.” He hands them back, the soft fabric going straight to her nose to take in a whiff. He wants so badly to know how much she enjoys it, if she enjoys it as much as he enjoys her’s. She takes her time, then points to the pile of clothes. 
“Can you do the rest once those are clean?”
“Yeah.” It’s a breathy response, hanging onto the hope that he’ll be able to scent her at some point. Having his scent on her things, on her body, it truly finalizes the fact that she’s here for him. She was made to bless someone- all pretty omega, inside and out, and soft features with a soft body. She was made to bless him, he realizes. Though he doesn’t know if it was meant to be him from the beginning, she was still curated in a way that led them together. He doesn’t deserve it. Not when he’s clunky and unconfident in his abilities to be her alpha. His instincts are kicking in without the confidence to even put them to use. 
“Let’s get the bed ready, however you like it we can change it, yeah?” He’s suddenly antsy in his need to make his room presentable and safe. He’s grabbing both blankets and pillows and is in the bedroom before Y/N even makes it there, still becoming more and more tired after her adventures today. 
“Are you tired?” He asks, noticing her tired eyes and the shorts still lifted to her nose. He gets a nodding answer. Perfectly, maybe by fate even, the dryer chimes its finish, indicating that now both of her new blankets are clean and warm.
While he is just about freaking out over never having made a nest before, Y/N is at his side and pulling one thing at a time from his arms. She places the blankets haphazardly in his eyes, just making a small dip for her to cuddle into. Even in her fog of scent and growing tiredness, she is able to do what she needs for her comfortable nest. He even lingers on the fact that she’s making it on the correct side, probably having already noticed where his scent lingers the most. 
“Okay, we sleep.” she almost gets into the bed before Namjoon is tugging at her (his) hoodie, pulling her back. 
“No outside clothes. You need to be comfortable and clean.” She immediately obeys, pulling her (his) sweats down as he looks up at the ceiling to admire the texture. He remembers she needs one of his shirts so he uses that as an actual excuse, plucking a random one from the hangers to hand to her. He completely turns around for that part, waiting only until he hears her settle into the bed before he turns back to her. He catches her arm sticking out, patting the large space next to her, before disappearing again. 
She’s going to be the death of him, really. A pretty omega nesting in his bed. 
He’s a rod next to her. Stiff and trying to take up as little room as possible. He has work tomorrow and a new responsibility he has to navigate- he can’t just stay up all night and be useless in both ways. 
“Namjoon.” Despite how tired she was, she whispers to him with a lucid voice. 
“Yeah?” 
“I’m just- I don’t know- tense? Could I…sleep with your hand?” 
This is more intimate than he thought it’d be. To have her in his bed, wanting his wrist to scent freely and maybe even scent herself. He’s not one to take scenting lightly. To him, it’s special, and should be sacred to the one he is to be with for the rest of his life. He was fine with the clothes, he maybe even thought about it a few times since their shopping trip- but is this too much too fast?
“Nevermind, I’m sorry, I know we didn’t talk about that yet.” She whispers again. 
“Y/N.” It’s silent for a few long seconds. 
“Yeah?” 
“I’m not sure if I want to scent right now, but could I- could we just try this once and I can let you know how I feel?” 
“Are you sure? I know I just came to you so abruptly, I don’t want my presence to change your previous boundaries. I’ll do whatever you’re comfortable with.”
He really thinks about it, about how he’s felt before with others he’s been interested in. Even with Seokjin and Jimin, he’s never thought about scenting them or even needing to push out his own scent in situations that needed his ‘dominance’ for assistance. It was never something he prioritized, or had a reason for. So, the fact that it’s now wanted and needed, it feels intimate. But, maybe wanting to give this to her is what’s right. If not, and he’s reading this wrong, he’ll let her know. His own rule was to be open and to voice their concerns. 
“It’s okay, here.” He sticks out his arm before he can overthink it more. She takes his hand as if it were a precious jewel, her skin is just as soft as he imagined. Maybe it was even better- but he can’t explain it. All he knows is that his own skin seems to call out for her, yearning for a touch he has just met. A touch that he only knew of a second ago. He grasps onto her hand, rubbing his thumb into the back of it as she directs him to her nose. The brush of her nose is like static, a shock to his system that he’s never felt before. His sensitive scent gland there is immediately releasing his scent in wafts that she only snuggles closer to. 
“It’s so good. Is this okay?” She mumbles, clearly trying to keep a clear head as well. 
“Yeah, yeah.” He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself, but really he’s just trying to keep cool. “Do you feel better?” 
“Yes, it’s safe and warm. Thank you, Namjoon.” 
With her nose and upper lip pressed to his wrist- with a mumble of his name whispered into his own skin- he lets out a ragged breath, and he himself tries his best to drift to sleep. It isn’t long before he’s actually tiring down, her sweet, warm scenting pushing out to meet him. She could probably scent the nerves. He doesn’t mind how it happens, nor how they’ll wake up at this point. Now, he can rest, knowing a sweet omega is safe in his home.
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avocadoooo · 2 years ago
Text
foolish one
character: alhaitham x fem!reader
a/n: i didn't do the whole song, small letters intended, also never proofread🤸‍♀️ do send in requests❗
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you give me just enough attention to keep my hopes too high
rubbing the sides of your forehed, you let out a heavy sigh while looking at the random numbers and formulas written in paper infront of you that you've been trying to understand for the past twenty minutes. the longer the time passes, the longer the number jumbles and shuffles together.
and when you were right on the edge of giving up, you a pair of hands clap right next to your hear startling you.
"you've been staring at that stack of paper for the past twenty minutes and you haven't even gotten passed the first page yet," you hear a familiar voice say, immediately recognizing the owner of it.
"if you're not going to help, best get away. i'm not in the mood to deal with your scolding today, alhaitham."
he doesn't say anything and you hear some shuffling, thinking that he's going to leave, you put your headphones on when suddenly the chair infront of you was pulled from its place. he sits down, dropping a stack of paper infront of you with his neat handwriting of his notes, ready to help with the parts you struggled with (all of it).
wishful thoughts forget to mention when something's really not right
arguing with alhaitham was one that tried their best to avoid, not just because he always thinks that he's right, but also because he makes you think you're making a big deal of things that really are a big deal.
alhaitham's eyebrows meet as he says, "i just ate outside, i didn't think you'd make that big of a deal out of this."
you roll your eyes, already used to him saying those words as you say, "you ate outside when i told you i was going to go and cook us dinner. you also went out of your way to go with nilou, you know how i feel about her, haitham."
he crosses his arms, already over the argument and says, "we've gone over this millions of times already, i told you that she's just a colleague. will you ever get over this? it's getting tiring"
a tear drops as you turn around, locking yourself in your room and your heart with you.
and i will block out these voices of reason in my head
all the signs were pointing to the exit. you knew that it was probably the best thing to do, especially in your situation, but were you going to do it? of course.
you won't.
every single thing about him was screaming red, that it was something wrong and dangerous. and you were well aware of that.
but you always liked red better than green anyway.
and the voices say, "you are not the exception, you will never learn your lesson"
you knew that staying in yours and alhaitham's relationship is a bad idea, hoping that things would turn around and work out for the better.
but you also knew that wishing for that would be throwing another star to the already millions of missed shining ones.
and yet you did anyway. your friends advices going into one ear and out the other as you run back to him. but you know they'll be there for you, ready to catch you as you fall into their arms, crying once again.
you swear you won't come back to him, that you'll be choosing yourself this time around and it'll be better as they nod along, knowing that you'll be back by his side in the morning, things said the night before already forgotten as you look at him with lovestruck eyes.
and you know damn well that he knows that as well.
foolish one, stop checking your mailbox for confessions of love, that ain't never gonna come
was what your friends always told you numerious times, on multiple occasions. have you ever listened? no. have they gotten tired of reminding you? yes. they've realised that you're foolish, you were always a hopeless romantic, but they never thought you'd be a foolish one as well.
and here you were, all dolled up for your anniversary dinner, phone on the table you're sitting infront of with the messages you sent hours ago, looking down at the device with teary eyes.
"hey al, i know you're busy with work but i just wanted to remind you of the date we have tonight! you also said you'd send what you were gonna wear so we can match, see u:))" - sent at 11:30am
"it's 3 hours 'til the date but can you send me the picture if you're not too busy since yk i take a while to get ready. thanks, love" - sent at 3:03 pm
"an hour to go and i have to leave in 20mins, we won't be able to match since you haven't sent me yours, sorry:((" - sent at 5pm
"here at the [location], take your time though" - sent at 5:50pm
you checked the watch on your wrist, 7:43pm, it read. it's been two hours now that you were waiting for your beloved to show up.
"maybe he's just working overtime" he would never work over time.
"he's probably stuck in traffic" the reason you had to leave 20 minutes early was because this place was 5 minutes from his work place so it'd be more convenient for him to come.
"his boss most likely asked him to stay late" he is the boss.
even if you were the one being embarrassed for waiting for wlmost two hours in a restaurant, you still tried making excuses for his behavior anyway.
you grabbed your phone and started typing away
"love, i might leave now since it's been almost two hours that i've waited, you're probably home already since you got tired from work and forgot about the date, it's okay though, we can make up next year"
then you hit send, and just as the message gets delivered as you stood up, a phone chimes from the entrance so you turn to look.
and then there he was, standing at the front talking to the server and you smile thinking that maybe he was just late after all when he walks in and turns to look back out, with his hand extending out.
a hand holds his delicately as nilou walks in.
he turns, looking around the restaurant when you lock eyes, his are shocked, while yours are filled with disappointment. you shook your head as you walk out the exit door, not even bothering to look back as he calls out your name.
you were indeed, the foolish one.
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its-vannah · 3 years ago
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Our Secret - Theseus x Reader
A/N: I only ever publish things I'm somewhat proud of, and I absolutely love the way that this one turned out.
Word Count: 1,342
Warnings: Sassy Lally (more of a gift than a warning), fluff (<3)
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Lally's skirt swishes around her ankles as she entered her classroom at Ilvermorny, a long sigh escaping her lips as she made her way to her desk. Papers were scattered all over the surface, parchment placed in a heap at the center of the table, and quills were spilling out of their holder.
Her students were already done for the day, now nestled back in their common rooms in preparation for the next day. But you were still there, twirling around in her swivel chair, enjoying the moment.
When you noticed her, a large smile appeared on your face, and you rose from your seat, "Lally, you're back already!"
She nodded, "I've been gone too long. Can't have you teaching them better than me, can I?"
"Well, it's too late for that." You teased, giving her a quick hug, "It's good to see you, but you really should get going. You look exhausted, Lally."
"I assure you that I'm quite alright. Just glad to be back and in my classroom." Lally said, waving her wand to arrange the parchament in a neat stack, placing the quills all in one cannister, and sorting the papers by student's year.
You shrugged, "Suit yourself. Let me know if there's anything else I can do for you."
"You could get back to teaching Care of Magical Creatures tomorrow and tell them what a great professor I am?" She suggested, wiggling her brows, "You never know, Y/N, maybe I'll teach Care of Magical Creatures one day and you'll teach Charms."
"You? Teaching Care of Magical Creatures? And me teaching Charms? You're too kind- and unrealistic." You sighed, shaking your head, "I'd have better luck getting a job with MACUSA than I would getting the role of Charms professor."
"You're probably right. I don't think the charms teacher here wants to leave anytime soon. She likes what she does. She's rather good at it, too." Lally teased, reclaiming her seat.
You raked a hand through your hair, "I don't know, I'd say she's okay."
Lally jokingly rolled her eyes, reclining in her seat.
The door behind you burst open, the doors slamming into the walls on its sides. Startled, you drew your wand, aiming it directly at your target.
But Lally leaped out of her chair, gently pushing your hand towards the ground, "Careful, Y/N, he's no harm. Just a friend."
She turned towards the man who had just entered her classroom, "What can I do for you, Mr. Scamander."
"Please, Lally, call me Theseus." He said, offering her a small smile, before clearing his throat, "Newt's here for the next few days as a guest speaker for Care of Magical Creatures. And, given that he's, well, Newt, I've been sent here to supervise. It's a good thing, too, because he's already lost Teddy."
"You don't think he's gotten in here, do you?" Lally questioned, peering around the room for any sign of movement.
Theseus shrugged, "I'm not sure, but I don't want to leave any table unturned."
They began scuffling around the room, peering under benches, tables, and in between bookcases. You stood in the center of the room, unsure of what to do with yourself.
Clearing your throat, you offered your best smile, "Is there anything I can do to help?"
Theseus turned towards you, his eyes locked on yours. But you didn't notice, your eyes were too busy wandering the room. But Lally noticed, and that's when an idea popped into her head.
"You know, I'm awfully tired. I should really be heading back. But Theseus, Y/N would be more than happy to help you search for that niffler." Lally pretended to yawn, stretching her arms as she walked past him, winking at you as she made her way to the door, "Greatest of nights to you two!"
And then the doors shut and she was gone.
You stared at the closed door, then looked back to Theseus, "So, what exactly are we looking for?"
"A niffler." He responded, lifting himself up off the ground, "Specifically my brother's niffler."
"What's a niffler?" You asked, your head tilting to the side, curious as to how he'd describe the mole-like creature.
"Oh," His forehead creased, and he began making odd motions with his hands to describe it, "He's… soft… and he's got a pouch… and a pinkish face, but black fur… saved my life…"
You raised your brows, a laugh escaping your lips. Your hand rushed to cover your mouth, but it was too late. Soon enough, Theseus began laughing to, ceasing his movements, "I'm not exactly sure what I was trying to show you there… Can't really make a niffler out of air."
Nodding, you smiled, "You're very creative."
"Aren't I?" He teased, his hands in his pockets as he accepted defeat, "I don't think he's in here."
You stood up from your spot on the floor, where you had been looking under a bookcase, "That's a shame. Is there anywhere else you could look?"
He shook his head, "We'll have to enlist help checking the common rooms tomorrow when the students have cleared out. It wouldn't be right to go in there now."
Suddenly, his tweed coat began to sway, causing his eyes to widen. He reached down deep into his pocket, letting out a sigh when he lifted what looked to be a niffler, from what he had described, out of it.
"Is that the niffler?" You asked, walking over to him.
"You couldn't tell? I thought I explained it so well!" He joked, softly scratching the creature's head, "This is Teddy, he's my brother's."
You rubbed Teddy's chin with your finger, smiling as he squeeked excitedly against your touch.
"He's quite friendly." You acknowleged, "Your brother has done well."
Theseus nodded, "I've grown quite fond of him myself. Thank you, again, for your help."
You waved her hand, "You did most of the work. Or, he did."
"Well, now that we've found him, it's time to return him to my brother."
"Oh." You said, your shoulders sagging, "Well, it was nice to meet you… Theseus?"
He nodded, "Y/N, right? You know, it'd be nice having another set of eyes on him. To make sure he doesn't run off again. Would you mind helping me track down my brother? I understand if you don't, it's a lot to ask, but I'll make it up to you. I'll get you dinner afterwards?"
"I'd like that, very much." You beamed, holding the large wooden door open for him.
He stepped out, looking around unsure, "If I'm being completely honest, I don't exactly know where I'm headed. I went to Hogwarts myself."
"Really?" You questioned, acting surprised, "I was sure you were an american with that accent.
Theseus laughed, "Were you?"
You nodded, "Thankfully for you, I know exactly where I'm going."
"Did you go here?" He asked, trying to keep Teddy for crawling up his arm.
"I still do."
His eyes widened, "I didn't realize you were a student. I thought-"
"I'm a professor." You said, cutting him off.
"What do you teach?"
A smirk appeared on your face, half covered in the shadows, "Care of Magical Creatures."
"So… you knew exactly what a niffler was and what it looked like?" He swallowed, stopping dead in his tracks.
With a nod, you placed a reassuring hand on his back, "It's alright. You explained them almost as well as my first years."
He shook his head, his cheeks flushing.
"It's alright, really! I was just teasing." You laughed, "Hurt your pride?"
"Maybe just a bit." He said, chuckling to himself.
"Here, follow me. I know a shortcut." You said, pulling down on a nearby torch. Large stone bricks began to rearrange themselves, allowing the two of you into a passageway, "It'll be our secret."
"Our secret?"
"Yes."
Theseus smiled at you as he stepped into the passageway, "I like the sound of that."
The two of you continued walking side by side, neither saying a word but knowing what the other meant.
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liptonsbabe · 4 years ago
Text
Chains of a family [B.W]
Bill Weasley x Grant! Reader
Chapter 1, Chapter 2
Summary: Molly knows about the reader’s relatives and she’s not so sure to put her trust in a girl that had just betrayed her own family
Word count: 1.9K
Warnings: Swearing
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A/N: Hi! i’m so happy that you guys liked this thing! thank you so much for your support and, again, if you want to keep reading this let me know. Same note as ever, english not my mother language, so tell me if something’s is wrong.
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Chapter 2: Not your family
The next morning turned out to be quieter than you imagined.
You slowly got out of bed and looked at everything around you noticing how quaint Bill's old room was. The ceiling was lined with grainy wallpaper with stacks of photographs of Quidditch players hanging from the reeds that moved from side to side, simulating the playing field; the right side of the room had a huge hole behind the small stool that tried to hide it, and from that hole a small garden gnome was sleeping peacefully with a small piece of cloth on top of his head. You stood up, walking towards the huge window that gave you a beautiful view of the Weasley's garden that at that moment was covered by a thin layer of drizzle that had fallen during the night.
Molly's fruit trees gleamed under the faint rays of the sun and you saw how a doxy from between the leaves poisoned Mrs. Weasley's apples, causing them to fall from the tree branches in a thick black mass with a foul smell coming out of it. You shook your head, excited to witness a very different way to wake up.
Even though several minutes have passed since you woke up, the house continued to remain in a strange silence that made you think that the family had decided to leave the burrow with the intention of buying more supplies or something like that. You knew that Bill wasn’t at home precisely for his obligations within the Order, so you didn’t worry about looking for him around the room, so you decided that a better option was going down to the dining room and know what was happening.
As you went down the spiral staircase, you cursed in a whisper when you forgot to put on your slippers before leaving the bedroom cause the floor was so cold that you slipped a couple of times. Back in the days, when you were still welcome in your parents' house, you had many servants who did all the things for you - putting on your shoes as soon as you woke up was one of those things - but now that your life had changed so much, you assumed that you would have to adapt and start taking care of your own needs.
Your curious eyes roamed the walls covered in family photos that caused a big warmth in your chest. In each of those photographs, all of Molly's children appeared along with their father, smiling for the camera and sending effusive greetings. A pic was hanging at the fireplace were Molly and Arthur were carrying a small white bundle crying his lungs out. You assumed it was Bill as his parents seemed too young back then and even as a small baby, you could recognize those tantrum features anywhere.
A giggle escaped your lips when you noticed a funny sequence from that same photo in which, even with Bill crying in his mother's arms, his father tried to carry him for a moment to calm him down, however the baby's cries didn’t stop. The baby was so annoyed that he ended throwing up  the milk ration that he must have had before the photo session on his father's neat shirt.
You laughed because you knew that William's impertinence was something he had carried with him for several years now.
"Bill hates those photos." You jumped in your place scared to see Molly standing behind you. Your cheeks turned red “He says that it’s embarassing but i think that’s nonsense. He was an adorable baby”
"he was," you answered, looking anywhere but into Molly's shrewd eyes. "but I guess displaying them in the fireplace isn’t the right thing to do."
“Is it not?
"No, they should be at the front door where everyone can see them”
Molly giggled as you watched the sequence of photos over and over again. A silence settled between you, but surprisingly it was not an awkward silence, but one that was allowing you to create a bond that neither of you expected. Mrs. Weaslsey brought up a rag, wiping it around the corners of the photo from the dust.
"Arthur and I had to save up for months to take those pictures," she mentioned wistfully, "we just had Bill and it seemed like a good idea to welcome him into our family with a gesture like that. Arthur was new in the ministry and wasn't earning too much, but we had that quirk and decided we could afford to skip certain things to pay for the pictures. It cost us ten galleons and it still took us four months to gather them”
“Oh” You didn't know what to say, but you just kept looking at the photograph feeling a bit uncomfortable. You never had those problems at home because your family was insanelly rich thanks to the inheritance in life that your grandfather Tim had left to his son and later to his grandchildren. Even the descendants of your grandfather's servants came to work in your house, reason enough for you and your siblings to grow up with no sense of responsibility other than your own wishes. Molly sighed remembering those times when life seemed to be easier.
"So when Bill asked me to remove it from the fireplace, I refused. He doesn't know how hard it was to raise that money, but I think he has nothing to be ashamed of, he was too adorable!
"I don't doubt it for a second, Mrs. Weasley."
"You can call me Molly," she said, walking back to the kitchen where you continued watching the way the pans moved back and forth preparing breakfast. You were not very good at cooking - in fact, you had never cooked before- however, that didn’t stop you from offering your help. So you took a pan, placed it on the stove, and decided that you would find a way to make a good mountain of strawberry-filled pancakes just like your dear nanny did. Molly observed you carefully. "I think that now that you are living with us it is appropriate to have a more cordial treatment.My son told me a lot about you”
“Just the good things, i hope”
“Kind of” You stopped mixing ingredients to look at her carefully” He told us a bunch of marvelous things about you and how you two met. Actually, what worries me the most is what he didn’t tell us”
And there was the recrimination you were waiting for. You were aware that it had to arrive sooner or later, however, you would have been grateful that it did it when Bill were by your side to give you the opportunity to defend yourself properly. You cleared your throat uncomfortably, knowing that what Molly needed to hear from your own lips was which family you came from. You continued your task with the pancakes, turning out as bad as you expected.
"I'm sorry it turned out this way, Mrs. Weasley."
"Molly," he corrected.
"Molly" you smiled slowly "But believe me when I tell you that it was me who asked William not to mention anything about my last name or where I come from. I know that in this case, with the war above our heads, it is necessary to be certain of the people who enter your family and I apologize for that, it's just ... Bill is very important to me” Molly's eyes narrowed “Since we met ... I have found a home in him and well, all that feels when someone is in love. "Mrs. Weasley shook her head, understanding the feeling." I have experienced the rejection before. When people know that Tom Riddle is my family ... they run away in fear, curse my family and even walk away from us, as if sharing a blood bond makes us as evil as he is.
“And it’s not like that?” Molly asked with a hand on her neck. She didn’t want to be like the others and judge you without knowing the full story, just as she had promised Bill the night before that she would, but it was so difficult not to remember the death of his brothers by Voldemort’s hands and to pretend nothing had happened in the past. You sighed because the eggs you cracked on the bowl got mixed with their own shell “ I've heard of the Grants before, they're all Death Eaters, including your siblings!”
“It is difficult to have to choose a side  when you don’t have your own convictions”
"And you have it?"
You looked at Molly in pain. Of course you expected those reactions from Bill's mother, she was within her right to be upset that her oldest son never told her that he was in a relationship with a girl who seemed to have the most fucking powerful and evil wizard in the world as a great-uncle. No, Molly wasn't mad, she was deadly angry, she felt like she was bursting!
Her hands became fists and without knowing how, you found yourself between the wall and Molly's big arms from one second to the other. The pancake batter was forgotten, as was the woman's promise to treat her son's girlfriend in a good way.
"How is it possible ..." Molly questioned in an agitated voice, pressing your arms against the wall, "... that a single deer leaves the nature of its own herd?" How can you ensure that one rotten apple even in a gold container doesn’t rot the others?”Your breath caught at the questions of the woman in front of you. Once again, you were aware that your presence wouldn’t be good news to them, but at least you hoped they understood your motives before judging you “Explain to me, (Y/ N) Grant, when have you seen a pig away from his equals?”
Your words caught in your throat at Molly's fierce question. Bill had talked a lot about the temper of his mother. Even if she could be really grumpy at times, she was in general a very sweet, pleasant and maternal woman with everyone; however, you didn’t fit into that generality because it seemed that the woman was determined to kill you with her own hands.
"If my presence bothers you so much, then you shouldn't have let Bill and I to stay here."
“He's my son! All I want for him is to be happy, and that's why I don't understand what he managed to see in you”
"Maybe the same thing you saw in your husband." Molly's lips twitched in anger, but you didn't stop. You hoped that she would at least understand what your words meant, because that would make it easier for both of you to try at least get along better, even if Molly seemed not to want to do it under any circumstances. How is it that this haughty little girl dared to compare herself with her dear and wonderful husband? "I'm sorry, but I don't think this conversation is going to take us anywhere."
"If someone betrays his own family ..." Molly stopped you before you walked out the front door. The others got down the stairs, seeing the scandal formed in the kitchen “The rest of us can't expect too much, can we?
Your eyes blured.
151 notes · View notes
loreholdlesbian · 3 years ago
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Unfinity Draft Booster Challenge
Every set, I like make a booster pack of custom cards that could have come from that set, inspired by one of the challenges from the great designer search (the link to which is now dead). I skipped over unfinity when it first came out for a number of reasons including the tight release schedule and stuff going on in my personal life, but I wanted to backtrack to it. The primary goals of this challenge is both to a) be creative by making cool designs and cool uses of set mechanics and b) to design within the constraints of a given set, and to be able to blend those two needs together. I opted not to include a sticker sheet in this pack, because I don’t have anything close to the frame I’d need for them. Pretend I did include one, and both the power/toughness stickers had a ticket value of X and power/toughness X/X, cause that seems like a neat twist of the mechanic. I also don’t have access to the ability to do the acorn stamp, so I just used silver border instead. Now let’s get into what I did do.
Rare
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Enter the Casino 3GG
Enchantment
King me (As this enters, you get a king’s deck if you don’t already have one. (A shuffled 52 card playing deck.))
You have no maximum hand size.
Whenever you draw a card from your library, also draw a card from your king’s deck. It’s a creature card with power, toughness, and a generic mana cost each equal to that card’s value and convoke. (Aces are 1, Jacks are 11, Queens are 12, Kings are 13.)
[Silver border]
Art link
Normally I like my rare for these challenges to do something interesting with a set mechanic that I couldn’t get away with at a lower rarity, but for an un-set I wanted to go with something really wacky. I don’t love how wordy this ended up but I really love the effect and I think it’s all largely necessary to get it to work. I love the idea of having a big hand full of both normal playing cards and magic cards mixed together, that feels really un to me. The problem I had to find a way around with using a playing card deck is that a lot of the cards are values that are quite big for magic- 8, 9, 10, etc. Making them big X/X for X creatures felt like the cleanest implementation but a lot of them are just gonna be dead cards cause you don’t often get up to that kind of mana and if you do you have better things you could do. I hope the convoke helps address that, especially since this card helps fill you up on creatures.
Uncommons
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Tokens of Affection 2W
Enchantment
As ~ enters the battlefield, choose a printed token.
Spells you cast that could create the chosen token cost 1 less to cast.
Creatures you control that are the chosen token get +1/+1.
[Silver border]
Nothing says “love” like a plushie with a recording box in it that says ‘love’.
Art link
Here’s a design that I thought would be cool, but just doesn’t work within the rules, making it perfect unset material. It wants you to use a bunch of token makers that make the same token. In draft, I intended for this to be used by the RW clown deck, but when you expand to constructed the sky’s your limit. It even works with artifact tokens, mostly.
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Beanie Vendor 1B
Creature- Vampire Hatificer Employee
As long as you’re wearing two or more hats, Beanie Vendor has lifelink.
At the beginning of your upkeep, you may stack a hat on top of your head. If you do, Beanie Vendor gets +1/+1 until that hat falls off.
1/1
[Silver border]
Art link
Unfinity has a hat theme, and I wanted to make a card that took that to its logical extreme- making you stack a bunch of hats on top of eachother. It just seemed like a fun thing to encourage. I don’t expect the hats to actually fall off much; the main point of wording it that way was to make it have a slow growth but also so that you couldn’t keep taking off and putting back on the same hat.
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Release the Clowns! 3R
Sorcery
Open an Attraction, then create a 1/1 Clown Robot artifact creature token for each artifact you control. (Put the top card of your Attraction deck onto the battlefield.)
[Black border]
“And woe be upon us, for from inside the fun house, I heard a faint chorus of honks.”
Art link
One of my gripes with unfinity is that it’s mechanics are a bit insular at times. Or at least, the payoffs for them are, and there were quite a few payoffs for them. So this was my attempt to make a payoff that works more broadly; it works well with both attractions and with the robot deck, as well as the other random artifacts you might pick up. And of course, it’s black border, so you can toss it in a commander deck that wants lots of artifacts out.
Commons
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Little Gray People 1
Art: A gray background with “This space left blank” in darker gray letters
Creature- Alien Guest
T: Put an art sticker on ~.
T: Choose a color among white, blue, black, red, and green in Little Gray People’s art. Add one mana of that color.
1/2
[Silver border]
This is an experiment with a new way to care about art stickers- you care about the colors on them. The art needed to be completely gray to avoid having any of the five colors, so I thought a “This space left blank” joke felt very appropriate, and I like how the name references that while also referencing a classic alien trope.
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Employee of the Moth 3W
Creature- Insect Employee
Flying
When ~ enters the battlefield, open an Attraction. You gain life equal to the amount of numbers lit on that Attraction. (Put the top card of your Attraction deck onto the battlefield.)
3/2
[Black border]
She was drawn in by the bright lights of the Astrotorium, and never left.
Art link
This was a top down design from the name and I’m extremely happy with it. It might be my favorite design in the pack. I love that it explores new design space for attractions and also that it’s a moth that cares about lights. It’s perfect.
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Tightrope Walker 4U
Creature- Human Performer
Tightrope Walker can’t be blocked as long as you’re balancing it on top of a single horizontal finger.
3/2
[Silver border]
Without gravity, the impressive part isn’t avoiding falling down but avoiding floating up.
Art link
It really isn’t much of a challenge, and there’s no limit on the number of tries, so I costed this as if it was always unblockable because it basically is just with a more flavorful ability. My point of comparison is mystic of the hidden ways.
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Word Player 2U
Creature- Vedalken Gamer Guest
~’s power is equal to the number of words in its name.
1: Exchange ~’s name with the name of another target creature you control until end of turn. (Stickers aren’t exchanged.)
*/3
Art link
I like this design, because it works especially well within the context of the set since you can put name stickers on it can also just generally do some fun things. And those things are irrelevant enough that it’s fine at common.
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Escape Artistry 1B
Instant
Choose a creature you own. You get a ticket counter, then you may put a sticker that creature. When that creature dies this turn, return it to the battlefield under your control.
[Black border]
Count Dragula’s famous buried-coffin trick is much less impressive when you remember she’s already dead.
Art link
Another thing I don’t have access to: The ticket counter symbol. This card is an unfinity twist on the standard black protection spell cause I was surprised to find it didn’t have one at common. It takes advantage of the fact that stickers stick around.
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Scary Cyborg Arm R
Artifact- Equipment
Equipped creature is a Robot artifact in addition to its other types.
Whenever equipped creature attacks, target creature can’t block Robots this turn.
Equip 1
[Black border]
Art link
Like I mentioned, I wanted to give red a little bit of an artifact theme, but it was hard to find a good way to do a payoff for that at common when other cards in the set don’t care about artifacts, so instead I went with a good enabler that is an artifact and turns a creature into one. And it plays with the deck that’ll have the most artifacts lying around, the robot deck. Admittedly, this isn’t the wackiest design out there, but it plays into the robot tribal theme well. I had a weirder design for the red common, but it was a creature and the pack was a bit creature heavy especially at common, so I went with the equipment.
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Enthusiastic Reader 1G
Creature- Elf Guest
T: Add G. If this mana is spent to cast a wordy creature spell, cover that spell’s rules text. That spell can’t be countered unless an opponent can recite that spell’s rules text. (A spell is wordy if it has four or more lines of rules text.)
1/3
[Silver border]
There’s nothing they love more than their Questing Beanie.
Art link (base)
I created this cause I wanted to make another solid silver border common that had nothing to do with any of the set mechanics, it was just a neat design, and I’m really happy with the results. I like it as a joke on the “big dumb green beatstick with far too many words” that the community likes to make fun of, Questing Beast being the biggest example of course. And I also love that it introduces a minigame element that doesn’t take much time out of the game. The only time your opponent ever needs to recite it is if they’re gonna try and counter it. I would like to offer my sincere apologies to the artist though.
Attractions
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Runaway Rollercoaster
Artifact- Attraction Vehicle
Flying
Visit- ~ becomes an artifact creature until end of turn.
3/3
Lit numbers | 3, 6
[Black border]
I don’t have an Attraction frame, sue me.
Art link
Yes, now we reach the final thing I don’t have: An attraction frame. So you get these horrible ms paint abominations. Here’s a bit of a twist on attractions, by combining them with other card types; in this case, vehicle, though I could imagine something similar with equipment.
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Craps-troid Belt
Artifact- Attraction [common]
Visit- Roll two six-sided dice. You gain life equal to the difference between those results. If you rolled doubles, claim the prize!
Prize —  ~ deals 4 damage to any target. Sacrifice Craps-troid Belt, then open an Attraction.
Lit numbers | 2, 4, 6
[Black border]
With just one, it’s more a buckle than a belt.
Art link
I wanted to make both my attractions black border commons for the sake of pauper. Additionally, I wanted at least one of them to have a prize if able, for The Most Dangerous Gamer in commander. Finding a minigame that works in black border at common was very difficult, but I think “try to roll doubles” works. I didn’t even come up with the idea trying to make an attraction- I came up with it for a red combat trick, but I didn’t want to have two cards in the booster riffing on the same idea and the attraction needed it more.
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lumosinlove · 4 years ago
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PREVIOUSLY ON RELIC KEEL:
We get our first glimpse of Finn, who is still in Saint Clair orphanage. Finn has worked out that Crucio is being given to the orphans because it allows them to see their families again and makes them want to stay at Saint Clair so they can keep receiving it—even if it means reliving memories every day that are not their own. Finn doesn’t want that at all, and he’s been in solitary for the last week because he refuses to eat, realizing that the drug is mixed in with the food.
Luke is struggling with his mother, who seems to be delighted that Luke’s father is gone. She has completely transformed into a woman Luke doesn’t recognize, offering him alcohol, and wanting to get rid of Luke’s father’s things. Luke escapes her words, retreating to his father’s study where he can take Crucio and re-arrange the events in his own mind, making it so his father never got taken away.
Remus and Sirius, at James’ house for a movie night, have an awkward exchange in the kitchen. Remus wants to ask Sirius if he wants to go sailing with him, quickly realizing the unexplainable but seemingly unavoidable crush he’s developed on Sirius, but they get interrupted by Saint.
Saint asks Remus to help him sneak into The Hogwarts History Museum, where Remus is working for the summer, but when Remus refuses, guesses he has to take matters into his own hands.
Saint finds Luke on the grasses with the others, watching a movie. Luke wants his father’s watch, which Saint stole, back, but Saint refuses. Luke can’t believe Saint has never seen many movies, but rudely puts it up to Saint’s “fucked childhood.” They argue, and it just makes Saint quietly angrier. Saint thinks more deeply about it than he lets on, though, reflecting on people’s need to control things—a need that Crucio plays on. Saint leaves, but not after stealing the keys to Luke’s car, deciding he can control things a different way—with ancient gold from an ancient pirate ship, perhaps.
Sirius follows Saint out of the house. He can tell that he’s more on edge than usual, that he has been ever since Logan arrived. Saint won’t tell him what he wants from the museum, though—a treasure map to the Voldemort. Sirius is hurt. He’s angry at himself for liking Remus. Both Sirius and Saint, it seems, have a hard time distinguishing pity and friendship.
Leo and Logan are waiting for Saint so that they can all go to the museum together. Leo asks about Finn and finds out that Logan and Finn are in love, that they’re everything to each other. It stings Leo’s slowly developing feelings for Logan.
Remus and Sirius go to the history museum to try and thwart Saint and find out he’s working with Logan and Leo, and that they’re all after The Voldemort. Saint confesses he’s trying to help Sirius, to Sirius’ surprise. Leo wants to finish his father’s work. Logan wants Finn—but no one seems willing to help him bust Finn out. When they find the drawer where the map should be kept in the museum’s archive room, however, it’s gone, having been taken out on loan by Luke’s father, Victor Deveaux. Victor and Luke loved the tale of the treasure, too. Perhaps it has something to do with Victor being sent to jail.
They go to Luke’s house where Saint climbs through Luke’s bedroom window. Saint studies a sleeping Luke, a strange, unexpected constant—a brooding, rude, beautiful one, that is. And oh, how Saint hates letting things surprise him. Saint wakes Luke, who has taken Crucio, and plans to use his father’s watch as leverage to get Luke to help them find the map.
~
*****cw: mentions of drugs, mentions of use of drugs, mentions of past deaths, mentions of past abuse, mentions of blood*****
~
part vii
Luke’s father was standing over Remus’ shoulder, flickering as the Felix wore off, and it was really fucking with Luke’s head.
“Some fellow treasure hunters,” his father said with one of his soft smiles. “Sounds fun.”
“Sober up,” Remus’ voice filtered in. “What makes you sober up?”
“I’m not drunk.”
Luke watched Remus just shake his head at him. His father’s flickering frame was looking closely at Saint, who was picking up everything in sight.
“We both know what you are,” Remus replied. “Now, come on. Coffee? Anything I can do without waking your mom up.”
“She’s not going to wake up,” Luke rubbed his eyes. “She takes these—sleeping things, I don’t know.”
“Well—“ Remus hesitated. Behind him, Luke’s father flickered out.
“I’m fine,” Luke said. “What’s going on?”
“We’re bargaining, remember?” Saint held up Luke’s father’s watch again. “Tell me about your father, Deveaux.”
Luke blinked. “What?”
“Well, Lupin’s already told us a little. You, him, and your treasure hunting days.”
Luke looked at Remus, who looked half-guilty and half-curious. “You mean—like when we were kids?”
Luke didn’t want to tell them about the time he had spent with his father in here, just the two of them, fantasizing about gold and pirates.
“We were at the museum just now,” Remus began slowly. “Your dad loaned out a map…it’s of the Cradle. Of a, what was it, a trading post?”
The tall, blond boy standing in a corner nodded.
Remus looked back to Luke. “Have you seen it? Here?”
“A map?” Luke scrubbed his hand over his face again. “What fucking time is it?”
“Oh, he’s swearing,” Saint said as he opened another drawer. “He’s back.”
“Fuck—” Luke clamped his mouth shut. He turned away from Saint and fully towards Remus. Sirius and another dark haired boy were standing near the blond one. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Treasure?”
Remus winced. “Like the Voldemort.”
“The—what? He was never serious about that stuff,” Luke replied. “It was just for fun.”
“And yet he takes it upon himself to acquire an ancient document,” Saint piped up from behind him.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Luke said again over his shoulder.
“Um—“
Luke looked towards the blond boy, who had taken a hesitant step forward.
“I know what it looks like. My dad had a copy.”
“A true father’s affair,” Saint mumbled.
“What?” Luke asked for what felt like the one hundredth time.
“If we could just look around—” the blond began.
“You come here at ass o’clock in the morning to look around may dad’s study? For a treasure map that your dad has?”
“Used to have,” the blond’s eyes went colder. “His version was lost with him and his boat.”
Luke swallowed, eyes drifting away from the other boy’s blue ones. He looked back to Remus. They used to spend hours playing pirate when they were younger. Remus looked like he was remembering those hours, too.
Luke only had to blink for that golden-edged memory to mingle with the hours Remus had held Luke close in Luke’s bed, letting Luke soak his t-shirt through when they’d taken his dad away.
“Why do you think my dad has it?” Luke said now. “What do you mean loaned?”
“We went looking for it at the museum just now,” Remus explained. “Well—not not we. Saint stole your car—”
Luke looked back at Saint. “I’m aware.”
Saint flashed a smile.
“—and went with Logan,” Remus pointed to the somber looking brunette, “and Leo,” the cold-eyed blond, “to more or less, God, break into the museum archives. If they’re going to find the treasure—which, in my opinion, they’re not—they need—”
“A map,” Luke said, then scoffed out a laugh. “You guys are fucking crazy.”
Remus ran a hand through his hair. “Look, none of this was my idea, but your dad’s name was on the loan card. If it’s here, it's here, and then they’ll take the picture they need and we can all leave. I mean, shit, I have work at seven tomorrow morning, guys.”
Luke let out a long breath. He was tired, from being woken up and from the Felix, and he frankly wanted Saint to stop messing with his father’s things.
He nodded at Remus. “You can look around. And I will. The rest of you, don’t fucking—” he snatched one of his father’s fountain pens out of Saint’s hands. “touch anything.”
Saint just tiled his head defiantly. Luke couldn’t help but hold his gaze for a moment, remembering waking up to those syrupy eyes and feeling—he didn’t know what. Like he was standing on the edge of the Howler cliffs, above a storm-warmed, rough ocean. Saint’s hand had been in his hair, and it had been ever so gentle, unlike the rest of him. His words were tough, and, from what Luke could tell by his own jabs at Saint, so was his skin. He guessed a kid didn’t grow up the way Saint had without at least a little armor—Saint was practically drowning in his own.
As if Luke could talk. Luke looked away and gestured towards Remus. “Let’s get this over with.”
Luke opened drawers and cabinets. He looked through stacks of paper and under dressers. He checked the den, even, just in case, but there was nothing. Everything was orderly—and even more, the police had taken so much. Any paper they could get their hands on. His mom wouldn’t tell him what they were looking for, and neither would the lawyers that occasionally came to the house.
But there was no map.
Luke began to double check, if only at Remus’ insistence, but he was at a loss. There were only so many places—
“What’s your birthday, tweedle?” Saint said suddenly.
“What does that have to do—” Luke began as he turned, but his words died in his throat when he saw Saint.
Luke’s father had had the old map of Hogwarts framed and hanging in his study ever since Luke could remember. He knew its markings as well as he knew the island as it was today. Saint had it tilted to the side, revealing a sliver of sleek steel. A safe.
“I told you not to touch anything,” Luke said breathlessly. He hadn’t known about that safe. He’d stared at that map a thousand times and he hadn’t known. Did his mother know? The lawyers?
“I bet you one of Leo here’s best breakfast sandwiches that the map’s in here,” Saint replied, nodding to the frame. “Little bit of an X marks the spot, don’t you think? Now,” Saint reached for the painting and unhooked it smoothly, setting it on the ground to reveal the neat square metal sunken into the wall with a dial in the center. “Tell me your birthday.”
“Why do you think the combination is my birthday?”
Saint rolled his eyes. “Because you’re his son. Fathers do that. Don’t they?”
Saint asked the last part like he was trying to be sure, but wasn’t.
“January first,” Luke replied.
Saint hummed as he leaned in. “New year, new you, huh?”
Luke just swallowed dryly as he listened to the dial tick. It felt so loud in the room that was now holding its breath. It felt like it lasted forever, but, finally, the safe opened with a gentle click.
“Damn, Saint,” Sirius said softly.
“I know, I’m so good,” Saint said, and made to push the door open when Luke pushed forward and grabbed his hand. Saint’s fingers were warm in his own. Saint raised an eyebrow.
“Like you said,” Luke still felt breathless. “I’m his son. I’m doing this.”
Saint raised his free hand in surrender until Luke let go, and he backed away. Luke faced the safe. He felt the Felix in him all over again, though it was long gone. He felt his father, smelled his cigars. Luke reached for the door, too aware of the four pairs of eyes on him, and pulled it open.
It was relatively empty. There were papers that looked like they had once bound money, but lay ripped and lifeless now. There was a case of expensive cigars.
And there was an envelope with Luke’s name on it.
“There’s a letter,” Luke said faintly, picking it up. “For me.”
He looked up at Remus, and Remus nodded.
“Like the clues he would leave us?” Remus said quietly.
Luke went for the seal—only to have it snatch out of his hands.
He looked up, eyes wide, and found the unfamiliar brunette—Logan, Remus had said—staring back at him, at all of them, with wild green eyes.
“Logan,” Leo said, voice filled with surprise. “What the hell are you—”
But Logan just backed up towards the door. There was a familiar click, and the flame of a lighter appeared in his other hand.
“Hey—” Luke stepped forward, panicked, but Saint’s palm pushed against his chest.
“Don’t,” Saint said softly, for Luke’s ears only.
“That’s mine,” Luke snarled, shoving Saint away.
“Yeah, well I have something I want, too,” Logan snapped, and then looked at Saint. He held the flame closer to the envelope. “You want to know what this says? Then—”
“So do you, Logan,” Saint said. “You need that money. You know you do. The Carrows know it, too.”
“You owe me something first. I want Finn.”
“I don’t owe you,” Saint replied evenly. “I don’t owe anyone. That’s kind of my general idea in life, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
Logan faltered, and the flame slipped close enough to the envelope to make smoke trail, but when Luke stepped forward, Logan took another step back. He looked small, framed by the grand desk and leather chairs. Small and scared.
“You left us in there,” he finally whispered, and Luke thought he heard Saint’s breathing stop and hold, like a punch to the gut.
“He was seven years old,” Sirius growled, and Luke didn’t know what they were talking about, was done waiting.
“Do you know the last time I talked to my dad?” Luke said, voice raising. He glanced upstairs, careful of his mother despite her pills, and dropped it to a deadly whisper again. “He’s not allowed calls. Not until the investigation’s over. This could—” Luke hesitated at putting his wildest, most desperate hope into words. “This could prove he’s—”
“Do you think I give a shit about the last time you talked to your daddy?” Logan snarled just as harshly. “When’s the last time I talked to mine? Oh. Right.”
“Please,” Luke heard the word rip out of his throat before he could help it, but Logan wasn’t even looking at him. Logan’s eyes were on Saint.
“Help me get Finn out. The windows are barred now. There are alarms, I’ve seen them.”
“I didn’t use a window,” Saint replied.
“Then show me how you did it.”
“You won’t be able to get in the way I got out.”
“Then do it for me.”
If Luke was begging, so was Logan.
“Fuck, I’ll help you,” Luke shouted. “Just don’t. Please. My father—”
“You don’t know shit about Saint Clair,” Logan snapped, then looked back at Saint. “We both know where he is. Why I haven’t seen him. Saint—”
“All right,” Saint said, voice calm. His brown eyes reminded Luke of stormy seas, ruddy with stirred up sand. “All right, Logan. Just don’t burn the letter.”
“Promise,” Logan said.
Saint laughed, cold and clear. “What has a promise ever meant to either of us? I said I would. Take it or leave it.”
There was a terrifying moment in which Luke worried that the letter would go up in flames anyway. That he would never know what his father had wanted him to have, wanted him to know. He didn’t know Logan, didn’t trust him.
The lighter clicked off and Logan held out the envelope. Luke took it and gave Logan a shove towards the door for good measure.
“Get out,” he said. “Get out of my house.”
“What does the letter say?” Logan replied firmly. “It could be about the map.”
Luke laughed, and it rang a close twin to Saint’s in his own ears. “You should have thought about that before you held it hostage for your orphan friend.”
Logan took a step forward, mouth opening to protest, but Luke was bigger than him, stronger and taller. He met him chest to chest.
“I said get out.”
“Logan,” Saint sighed. “Listen to him.”
Leo stepped forward then, a gentle hand on Logan’s fiery frame. Logan simmered for another moment, but let Leo lead him from the room, lighter still clutched in his fist. Remus followed them with a whispered, I’m sorry that Luke barely heard.
He faintly heard Saint say something to Sirius, who followed Remus.
Saint, the only one left in the room now, looked at Luke steadily. Luke expected some sort of joke, or a snarky remark about the desperation Luke had shown—something he tried to never let slip through. He didn’t care what it was. He just wanted to be alone, to have this room feel like his father’s again. Instead of a crime scene. Instead of a lead, or a pin-point on a map. Just his father’s familiar room.
Instead Saint tossed him something that shone—his keys.
“Let us know, if you want,” Saint said simply, and held the gold watch out. Luke took it with shaking fingers, watching him go.
Then, he looked down at the letter, at his name in his father’s familiar scrawl. He peeled back the seal with a lump forming in his throat.
~
Remus’ steps slowed to a stop when he saw who was waiting for him at the end of his dock in the five-AM light.
Sirius had his flip-flops beside him, his feet dangling over the edge into the water, the Wolfsbane rocking gently in the early morning waves to his left.
“Sirius?” Remus called, more so that the first thing Sirius felt wasn’t the shaking of his footsteps than anything else.
Sirius jerked around, startled either way, and scrambled to stand.
“Hi,” he said. “Or, morning.”
“Morning,” Remus laughed a little, glancing at the boat. “I…is this you taking me up on my offer?”
Sirius ran a hand through his thick black hair. “Ah, well, I’m here to say sorry about last night. Dragging you into it and all. That wasn’t fair of Saint, but he’s…I don’t know what he is right now. I usually do but…not this time, I guess.”
Remus nodded, trying to buy himself time to figure out what to say. He stepped onto his boat and took a rope in hand, just for something to do. To hold onto. Sirius had spoken the words plainly enough. There was nothing about Saint and himself being together, but Remus still sensed some sort of intimacy that wasn’t quite friendship, just as he had at the museum.
“It’s okay,” Remus said. “All’s well that ends well, right?”
Sirius’ smile was a small, relieved one. “I guess so. Still. He was on some sort of mission. He still hasn’t told me anything, so.”
Remus leaned back from stowing his phone and keys securely in a hatch. “He doesn’t seem like the type of person you can really get things out of.”
“That’s true,” Sirius laughed, and it was easier this time. “Anyway, I’ll let you…I just wanted to say.”
Remus wanted to ask again, if Sirius would come with him, but Sirius was already backing away and so Remus just nodded.
“Thanks.”
He turned after he said it, breathing in the ocean air and trying to still himself, to let the familiarity of his boat and sails wash over him. He would find someone. Maybe they weren’t Sirius Black. Maybe they just weren’t here. Maybe he’d fall in love on the water, or in a classroom, or—
“Can I?” Remus heard Sirius say, and turned to look. Sirius had stopped half way down the dock.
Remus raised an eyebrow.
“Take you up on your offer?”
Remus smiled, even if his hope at Sirius’ words paired with the thought of Saint made his heart a little tender.
“Of course you can,” Remus said.
Sirius jogged towards him with a grin of his own, but he paused before he stepped onto the Wolfsbane, looking down. Remus wondered for a moment if it was the gap over the water, but Sirius had said he sailed, too, he’d said—
Remus understood. He unmoored the nose. “Get that rope back there if you finally want to do something other than watch.”
Sirius jumped to unknot the rope with ease, and then stepped onto the waves beside Remus, using one of his feet to push them away from the dock. Remus let them drift a moment, feeling for the wind. It was quiet for now, but he could see rougher waves out past the point.
“Is it just yours?” Sirius asked as he watched Remus with the tiller.
“Yep, birthday present,” Remus patted the side. “My baby.”
Sirius smiled. “It’s a beautiful boat.”
The wind began to pick up as they got farther from the land, pushing towards the open water. Remus’ heart seemed to pick up with it and, glancing at Sirius, who looked contemplative and—well, beautiful—Remus didn’t think it was merely the sea’s doing.
Remus had never thought too much about Sirius Black. Sirius had been there one day, gone the next, and in the run-ins at James’ house once Sirius had started working there, he had been a suddenly handsome face. Grown into himself and strong from his outdoor work. In turn, Remus always became suddenly awkward around the boy who obviously didn’t like Gods. He and James poked fun at each other, he and Luke were downright hostile, and Remus didn’t know where he fit in.
He hoped the water and the Wolfsbane would do some talking for him, and maybe some listening, too.
They didn’t speak as they began to fly. The pontoons skimmed the waves and the wind would have snatched their voices away, but Remus swore he heard Sirius laugh.
Sirius knew how to sail, too. He breathed it all in, just as Remus did, and they worked together, balancing and pulling and leaning out to trace their fingers along the water’s surface. It felt as warm as a bath against the cool air.
Remus didn’t let them go too far out, he had to be back, but he would have. He would have sailed right to the horizon with Sirius without looking back.
As the wind died down, as they turned around, Remus felt something different. Like a wind change between the two of them. They grinned at each other, flushed with it, and as the wind cut down more, as they past the point, Sirius’ turned self-conscious but it didn’t disappear like before.
The boat settled into a glide towards the shore. Remus let his feet dangle in the water.
“So, the treasure,” Remus asked, because Sirius looked hesitant to talk, sitting there soundly on the other side of the boat. “Do you think it’s real?”
“Fuck if I know,” Sirius replied, and Remus laughed. “But if Saint thinks it’s worth it…I’ll try to go along with it.”
Remus nodded, taking that in. Saint. The mention of him slowed his heart back to a glide along with the boat. Remus cleared his throat and Sirius looked back at him from the horizon questioningly.
“What was that thing with—Logan? I mean, you don’t have to tell me but…”
Sirius took a long breath. “Logan has someone, Finn, inside Saint Clair. Finn helped him escape. And I don’t know if it’s guilt that’s making him help to get Finn out, or something more, but…Saint's the one who can help.”
“Because he escaped.”
Sirius nodded. “Right.”
“Is it complicated?” Remus asked. “Like, is he worried he won’t be able to do it twice?”
Sirius shook his head. “It’s not complicated.”
He was silent for a moment, and Remus didn't want to push him. He waited, seeing if Sirius would continue.
“Saint walked right out the front door,” Sirius finally finished, and looked at Remus. “I think he’s worried because it wasn’t a grand escape, even if he tells it that way. Even if he makes it seem like he climbed walls or something. He’s worried because…because it was a fluke. Sometimes there are doors you can’t walk back through.”
Sirius said the last sentence heavily, as if he had a door of his own. Remus guessed that maybe everyone did.
“So, what’s he going to do for Finn and Logan?”
Sirius just shook his head again. “I have no idea. But I’ll help him in any way that I can.” Half a smile raised Sirius’ mouth. “If he lets me.”
~
“No.”
“Tell me,” Sirius demanded. Saint just rolled his eyes and popped a sweet potato fry into his mouth.
“Tell us,” Dorcas cut in from her place beside Marlene.
“Right,” Sirius said. “Sorry.”
“Saint,” Marlene sighed. “If you’re not going to tell us, it’ll make us think you have no plan at all.”
“Who invited the God?” Saint said airily.
“My girlfriend,” Dorcas scuffed the back of his head.
“Not for long she’s not,” Saint replied, and at Dorcas and Marlene’s expressions, waved a hand. “Come on. She’s going to college, Dor, you’re not…don’t tell me you haven’t talked about it.”
“We—” Dorcas began, but flushed and closed her mouth. Sirius glanced at Marlene, whose eyes were firmly down towards her burger.
“Stop trying to change the subject,” Sirius sighed.
“I’m not, I’m just telling everyone what to expect.”
“Saint,” Sirius leaned forward. “How are you going to get Finn out of Saint Clair? You said last time—”
Saint cut in quickly, “I say a lot of things to you that are just for you, Black.”
“Well, I don’t know what to do with what you said,” Sirius replied. “Come on. Please. Is it because you don’t know? Is that why you won’t say anything?”
Saint stayed quiet, looking down at his food. “I know. We’ll just have to see if it works.”
“Saint,” Dorcas leaned forward and Saint turned his palm up for her hand. He knew they were trying to help. “Babe, we just want to make sure you’re okay.”
“You mean you want to make sure it’s not too insane.”
Sirius nodded. “That, too.”
“Can’t you just rest assured that I’m doing this for myself, too?” Saint said. “I’ll get Finn out, Logan will calm the fuck down, and maybe Luke will let us know about the treasure.”
“Who gives a fuck about this treasure?” Dorcas said harshly.
“It probably doesn’t even exist,” Sirius added.
“You want off this island, like you said? Then you give a fuck.”
Sirius began to shake his head. “It’s not—” he said, but Saint pushed on, voice raising.
“We’ll get Finn out, we’ll get Luke’s help, we’ll get the map, we’ll find my mom—”
Saint stopped talking, frozen by the words that had ripped out of him of their own accord.
Sirius, Dorcas, and Marlene’s eyes were wide. Pity. The word seemed to hang in the air.
“The treasure, I meant,” Saint managed. “We’ll find the treasure and…”
“Saint…” Dorcas said, and when he looked at her…Pity. “Do you know where she is?”
Saint was furious with himself for the slip. He was looking for Sirius. He wanted the treasure for Sirius, he didn’t need it for himself. He didn’t need anything, especially not people who left. Not his mom, not Sirius.
“I don’t need help with Saint Clair,” Saint said and pushed his chair back, leaving them staring at each other across the table.
~
Saint hadn’t let any of them come. He didn’t want anyone here to see him tremble and shake at doing the one thing he had always promised himself he would never do. The one thing he didn’t think he could do.
But, thinking about it, the trick wasn’t getting out. Anyone could walk out the door. The nuns needed it that way, for business. For the appearance of normalcy. The real trick was getting inside without being let in. The way to keep secrets, after all, wasn’t keeping everyone out. Walls begged to be breached. The secret was to filter the truth. Let people see half, a quarter, or different parts at different times. The trick was getting in to see the whole picture.
Maybe Saint was half of Saint Clair, keeping his cards close to his chest.
The offices. He needed to get the the offices, and then he needed to get to Finn. In and out—just not through the door this time.
“What’s the plan?” said a voice just behind him, and Saint closed his eyes.
Sirius.
“I told you not to come,” Saint said.
“And I told me yes,” Sirius parroted. They rolled their eyes at each other even as Sirius rested a gentle hand over Saint’s where it was clenched over his own knee. They crouched beside each other, staring at Saint Clair in the darkness. It was two in the morning, maybe a little past it now, and Saint wanted everyone to be asleep.
He looked towards the chimney. It was wide and old fashioned. It would be too hot for them to be using it tonight.
“Jesus Christ,” Sirius sighed, following his gaze.
“The windows are barred. The doors are alarmed. I’ve cleaned that thing, I know it’s big.”
“Yeah, everything looks big to a seven year old,” Sirius countered.
“Guess we’ll find out.”
“And getting out?” Sirius asked.
“Alarms don’t go off if you open the door from the inside. There’s a kitchen door around the back. We’ll use it. We just have to get in.”
Sirius nodded slowly, and then asked, “Your mom?”
Saint pressed his lips together. He needed to get to the office, and then to Finn, and then out.
He started forward towards the drain pipe, just like on Luke’s house, and didn’t look to see if Sirius was following him.
~
Marlene didn’t like seeing that contemplating look at Dorcas’ face. Dorcas was chewing on her lip, eyes staring at the movie playing on Marlene’s laptop, but she was somewhere else entirely. Marlene put her pencil down at wiggled her toes, which were in Dorcas’ lap. Dorcas blinked and looked at her.
“Don’t listen to Saint,” Marlene said. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”
But even saying that ate at her. Marlene thought of the acceptance email, of California and Berkeley, buried in her inbox right now. Tell her, said everything inside, but Dorcas already had that look on her face. The worrying, I-want-everything-that’s-good-for-you-regardless-of-what-it-means-for-me-or-us look.
Marlene didn’t want to see that look. She’d seen it the first time her father had banned her from seeing a Salazar girl. They had been fifteen and Dorcas had offered to stop, and Marlene had kissed the idea right out of her mouth, right out of existence.
This was different. She couldn’t kiss college away. She didn’t want to. But she also wanted Dorcas, and California felt far, far away.
Dorcas chewed on her lip some more, then rubbed a soothing thumb over Marlene’s ankle. “We haven’t really talked about it, though.”
“I know,” Marlene said softly. She pushed herself up and set her sketchbook aside before reaching over to close the laptop, cutting the actor off in mid-sentence. “I guess I’m sort of…avoiding it.”
“We are, you mean,” Dorcas offered her a small smile. “I…I know we said we wanted to just have our summer, and I do want that. But I think I would feel better knowing what you think. About, you know…about when you do start hearing back.”
Marlene looked down as she whispered, “I got into Berkeley.”
A short sucked-out sound of silence filtered in between them for a moment. Marlene looked up.
“I should have said,” Marlene sighed. “I know I should have. I just…”
“Sweetheart,” Dorcas sighed, and then Marlene was pressed back onto the bed, Dorcas’ hard kisses bringing a hot blush to her cheeks. “That’s amazing.”
Marlene hummed against Dorcas’ mouth, a sad-happy sound, and wound her fingers into her hair as Dorcas kissed along her jaw. “It can be as amazing as it wants, but it’s really far away. And you like it here, and—”
“I like you,” Dorcas said, and pushed herself onto her forearms so she could look down at Marlene. “Marls, the question about us was never a debate about you following your dreams and going to college, just like you want. The question lies with me. I don’t know how to pull off following you yet, but I’m working on it.”
Marlene looked up at her and felt tears join the heat within, felt her voice wobble. “I’ll miss you. I want you to be safe, and I want you to be with me.”
Dorcas’ kiss was softer this time. “Me too.”
Marlene enjoyed it for a moment, relief bubbling in her chest, until Dorcas began laughing into her mouth.
“Maybe the boys will find that treasure and give me a piece of it.”
Marlene laughed, too. “God, if that’s our best option…”
They wound tighter together, snuggling down into Marlene’s quilt. Dorcas pressed her forehead against Marlene’s.
“Whatever I can do, I’ll do it,” Dorcas said. “I want you, wherever we are.”
Marlene just kissed her again.
~
Sirius was noisier on the climb than Saint would have liked, but they made it to the slanted roof without trouble, standing on its apex to stare down into the soot-dark.
“Is this really going to work?” Sirius whispered.
“It could.”
“Why not climb the fence? Maybe that door is open.”
“Too loud.”
“Why didn’t you let Logan come with us?”
Saint huffed out an annoyed breath. “Because if this goes wrong, what Finn did was for nothing. If this goes really wrong, at least there would still be one of us on the outside who knows what it looks like inside,” Saint stared out at the trees and bit of coast they could see by moonlight from here. “One of us who doesn’t return every night, that is.”
Saint went down the chimney first, one step at a time. The stones and rusted iron rungs provided easy enough footholds, they just had to hope no one was having a midnight cup of tea when they reached the bottom. He looked up once, blinking through the fine grit of ash that seemed to hang in the air, at Sirius’ face, the silver moonlight like a halo around his dark hair.
And Saint kept climbing down. He went slowly, listening hard. If someone was down there, they’d hear him, and then he’d hear them, and he could scramble back up the chimney and out of sight. Once he was down, however, who knew what they would do to keep him that way. He could practically taste the heavy sleep of Crucio, and his stomach rolled against the images it brought back. The many different families—fathers, siblings, and mothers. So many mothers that he didn’t even know which had been his own anymore.
He hated them for it. He hated them for thinking he wanted that.
Saint’s trembling foot slipped on the last hold and he tumbled out, only barely withholding a cry as the log holders scraped heavily across his side.
“Saint,” came Sirius’ harsh whisper from above him, and Saint waved a hand beneath the flue to show he was okay, then pushed himself up from the now ashy floor, gripping his side.
He knew this room too well. He knew it through the over-active eyes of a five year old. He knew it through the only slightly more alert gaze of his seven year old self.
It was smaller than he remembered. Shabbier than it had seemed then, with its hard couches and children’s books, its desk by the window that still held a letter opener that he had eyed a few times, wondering if he could fight his way out like heroes did in the books he read. Now, he willed all to stay quiet as he walked over and picked up the dull knife. He hated the sight of it.
Sirius came after him, more smartly, landing feet first.
“You could have fucking impaled yourself,” Sirius whispered.
“I didn’t, though,” Saint said, and looked at his ribs. The cuts stung, but the bleeding didn’t look too bad, just enough to dot uneven lines across his t-shirt.
Sirius lifted his shirt to see, and passed a careful thumb near the worst of them, his other a familiar weight on the side of Saint’s neck.
“Let’s go,” Saint whispered.
“Wait,” Sirius said, and turned Saint’s gaze gently to meet his own.
“We don’t have all the time in the world,” Saint began, but Sirius just shook his head, silencing him.
“Listen to me,” Sirius whispered. “All right? Just this once. Just listen to me.”
Saint closed his eyes briefly. “We don’t have time to talk.”
That only succeeded in bringing Sirius’ other hand to his cheek. “If something goes wrong, you just run.” Sirius reached down and took the knife, setting it back on the desk. “Don’t think about me. They can’t keep me.”
“They’ll give you to your parents,” Saint warned.
“I don’t care,” Sirius said. “They can’t keep me. They could try to keep you and I won’t let that happen.”
Saint looked up at Sirius. The only person he could ever remember caring. Saint didn’t like that a side effect of being cared about was caring back, didn’t like that risk…but he liked Sirius.
“You’re leaving anyway,” Saint said. “It doesn’t matter where I am.”
“I never said that and you’re wrong.”
“But you will say it.”
Saint turned away, keeping a hand laced with Sirius’ to pull him towards the dorms. He knew the words sounded accusing and regretful, but he only half meant them that way. Sirius deserved to go.
Sirius didn’t respond. It wasn’t the moment, and they needed to listen for other things.
The dorms came up on their left. Boys to one side of the hall, girls to the other. Saint paused, looking in.
You’ll sleep here with the rest of the boys, Sebastian. Be a good boy and make your bed every morning and you’ll get a treat with breakfast. Chocolate milk, how does that sound?
“Was this you?” Sirius whispered, and Saint shrugged.
“I slept all over this place,” Saint breathed to Sirius. “I’d sneak into the other dorms, the attic, the reading room. I was just…” Saint turned away, unable to stand the softly rising and falling chests of the boys within. “I was just trying to find a place where I felt like myself. Maybe it wasn’t the place, though.”
Maybe it was the dreams. Maybe the drug.
“Maybe it’s just me,” Saint said.
Grimmauld was the closest he had ever gotten, the most settled he’d ever felt. He loved the ocean, and his gold draped vanity, and Sirius always beside him. But there was still—something. A misplaced, tweaked something inside of him that was feeling around in the dark for a comfortable position. Saint didn’t even know what he was looking for, but he did know that it was too dark to find it right now. Sirius had been the first gleam of bright, a pin-prick of a star, a friend, a lover, and a safe place. But stars weren’t a moon or a sun. He needed light to see.
“Let’s go,” Saint said. “This way.”
They walked the halls carefully, listening after nearly every step. Saint knew that the nuns slept at the other end of the house, but that they woke to check in on the children. He couldn’t remember when, though. With the Crucio, his young age, and the late hour, the nights had felt the same and endless. He’d shuffled around like a small ghost, trying to escape the unfamiliar dream-faces. They’d only caught him a few times. A slap on the wrist. Solitary.
That’s why he nearly jumped when they heard the first footsteps. He was seven again, haunting this place and being haunted in return. Saint froze, eyes on the bend in the hallway.
“Here,” Sirius whispered, and together they ducked into a room—the offices, Saint realized—and behind the open wooden door. They huddled together, barely daring to breathe as the footsteps got closer.
“Sirius,” Saint breathed, and didn’t realize he was trembling again until Sirius’ arms wrapped around his shoulders.
“Shh,” Sirius hushed him.
The footsteps passed right by them, towards the kitchen, Saint realized, and Sirius pressed Saint against him more tightly, no doubt feeling the dry pants that his breathing had turned into. They would be caught. They would be seen. Saint hid his face in Sirius’ neck.
Don’t be a waste of space, boy. Line up, after number six, come on.
He took up too much space here.
Try that again, Sebastian, and you know what happens.
Saint hated that name. He couldn’t remember who had given him that name. His mother? The nuns? What was a name if it was just a number, too? A way to keep track of him. A way to tell him what he was. Orphan boy. Five. Six. Seven. Abandoned. Good. Bad. Asleep. Awake.
Go to sleep now, there’s a good boy.
The hall was silent again and Saint felt Sirius’ embrace ease, felt his hand running soothingly along his spine.
“I’ve got you,” Sirius said the words so quietly they were barely words at all. “Let’s just go. Let’s get out of here.”
“Finn,” Saint rasped.
Saint looked up and saw the protest in Sirius’ eyes. It was wrong of Logan to make you come here.
“I told him to stay away,” Saint said softly. “I needed to come. I needed to come and get out again.”
Saint needed to get rid of some of this damned dark.
Saint pulled away from Sirius carefully and peaked around the door with a dry swallow before walking over to the cabinets. Records. They weren’t in alphabetical order, though. They were numbered.
Saint fingered his cross, looking towards 1-20.
7.
He traced a finger over a key hole dejectedly, and tried the handle anyway. Locked.
“Saint,” Sirius breathed. “Your mom?”
Saint shook his head, clutching his necklace. “It doesn’t matter.”
“I didn’t know you wanted…”
“I don’t,” Saint snapped. “Let’s get Finn.”
The door to solitary was one that Saint knew well. It was a normal door, and the room beyond was a normal room. It was the memories that made it unbearable to see. Almost every kid Saint had known knew what it meant to be in that room. Alone, the wallpaper flowers withered, the bed turned cold, and the ever-changing family members flickered through your mind without anything to counter it. No reality. There was a glass window with the shade pulled. Saint hesitated for a long moment before lifting it up.
“Finn,” he breathed.
Finn’s red hair was fiery against the white bed spread. He was asleep, and Saint swore he could see Finn’s eyelids flicker from here.
Saint wrapped his fingers carefully around the door. The trick was getting in to see the whole picture.
Everything in Saint Clair felt locked from within. Everything in Saint did, too. It had taken years of wandering around at night for Saint to discover that he could open more doors than he had thought. He was still trying doors eight years alter.
The hinges didn’t so much as squeak, and Saint felt like a ghost again.
“Don’t let this close on me,” Saint whispered to Sirius. His voice shook and just one of his feet just barely breaching the threshold.
Sirius held the frame fast and shook his head, leaning forward to press a steady kiss to Saint’s forehead.
Saint crossed the small room in two slow steps and knelt beside the bed, the motion making the punctures on his torso ache. He pressed a hand to Finn’s cheek and stroked a gentle thumb across the freckles on his skin until Finn stirred.
“Bash,” Finn murmured, eyes barely open.
“Hi, Finn,” Saint said softly and gathered Finn into a sloppy sitting position. “Let’s get you out of here, huh? See if you’re worth all of this fucking trouble.”
“Crucio,” was Finn’s only half-spoken reply. “They make it.”
And then Finn went limp again in Saint’s arms.
~
All Logan could taste was sour guilt, despite the heaven Leo had placed on a plate in front of him not too long ago.
For Saint. For Leo. For the letter and even Luke. For the map. The treasure. The Carrows.
Finn.
His heart ached with the thought of seeing him. Of holding him.
“Why weren’t we allowed to go with him?” Logan asked Leo for what he knew was the tenth time, but he couldn’t help it. “I asked him to help me, not go for me.”
“It’s easier to get one person in and out than two?” Leo said. He was puttering around the small kitchen, had been for the last hour, and the entire house smelled like sugar and cinnamon now, replacing the herbs, lemon, and chicken. He didn’t look at Logan when he said it.
He hadn’t looked at Logan much at all since the night at the museum.
Logan watched him taste a bit of what looked like frosting and wet his lips.
“Are you mad at me?” Logan whispered.
Leo’s restless hands paused. Logan watched his chest rise and fall once.
“I’m not mad,” Leo said finally. The heat of the oven had fluffed out his hair. “I mean, I’m not sure if we reached a dead-end or not…and you could have told me you were going to do that. I said I would help you, didn’t I?”
“I needed Ba—Saint,” Logan replied. “But I also…I should have told you. And I shouldn’t have made Saint go. I just want…he’s my family. Finn is my…”
“I understand why you did it,” Leo cut in softly. “I probably would have done worse if I thought that there was something that could save my dad.”
That just made Logan feel even smaller, sitting at the table. Leo glanced at him, gave him a tight smile, then went to the sink and began scrubbing dishes.
“Hey,” Logan said, then rose and strode over to Leo. “Hey, let me clean up.”
“I just need something to do,” Leo said shortly.
“Me, too.”
They stood, their shoulders pressed together. Logan washed. Leo dried. He slipped cinnamon rolls into the oven and then returned. They kept close to each other at the sink and it felt…so normal. Like a home. Leo felt like a home.
“I never really thanked you properly,” Logan said into the now more comfortable silence. “For letting me stay with you. And—I just want to say, and now with Finn…I understand if you want us to leave. I mean, three’s a crowd.”
“You’re welcome here,” Leo said quickly. Logan watched his throat bob. He was looking away again. “You should do what feels best for you, but you’re both welcome here. Just—”
Leo paused, and Logan found himself suddenly desperate to hear what he had to say. He knew he hadn’t been friendly all the time. He knew he’d been selfish. Leo had been nothing but kind. He was funny and warm, teaching Logan how to weld two pieces of metal, talking about the latest book he was reading while he whisked batter and handed Logan different new recipes he was trying out.
Finn would like Leo, Logan thought, and glanced towards the door. Maybe he was about to find out.
“Never mind,” Leo said, and flashed a smile.
Logan went to protest, but then his phone began buzzing madly on the table and he all but lunged for it.
~
Luke stared down at his father’s handwriting.
Luke, it began. And then there was a name.
Pascal Dumais.
There was no mention of himself. There was nothing. Luke had thought this would make him feel better, make it easier. Only, now, he was frustrated to the point of tears. He couldn’t seem to ease the lump that was lodged in his throat. He clutched the paper in his fingers hard enough to tear, willing something else to appear on it. He thought of Felix.
“Well?” said a voice from his window.
“Oh—” Luke flinched, surprised, then cursed at Saint, who was stretched out on his window sill. “Come on. Are you kidding me?”
Saint’s mouth twitched up in a smile, but it was strained. He was sitting awkwardly, tense rather than his usual languid posture.
“What’s wrong with you?” Luke asked hesitantly, trying to discreetly wipe at his face.
“What isn’t?”
Luke spotted the blood between Saint’s fingers and rose. “You’re hurt.”
“I fell down a chimney.”
“Is that a joke?”
“No.”
Luke blinked. “That’s how you got into Saint Clair? And you climbed to my window?”
Saint pulled himself all the way through the window with a soft groan and Luke walked forward, hands hovering near Saint’s shoulders, unsure if he should help.
“The orphan?” he asked instead, then at Saint’s sharp look, “Finn?”
“Sirius is bringing him to Grimmauld.”
“What’s Grimmauld?”
Saint sat down heavily in Luke’s desk chair, hand still pressed to his side. He had what looked like soot on his hands and face. “A place.” He picked up a book. Jane Eyre. “Didn’t take you for a romantic.”
“You’re bleeding all over my room.”
“Lucky you.”
Luke tucked the note into the pocket of his shorts. “Fuck—come here. Jesus.”
He walked into his bathroom and jammed the light switch up, looking back when Saint didn’t follow him. “Come here.”
Saint rose, still holding the book. “I am coming!” Saint quoted, head tilted in a way that made his neck look long. “Wait for me! Oh, I will come!”
“Very funny,” Luke sighed, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a reader.”
“Why?” Saint said as he stepped out of the darkness of the bedroom and into the yellow-lighted bathroom. His brown eyes took on the soft yellow, too, and he leaned forward as he pushed himself up onto the counter carefully. “Because I don’t buy my books and,” Saint looked down at the book, flipping through it. “Write all over them like you do?”
“Because you didn’t go to school,” Luke said with a raised eyebrow as he ducked for the first aid kit beneath his sink. It was good to have one near during the lacrosse season—or it used to be.
Saint rolled his eyes. “You Gods and your single paths in life. You’re all stupid.”
“Then why are you here?” Luke asked as he unlatched the kit.
“Because this is the last place anyone would look for me,” Saint replied. “And you’re mean.”
“Mean? Are we in seventh grade?” Luke scoffed as he wet a towel in the sink. “I don’t know if it’s healthy to want to be around people who you think are mean to you."
“I just don’t want to talk about it,” Saint said. “And that’s all Sirius will want to do. And I don’t want to. And we don’t have this shit at Grimmauld.”
“Is that where you live?”
Saint just set the book down and reached behind himself to tug his shirt over his head. Luke tried not to stare at Saint’s smooth, light brown skin. He swallowed, busying himself with the bandages and the wet towel again.
“For all the breaking into places you do, maybe you should invest in some band-aids,” Luke said, and glanced down at the finely woven muscle on Saint’s ribs, at the red edges of the slashes. “If you flinch too much, you’re doing this yourself.”
Saint smiled. “Mean.”
“Fuck off,” Luke said, out of reflex, and then pressed his lips together. Saint laughed and then hissed as Luke pressed the towel to the cut.
They were close like this, Luke leaned in to dab the blood away, and then dot it with disinfectant, all while Saint’s muscles jumped beneath the palm he had steadied low on his belly. He could feel Saint watching him, and remembered waking up to those eyes. Saint’s hand in his hair.
“How did you do it?” Luke said into the small space between them. “Get in and out.”
“The chimney.”
So, he was serious.
“What did the letter say?” Saint asked.
Luke glanced up at him warily, but wiped a hand on his shorts before fishing the letter out of his pocket and handing it over. “Do you know who that is?”
Saint read it quietly, and then met Luke’s eyes. Luke was stuck there, pinned like a tack in a map, marking the place to be.
“Yes,” Saint said, and smiled brightly. “I know exactly who this is.”
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fullmetalscullyy · 4 years ago
Note
For the sharing a bed ask bc I can't remember for the life of me if I've sent one to you yet 🙈 'they took turns sharing it while the other was on watch' or however exactly that one was worded ❤️❤️
aaa tysm for the prompt! i loved it and i hope you enjoy! continuing with the no plot just vibes agenda~
send me a prompt
rated: g | words: 3679 | tags: royai, there was only one bed, shelter from the storm, snowstorm, tending to wounds, comfort, fluff
read on ao3
Exhaustion followed both occupants of the crumbling bothy like a shadow. It clung to them, slowing their movements, as if it was physically attached to their ankles like two weights. Booted feet were dragged across the polished, undulating stones underfoot, worn down after years of use, and finally came to stop in the centre of the main room.
Years of use didn’t warrant years of upkeep apparently, Riza thought, as she did a sweep of the building. It was not in the best condition however it was still standing, and it was shelter from the storm outside. That was all Riza was currently concerned with.
There were only two rooms, plus a bathroom with a functioning sink and toilet – surprisingly enough. The pipes grunted and groaned, screaming in protest at being used, but it worked and was clean. A worn plaque above the sink indicated the water was drinkable as well, which was the best news she’d heard all day. A small blessing in this wretched situation they’d found themselves in.
To counteract that thought, at that exact moment, a howling gust of wind rattled the door thoroughly and whistled through the cracked class of the windows to its left and right. The Colonel whipped around to stare, partly in fright and partly because he was on edge. They both were. The sudden scream that sounded as the wind tried to force its way inside through the glass made Riza jump as well.
They shared a look and the Colonel’s lips pressed into a thin line.
“So much for the famed northern hospitality,” he muttered. His words held a bite to them, however Riza was unsure whether it was directed at the situation itself or at anyone in particular.
It wasn’t anyone’s fault they’d found themselves in this situation, however it was not ideal, nor was it pleasant. The first point on their ‘bad things that have happened today’ list (at this point, they were up to around number six) was a snowstorm had rendered their transport from the station in North City to the town they were supposed to be visiting useless. The truck owner boasted it was an all-terrain, all-weather vehicle, that he was handpicked by the military for transport because of his “beauty’s” prowess. He quickly stopped bragging though and started muttering angrily at his prized possession, kicking the tyre in fury as it sat pitifully in a snowy ditch, unable to escape the confines of it. It was safe to say his “beauty” fell short of the mark for the two soldiers. No amount of pushing from the three of them would shift it. However, they had deadlines to meet, so were forced to say their goodbyes and go ahead on foot.
There was no way they’d make it in time but at least they could honestly say they had tried when questioned.
It was by a stroke of luck they’d stumbled upon a walker’s bothy. Night was creeping in quickly, especially with the ongoing snowstorm. The world was turning greyer by the second and when Riza spotted it, she made a beeline straight for the shelter. The wind was too loud to talk over, but the Colonel saw her beckoning gesture and nodded, following behind her without question, already trusting her judgement and thought process.
The main room housed a single wooden bedframe with no mattress. There was another spot where another bed frame should be, but only half it remained. It had been broken in half. Whether that had been from an accident, an act of vandalism, or due to the passage of time, Riza wasn’t sure. Not that it would be of any use to them split in half, but simple curiosity had the Colonel searching the rest of the small building for the other half. There was a large stone fireplace that was bereft of any wood, they noticed with dismay, however after venturing through to the second room on the left, there was a massive pile of it within. It was a supply for the winter months for anyone who needed it, so the piece of paper tacked to an old corkboard on the wall said. There were two chairs placed around the fire and some cast iron cooking utensils stacked in a neat pile upon the hearth, lifting their spirits slightly. They had rations from the truck driver that would not require their use, but the sight of them was still a positive.
“I think we’ll be safe enough to sleep here tonight,” she announced, ignoring the Colonel’s petulant comment.
“Lieutenant,” he called quietly to her, catching her attention. When she turned her head, he gestured to one of the chairs. “You should rest.” He glanced down at her feet, and Riza knew exactly what he was thinking.
She’d stumbled and twisted her ankle while they walked. The pain had eased completely the more she’d walked, so Riza assumed it would be fine. Now they’d stopped, it was throbbing in time with her pulse. It appeared to be worse than she’d thought.
Just what they needed.
She sighed and mentally added that as number seven to their list.
Sitting on one of the chairs, Riza sighed quietly in relief as it lessened the pressure on her injured joint. The Colonel followed suit and he too sounded extremely relieved to finally sit down.
“What a day,” he muttered, tilting his head back and closing his eyes.
Riza hummed in agreement, causing him to reopen his eyes and glance tiredly over at her. She shifted in place, feeling a shiver travel down her spine.
Without a word, the Colonel stood and ventured into the other room. He came back with arms full of firewood and started the process of arranging them within the fireplace. After a single snap the fire roared to life, filling the room with a soft orange glow and warmth. A few minutes later the invading bite of the winter chill was beginning to alleviate and Riza could feel her muscles relaxing.
“Do you think there will be anything outside waiting for us?”
His question was so sudden as he stared into the fire that it took Riza a moment to process it.
“Pardon?”
The Colonel blinked and tore his eyes away from the dancing flames. He repeated his question as he turned to look at her, expression serious.
“Like what?”
“What about bears?” He looked genuinely concerned.
Riza blinked at him. “Probably. I think so, yes.” She faintly recalled hearing stories about the size and might of the bears in the north but elected not to bring it up. She didn’t think that would have been beneficial or productive in that moment, especially not after recognising a faint glint of fear that was discernible in the Colonel’s eyes.
“Do you think we should be concerned?”
Riza glanced over her shoulder at the door as it rattled on its hinges. “I don’t think so. We’ll be safe in here.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Do you know any bears that can open doors?” Both her brows lifted as she regarded him.
“I know a bear could open that door,” he scoffed, jerking his head towards it. “It’s hardly a strong line of defence.”
That was true. One more gust of wind might snap it off one of the hinges. The top one rattled playfully to emphasise his point.
“I think we’ll be okay, sir,” Riza replied smoothly, trying to keep her amusement out of her tone.
The Colonel scowled at her anyway. Apparently she hadn’t been entirely successful.
Riza chuckled upon seeing his expression. “City boy,” she muttered to herself, her tone light and playful.
“I would say it was a legitimate concern,” he replied haughtily.
“You also thought there were bears in the woods outside my father’s house.”
“I think my point still stands.”
“Bears do not exist in every wooded area and forest, Roy.” She rolled her eyes at him in amused exasperation, momentarily forgetting herself.
It was so easy talking to him like this. The two of them were alone together and stuck in a predicament that neither could have ever predicted or conjured up, yet here they were. It was surreal, but it was nice. Despite everything that had happened today she was still relatively happy. She was grateful to be with him. Ideally, she’d have neither of them stranded in a snowstorm, however she was glad he was here. If there was anyone she’d want to be stranded with, it would be him.
After she’d realised her minor slip up, Riza paused and glanced over at him, noting his soft expression and smile. It was so genuine and happy that she didn’t cringe or apologise. She didn’t feel the need to.
“We sound like we did when we were children,” he replied.
Riza felt her own nostalgic smile spread across her face. “We do.”
“I’ll take first watch,” he offered.
Riza opened her mouth to protest but he’d already shoved a threadbare blanket he’d found towards her. Riza didn’t particularly want to use it – she had no way of knowing how clean it was – however the building was not heated in the slightest, aside from the fire. It was built for hikers who were well prepared with sleeping bags, which they were not. For survival, Riza had to accept any kind of warmth she could get.
“You need to rest that ankle,” he added.
She nodded and took the blanket from him. Riza settled herself on the hard, wooden bedframe so she was facing into the room. It was warmer than facing the cold stone of the wall beside the bed.
“Colonel?”
He glanced over at her expectantly.
“Watch out for those bears.”
* * * * * * * *
The wind had died down throughout the night at least. Roy had been partly joking when he brought up the bears that may be lurking outside for them, however now that he’d put the idea inside his own head, he couldn’t help but take an extra glance every now and then out the window.
Just in case.
It was worth bringing it up to hear the Lieutenant’s laugh. To hear her accidentally call him by his first name. It had been so worth it.
To whittle away the time his mind tried its best to summon a plan of attack against any bear that did appear, going over how he would react and how he would fend one off, but Roy had come to only one conclusion after about half an hour of plotting. It was folly. There was absolutely no way he’d be able to take on a bear. His eyes narrowed at the rickety old door and took solace in the fact the doorway looked too small for a bear to fit through. They were safe from them so long as they stayed inside, and that was good enough for him.
Now the bear appearance dilemma, likely or not, had been put to bed, Roy’s thoughts turned towards the Lieutenant. He glanced down at her ankle as she lay sound asleep, remembering how she’d stumbled and fallen in a snowdrift. Insisting she was fine, they’d pressed on. They didn’t have much choice in the matter anyway, but he was still concerned. He had a strong inkling she was suffering for it as they travelled. A sprained ankle under normal conditions would ease with rest, but that was not a luxury they’d been afforded as they traversed the snowy landscape to safety. Snowdrifts up to their knees were common and Roy had felt dead on his feet when they finally came to a stop inside this shelter.
That was one blessing of the day, at least. He’d simply laughed at their luck, shaking his head, now they were safe beneath shelter, dry, and out of the storm.
But if he’d felt tired down to his bones, then he couldn’t imagine how the Lieutenant must have felt upon their arrival.
Steadying his resolve, Roy determined there was no imminent danger. No bears coming through the night to get them. Now the storm had eased, looking through the shards of the window, Roy could see the gorgeous landscape splayed before him, illuminated by the moonlight, and enhanced by the heavy snow. It looked a lot more inviting than it had a few hours ago.
He wouldn’t, but he was tempted to wake up the Lieutenant to show her how beautiful it looked.
Roy smiled to himself, the thought dredging up an old memory from their past. He faintly recalled doing something similar when he’d experienced his first winter at the Hawkeye house. He’d ran to her room without a thought, excited and eager to show her how the dark forest outside had transformed into a silvery white and green wonderland.
It had been something he’d been desperate to share with her.
“Colonel?”
A tired voice called to him, and Roy immediately lost his interest in the world outside. He turned, seeing the Lieutenant blink tiredly at him.
“Lieutenant,” he greeted, an air of concern about him. He hadn’t expected her to wake so soon, and if she did, he knew she’d want to take over watch duties.
She shot him a small smile, placating his nerves somewhat. Pushing herself up into a seated position, the Lieutenant stretched her arms over her head.
“How’s the ankle?”
She grimaced, but only slightly. “Better now that I’ve taken my weight off it.”
That didn’t answer his question entirely. “Is there any pain?”
She was silent as she looked down at her legs. “It does throb every now and again. That’s what woke me up.”
Roy nodded, dismayed to hear she was in pain. If he could take it away, he would, but they didn’t have painkillers in their first aid kits. The only thing that would help was a support, which the Lieutenant had already put on after gently easing her boot off. She didn’t react to the angry red hue of her skin, but Roy felt his stomach tense. It hadn’t looked good. The compression support had been slipped on slowly, but Roy saw the way her eye twitched twice and how her jaw clenched while obviously trying to conceal any kind of pain.
“Why don’t you try and get a few hours sleep,” the Lieutenant offered. “I think I’ll be up for a while now.” She swung her legs around and to the floor, visibly wincing when her sore ankle contacted the floor. Another appeared when she tried to stand, but Roy quickly scrambled towards her.
“Please, stay seated,” he insisted. “You shouldn’t be walking on that ankle.”
The Lieutenant shot him a strained smile. “That doesn’t bode well for us for tomorrow,” she quipped.
Roy opened his mouth to reply, but she was right. Still, hewas right. She shouldn’t be walking on that ankle.
“Regardless,” he admonished, placing his hands on her shoulders as a gentle restraint to keep her in place. “All the more reason to remain seated and keep resting it then, right?” Triumph flashed through him, and he smirked when the Lieutenant’s lips pursed, because she knew he was right.
“You can’t sleep on the floor, though,” she warned.
His shoulders fell in defeat, glancing down at the bed. His mind rejoiced with the idea that sprung into it, however it was so far out the realm of what was appropriate that it was completely out of the question.
Roy retracted his hands as the Lieutenant placed both hands by her sides and effortlessly slid herself backwards, so her back came to rest upon the stone wall behind her. She made herself comfortable and looked at him expectantly, patting the space beside her to indicate he should join her and sit.
Even if it wasn’t appropriate to share a bed with his Lieutenant, Roy only needed to take one look around them both and remember where they were. This day was already bizarre enough. What was one more occurrence to add to that list?
He wouldn’t particularly class it as sharing a bed with her either. They would both be sitting upright, looking out at the room, with considerable distance in place between them.
“We can take turns with the blanket,” she smirked as she handed it over.
Roy snorted lightly and gratefully received her offering. The room was warm enough with the fire but the stone behind his back still stubbornly clung to the icy temperatures from outside, refusing to accept the warmth they’d provided the room. Wrapping it around his shoulders, Roy settled back in place and made himself comfortable.
He woke with a start a few hours later. His head jerked upright and swung left and right, unseeing as he still tried to shake the vision from his dreams.
“Colonel? Colonel!”
He paused for a second, recognising the voice. It was from someone he thought he’d lost in his dream.
“Roy,” the Lieutenant called to him.
It was enough to surprise him, that it brought him back to the present. Glancing to his right, he saw his Lieutenant still seated next to him, eyes wide and concerned.
“Are you okay?” Her eyes were searching his, moving back and forth frantically as she scanned his face with worry.
“Yes,” he breathed, trying to get a hold of his racing heart to slow it down. He was all right. She was all right. They were safe. He gulped down air, trying to get enough into his lungs and take away the fear that had both restricted them and wrapped tightly around his heart. “Just… A bad dream.”
The Lieutenant nodded in understanding and patted his forearm. That was when Roy realised she didn’t remove it, and that it had been there the entire time.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Roy shook his head. “It’s okay,” he breathed. “Thank you, though,” he quickly added. “It was just… the usual,” he offered. The usual nowadays was him losing someone dear to him. The Promised Day had not been kind on his mind. To this day he still suffered, and he didn’t particularly want to relive it after it was so fresh. His reply was code enough that the Lieutenant knew exactly what he was referring to. They’d already been open about what their ‘usual’ nightmares consisted of nowadays.
As suspected, realisation dawned upon her features, and she nodded in sympathy.
“I… I need some time before I can sleep again,” he admitted. There was no shame in his voice though, not with her. Never with her. They were both very well acquainted with the reasons the other struggled to sleep. “You should try for a while.”
“Okay,” she acquiesced. She gave his forearm a squeeze and again, she didn’t remove it. “Wake me if you need anything, all right?” She waited for him to verbally agree with her. Only once he did, did the Lieutenant’s eyes close.
Watching her do so caused Roy’s brow to furrow slightly in confusion.
She must have moved closer to him as he slept, because where there had been about two feet of distance between them before, there was now mere centimetres. Just enough distance for the Lieutenant’s head to loll and fall against his shoulder comfortably as she slept.
He’d been startled awake, so Roy hadn’t realised he’d initiated it. In sleep, his head had bowed and rolled to the side, seeking out her presence. After shifting closer, the Lieutenant had eased him from his uncomfortable position and lifted his head to lie upon her shoulder.
Now recovered from the turmoil of his dream, Roy smiled down at her and relished in the comfort her presence brought him. The weight of her head against him eased his mind and slowed his racing pulse. He could breathe easier with her lying against him. A peace washed over his body, relaxing his taught muscles, and soothing his very soul.
Despite their predicament, he was glad she was here with him.
The grip she had on his forearm loosened, so Roy snaked his hand over to it, hooking their fingers together and holding on tightly. The Lieutenant stirred next to him, disturbed from sleep.
“Sorry,” he whispered, “it’s okay. It’s just me.” He gave her hand a quick squeeze.
There was a brief pause with no reply, then the Lieutenant’s grip on him tightened and remained.
“Okay,” she exhaled peacefully. She moved next to him, shuffling closer, which Roy was more than happy to indulge in.
As she was lulled back to sleep, her grip on his hand slackened but Roy never let her go. He anchored himself to her.
They’d get through this and get home. Not that she’d allow it of course, but Roy would carry her through the snow with that ankle if need be to ensure their safety. It had been the day from hell professionally, however ending it with the two of them curled together on that uncomfortable bed, gripping onto one another, was not bad in the slightest. Roy thought that was the closest to heaven he was ever going to get.
* * * * * * * *
Their luck must have finally been turning for the better, as that morning a group of hikers entered the bothy loudly, laughing and joking with one another, while Roy helped the Lieutenant strap up her ankle. They were offered food and directions to the nearest town, which was only two miles away. The group set off with them, insistent on offering their help and support, and even assisted the Lieutenant with some painkillers as well.
After the day of travel they’d had before, it brightened up both soldier’s moods somewhat as they set off again through the snowy northern landscape with their new company.
Thankfully, they didn’t come across any bears.
They made it to the town in one peace and called North City Headquarters for assistance. And also requested back up for that assistance.
Just in case.
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langernameohnebedeutung · 4 years ago
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Top five magneto moments from the X-Men movies?
Ohhh...lemme think. (I tried picking from different films. It's not really in any order of preference, just scenes I think are neat.
1. aka the first one. I mean, not the first-first one or the second one or- but the first scene with Charles and Erik being Like That and doing their thing.
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There's already at least one pretty popular post about why this scene is so damn good and how it tells us so much about these guys' dynamic without telling us much at all and I just really think it's well-done, well-acted. Especially since in the og movies, Mags and Charles aren't the main-characters so they don't get that much screen-time but this is what we need to know and there is just so much being communicated. I was kind of torn whether to pick this one or the very last one of the film but I chose this one bc I feel like the first one is more about Magneto (we already know he's going to be the villain right here, we learn what motivates him, we get some of the trademark bitchiness Ian McKellen brings to the character. Good stuff. Also when he walks off like: "We're the future, Charles! Not them! They no longer matter!" So much going on here.) while the end-one is more about Professor X. Also, for me the last scene actually elevates this one even further because of the way it makes this exchange frame the entire narrative of the film. You do get the sense that Charles and Erik are two chessplayers moving their pieces with the whole "What are you doing here?" - "Why do you ask questions to which you already know the answers?" and -
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Like, you just get the sense that everything that happened between those scenes is just a little bit beneath them. It isn't any major break or change in their lives or relationship, they're the same as before and that also gives you an idea about the kind of history these guys already got to have.
2). Obviously.
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Iconic. Show-stopping. Do I even need to say anything? Probably one of my favourite prison-break scenes ever put on screen. Everything about it. The dialogue, the violence, the "never trust a beautiful woman - especially one that's interested in you", the camera movement, the wink, the glass shattering and the cell coming apart, Ian McKellen floating on a metal/blood frisbee. This one has it all. Some physics guy on YouTube actually made a video about how powerful Magneto has to pull this off and apparently, this is a lot more impressive than any of the major property damage we see him cause across films.
3. Ah yes the Villa Gesell scene
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Lemme say first: This scene is completely and utterly pointless from a plot-perspective. It's literally just a character moment. And I love character moments. It's just there to show us who Erik is and the film bends over backwards to justify this scene being in it: An entire stack of coincidences that is Shaw's photo hanging on the wall of this pub with the name of his boat clearly visible and he's sitting next to the two Nazis who happen to be sitting in this very pub right there and then and of course one of them has his Nazi knife with him (which is a very weird mixture of a Hitler Youth knife and an SS Honour Dagger and even ignoring that it's a mess bc they even forgot that German capitalises its nouns so why is the inscription all lower case and I'm the most annoying person on the planet to watch movies with but t-)
And the thing is - I actually like this entire scene even more for all of that. Because they could have just had that Swiss banker tell Mags where Shaw is. But instead, his entire trip to Argentinia is in there to let us see Erik kill Nazis and we get an exact sense of what he's doing with his life, who he is, how he is - and also did I mention dead Nazis? - I live for that (and also for a deleted scene where he sees a mother and her kid at the Argentinian airport and has a flashback and 😢).
I also like that it continues the pattern we get in the bank scene where he doesn't confront his targets directly but sets them up to incriminate themselves. We also get the "Frankenstein's Monster"-line which is something I have a lot of thoughts about - especially bc the whole "what makes us human/monsters"-question is a big deal in the movie. Also-also it sets up Charles 'head empty' moment from the finale of the movie where he tells Erik that the people CURRENTLY FIRING FUCKING NUCLEAR MISSILES AT THEM are just 'good innocent men' who are 'just following orders' and you just get the sense of how often Erik has heard this shit (also...thinking about how this film is set in 1962, meaning right after the Eichmann trial). There's just. A lot going on.
4. Oh let's be controversial!
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ok I know this is something I know a lot of people hold against Erik and say it's one of his meanest and most unfair moments. but honestly? His anger is at least as earned as Charles' at this point and any take on this scene that is "one of them is right and the other is wrong" is ...boring. Erik once again lost people he cared about, he spent ten years in solitary confinement for a crime he didn't commit, he just learnt that literally everything that he warned about in the last film will happen (already has happened, partially), pretty much word for word ("Identification, that's how it starts. And ends with being rounded up, experimented on, eliminated.) to the point that an actual TIME-TRAVELLER comes back from the fucking future to tell them how bad they all fucked up.
(One of the things I like is that he doesn't make a difference between people who chose his side and people who chose Charles' side - he names Banshee along with Emma, Azazel, Angel. He's just sad about all of them. Generally, I'm still prissy that we never got to see him go full Magneto for any length of time in the prequels so him speaking of 'mutant brothers and sisters' is the closest we get to knowing what he would be like if they didn't always find some new weird between-movies plot for him like prison or starting a family in Poland or starting a leftist commune on an island - although I can kind of respect that one.)
Also anyone who ever had the misfortune of actually hearing me talk about this movie for any lengths of time knows I have...a lot of thoughts about Erik and his time in solitary confinement and I like that the first times we see his powers after he gets out after ten years of no metal, it's a huge mess. Erik as we know him from First Class would probably just wave his hands at those guards in the Pentagon kitchen and kill them with a few well-aimed knives in a blink of an eye - but this time around, he trashes the entire room and hits no one. And in the plane scene we see him lose control completely and almost bring down the plane once he snaps and you really get the sense that after ten years, he's no longer used to having metal around that reacts to his powers.
Also, in that same scene the mutual acknowledgement between him and Logan in the end? I liked that.
5. (almost) all scenes where he's just a giant menace to infrastructure and important landmarks.
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Like the fact that he destroyed the Sydney opera house is just such a casual by-note, we don't even talk about that one. It's just how it goes, you know? The only let-down is that he literally went to France without taking down the Eiffel-Tower in DOFP? A giant metal structure? This is a serious oversight by the writers and really cheapens the whole movie-going experience. 2/10.
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mrs-dr-reid · 5 years ago
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The Girl Behind the Desk
(A Criminal Minds Fic)
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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader
Summary: Requested by @imagining-in-the-margins​; “Spencer goes to the same library whenever he can. In part because he likes to read the encyclopedias, but also because he’s in love with one of the girls who works there. Unfortunately, he’s also convinced she doesn���t know he exists.”
Genre: Super fluffy, doods
Warnings: Pining, I guess? (is that a thing that needs a warning? I dunno, maybe)
A/N: Okay, this was so fun to write? Oh my god. I hope you guys enjoy it!
Word Count: 1858
———————————————————————
Spencer didn’t know why he kept going there. Well, he takes that back. He kind of knows why he keeps going to a very particular library in the D.C. area: There’s a very robust collection of encyclopedias there that he can go and read whenever he has time off from the BAU. Therein lies the kicker: he’s already read the entire collection at least half a dozen times. So why does he keep going there if he’s already read the one thing there that interests him?
The answer is quite simple... the encyclopedia section is within viewing distance of the check-out desk, and whenever he goes in to read them, there’s always a beautiful young woman there with shiny Y/H/C hair and striking Y/E/C eyes checking out books, answering the questions of other library patrons, and taking the reshelving cart to some other section of the library. He’s never plucked up the courage to go over and talk to her, but he knew from overhearing the conversations she had with her coworkers that her first name was Y/N.
Spencer’s played out a thousand interactions with her in his mind, but he’s never gone over to the desk to actually play one of them out. So for the past month and a half, he’s just been sitting in the corner by himself pretending to read a book while staring at the beautiful librarian from across the room like a lovesick idiot. And he was a lovesick idiot, because he couldn’t recall a single time in his life where he was utterly captivated by a woman he’d never even spoken a word to before.
He noticed every little thing about her: the way she would smile at young children who would plunk a Magic Treehouse or Percy Jackson book on the counter and stand on their tiptoes to hand her their library card, then give them a small lollipop from the glass bowl on the desk before they left, the way she laughed when one of her coworkers told a really lame library joke, the way she could pull her hair into a neat bun while she was working without one of those hair donut things he’s seen JJ use a couple times, and the way there was always a skip in her step and a song in her head when she was pushing the reshelving cart to whatever section she needed to go to.
She never looked over at his lonely little table because she was busy focusing on the more busy sections of the library, like the magazines, the research computers, and the children’s books, so the logical half of Spencer’s brain managed to convince him that she had no idea he even existed and that he really had no business being in the building. Still, the other more fantastical half of his brain kept him rooted in his plush library chair on the very slim chance that one day she’d look over and at least give him a smile. He highly doubted that would ever happen, but a guy can hope.
—   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —
Y/N could tell that the guy in a purple sweater vest with unruly brown hair and thoughtful brown eyes sitting at a table near the encyclopedias wasn’t really there to read all of them every time he came in, because she was pretty sure she saw him read every single one of them and put them all back in the right place in the span of a few hours the first day he came into her library.
Sometimes when she was refilling the candy bowl, she would steal a quick glance over at him and see him absentmindedly flipping through the pages of an encyclopedia she knows she’s seen him read in record breaking time with a furrowed brow, because she had to admit he was handsome in his own nerdy little way. And she’d always feel her stomach flip when he pushed his hair away from his eyes or adjusted his tie, because his hands look HUGE, even from far away, and she knows that if they ever shook hands, his would completely swallow hers.
She only knew his name because he answered his phone one time, and she heard him say, “Dr. Spencer Reid,” which made her raise her eyebrows in amazement, because he couldn’t have been much older than she was and he was a doctor. She could tell by the way he dressed that there was no way he was a medical doctor, so she assumed that he was a college professor with a proclivity for literature.
He came into her library sporadically over a month and a half period, and when he was gone for long lapses in time, Y/N assumed he was doing lectures either at the school he worked at or at nearby schools as a guest speaker. But whenever she looked over at the empty table where he usually made himself at home, she couldn’t help but miss him, which was utterly ridiculous because how could you miss someone you’ve never even spoken to? She then made a pact with herself: the next time she saw him come in, she was going to find some excuse or another to talk to him.
—   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —
Spencer got back from a really rough case, and he figured that a trip to his favorite library might lift his spirits. He walked in through the doors, expecting it to be a normal session of “pretending to read so I can stare at the desk girl”, but he stopped dead in his tracks when he heard a voice he’d only heard from a distance say, “We just got in a couple new ones about fungi and spores, in case you wanted to look at something new.”
He turned around to see the woman he’d been admiring from afar for nearly the last two months with her award-winning smile on her face. She pointed at his table and said, “I noticed you liked hanging out by the encyclopedias, so I thought I’d let you know if I caught you before you hunkered down over there,” making him struggle to find the right words to say. He finally settled on, “Ummm, okay. Cool. Thank you for letting me know,” and smiled before starting to walk away.
Y/N knew that was her last chance, so she said, “I’m Y/N, by the way. Y/N L/N,” and held out her hand, so Spencer hesitated before grabbing it and saying, “Hi, Y/N. I’m Dr. Spencer Reid. Sorry, but, handshakes aren’t normally my thing. You see, the number of pathogens passed during a handshake is outrageous. It’s actually...,” making Y/N say, “Safer to kiss, right? I’ve dealt with my fair share of germaphobes who whip out that fact,” before shooting him a wink.
Spencer didn’t know how to react to that, but he knows for a fact he went pink in the cheeks. Y/N continued, “And I already knew your name. I heard you answer your phone once. You’ve never checked out any books, so I just thought you were too busy with teaching to remember to return them and never went over to ask you about it,” while she started grabbing new books to stamp and stack.
Spencer didn’t really know how to respond to that, but he remembered how to speak English, and he said, “You think I’m a teacher?”, so she said, “Yeah. I mean, based on the way you dress and the fact that you’re slightly too germaphobic, there’s no way you’re a medical doctor. I figured you were a college professor, more specifically in the English department. How close am I?”, while sitting down in her swivel chair.
Spencer was impressed by her profiler-level deduction, so he said, “I’d say you were 70% accurate. I’m not a medical doctor, but I do have three PhDs in Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering, 2 BAs in Psychology and Sociology, and I’m working on a BA in Philosophy. I am a college professor, but I teach Criminology. I’m also a Supervisory Special Agent with the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI,” which made Y/N’s eyebrows fly up. She said, “Seriously?! All this time, I’ve been sneaking peeks at a super genius pretending to read an encyclopedia in the corner for the past two months?”, which made Spencer’s sly smile drop off his face.
He said, “You knew I was pretending?”, so Y/N grabbed her water bottle and said, “Yeah. You breezed through the entire collection in less than 3 hours the first day you came in, then you put every single one back in its rightful place. I even double checked after you left, and I didn’t have to swap a single book into the right place,” before taking a sip of water. Spencer said, “Well, I guess that’s what happens when you have an eidetic memory and can read 20,000 words per minute,” which nearly made Y/N choke on her water.
Spencer’s eyes widened in concern, and he said, “Oh my god, are you okay?”, but she waved him off and said, “Yeah, I’m fine. Just wasn’t expecting that,” before setting her water down. She checked her watch, then said, “Okay, my shift ends in a couple hours. And knowing you you’ll probably finish all those new encyclopedias by then, so how about when I clock out, you and I can go get coffee or something?”, which took Spencer completely by surprise. He said, “Uhhhhh, sure! Yeah, sure! That sounds great!”, his voice betraying him by cracking awkwardly.
Clearly Y/N thought it was cute, because she grabbed a pink sticky note and a clicker pen from the cup on the desk, jotted something down, then handed it to him before saying, “Be sure to think of some interesting fungus facts to tell me later, Dr. Brainiac,” winking, and heading off to reshelve some books. Spencer stood there awestruck for a solid minute before shaking himself and going to his usual spot. He finally looked down at what she had written, and he felt himself go completely red, because on the note was a series of numbers that could only be her cell phone number, an address that could only be hers, and the words “call me sometime, Boy Genius” written in a gorgeous looping scrawl.
Spencer looked up again to see her talking with one of her coworkers behind the desk, so he pulled out his phone and punched in her number before typing “Is texting okay, too?” and pressing send. He saw her pull out her phone, and she looked up and gave him a playful eye roll before typing something and putting her phone back in her pocket. His phone buzzed again, so he checked it to see that she had sent back “Of course it is, Dr. Reid ;)”, making him smile before going to grab those encyclopedias she was talking about.
———————————————————————
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peaceoutofthepieces · 4 years ago
Note
44. "Make me" for Wesper? 🙈
I’m very happy this is the first new request I got
44. “Make me.”
“Jesper, come on, you’ve made it this long. Don’t ruin it,” Wylan pleaded.
Jesper rubbed a hand over his face with a sigh. He had been feeling antsy all day, and he’d almost made it out the door; now, this conversation was prolonging his agony. And it was not the type of prolonged agony he enjoyed.
Although he had Wylan well-rehearsed in that by now, too.
“I’m just going for a drink,” he insisted. “You don’t need me to read you bedtime stories tonight, tomorrow’s a free day. Which also makes it a perfectly acceptable time for a hangover, so you can’t complain about that, either.”
Wylan narrowed his eyes.
Normally, Jesper would enjoy this. Getting Wylan all strung up with his panties in a twist was just as entertaining as making him blush. But on this occasion, it was decidedly not in Jesper’s favour. Maybe it was time to work for that blush.
He sidled up to Wylan and slid a hand along his jaw, cupping his cheek with care. In a moment, he hoped to have it heating under his palm. “Don’t worry, love. I don’t plan on staying out, I’ll still be back to warm your bed.”
Voilà.
Wylan’s cheeks pinked at Jesper’s low tone and sultry wink, and he swayed a little into Jesper’s orbit, and then a frown reclaimed his features. “You think I don’t know when you’re lying to me, and it’s insulting. I’m not naive, Jes.”
Despite the twitch and tremble that was still encasing Jesper’s bones, urging him to move and go, to get this over with so he could escape and satisfy the itch under his skin, his chest tightened and he grew stiller. Unlike Jesper’s assurance and bravado, the hurt swimming in Wylan’s eyes wasn’t fake.
“Of course you’re not,” he said, softer. The self-resentment was building up in him quickly, but it had already been there driving him. This was only worsening the rush of his blood and the pounding in his head. “But I’m not lying. What makes you think I am?”
“You’re not lying,” Wylan repeated. “So the reason you’re not going to the Crow Club, where you’d probably get them to give you your drinks for free, isn’t so that you won’t have Kaz’s eyes on you?”
Jesper raised a brow and tried not to feel too caught. “Why would it be? Quite fancy Kaz’s eyes on me from time to time, makes me feel special. You know how he is with his attention. Flattering to have it, really.”
“Not when he’s cutting you off before you can even bet your first hand,” Wylan said bluntly.
Jesper bit back a swear. It’s not worth fighting with Wylan. It’s not. “It’s sweet that you believe Kaz gives a toss about anything I do.”
Wylan simply tilted his head and gave him a look.
“I’ll be back in a bit. You won’t even know I’m gone,” Jesper tried again, already backing up.
“Jes,” Wylan caught onto his wrist. He’d softened considerably within the space of a second. The sternness was given up, and he was now powering those baby blues with puppy pleading. “Come on. What’s going on? You said you’d talk to me instead.”
“Nothing’s going on,” Jesper got out, “entirely nothing, even though I should already have a drink in my hand, because I’m still here, talking about nothing.”
Wylan wilted, and the self-resentment was really rearing it’s head. Still, Wylan gripped him tighter. “Clearly it’s something, if you’re acting like a child.”
“Leave it, Wy,” Jesper warned.
Of course, it didn’t work. Wylan was smart—a little genius, truly, one of the smartest people he knew—but his intelligence twisted and grew under guidance like Kaz Brekker’s. Meaning, it was not an intelligence that heeded something so irrelevant as a direct warning.
No, instead Wylan’s eyes sparked with something, a lightbulb rather than a flash-bomb going off, and he worked his way back into Jesper’s space, and said, “Make me.”
“Oh, I—“ Jesper froze where he’d already begun to lean into Wylan, voice dipping low again with such little prompting at the familiar thrill of such a taunt. He froze, making the abrupt change in his mood stop in its tracks, and he narrowed his eyes. “I see what you’re doing.”
Wylan’s expression was still puppy-innocent, but now those eyes were telling. “I’m not doing anything.”
Jesper laughed with closed lips and pressed a little closer, resistance crumbling despite himself. He was thinking you can’t possibly give in that easily, and then he was snapping back at the thought this isn’t what I shouldn’t give into. He did know exactly what Wylan was doing; it was a neat, nasty little trick that didn’t and wouldn’t always work.
But it was—or had been so far—a sure fire way of twisting Jesper’s thoughts enough to get him thinking clearly again. Even if it didn’t always have the intended result. Even if it ended in impromptu target practice with Jan Van Eck’s lingering, useless but precious belongings, an activity that kept Wylan and his mother up much too late much too often. Even if it meant getting shockingly drunk on whatever liquor Wylan would prefer they didn’t have to buy. Even if it meant, on one particularly terrible occasion in which he’d been feeling particularly pathetic, sobbing in Wylan’s arms for an indistinct but embarrassingly long time for lack of knowing what the hell else he was ever supposed to do with himself.
He didn’t know which kind of night this one was, yet, and it left his softly-spoken words ringing true. “That’s a dangerous game, merchling.”
“You can’t call me that anymore,” Wylan reminded him, which meant he was rather losing his game already.
But, then again, Jesper was still here, and now he was even sliding an arm round Wylan’s waist as his brows rose. “If you’re looking for a new nickname, darling, I’m sure we can find one. I was, however, under the impression that you quite liked the original.”
Wylan looked dubious. “What gave you that idea?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” Jesper smirked. Both arms held Wylan now with hands pressed to his back, the relentless twitch and buzz beneath their skin morphing into a new fire. Wylan’s hands curled over Jesper’s shoulders in response, the light in his eyes shifting as well.
“For now,” Wylan agreed, carefully. “Are you going to stay?”
The question was more tentative than it should’ve been in the context, more hopeful and pleading than Jesper deserved. He’d been asked before, and Wylan hadn’t really believed him then. He mustn’t have, when his voice was wobbling now. Jesper had promised to come back that night, though even he couldn’t be sure he’d manage that, and Wylan knew it. Wylan never wanted Jesper to go off and rid himself of all the progress he’d supposedly made, never wanted Jesper run around and make a mess after he’d mostly managed to clean himself up.
Jesper had never really taken the time to recognise that, possibly, Wylan didn’t want him to go do all of these things because Wylan was still afraid he would go.
It was ridiculous, and it would have made the self-resentment tear him apart if it didn’t simply break his heart. Gambling was a hard habit to quit, and he knew one of these times in which he teetered on the edge he was bound to fall, but even this long proved it was something he could live without. He didn’t need to go back to it. It was the itch and the thrill of the risk, the restless energy and fruitless desire that was a part of him; not the cards themselves. It would not cut anything out of him to cut himself off (as he continued to tell himself, every damned day).
Wylan, on the other hand, was a piece of his heart. It would hurt Jesper to leave behind even for a moment, and it would kill him not to return for it.
Jesper could tell him all of this and watch him melt, the heat that would rise to his cheeks burning him down. He could gamble his heart with Wylan and know he wouldn’t lose it; that Wylan would instead accept it happily, cradle it and keep it safe for him, stop him from tossing it to the flames on a reckless whim. For once, he knew his odds quite well and could see how heavily they were stacked in his favour.
And yet, it was one risk he wasn’t quite ready to take—not with the itch still shoving him towards the door.
Wylan deserved to hear it, when Jesper could be sure it wouldn’t end up looking like a lie.
For now, he’d anchor himself the best way he knew how, and hope Wylan would feel the words in each touch anyway.
He slid his hands around further, pulling Wylan even closer, and dipped down to brush his nose against Wylan’s as teasingly as he could. “If you’re so adamant,” he murmured, “why don’t you make me?”
It wasn’t enough for Wylan—as far as Jesper was concerned. But Wylan knew he had won, and lit up brighter than Jesper felt he had earned.
Today, it turned out to be more than enough for Jesper. Wylan’s hands slipped Jesper’s off his back, then pinned them behind Jesper’s own as the young merchant let their lips brush. Jesper made a sound he would have been more embarrassed by if he wasn’t so relieved at the new anticipation burning through him. He didn’t need the cards, he didn’t need the cards, he didn’t need the cards.
But bloody hell, he needed Wylan. Much more urgently, all of a sudden.
“How do you suppose I should do that?” Wylan asked, brave even through his blush, eyes already dark and lips already parted as Jesper gave into him.
“Off to a good start,” Jesper said.
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jj-ktae · 5 years ago
Text
Note II - Aldehydes
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Moodboard : Courtesy of the lovely Jacqueline @jaebeomsmullet​​ ! Thank you for helping and hyping and just being here whenever I need it.
›  Title : Fragrances ›  Genre : Angst, Fluff, Romance, Composer!Jungkook x Perfume Maker!Reader ›  Pairing :  Jeon Jungkook x Female Reader ›  Warning : Mentions of Suicide, heavy subjects, depression (none of these are used with the idea of glamourising mental illness), strong language, smut in later chapters probably. Do not read if any of these trigger you.
›  Author’s note : This is another version of the story I wrote a few years ago for GOT7. Some of the events will be different, others will not change just like some paragraphs will be the same and others won’t. Informations, definitions and words are taken from here and here.
›  Summary : In the world of Perfume making, it is believed that everyone has their own natural fragrance. It is also believed that everyone has that one scent capable of making them feel a thousand things. You find yours in the form of a composer on the verge of breaking, right when you have to face one of the biggest challenge in your life.
Masterlist | Note I - Ionones | 
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Note II: Aldehydes
An aroma chemical that contains a functional group consisting of a carbon, a hydrogen, and an oxygen atom. Aldehydes can be derived from natural or synthetic materials. There are different types of scents associated with this chemical function but the most commonly referred to when profiling a scent as “aldehydic” is a sharp, metallic, crisp, slightly fatty impression often associated with the smell of clean textile or hot iron. One of the first “aldehydic” fragrances is the famous N°5 created by Perfumer Ernest Beaux in 1920 and launched by Gabrielle Chanel in 1921.
Your second day is worse than the first one. Jimin is all over the place, mixing essences and sniffing everything he can. You’re glad though, it makes him go silent whenever he concentrates on something, and you have time for focus. It doesn’t help because you’re still frustrated if not more, but at least you can overburden yourself in peace.
 The only light in all that shadow comes from the memory of Jungkook’s scent, precise yet unknown. You try to create something similar, but it’s everything and nothing at the same time and no matter the amount or variety of scent you use, you can’t even get close to it
His scent is a mystery.
It adds to your misery, like a voice mocking you for not being able to recognise a scent while another one forces you to crave for more. It feels like chasing a ghost.
The sound of your head against your office takes Jimin out of his momentum. “What’s happening?” He inquires. He gets up from his own working area to stand next to your powerless soul.
“When is the meeting?” You try because it is potentially the only hope for today. That powerful lady came in early to inform you about an upcoming meeting with the marketing team. The project seems big, because Jimin started to work as soon as she flew out of the laboratory. It’s been one day and he is so open about himself that you can already read his body language.
“3 p.m. I was thinking about a brainstorming. Let’s think about a concept.” He offers because this is going nowhere. You’re about to give up at any minute, and he needs you to be into it.
“What concept? I’m running in circles.” 
“Sexy? Provocateur? Romantic? Angsty? Bucolic?” 
“All of these have already been worked on so many times...I don’t think they want to go for something as...forthright. I’m quite sure they won’t be satisfied with a mere sexy perfume.” It’s what you understood - if your sudden creative freedom is anything to go by.
Jimin understands, his eyes now wide. He has no idea how to achieve that, but he still thinks you’re brilliant for thinking out of the box. He picks his notepad and starts writing everything you said, his brows furrowed.
“We want to be unique. The concept needs to be appealing to the greatest number without being too cliché. We are free to use what we want.” He notes things down and you find yourself peeking at the words, meaningful yet complex.
“So we need to mix a little bit of everything.” Jimin stops for a minute before a whine escapes his thick lips, “I’m lost, help me.”
“We can’t work this way.” You raise your head slowly, ruffling your wild locks in a nonchalant way. “We have to find a scent and put a concept over it. We can’t force the scent based on an imaginary idea.” This only works when a brand has specific goals but here you have nothing. You can’t possibly force an idea into your head. 
Jimin looks pitiful as he puts the notepad away. “It’s going to be harder than I thought.”
And just like the day started, the meeting followed. You were not expecting much of it and you were right. The marketing project came and explained you were free to do anything you wanted. Their main objective was to follow you on whatever you wanted to create, and it’s infuriating. 
How many times do you have to repeat that you can’t do it before they start to believe you?
Jimin, who was stressed before the meeting is now dejected and it almost breaks your heart because you feel responsible. You send him home earlier and decide to work on your own. Two hours later you leave the lab with Orchid oil all over your bag and the urge to cry.
There is only one way to make you feel better. You feel ashamed, like you’re addicted to something but you have to admit it.
Jeon Jungkook’s scent is the only thing worth smelling.
When you come back from work, there is no trace of him. His backpack is gone, the bed looks neat, and even the towel he probably didn’t use is dry. There’s still his smell, fresh in the air and it makes you run back outside to find the bridge where you had found him the night before.
He is not there.
You were exhausted, but you’re suddenly on fire. This situation is stressing you more than it should be when you don’t see him. It’s like you won’t ever see him again. You look around all the bridges you can find close to your place. Jungkook is nowhere to be seen.
You open the door of your apartment with a heavy heart. It’s like you lost something precious and it’s making you angry. What the hell is happening to you?
But you open the door and it hits again, like a whirlpool of long lost feelings and dried memories.
Jeon Jungkook is in your living-room, and his delectable scent pounds in the deepest zones of your brain. He is sitting on the floor by the small table, right hand dancing over bright white paper and guitar on his lap so you only see his back, but it’s the biggest relief you had in years.
He doesn’t turn around when you let your bag fall on the floor, he doesn’t move when you stop next to him. He looks absorbed, entranced. His knee is shaking to an unknown beat, mimicking his left hand which is drumming on the soft brown wood of the instrument he is holding.
“God. I thought- I’m so stupid.” You don’t want to share your worries with him, but the thought of him throwing himself off a bridge is still fresh. It stings more than it should, more than the pain you’re supposed to feel when confronted with a stranger’s despair.
“Hmm?” Jungkook doesn’t move toward you at first, but eventually his hand stops, and he glances up at your pallid features and tensed body “What’s wrong?”
“I came back home and you were not here. I thought...I thought you did something stupid.” You let your body fall on the couch. It’s like blood is circulating again into your veins, your skin going back its initial colour. 
Jungkook is puzzled, like he doesn’t understand why it would be so dramatic for you. “I went around town after I grabbed some stuff from my place.” It’s crazy but he feels sorry for you. “I’m sorry for worrying you” he trails off, scanning your face some more. He has no idea how to react to a stranger panicking over his disappearance. His own family doesn’t panic when he doesn’t show up. He is lost as to why you would be so affected by anything related to him when no one else barely does.
You snort, not mad at him. You’re high on his smell and it’s all that counts. “It’s okay.” Your eyes find his, and his tilted head looks like it’s searching for any sign of discomfort. He only stares back, with eyes way too shiny for someone as dark as him. He looks candid, like he has everything to discover and it’s a mystery how he turned out thinking about the worst.  You have no idea what he might be thinking - excepted that you’re probably out of your mind for reacting like this but he doesn’t question your intentions, for whatever reasons. You finally notice the papers and decide to move on before it gets too disturbing to deal with. “What are you doing?” you nod toward the torn pieces of paper and point a finger at the pile stacking up next to his crossed legs.
He swiftly puts it under his leg. “Nothing. Did you just come back from work?” He tries to change the subject. His voice gets higher and you instantly decipher his anxiety. He isn’t good with facing his own problems and it’s way too early to go into deep talks about lyrics and melodies. He might have agreed to a crazy proposition, but that doesn’t mean he is going to open to you. At least not now.
“I looked for you all over the place.” You admit because it’s a normal thing to do when somebody is in distress. Jungkook is dumbfounded.
“Why would you do this?” The situation in itself is already crazy enough as it is. He doesn’t mind you being friendly with him, even though he is pretty sure he doesn’t need it, but to the point of being dead worried for him?
“You were about to throw yourself off a bridge. I don’t know what kind of life you’ve been living but it’s pretty normal to freak out when something like that happens.” Your outburst shocks him. He doesn’t understand the impact of his actions over his surroundings. He has always thought he was just a detail in everyone else’s lives. 
It has always been this way. He writes in the shadow for people to shine. Him not being here shouldn’t matter to anyone. 
“It’s my business. I’m staying here because I have nothing left and it’s easier than staying in my empty apartment and facing my failures. It doesn’t mean we have to care about each other.” Jungkook doesn’t want to sound mean but he has to make it clear to you. His distress is by no mean a way to ask for anyone’s pity. He refused to add anyone into that mess, let alone a stranger.
It’s obvious, in a way. You know it’s stupid but this scent, it’s making you go wild. You can’t let it pass until you know what it is.
So you agree, taking the same tone and hoping your voice isn’t wavering. “I’m not here for you, I’m worried about another human being wanting to end his life. If it gives you the illusion that I care, I’m sorry about that.” You get up and you sound mad, something Jungkook notices as soon as you close the door a bit too violently.
No matter how mesmerising his scent is, he is apparently not that friendly. You’re not hurt by his words, because you don’t care enough personally to be affected. You’re being selfish, only thinking about your own benefit and what his scent could bring into your life. Jeon Jungkook himself doesn’t pull you in at all. He is someone you barely know anyways.
He doesn’t move from his spot in the living-room until later that night. He suddenly has too many things to write and too little time on his hands. He decides to stop when his wrist starts to hurt and his body hits the mattress of his new bedroom like a bag of sand hits the ground.
He feels at ease in the small room. Wood is covering the floor, and it is the same colour as the tiny office by the window. The view is peaceful, with buildings popping up from the floor like mushrooms and lights festooning the city in tiny dots. The bed is large and thick with soft bedding. The scent of the washing powder turns Jungkook into a nostalgic boy when he rolls into the bed, stretching his sore limbs. He feels even more stupid for feeling comfort in a seemingly empty room. 
He falls asleep right away, exactly 10 seconds after you do. You’re both too exhausted to care about each other, but you both know you’re no strangers to your own common serenity.
And just like you understand the importance of his presence for your brain to function, he notices he needs your place to exist in his creative yet tortured mind. As stupid and as hard to believe as it is.
When you get up the day after, you see him by the kitchen’s table. He is sipping on orange juice that is not yours, and munching on toasts you definitely didn’t buy.
You go to the coffee machine, your head too cloudy to deal with his strong presence.
He speaks first “Want some juice?”. He is trying to make it up to you for his cold behaviour. He just isn’t used to being around you yet. He isn’t used being around anyone yet.
Also, he is the worst when he composes. He needs absolute concentration.
You sip on the hot liquid and nod his way. He hands you a glass with an unreadable face.
“Have a nice day.” He doesn’t know why he says it. He tries to be nice, because there’s nothing much to say to someone you met two days ago. Maybe his pride spoke for him yesterday, or maybe he decided to accept the hand of a stranger, because it’s less burdening than accepting his failures to his entourage. 
You drink the fresh juice fast and walk away. “Thank you.” It is too hard to be rational right now, because the smell seems even stronger now. You probably come off as rude when you don’t reciprocate his words but you don’t dwell on it; that boy isn’t going to accept any sort of compassion anyways.
You enter the bathroom and get hit by the scent of his shower gel. Not that scent either.
You get ready at the same time as you build your resolve. Motivation is the key so maybe if you believe in you and your assistant, things might work out. Jimin is already here when you arrive, his citrus smell filling you from the first floor to the lab. He is joyful, like he found something awesome.
“Boss! Have a sit, come come!” His thin hand adds a tiny pressure to your back, leading you to your office.
“What’s happening?” You barely have the time to comprehend; he is already putting a sample in front of your noise.
You freeze.
“Wh-where did you find t- t- this ?” You utter, immediately thrown off by the odour.
“I was looking through essences this morning, and I thought we could start with a base, just to see what we could make of it. It’s...”
“Winter fir and Balsam*.” You conclude. Everything in this base is satisfying but the most important detail is that you remember this base. You smelled it this morning when you entered the kitchen.
You smell the very distinct feelings of comfort, warmth and softness which invades you whenever you’re close to Jungkook.
Jimin added a little twist to it, tho. “You added Cottage Herb Garden**”. The latter grins at you, visibly proud of himself for coming up with such a smart idea. He too gives off that feeling of freshness that is found in that herb. It is serene and woody and gives off feelings of sweetness and sensuality. Cottage Herb Garden fragrances are made using Aldehydes synthetic scents. 
“I didn’t add much, but I thought it would go well because they both make great seasonal fragrances. I only put 8% though, how did you find out?” he looks shocked but not surprised, like he was half-expecting you to guess it yet still thought it would go unnoticed.
“The herb comes last. The earthy smell that lingers in your nose, it’s this one. Smell it again.” You tell him and he takes his time filling his nose. He closes his eyes and thinks for a moment before opening them again.
“This is Cottage Herb Garden.” You confirm and his mouth is now wide opened. He can’t believe he is working with such a talented person. 
“So, do you think we could try? I feel like we’re using a lot of Aldehydes but at the same time it feels like a soft base note…” Jimin trails off, his fingers playing with the bottles. 
You acquiesce, mind already elsewhere. It feels like the first step to Jungkook’s identity and it is energising. You take a sharp breath, startling Jimin who laughs at you because it’s like you found life again. 
“You sound satisfied.” He offers the sample along with a genuine smile and for the first time, you smile back at him, thankful.
“You did great. I wonder why they hired me when you’re doing great on your own.” It’s true. Jimin came up with extremely complex scents and came up with a base note you would have never found on your own.
Jimin rolls his eyes and decides not to answer. If only he could have a quarter of your talent. He opens his notebook and starts writing, his eyes now shiny with glee
Base notes:  Aldehydes (Synthetic) = Winter Fir  /  Cottage Herb Garden.
You put the sample in front of you and stare at it. So that was it. You smile to yourself, in a way, it’s like you can almost smell Jungkook.
You spent the rest of your day looking for another element to add to your base and when nothing comes to your mind you feel frustrated, but it’s the best you can do for now. Jimin is exhausted and snoring in a corner of the lab, his petite body squeezed between two cabinets. You shake him to wake his sleepy body and tell him to go home when you give up for the day.
It’s been so long since the last time Jungkook felt this satisfied. He didn’t go out, too engrossed into his lyrics to care about the light of the sun peeking through the opened blinds. It’s leaking off his pen, like he can’t stop the flood of ideas and he feels like a mad scientist, crazy and ecstatic. He takes a break around dinner time and when his stomach starts creating its own music.
He takes out noodles from the food he bought the day before. Living with you meant sharing a flat, but he wanted to provide his own necessities. Participating in daily life matters is only natural, after all.
His phone rings, and the caller ID makes him sigh. He is too hungry to face what is about to come, and his spent brain is screaming for rest.
He coughs, keeping his voice steady “Yes.” His tone is disillusioned. Jungkook barely gets any call nowadays, and except from work, he only knows one person who can annoy the hell out of him so much.
“You remember me? I thought depression AND amnesia hit you at once.” He wants to hang up when he hears the throaty voice. It’s heavy with judgement but then again, when is it not?
“And you wonder why I don’t call you, Yoongi-hyung.” Jungkook finishes the sentence in a sigh. Yoongi is awesome at being a nagging mother.
“You’re too busy being away I guess. Artists are such a handful.” He hears steps and after a while, Yoongi speaks again. “Where are you? I’ve been waiting in front of your flat.”
“I moved out.” Jungkook looks fine with the revelation. It’s like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“What? Where? Why didn’t you tell me?” he hears Yoongi’s car and supposes the latter is already going back to his place. 
“It’s been two days. I’m living with a girl.” He blows hair on the steaming bowl of noodles, ignoring his friend’s deep shriek.
Yoongi doesn’t know what’s happening anymore. Jungkook leaving on an inspiration crusade is common, it’s something he does whenever he gets overwhelmed by his feelings. Never once did he actually move out to live with someone else, let alone a girl.
He doesn’t even remember when was the last time Jungkook even dated someone. “Living together as in...romantically?” he tries, suddenly wary because he expected a lot of answers, but not this one.
“I couldn’t write anymore. I’m renting a room in her apartment.” He swallows the food like he has been starving for days. There is not the slightest hint of discomfort in his voice.
Yoongi laughs after a while “You’re living with your landlord. God, Jungkook, I know you people need some sort of inspiration to exist, but to the point of living with some old lady for the sake of music...”
“She’s not old.” Jungkook has no idea why it’s the only part of the sentence he reacted to, but all of a sudden he doesn’t want anyone to make fun of the person who took him in, not when he wrote ten songs in the span of two days. Not when he feels like no one can hurt him in your quiet kitchen.
“Anyways. Lunch with me tomorrow, how does that sound? Shall I check on that woman you’re living with ? How much is she charging you ? Aren’t you being scammed?”
“I can’t.” Jungkook sighs, ignoring the numerous questions because this is so typical of Yoongi to make sure no one is messing with him. “I have to eat with my parents, don’t tell them that I moved out.”
“You have always been doing everything you wanted anyways, what would it change if he was to know?”
Because he is going to crush me down like fine dust.
It has always been the same, and no matter how successful he was at some point, his father was never satisfied. Not when music is not a certain source of income, not when reputation comes before everything else.
 “I’m hanging up.” He announces once panic overtakes him and hears his friend objects, telling him he will meet with him no matter what.
It’s not like he doesn’t want to see him. It’s just complicated. Jungkook has always been different from others. He was raised with Yoongi and they had the same nanny when they were young. The age difference rapidly made Yoongi turn into the older brother as time passed, and while he was the one introducing Jungkook to music making, he quickly stopped to take over his family’s business. He never explained to him how he drifted from music, but he is now all about business.  Their respective parents were and still are too busy to deal with education, and while Yoongi grew up like the sharks his father works with, he took after a quieter side, the one that tells him to do what he wants instead of chasing money.
Yoongi often tells him he is a fool, that he doesn’t need anything else if he can have a bright future with his father’s company. He often answers that he doesn’t want to work without a purpose, and Yoongi always tells him to stop being a hypocrite and rely on his father’s money if he was to spit on it.
It’s true, Jungkook doesn’t know struggling. He was born in a rich family with a lot of possibilities. He was able to become a lyricist after a lot of failures, and his parents never gave up on him financially. This is probably why he is so affected when he can’t write. He doesn’t know how to deal with difficulties, he who lived with all the good things of the world.
He hears the door opening and your sore body appears before him, surprised to see him home. It’s like you were expecting him to run away, again. You don’t speak when you see him, mouth full of noodles and wearing the same clothes you left him in this morning. The silence is thick, oxygen heavy with uneasiness. Jungkook blinks, slurping on the noodles before wiping his mouth hastily.
“Want some noodles?” It’s hard to catch on the words, but he moves the bowl in front of him, and you understand. 
You nod.
No matter how strong the smell of seafood is, his scent always wins over everything else. You decide to stay close because you’re slowly deciphering his smell, and you need more time to know where you’re going.
He goes to the cupboard like he has been living here for years and fills another bowl before sitting back. You’re surprised by his sudden gentleness but brush the worries off. You’re supposed to feel weirded by the fact that an unknown man is now living with you, but none of you are freaked out.
Jungkook is too happy to be productive again. You’re too drawn into your memories to stop everything.
You sit in front of him and after a couple of minutes, he speaks. It takes you out of the now soggy food.
“What’s your job?” Jungkook sounds interested, but you know he is only trying to ease the mood.
“I’m a perfume composer.” You decide not to dig further into the matter. It’s a peculiar world, something that only a few people can relate to. Most people think you mix synthetic molecules into expensive glass bottles, wrapped in glitters and hidden into luxury boxes with frills and furbelows.
And you get offended, knowing fully well that it’s exactly what you think you’re doing.
Jungkook doesn’t sound impressed, you’re not surprised by that. 
“Sounds complex.” It is. It truly is, and even more when he is entering your every pore. You don’t know if you’ll ever get used to it.
“It’s not.” you lie, “How about you?” His face lits subtly, and he seems shy all of a sudden. You don’t know this side of him yet, and you wonder where his emo behaviour went.
He coughs, putting the bowl down. “I’m a lyricist. I write lyrics and sometimes I compose, but I mostly write.”
 “That sounds complex.” You muse. Jungkook is a tormented artist, then. It explains why he keeps on dreaming on bridges like he is filming a music video.
“Sometimes it’s complex, sometimes it’s a matter of course. I’ve been having a blackout recently.” It’s a confession, and he doesn’t know why he is sharing such a deep problem with you, a stranger.
You forget about the food “That’s why you were surrounded by torn papers.”
He chuckles. “Exactly. I’m getting there, though.”
It feels different to deal with such an open Jungkook. He chats like you’re close, smiles sometimes, he is almost glowing.
That evening you learn that he uses a pen name to write lyrics. He doesn’t want to tell you, but you know too little about the music industry and he finally spills the beans.
JK.
It sounds like some mysterious pen name used by thriller writers but you don’t tell him that. Instead, you decide to go to bed. No matter how comfortable you both seem, you’re not ready to share the part about you being addicted to his scent. He goes to his spot near the small table in your living-room and his hand goes back to a wild dance, covering the blank paper with ink. He is inspired.
He goes to bed right when you get up the day after and wakes up late for his lunch with his parents.
It’s not like he is eager to meet with them.
_
Plants. Plants plants plants. You look through the samples with haste. You know it has something to do with nature. The base note has to be about something else.
“What are you doing?” You smell Jimin the minute he opens the door, but you don’t let yourself be interrupted. You know you sound like a stalker, but you might or might not have smelled Jungkook’s jacket this morning, and you are sure of a thing: there is only one element left to create a frank base.
You don’t know when you switched from creating a perfume to reproduce his scent, but it doesn’t matter.
“All the samples are here, right?” The organ is huge and cabinets full, but it’s not enough for you. Jimin throws his vest on one of the chairs and approaches you, stifling a yawn.
“Yes. I think that’s quite a lot, actually.” He peeks from behind your shoulder, and sees your hands going through the numerous bottles, unsatisfied.
“No. No. These are generic scents. You don’t have any rare roots names, you forgot a lot of exotic fruits and most importantly, you don’t have anything uncommon.” 
Jimin makes a face. He is not lost, he is adrift. “I’m afraid I don’t understand...”
“Tobacco abs, myrrh, resinoid, Balkans...” You talk but it sounds like a whole new language even for your assistant.
“Well, we have listed a lot of names. Most of them were used by previous composers, but we added more. I didn’t think it needed that much to be completed.” He knows about perfumes, he has a lot of knowledge, but you’re suddenly on a whole new level and can’t be reached.
You’re suddenly talking about tobacco odours and it freaks him out.
“I have a lot of these at home.” This could seriously help you. You barely use these, and most of them were sent by your father and collected on the internet. It’s the first time you can actually put them to good use because you know they could help, but you can’t bring them here.
Also, you think about how much easier it would be to just move work to an environment bathed by that scent which makes you crazy. How stimulating would it be ?
Jimin is expectant, but you don’t say more. He finally waves a worried hand in front of your face and you snap to meet his blinking eyelids.
“Let’s work from my place. This is what I often did.” Your offer makes him take a step back. He is not used to you being so devoted to this project.
“Are you sure? I don’t think the boss would object. We’ve had a few composers with weird demands before.” He doesn’t know what’s on your mind, but you’re a genius to his eyes and the mere idea of him seeing the place where you created such amazing products is electrifying. He can’t wait to know more about your ways.
“Good.” You glance around the room, “I don’t like this atmosphere.” You don’t mind if Jimin sees your place. At some point, you’re pretty much sure you could go with anything as long as you find the missing pieces of this conundrum. 
You’re aware that you’re turning into an obsessional mess, but it feels pleasant to have a goal. This goes beyond everything you experienced, it gives you a fuel you didn’t know you could have.
You take the day to gather some samples and ask Jimin to let the boss know about your change of plans. At the end of the day, he helps you carry the numerous samples home. You’re a happy mind, torn between apprehension and excitement.
You open the door and Jungkook sees two huge boxes enter the living-room. He is rubbing a towel against his wet hair but he catches your box before you can let it crash to the ground. Jimin lets his own fall with a soft thud and you’re startled when you hear a dismayed squeal, along with Jimin’s shocked face, his finger pointing at a puzzled Jungkook.
“JK?!”
-------
* Winter Fir and Balsam : This redolent mixture of refreshing natural pine mingled with a sweet, peppery, delicately refined and soft base note of balsam has a soothing and warm character. It evokes particular feelings of warmth and comfort. The mind’s eye (and nose) recalls Christmas trees and sleigh rides and happy times by a fireside or even in a small apartment among special friends or family.
** Cottage Herb Garden : Sparkling blue waters, gentle summer winds and cozy brick cottages nestled in the lush, serene English countryside characterised this green floral scent. Enticing notes of sweet, earthy, star anise, fresh basil, grassy parsley, aromatic wild flowers, fresh garden greens and a woodsy, sensual musk base note comprise this complex aroma.
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Text
As Far As Friends Go
Chapter 12 (Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6; Chapter 7; Chapter 8; Chapter 9; Chapter 10; Chapter 11)
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Nixon - May 31 - June 6, 1944 “The tables are secure?”


“Yes.” “And do you have everything you need for your presentation to the officers and non-coms?” “Yes.”


“What about the pointer?"

Nixon whirled around to face Emily, “Shouldn’t I be asking you these questions?” “Well, everything should be packed up. I just want to make sure. I won’t be coming until after you, so I want to make sure you have everything you need before I get there,” Emily explained. “I’m sure we’ll be fine. I’m not presenting until after you get there.” It was early morning and the caffeine from Nixon’s first cup of coffee was still making its way into his bloodstream. Headquarters was consumed with movement; staff members darted in and out of the building carrying boxes full of maps and tools, carrying footlockers, crates of supplies which they loaded onto the backs of trucks. Emily held a clipboard upon which she had pinned a list of everything their department was responsible for. They were on brink of the allied invasion into Normandy. Once they got to Upottery Airfield, Nixon would be responsible for briefing the officers and the troops on the invasion plan. Every day up until the day of days he would be working to make sure every single paratrooper knew every single detail of the plan of attack. The atmosphere was buzzing with energy when Nixon climbed into his jeep; whether it was nervous or excited energy he wasn’t sure. The airfield was alive with action when Nixon arrived; men were putting up tents, unloading arms, and other supplies. “Nix,” Dick Winters walked over towards Nixon, “glad you could join us.” “Hard to believe it’s really happening, huh?” Nixon replied. “Any idea of where we’re going?”

“Oh so now you want me to tell you?” Nixon teased his friend who had shown barely any interest in his divulgement of information before. Winters shrugged and his mouth turned up slightly, “I think I have a bit of an idea.” “Well good, keep guessing. I’m not going to be responsible for the leak on this one - too risky.” “What happened to my fearless friend?”

“It’s not fear, it’s embarrassment I want to avoid.” Nixon said wryly, “what kind of intelligence officer would I be if I let the secret of the allied invasion slip?”

Winters narrowed his eyes at him as if trying to read his thoughts. “You’ll find out soon enough,” Nixon said and clapped Winters on the shoulder. Nixon had enough time to get settled in and to oversee the organization of the intelligence tent before Emily arrived with the remainder of the intelligence staff. In only a few hours, Emily and Nixon had to brief the regimental officers with the geographical details of the plan of action and what resources should be expected. The execution order of Operation Overlord had come from General Eisenhower himself so of course, Colonel Sink knew what his troops' objective was in the coming days. But the top-secret campaign into Normandy was a battle that intelligence staff across the allied nations had been waging for months. Since Dunkirk, codebreakers, scientists, and engineers had been preparing to return to the continent. Nixon and Emily had been part of that effort and now it was time to fill in their superiors on every tidbit of information that would help them achieve victory. “Alright gentlemen, let’s get started.” Colonel Sink sat down at the head of the table that stretched through a large tent, one of the first to be put up at Upottery. Emily passed around briefing memos and situation maps. “In theory, the only people in the regiment who know the who, what, and where about this invasion are in this room.” Sink scanned the limited faces of the most senior officers, “it is vital that we keep information on a need-to-know basis. That being said, it's about time we briefed our troops so that they are prepared when the day is decided, which will be any day now. Cap’n Nixon, and his lovely assistant here, are to fill us in on exactly what we need to know so that you all can inform your subordinates on the plan of action.” “Miss Rooney will you be able to take notes?” Lt. Colonel Strayer asked from Sink’s left. “Oh, uh I-,” “Miss Rooney was prepared to present actually,” Nixon jumped in, “she’s a professional cartographer and is an expert on the region.” “Oh,” Strayer looked between Nixon, Emily, and the other officers in the room, “but you know this stuff too right Nixon?” “I do, sir.”

“Then why don’t you present the information so Miss Rooney can take notes?”


“Sir, I-,” Nixon prepared to object. “Lewis, let’s not bicker like old fishwives. The notes are important. No offense, but I trust Miss Rooney’s handwriting more than yours.” Emily and Nixon exchanged a frustrated look of defeat. With pursed lips, Emily retrieved a pad of paper and took a seat in the corner behind Nixon. The enormity of what was about to be attempted settled across the tented room once Nixon finished the presentation. Colonel Sink cleared his throat, “okay men, I want every soldier in this regiment to know this area like the back of his hand. Let’s get the job done.” Sink stood up, prompting the other officers to rise, and walked out onto the airfield.

“Nicely done,” Emily said to Nixon once the room was clear. She began collecting the maps and memos left behind. “Thank you for putting it all together.” “Happy to do my job.” There was a slight bitterness in Emily’s voice, and Nixon couldn’t blame her. “Hey, I’m sorry about,” Nixon gestured vaguely, “ya know, all that.” “Don’t worry about it,” Emily said resignedly, “story of my life.” “Yeah but you’re a professional, you’re smart and capable.” “Thank you Lew, but even you thought of me as a secretary when I first arrived. Remember?”


Nixon winced at the memory. He didn’t know what to say. It was true, he had referred to her as a secretary despite her significant professional experience for her age. “Don’t worry about it,” Emily repeated, “I appreciate you trying to stick up for me.” She stacked the memos into a neat pile within a manila folder. “By the way, I’m headed south tonight.” “Already?” Nixon asked. Emily shrugged and tried to smile, “well, who knows when the day will actually be. Could be in five days, could be tomorrow. Don’t want to miss my ship.” “But you’re not going day of right?” “No,” Emily shook her head, “thankfully. I’ll go over a few days later with the nurses and other non-essentials.” “Non-essentials,” Nixon scoffed. “That’s me,” Emily winked at Nixon. “So I guess I’ll see you over there.” The space around them suddenly felt heavy. Her words felt insufficient. Best case scenario, they would see each other over there and the magnitude of that reality was not lost on either of them. Nixon searched for the right words. What was there to say when it was only a maybe goodbye?   He didn’t even want to acknowledge the chance that he may never see this woman again.

“I’ll see ya,” Nixon settled on. Emily held his gaze and smiled softly; nothing more needed to be said. Then in a breath, she exited out the tent flap and out of sight. A moment after she was gone a thought popped into Nixon’s head. He bolted out of the tent flap after her, “Emily!” he shouted. She turned and Nixon felt his breath leave him. Something about her innocent expression drenched in the evening's sun was stupefying. Then her face twisted into disgruntled confusion, “what?” she demanded. That was his girl, Nixon thought. Nixon walked a few paces towards her. “I’ve got something for ya,” he tossed her a little box. “What’s this?” she opened the plain, narrow box and tipped the contents into her palm. Out slipped an ornate gold tube of, “lipstick!” she shrieked. “Yeah,” Nixon shrugged, “not that you need it. But I noticed you were running out.”


“Bésame?” Emily read the label, “where on earth did you get this?” “I have my ways!” Nixon winked, “look at the shade.” “Victory red,” Emily smiled up at him. “Perfect isn’t it?” Nixon allowed himself to grin back at her, “perfect for you.” Emily threw her arms around his neck, “Thank you, Lew!” “Sure,” Nixon unwrapped her arms, “anyways, consider that my parting gift. Gotta have you looking good your first time in France.” The next couple of days were filled with adrenaline and anticipation as the men of the 506th prepared to be called into action. On June 4th, they thought the day had come but due to poor weather across the channel, the jump was delayed. Nixon could sense the tension among the men. Few feelings are worse than hyping yourself up for something that wasn’t to come. There was nothing to do but wait. Nixon took a sip from his flask and wandered outside for some fresh air. The moisture from the storm cooled the evening air. He sighed in relief; just a few steps outside felt like an escape from the nervous energy that permeated the musty tent. Nixon took another swig from his flask and leaned against one of the stacks of boxes. He was so glad to be away from everyone - he couldn’t bear the anxiety of the other men. It was difficult enough to stay focused and too easy to fall into a pit of fear. He had to stay optimistic. Winters must have shared in his restlessness because Nixon saw him emerge from between two tents. “I think it’s clearing up,” he said. Winters gazed up at the sky. “Think it’s clearing up?” Nixon asked walking over. “Nope,” Winters said, pulling on his gloves. Nixon shook his head. Winters was the eternal realist to Nixon’s ironic optimism. “I think it’s clearing up,” Nixon insisted. The two men began to walk down the airfield, the gray sky hanging above them. Nixon didn’t have the energy to discuss the inevitable. Winters didn’t seem to either but seemed contented to walk in silence, which Nixon was not. Determined to think of other things Nixon said, “Five o’clock in New York,” he paused, “four o’clock in Chicago.” “Happy hour huh?” Nixon chuckled, this was why Winters was his best friend. He met him wherever he was. With only a few words, they were on the same page; equally aware of the reality that faced them but understood that discussing it wouldn’t change anything at this point. So why waste the heartache? It was one of the longest nights of Nixon’s life. There seemed to be nothing to do and everything to do at the same time. How does one prepare for an experience they’ve never had before? Everything was organized, everything planned to the minute detail but who was to say what would actually happen when they touched ground in France? No one knew because no one had ever done it before.

Finally, on the night of June 5th, the 506th Airborne was cleared for departure. They would be dropping down into Normandy in the early hours of June 6th, only hours before the armies would storm the beaches. Nixon loaded into his plane and sat beside Colonel Strayer. They each had a map in hand and were discussing strategy as the remainder of the regiment geared and loaded up. Nixon didn’t have time to be scared. He had to make sure that everything was ready and in position for the men when they arrived at the assembly zone. If he were being honest, he was grateful to have a distraction. It kept the fear at bay as they lifted off the airfield and flew into the setting sun.
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