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carlisle980 · 4 years ago

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Just Dance

It’s still Bangtan Day here in the US, and I did something I never imagined I’d do. I wrote Bangtan fic. I haven’t posted it anywhere, because ff.net is where the bulk of my work is but there’s no Bangtan archive there, and while I do all my reading on AO3, I haven’t posted there in years. I can, if the consensus is that it’s a good idea.

Anyway ... here it is. Apologies to the usual crowd. Well, more like, sorry ... not sorry. I love all my old faves. And BTS too.

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Hey, dance with me dance with me Any kind of bounce is fine, dance with me Where are you from, why are you dancing A natural conversation, say something —J-Hope, “Trivia: Just Dance”

She stands in the center of the cold grey floor feeling small and overwhelmed and old. The studio looks the same as it did twenty years ago, when she spent eight hours a week here. In this very space. Learning. Her horizons expanding. Experiencing a world that made her heart pound with expectation. The sky seemed the limit then.

It smells the same. That combination of sweat and disinfectant with a hint of central air conditioning that she’ll forever associate with this room, with this craft. She couldn’t believe her luck when the question of using the space was as easily answered as it had been half her life ago. Now, as then, all she had to do was ask the director. Is there a chance I might use the studio sometime, when there are no classes and the company doesn’t need it?

It was easy to come by, but that doesn’t mean she can have the space indeterminately, she reminds herself. There’s no grand objective to her being here; she just wants to see if there’s still the same pull. The fascination, the exhilaration. Why, precisely, is a question she cannot answer.

She’s thinking too much, and that won’t do. She plugs her phone into the studio’s sound system and turns on a playlist she works out to at home. It’s high-energy, if eclectic. Avicii is on there. OneRepublic, Maroon 5. “Rhythm Nation” by Janet Jackson and a bunch of vintage Art of Noise. Those are there because they were part of her teacher’s playlist back in the day. Her German-born teacher, a former student of Gus Giordano; a geologist-turned-dancer whom she idolized to the extreme. Sigh. Those were the days.

Knowing it isn’t wise to just start dancing cold, she tries to remember how they used to warm up in class. What a dumb thing not to recall, given that she was advanced by the time she stopped. School loans and weddings don’t pay for themselves, after all, and once she had her degree she could no longer justify the indulgence. Putting off adulthood to linger at the college and take dance classes, to no particular end. So she’d got herself a big girl job out in the real world. One with a salary and health insurance and, in time, a corner office with windows and a door they let her shut so she could concentrate. Pretty sweet gig for a twenty-year-old. Sweet enough that she and her husband had bought their first home —in the overpriced Baltimore-Washington metropolitan area of the early 2000’s, no less— when she was 24. Sweet enough that by the time she left to have their first child, she was making enough that she could’ve bought a Mercedes. If, you know, that had been her priority over becoming a mother.

In the absence of any grand recollection, she sidles up to the barre and starts with the basics. Plié, relevé, plié with a push through to relevé. Relevé down into plié. Coupé, frappé, dégagé, rond de jambe. She puts a leg up on the barre and leans sideways towards it: first one, then the other. Wiggles her shoulders a little, rolls out her lats on the foam roller. Back flexibility is a tough thing but she’s working hard. It’s better than it’s ever been, and compared to other people that’s not saying much, but for her it’s the hallmark of progress.

That’s warm enough, right? You’re really not supposed to stretch before dancing. Cold muscle is shorter and more likely to tear, and all that. The music continues to play and she progresses to chaîné turns. This is where she begins to get frustrated. It’s the same story as it was all those years ago: she can turn to her left well enough (though spotting still doesn’t work the way it should, as evidenced by the room spinning when she stops), but turning to the right is an exercise in futility. She under-rotates and falls out of the turn and no matter how slow she goes, it doesn’t improve. It’s the same with fouettés. Pirouettes in the center go a little better, but she only lands a double once or twice out of several dozen attempts. She practices those turns from modern class that her teacher never had a name for and always referred to by sound effects, like the sound you’d make if you were suddenly punched in the stomach because that’s the mechanism: a core contraction into a spin, propelled by gravity. There was a lot of that, dancing under Lena. Sounds and gestures filling in where words failed. Those turns are still her favorite; they look pretty without the dancer having to do much besides knowing when to work with gravity and when to resist it. That’s why modern was always her preferred style: it doesn’t take a perfect body to finesse the principles of contract and release, of fall and recover.

Little by little she begins to pull things from memory: a crazy penché-drop-spin from advanced modern class that was easy when she was nineteen and is significantly less so now; bits of the Ailey-inspired choreography they learned one semester. She is struck out of the blue by the same desire that characterized her girlhood. Whenever she would encounter a large swath of open floor, her first instinct was always to leap across it. But she knows that one doesn’t simply grand jeté indiscriminately when one has not done so for the better part of two decades. Despite Kathryn Morgan’s advice to just sling the front leg out there and go for it, she holds back. She’s already come back from a groin tear once; never again, thank you very much!

The music decides for her what will happen next when it begins playing “Black Swan.” She hauls herself to the center of the floor in what she imagines is a comedic fashion and gets herself into position.

From there it just flows. She feels it, the struggle of which Martha Graham spoke; the one that inspired the song. It’s all too real for her.

A dancer dies twice; once when they stop dancing, and this first death is the more painful.

She’s danced this piece a thousand times in the privacy of her bedroom, and she nails every count, trying to make it expansive, to fill the vastness of the studio.

Killing me now, killing me now. She has felt that. The despair, the slow death of a precious part of her soul when she’d given up her dream in favor of security. She doesn’t speak Korean —not yet, anyhow— but she’s taken every syllable to heart, knows what each one means.

Sinking slowly like in a trance nah, nah, nah Struggle but it's all ocean floor nah, nah Every moment becomes eternity yeah, yeah, yeah Film it now, film it now Do you hear me, yeah

She’s breathing hard by the end. Tears are streaming down her face and she hadn’t even been aware she was crying. Oh, my God, what was that? That was … like a religious experience. Why did I ever give this up? Why did I let go of me?

It’s as she’s wiping the tears away with the back of her hand, taking gulps from her water bottle like she’s spent the last year in the desert, that she becomes aware she is not alone.

Her head snaps around sharply when someone clears their throat and she gasps. There, seated on the bench above the cubbies where students stash their bags, is none other than the Jung Hoseok. He is barefoot, sitting with his legs criss crossed, in an orange t-shirt and blue shorts, pushing a hand through his dark hair like she’s seen him do countless times on YouTube.

Surely, she’s dreaming. Because she has dreamt of situations like this, both literally and metaphorically. Many times. But in dreams, be they the daytime variety or at night, she never sees him blink, or hears him breathing. But nothing about this makes sense. What is Jung Hoseok of BTS, arguably the world’s busiest man, who cannot walk to get coffee in Seoul without being mobbed by stampeding multitudes, doing here? In the States, on the campus of a community college, and, by all appearances, alone?

Even if he is real, it isn’t as if she can ask him. She knows his English is getting better and better as time goes by and BTS’ influence in the West continues to balloon. But where he can speak a bit of her language, she only knows random words in his.

Still. They’re staring at one another now, and she feels incredibly rude. He can’t be a dream, because he’s infinitely more beautiful in real life than even the best photographs have made him out to be. All angular, with impossibly long lashes, and yes, there’s that adorable mole just above his top lip.

“You’re very good,” he says suddenly, breaking the silence, and isn’t that just characteristic of him? “Dance was … wow.” His accent is heavy but his meaning is clear. And oh, that smile. He really is the sunshine incarnate.

She wants to brush off the compliment, to explain to him that maybe she was good, once upon a time, but now she’s just somebody’s mom. But she doubts it would be easy for him to understand. She wrinkles her nose, shakes her head almost imperceptibly. “I …” she stammers. She’s talking to Jung Freaking Hoseok —WHAT?! “First time really dancing in many years.”

He smiles again. “Really good,” he repeats, nodding his head for emphasis. “Serious.”

She’s not sure whether he’s saying that she looked serious while dancing, or that he’s serious about her doing well, but either way. If anyone knows the inner workings of the “Black Swan” choreography, the sentiment behind it, it is this man.

“Thank you,” she says softly, her cheeks hot. “I love Black Swan.”

There’s so much she wants to ask him. Why are you here? Are you traveling alone? Are there security guards outside the door ready to handcuff me to a lamppost? Because I asked the program director if I could use the studio and she said yes! But the language barrier would make it impossible, and anyway, isn’t there some saying about not looking a gift horse in the mouth? She hasn’t taught that one to her kids, but she’s pretty sure her grandmother said it to her at some point.

He smiles once again in response to what she said about “Black Swan” and makes a short humming sound in the back of his throat. “I’m Hoseok,” he says in perfect English. “Hobi.”

She almost laughs aloud. As if there was any possibility she wouldn’t know who he was. But then, hasn’t that been one of the things she’s loved best about him from the start: his humility.

So she introduces herself, and he bows from his seat and tries out her name. It’s adorable. And now she knows the answer to one of those questions she just figured she’d ponder for eternity: her name falling from his lips sounds like angels singing.

“Dance with me?” he asks as he rises from his seat and holds out his hand to her.

If this is a dream, please don’t wake me up.

‘You don’t understand,’ she almost says. ‘You’re … you, and I’m old. I don’t pop and lock, unless you wanna talk about my hip joints when I try grand battement. I don’t b-boy. Modern’s all I’ve got.’ But how many times has she said it: My dream is to dance with Hobi for a day. What kind of absolute idiot would she be to pass up an opportunity like this?

So she says, “I would love to.” And means it more than she’s meant anything since she said ‘I do,’ as a twenty-year-old kid. Nineteen years, two houses, three children, countless ups and downs later, and look how that turned out. Sometimes good things just happen.

She was already warm, but since he isn’t, she stretches when he does, and now it’s safe to stretch hip flexors and hamstrings and they definitely need it. He watches her a little. She watches him a lot. Sometimes he copies what she’s doing, as if there’s anything she could possibly know that he doesn’t. He does these crazy boneless things, dropping to his knees and seemingly floating back up to stand, and she just shakes her head. It looks even more effortless —and even more impossible— in person.

She whips out the chaîné turns again. Her good side, of course. She can fake spotting well enough to make it from one corner to the opposite pretty quickly.

“Oh!” he exclaims. “Like Jimin!”

She giggles. “I wish!” she says, and watches as his expression turns to a question mark.

“Wish?” he asks.

How to explain? “My style?” It comes out as a question because she wants to be sure he can follow.

He nods, so she continues.

“My style, like Jimin’s style. But Jimin … WOW. Me? Just okay.” She makes the hand gesture that means ‘so-so,’ because some things are universal, right?

He laughs, shaking his head. “Aish! No, no, no. Not ‘just okay.’ Very strong. Very …” He thinks for a moment, and there’s another question answered. Pensive Hobi is breathtaking. “Very … grace?”

She is floored. “Graceful?” she asks. He nods emphatically. “Me?”

“Yes, yes, yes! Arms.” He gesticulates wildly with his own. Which, she knows, he would do even in the absence of a language barrier. “Pretty.”

How can she tell him she’s not built like a dancer, that that knowledge has always made her feel heavy and ungainly? That she’s always wanted to be tall and delicate, like him. “My back.” She gestures behind herself. “My spine?” BTS have a song called “Spine Breaker,” even if they call it something else, so maybe it’s a word he knows.

He nods again, echoing, “Spine.”

She reaches into her bag for a pen and paper and draws a likeness of her spine, double curves and all. “Not straight,” she explains, handing the sketch to him. “Makes dancing hard.” It affects everything. I can’t turn properly; I have no extension. My hips are a mess. Every time I lift my leg it clicks.

“Hurts?” His eyes are soft, his expression sympathetic.

“Yeah,” she answers. “Yeah, sometimes. But dance makes it better.” Ironic, right?

“Keep going,” he says with finality. Insistent. Like he’s solved every mystery of her life.

Perhaps he has. He’s only been witness to a half hour out of her entire existence, but in that short time he’s seen a side of her that few others have. He’s watched her dancing, smiling, throwing herself full-force into something she loves. Maybe she never got to perform. Maybe she gave up on training to become a dance teacher. But if dancing makes her feel this level of satisfaction, how can she afford not to give it a prominent place in her life?

She studies him for a long moment. Does she dare ask anything of him? She answers that question with another: will she ever have an opportunity like this one again?

“Hobi?” she ventures timidly. He nods. “Teach me?”

“Yeah!” He says it like it’s a forgone conclusion.

“DNA?” She’s never been able to work that one out on her own.

He grins in answer.

They spend the next hour speaking the universal language of dancer and choreographer. “Pah! Pah! Pah!” “Five, six, seven, eight!” She gets on the wrong foot a time or two, turns and collides with him once, all of it to gales of laughter from the pair of them. He corrects her body position and he’s hands-on but ever the consummate gentleman, and by the time they stop she knows the entire choreography well enough that she can perfect the rest at home.

All too soon it’s over. “I have to go,” she explains sadly, pointing to the schedule on the director’s office door. It’s printed in English, but he gets the gist. There’s a class coming in soon; her time is up.

They sling their dance bags over their shoulders at the same time and it results in another shared laugh.

“Hobi,” she says at the door, “thank you.” There’s so much more she wants to tell him. As long as I live, I’ll never forget this. You’re my favorite dancer. You’re a legend.

“Don’t stop,” he tells her in a tone of voice that brooks no argument, squeezing her hands in both of his own. “Always dance, friend.”

When she performs “DNA” with the company the following semester, she dedicates it to him.

#ejb writes #uncharted territory #fanfic #bts #bangtan #bangtan sonyeondan #bangtan boys #hobi centric #jhope #j-hope #hoseok #jung hoseok #dance fic #just dance #jimin is mentioned #hobi is my love #what can i say #bangtan day

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royalcordelia · 6 years ago

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If the Seas Should Part (1/5)

Summary: Anne finds herself caught up in whirl of romance and adventure after rescuing Dr. Gilbert Blythe from the sea during a storm. She should let him go, but when she finds out Billy Andrews is plotting to take Gilbert's life and estate, she realizes there's nothing that can keep her from protecting him.

For my darlingest @hecksinki for her (very belated) birthday! ♥ I love you so much, friend!

• Rated G • 5k words • Read on ao3 • Read on ff.net •

The day it all began, Anne sat with her legs kicking over the ledge of a grassy cliffside, waiting for the clouds to roll in. She knew it was coming.

Anne was the only one on the island who did not fear the storms. They rolled in over the horizon with the vengeance of a thousand souls scorned, havoc following in the wake of their whirlwinds and gales. But Anne, who had been born in the midst of the torrent, knew better than to think that the hurricanes held complete power over human fate. Most of the treasures that the icy waves swallowed up were returned to the shore in the morning, where Anne would walk in hushed steps in the damp sand. She always wondered why Providence had blessed her with such fearlessness, but she knew it was there for a reason.

“Where do you suppose the ships go when they round the island?” Anne asked Diana, who sat a few feet back, scared of the dirt crumbling from underneath her if she sat too close to the ledge.

“Well, I suppose they dock at the North Blythe Harbor. Avonlea certainly doesn’t have a big enough port for vessels that grand,” Diana responded. She plucked strands of grass in her fingers, watching a cluster of merchant ships turn into dots at the horizon.

“I already know that, ” Anne chided. “But don’t you think it’d be so much more romantic if they were headed for a mermaid’s cove to beg for audience with the Siren Queen herself. And of course, she’d decline, because how could such unnoble creatures as human men dare enter her kingdom when-”

She held her breath as a pang of dread settled in her stomach, a warning like a sixth sense. Turning her chin to the clouds of gray and crimson, she realized the cause.

“Diana, I think we ought to go home. There’s a storm coming and your mother will be dreadful angry if we get caught in it.”

“It’s just a little bit of clouds. Nothing to get worked up over.”

Anne looked to the waves that crashed into silver with each blast of wind sweeping over them. It was true that she never feared the storms, but she also knew how to choose her battles, and they’d see this one grow into a war if they stayed.

“Either way, I’m positively starving. Tell me about your letter from Jerry while we walk back. I know you’ve been avoiding the subject, but I’ve been dying to hear all about your romantic endeavors. I shall have to live vicariously through you, even into my spinstering days,” Anne said dramatically, gathering their picnic belongings into her basket and heading homeward.

“Oh please. Any day now, some dark haired ideal is going to appear in Avonlea and sweep you off of your freckled feet.”

Anne snorted, about to retort, when there was a rumble from the skies - a final warning from the impending gall. She turned her face up, her cheeks catching the first few raindrops with small little plops. There was a moment as realization dawned on them both, which was just enough time for the drizzle to turn heavier and the monsoon to open up.

Diana shrieked, wrapping the picnic blanket around her head, and scurrying toward the road.

“Land sakes, Anne, I do hate when you’re right!”

Rain whipped through Anne’s hair, pulling free the styled strands so that it was blowing madly against the angry gusts. She felt the cold droplets hit her arms and legs as sharp as hail, then sprinted away from the cliff after Diana. Before she could travel too far, lightning crashed onto the waves, releasing a deafening roll of thunder along with it. Diana let out another shriek, but Anne stood in silence. She whipped her head back to stare wide-eyed at the shore, and horror filled her stomach.

One of the merchant ships was nearly overturned. Its sails battled the storm, flying every which way. Anne was sure the sailors were aboard, trying to keep her steady, but if they made one wrong move, it’d all be over.

“Anne, what are you doing? Come on!” Diana called over the wind, but Anne ignored it.

She did not fear the storm. She did not allow it to take control over her. This reckless mantra played in the background of her thoughts as she walked closer to the edge. Bringing a hand to shield her eyes, she could see how close the ship gotten to the shore. Too close for comfort, she assumed, judging by the shouts she could hear from the sailors as they cursed, bellowed orders, prayed their last prayers.

A force that Anne did not understand kept her at that cliffside, helplessly staring at the sight before her. A distant voice heard in her mind from far away whispered to her soul, He’s there. He’s there! Struggling to stay standing against the building wind, Anne wanted to yell out, Who!?

Just then, the ship tipped dangerously to its side and a body went flying out into the water. Anne cried out in terror, suddenly feeling as if a weight had been dropped onto her heart. The man’s tiny head bobbed above the churning waters, arms reaching out to grab hold of something that wasn’t there. Time was running out, and she knew in every nerve and every bone in her body that this wasn’t supposed to be it for him. The sea could try to take what wasn’t hers, but Anne could try to take it back. He could be saved, she knew it. She tossed the basket aside and began to dart for the far end of the cliff where she could slide down the sandy incline.

“Anne?” Diana called out. “What are you doing? Anne, no! ”

But Anne could not be moved once her mind was set. She jumped over the side, thankful that her fall was cushioned by sand, and stumbled as fast as could down the moderate hill. Finally, she hit the ground, rocks digging into the palms of her hand as a blast of wind knocked her over. Once she was finally back on her feet, Anne stared, struck frozen at the tempest of salt water and rain before her. There was no way to penetrate through its walls. If the man had fallen into this there was no way he’d survived this long, even if only a minute had gone by.

Fate was prepared to prove to her otherwise.

“Help!”

Anne blanched. He didn’t even sound like a fully grown man. Someone her age? Bravery suddenly sparking her determination, she ran toward the sound. “ Please, help!’

She searched in a mess of waves for the man until finally she could see his head breaking through the surface of the sea and then plummeting back down. The waves had pulled him closer to the shore, almost within reach. Thankful she’d forgone a gown of heavy skirts for a simple white, cotton dress, she pulled off her shoes and dove into the water.

In later years, Anne would try to recall the memory of that moment - the agonizing seconds of floating in the heart of the ailing sea and reaching for a stranger’s tiring hand in the darkness of it. But all her mind allowed her was to recall distinct ache that came with swallowing saltwater and the strange icy coldness of the late summer sea. She did, however, remember the second she finally grabbed onto him. He’d stopped crying out by then, a listless body that had been flung toward her. Though her muscles ached and she had begun to wonder if she was crazy, she tugged the man toward her and kicked with all her might for the shore.

By some miracle, it worked. Anne grabbed the man by his underarms, heaving the brunt of his weight onto her shoulders and dragging him up onto the shore. She laid him there, heart anxiously beating as she waited for some sign of life. When none came, she pressed her ear onto his chest, but the cacophony of the storm muted any heartbeat the man had left.

Viciously wiping water from her face - rain, sea spray, tears - Anne felt herself crumbling. The man was all hard angles and soft pale skin. His face had lost color, but as she ran a finger across his cheek, she couldn’t help but think that he was... beautiful. A terrified sob escaped her lips at she pressed her fist down on his chest and leaned all her weight into it. She repeated it again and again, until finally the sailor gave a hearty cough, sending salt water into the sand beside them. The water in his lungs was replaced with sweet air, and suddenly, he began to breathe once more. He was still bleary with unconsciousness, but she felt as though she’d start crying in relief.

“Oh, thank Providence,” Anne whimpered. By then, her teeth were chattering from being soaked in the wind, her eyes stung from staring into the rain, and she was ready to succumb to the blackness of exhaustion. But with a deep inhale, she mustered up the last of his strength, and dragged them both toward a little hollow cavity in the side of the cliff, big enough to sit in. Certainly sufficient enough for two people to take shelter from the storm. She’d come there before to read and write, and now she thought it might just save their lives.

Just as the storm was beginning to rage its worst, Anne had secured them in the den, finally out of wind and rain. She leaned up against the wall, heaving a lifetime’s worth of relief and pulling the sailor so his back was leaning up against her chest. In the dark, it was difficult to assess the damage done to him, but for now, he was breathing and she was in one piece. Her lunatic plan had worked.

Whispering a prayer of thanks, Anne held onto the injured man for dear life and let her body lower from its adrenaline to the sweet darkness of exhaustion.

* # * # *

When Anne’s eyes fluttered open, the muscles in her back and shoulders felt like dried clay. The young man she’d saved was still in her arms pressed up against her, a tactic that seemed successful in shielding them both from the rain. Biting her lip against the crick in her neck, Anne looked out of the alcove and saw the beach was bathed in sunshine.

Just as she was about to come up with a plan for getting the man to safety, he turned and let out a pained groan. Anne shifted so that she could take a good look at him, still holding him in the safety of her arms. With the help of yellow sunlight, Anne could see how his hair had dried into a mess of curls as soft and wild as ravens. Streaks of dirt lined his cheeks, but his eyelashes were long and his lips were the color of roses. He had a few gashes that Anne hadn’t noticed the night before, one on his neck, another across his forehead, but both seemed to have scabbed well enough. Through a tear in his trousers, she noticed a sickly midnight colored bruise on his calf.

Then the man coughed, brows knitting together as he tried to pry open his eyes. They fluttered a few times before landing up her in dazed confusion. Anne felt her heart bend down toward him when she saw how blue, blue, blue his eyes were.

“I stand quite corrected. Sirens are real,” he said in a quiet, raspy voice. Anne froze, suddenly wondering if he had hit his head on something during his fall. “You certainly live up to the legends.”

“I’m not a siren, but I’m flattered you think so,” Anne replied gently, cheeks hot. Before she could catch herself, she brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, making him lean up a little into her touch. “My name is Anne. You took quite a fall from your ship. Do you ache terribly anywhere?”

“Anne ,” he muttered dreamily, as if his mind were in a different room. He tried to sit up, then hissed in pain. “I feel like I was hit by a steam engine.”

Anne steadied him so he was leaning against the stony wall of the little cave. He gave a small smile when her breath hit his cheeks and keep staring into her eyes as if to prove to himself that she wasn’t a hallucination.

“It was something like that. Do you remember anything? Who you are, what happened?” He closed his eyes to clear his mind, then nodded.

“My name is Gilbert. I was on The Amaranth on our return voyage from Nova Scotia. We weren’t expecting any rain. My brother Sebastian was standing too close to the edge, and when I went to call him I guess I just…fell overboard.” He looked up suddenly. “How did you find me? I thought I was done for.”

“I’ll try not to take offense at your tone, sir,” she said defensively.

“I’m sorry, I meant no offense. I only meant that I don’t expect any person capable of surviving what you did. I’m grateful to be proven wrong.” Anne seemed appeased by this just a little and bit her lip to try to remember.

“I was sitting on the cliffside with a friend. When the storm hit, I had this feeling I should look out at the sea, and then I saw you.”

“So you simply jumped in after me?” he asked incredulously. Anne averted her eyes and grabbed a handful of sad, offering a small shrug.

“It certainly wasn’t simple by any means of imagination, but I suppose it does sound rather foolish when you say it like that.”

He was silent for a few moments.

“Did you happen to see what happened to The Amaranth? My brother was on that ship.”

“I...no, I guess I was just too focused on getting you to safety, I didn’t think to. I’m sorry.” Gilbert watched her wring her hands together, gaze turned away from him.

“Anne,” he grabbed her hand seriously, “you saved my life. I cannot thank you enough. ”

They stayed like that for a few moments, hand in hand, eyes fixed together so tightly that it might burn to look away. Anne suddenly felt her senses spiraling beyond her control, unable to reign back the butterflies in her stomach or the rose petals on her cheek.

“Well, we ought to see about getting taken care of. Where are you from?”

“Nearby the North Blythe Harbor, but I can send a telegraph to my brother. That is if he...” he shifted his leg and clenched his teeth. “I expect I’ll have a difficult time walking.”

“You’re in no condition to travel yet,” Anne warned. “I think your leg might be broken.”

“Oh, it’s broken alright,” he laughed bitterly. “The bone is broken clean through. I’m a doctor, so it isn’t the first I’ve seen.”

“You’re a...but I thought you were a sailor.”

“And I thought you were a siren, but things are apparently not as they appear.”

“Well, either way, we’re going to have to get you back home to Green Gables to take care of those wounds. Maybe you could walk me through how to bind your leg? I’ve experience in croup and colic, but broken bones are foreign territory to me.”

“But I wouldn’t want to intrude on you and your family. Certainly your, uh, husband may not care for such company.”

“There’s no husband,” Anne rambled, perhaps a bit too eagerly. “It’s just my, uh, mother and a family friend. You’ll not be in a better hands, they practically invented hospitality.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, where exactly is Green Gables?”

“About a mile north of here, in Avonlea.”

“So I am on the wrong side of the island,” Gilbert said with a slight groan. “I really do have to send a telegraph to my family. They’ll be sick with worry.”

“First things first, you need a warm meal and something for the pain. I don’t know how I’m going to get you up the cliff, though. It’s either that or take the long way around the shoreline-”

A violent cry broke onto the beach that sounded like the desperate cry of “ Anne? Anne, please , are you out here? ” The voice was familiar enough that she jolted to the side and stumbled out of the hollow. Her heart gave a relieved tug at the figure staggering down the beach in a frantic search.

“Jerry?” Anne yelled. Jerry’s head flung around to her, and the second he saw her, he let out a half-mad laugh of relief and ran forward. Anne caught him in her arms, and shook her head, her own laughter shaking her body.

“Are you crazy, fille idiote? ” he murmured, pulling back and checking over her limbs for injuries. “When Diana came home and said what had happened...I’ve never seen Marilla so frightened. You’ve really got some nerve and you look like you’ve been-”

“I’m fine , Jerry. I’ll tell you all about it later. But first, tell me, did you drive the carriage here?”

“Yes, but-”

“Good. There’s something I need your help with.”

Before Jerry could ask questions, Anne was grabbing his wrist and leading him over to where Gilbert still sat. The injured man was watching out of the small opening with apprehensive eyes, but his eyes softened when he saw her smile down at him. She wondered how she should explain the situation. I jumped into a hurricane to save him and by some miracle, we made it? Maybe - Isn’t this the most handsome man you’ve ever seen? He’s a doctor, not a sailor. I saved him because I had an unearthly feeling I should.

Instead, she settled on, “This is Gilbert. He needs our help.” Jerry eyed Gilbert warily, but when he met Anne’s stern look, he nodded and got to work.

By the time Gilbert was back on his feet, Jerry was supporting him on the side of his uninjured leg and Anne was holding his other arm with gentle fingers. The bright sunshine of the beach caused him to squint, but as his vision cleared, his jaw dropped.

The beach looked like it had endured divine wrath, torn apart with wreckage littered in the dirty sand - broken logs, scrap wood, cracked conch shells, and dead fish. Gilbert turned pale as he realized that he should have been included in these ravaged remnants, and when he glanced down at Anne, she seemed to be thinking the same thing.

Having been threatened by death didn’t seem to frighten her, though. Instead, she stood there like a victor does over his fallen prey and lifted her chin to the new day’s sun.

• # • # •

It was not easy to convince Mrs. Rachel Lynde to allow a strange man in their home. It had taken the combined effort of Anne, who had set her mind, and Marilla, who often sided with Anne when her heart was so assured. The noise of the encounter was enough that Gilbert certainly could hear it in Matthew’s old room, leg propped up against a pillow.

“Anne Shirley, of all the impetuous things y0u’ve ever done, this takes the cake!” Rachel scolded. “We know nothing of this doctor, and you know I don’t trust those Glen St. Mary folk.” She peered into her cup of tea with a sense of all-knowing righteousness that even the Almighty would’ve envied. Certainly whoever gave Mrs. Lynde authority over morality did not know what they were about, Anne thought bitterly.

“I saved a man’s life,” Anne argued, standing by the kitchen table with her arms crossed. “It’s as I’ve said, Mrs. Lynde. His safety is now my responsibility until he is fit enough to move on his own again.”

“Doesn’t he have any people to come and receive him?”

“His people were on that ship with him,” Anne said, dropping her voice in case Gilbert was listening. “I’m going into town to inquire about them in the morning, but as you can see, we’ve both been through quite a lot and I think it’s best if we rest.”

“Well, I think it might be best if you-”

“Rachel,” Anne stated firmly. The woman silenced as Anne placed her hands on the table and leaned down to stare her straight in the eye. “It is your duty to allow this man the safety of our home. If you’d like to argue with the teachings of your own Presbyterian upbringing, then that is a discussion you’ll have to take up with the Almighty. But the doctor is staying and that is final.”

With that, she lifted the tray of tea and biscuits from the table and turned toward Gilbert’s room. As she closed the door behind her, she heard an indignant “Well, I never. ”

The doctor was sitting up in bed waiting for her with an impressed look on his face. Anne herself couldn’t help but smile at his proud expression as she placed the tray down on Matthew’s old desk.

“You’re a force of nature, Miss Shirley. No wonder you jumped headfirst into a hurricane.”

Anne blushed.

“It wasn’t quite a hurricane, and I’ll have you know that I don’t make steady habit of tempting fate.” She turned to him and gave him a kind smile. “You’re looking a little better already. Some of the color is back in your cheeks. And I see you got into the clothes I left out for you alright.”

It was Gilbert’s turn to blush. He scratched behind his ear and looked down at the light quilt covering the bed.

“I changed into the shirt okay, but I couldn’t get the trousers over my leg.”

“That’s alright, Jerry will be by in the morning with the doctor to lend you a hand. For now, would it be alright if I gave you slight spongebath? I wouldn’t suggest it unless I thought it might help clean out some of your wounds. Of course, if you have any other suggestions, Doctor... ”

“Just call me Gilbert. I feel you’ve more than earned that right, and I’m not very particular,” he replied easily. “As for the spongebath, I think that’s an excellent idea.”

Anne worked in silence. Gilbert seemed surprised at how expertly and professionally she went about the cleansing, but he held his tongue. She was glad for this, reluctant to tell his stranger the details of her upbringing. He watched, stock still, as Anne unbuttoned the old shirt that had once belonged to Matthew.

“I am dreadfully sorry about this,” she muttered, showing a hint of embarrassment.

“Not at all, ma’am. I am aware of the necessary medical procedures.”

It was like clockwork. Anne would dip towel into the basin of clean water, run the steaming rag over his skin, and then apply a smooth bar of soap. She rinsed each section of skin with a tender touch, almost distracted. In the natural light of the room, Gilbert thought he could see the warmth of her cheeks that couldn’t hide behind her steadfast concentration.

“Tell me something about you,” he suggested playfully as Anne worked to clean dirt out of the hairs of his arms.

“Why should I?” she countered easily.

“I’d like to learn a little about the lovely woman who saved me. Nothing too incriminating, just an interesting fact or two.” A smile lifted her lips, one that Gilbert followed with transfixed eyes.

“I’m a published novelist and a college BA,” she said, with shy pride.

“Why, every moment I continue to be impressed by you. What school?”

“Redmond College. I graduated about three years ago.”

“What a small world! I graduated from Redmond only four years ago,” Gilbert said, somewhat amazed. “To think, you may have been in one of my large lecture classes and I didn’t realize I was sharing the hall with the Siren Queen.”

As the words left his lips, he couldn’t help wish he erase everything he’d just said. Talking with a lady - a beautiful, captivating lady - was apparently not one of his many skills. Anne took it in stride, though.

“I doubt that. You must’ve been a man of the sciences. I, however, kept myself as far from biology and chemistry as I could. You would’ve found me in the English lectures, analyzing sonnets and arguing with grown men over Sophocles.”

“I can only imagine. And your book, Anne! Have I read it?”

“Likely not. It was just a small little thing about living in a small town - the people here and their experiences. It rather makes me wonder that I didn’t take up psychoanalysis.”

“You’ll have to lend me a copy. I grew up a small town myself, with family in Alberta.”

“How did you end up on the island?”

A warm look passed over his face, shadowed with a residual grief and longing.

“My father was a traveler. But then he met my mother here on PEI and decided his traveling days were over. I believe her family was actually from Avonlea.”

Anne had begun to clean his hands, giving the space between his finger careful attention. He hissed against the burn of the small cuts that plagued his skin, but her kind touch distracted him against the sting.

“Now I understand why he would drop everything and pursue one woman,” he said distractedly. Anne’s eyes snapped up, but she was quick to busy herself with rinsing the rag out.

“I’ve given you my interesting fact. What of you? What are your fine accomplishments?” she asked, eager to change the subject. Gilbert blinked a few times, tensing uncomfortably.

It wasn’t that he wanted to hide the truth about him, but it was so much easier to be “Just Gilbert” instead of who he really was - at least, here with her.

“There hasn’t been anything particularly outstanding,” he said unconvincingly.

“You’re a doctor , Gilbert. You mean to tell me in your entire life, there hasn’t been a single achievement?”

“There may have been a few,” he shrugged. “But I’m not a published author, and I haven’t rescued anyone from the sea recently.”

Anne let out a tired exclamation, and Gilbert raised his free hand in surrender.

“Alright, alright. I delivered a child when I was fifteen.” That news was enough to have Anne halt her ministrations completely and stare directly at him with wide eyes. “It’s what convinced me to become a doctor. That amongst...other things.”

“Well, that is indeed a feat!” Anne said, impressed. “How did you know what to do?”

“I watched someone deliver a baby calf once. As it turns out, the general mechanisms of labor are the same.”

Releasing a hearty laugh, Anne shook her head.

“I fear I must return the sentiment. The more I learn about you, sir, the more I am amazed.”

He certainly hoped so. The feeling was more than mutual. As the minutes ticked by, Gilbert found himself free falling at every spare look, every touch, every word she spoke. He listened to her stories intently, a steady smile on his lips as she filled the room with imaginings and laughter. She was the most peculiar girl, one who had set her friend drunk when they were children and broken her ankle after falling off of a ridgepole. She’d inspired poetry in pupils and accidentally sold her neighbors cow. But, oh, she was intelligent and humble, rich in spirit and love. Gilbert had forgotten she was bathing him in water, but merely felt the warmth of a growing infatuation as steam around him.

She only quieted herself to clean his face, when she had to draw near enough to him that her breath was on his lips. Moving the cloth across his cheeks, she studied him the way she might study a constellation, marveled and struck.

“You’ve many freckles,” he commented lightly. This struck a chord in her that made the warmth in her eyes turn cold and hurt. She pulled back the cloth and placed it in her basin.

“I do believe all your wounds are clean,” she said formally. “At least above your waist. I’ll leave the doctor to examine the rest of you. I’ll be just outside if you need anything.”

“Wait, Anne, wait!” he said, frustrated. “I’m sorry, it wasn’t my understanding that freckles were a bad thing. I quite like them.”

“It’s indelicate for a doctor to comment on a person’s looks, regardless of his preference.”

“You’ll have to forgive me. I am still a novice doctor, so I thank you for your advice. But please, Anne, don’t be mad for keeps. If our conversation just now was any indication, I’d bet that you and I could be good chums.”

His efforts seemed to be futile, if her caustic eyes and narrow brow told him anything. Then she sat down beside him as prim and straight backed a finishing school youth and picked up her cloth again.

“I seem to have missed a spot on your face, Doctor.”

“Well, then by all means,” Gilbert began. She wiped the cloth over a smudge of dirt on his cheek, sucking in a sharp breath when he leaned ever so slightly into her touch. “Please continue.”

#anne of green gables #anne with an e #shirbert #shirbert fic #shirbert ff #shirbert au #tessa writes

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jubilantwriter · 6 years ago

Text

Yuurei ni Natta Boku wa

Summary: A new obstacle stands in the way of Tome's chance to experience new, exciting days under the tutelage of Reigen. Will Tome be able to prove herself as a worthy student of his, or will Reigen's business finally croak under the hands of this new self-proclaimed psychic?

Next time on: RG8geW91IGJlbGlldmUgZXZlcnl0aGluZyB5b3Ugc2VlPw==

Reading until the very end? Truly a wise choice indeed!

(AO3)

(FF.net)

A/N: Takes place after the REIGEN manga, AND includes a spiffy little OC. This won’t be a ship-centric fic, but there will be hints to ships (such as Reigen/Serizawa) anyways. Please enjoy!

"Ahhh! What am I going to do?!" A young girl dashes past Tome, the familiar uniform and hairstyle making Tome watch her with interest.

"Huh... There she goes again." She's never really stopped Shoujo-chan to ask what was going on in her life - because that'd be weird - but it is always fun to imagine what sort of scenarios Shoujo-chan was getting into today. Maybe she was supposed to stop her billionaire love interest from leaving the country before she can confess? Or perhaps she has to deal with a hoard of jealous fangirls that were threatening to ruin her reputation if she didn't comply to their demands and make the high school heartthrob fall in love with someone else?

… Maybe she too is an esper and is now racing off to save some city somewhere from the brink of destruction?

Hm.

Nah, Mob already has that covered. And that happened like, what, a couple months ago? Maybe more? She's lost track, and Shoujo-chan is long gone now, so she continues on her way to her part-time job.

She doesn't really do much, besides the minimal paperwork that Reigen hands her and serving the clients tea. But sometimes, he lets her watch over his shoulder as he personally "exorcises" spirits from clients, and other times he lets her practice her speeches and advice on him for future clients. If he'd actually let her do more than just watch and learn.

But then again, she's not really in a rush to learn how to con people into believing placebo effects just yet.

Really, she's just into watching whatever interesting things the day brings, be it listening to clients' personal stories of how they believe they got cursed or legitimate hauntings that are plaguing a client to no end. Sure, maybe this isn't the sort of supernatural stuff she is usually into, but being around Mob for so long has given her a deeper appreciation for anything occult and supernatural.

That being said though, a sprinkle of alien encounters wouldn't hurt at all.

She's been trying to convince Reigen to expand his business into outer space somehow. It's really easy, she argues! All they need to do is drag Takenaka and Mob out into a field, and try to reconnect with the aliens. Maybe even aliens get hauntings every once in a while.

Or maybe they just need massages too.

Or a therapy session.

Hm. Maybe she should ask Reigen to actually teach her his ways after all. It'd be so exciting to be a specialist in alien therapy, after all.

Tome hums as she walks, barely noticing a woman standing in her way as she daydreams about the next possible supernatural stint. Maybe alien currency translates nicely into yen, or maybe she and the aliens will engage in another bout of intergalactic exchange, but instead it'll be an exchange of goods and services. Oh, the possibilities! All she needs to do is work on her proposal (wow, so grown up, she thinks, nodding to herself with self-approval) to Reigen, and maybe this time he won't shoot her down on the spot with claims of "how are we going to communicate with them" and "Mob and his friends probably won't be so ready to help this time because it's not about making memories" and "seriously Mob will get upset with me, Tome-chan, he's trying to focus on high school entrance exams".

Really, it's not that big of an issue; she'll just take Mob out on a date on the weekends, and they can go hunting for willing telepaths who'll gladly offer their services (as long as they're willing to accept low pay) and suddenly they'll have new clients to-

"OOF." Tome crashes into the woman who had failed to move in front of her, rubbing her nose as she steps back from the lady. "Sorry about that, I wasn't, uh, looking..."

The woman doesn't respond. Instead, she remains stock still in front of her.

Freaky.

"... Hello?" Tome frowns as the woman continues to ignore her. Seriously, what is her deal? She leans to the side to try and catch a glimpse of the lady's face, and only finds that the lady's eyes are focused on the Spirits and Such sign above them. With how focused the lady looks, Tome can't help but wonder if she too, is lost in her thoughts like Tome was earlier.

But that doesn't explain why the lady didn't budge or notice Tome crashing into her. It's… kind of weird, but by now, Tome is used to weird things happening all the time.

… Probably.

Well, judging by how intense the woman is eyeing the sign, it'd only be proper to ask the woman what her problem is. Tome clears her throat, watching as the woman snaps her attention over to Tome abruptly, surprising her with the sudden head jerk in her direction.

"Uh... can I help you?" Tome approaches the woman, noticing her rather... formal attire.

Well, Reigen-ish formal. The kind of formal that reminds Tome of incessant doorbell rings and incessant people trying to shove products in her hands.

The woman has light brown hair done up in a gravity defying style. Sure, people can pin up their small ponytails against their head, but Tome is sure that hair, pinned up against a skull or not, should still be spilling over slightly, like a withering flower that someone has neglected to care for. The woman's hair, however, spikes straight up from where it's pinned up. Tome wants to believe that it's the work of gel at play, but there's not a single stiff strand of hair to hint towards that.

From there, Tome notices the tucked in dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the woman's elbows. Around her collar is a grey tie, but from the looks of it, it looks more as though the original color had faded away, leaving behind a murky grey-ish tone that hints at its former glory. Completing the attire is a pair of black slacks that look... like they don't deserve to be called slacks. But Tome doesn't really have another name for what the clothing could be, so fake slacks will have to do.

The more Tome looks at this woman, the more she can't help but feel like every piece of this woman just feels a little… off. Before she can dwell on it any longer, however, her feet start to make their soreness known, and it's only then that she realizes that the woman has yet to respond to her initial question. Instead, all she's done is stare dead-eyed at Tome with eyes of the lightest shade of brown. Tome clears her throat to hide whatever nervousness the woman has invoked within her and speaks again. "Lady, did you want to come inside?"

The woman blinks before looking around and pointing at herself. Jesus, did this woman really think that Tome would be talking to anyone else but her? In THIS empty street? Well, it IS quite possible that Tome could be talking to herself in the middle of an empty street, but creeping feeling of unease starts to lurk under Tome's skin, so she pushes that aside quickly and forces her mind to think about something else. Like how she's pretty sure she's late to her shift, not that Reigen counts every minute she works.

But still. She needs to practice punctuality for when she gets a real job with real pay.

Maybe Reigen will up her pay once she presents him with this lady who is hopefully a client, probably client, definitely a client, yes, no doubt about it, she's refusing to think of her as anyone else but a client now.

God, why won't this lady just respond already? This isn't the kind of one-sided conversation she's used to. Tome sucks in a breath and continues to speak.

"Yes, you. I saw you staring up at that sign, and I work here so, if you'd like, I can take you inside? If you're wondering if you needed to schedule an appointment to meet with Reigen-san, you don't need to worry about that. We also accept walk-ins!"

Practicing that spiel was worth it.

The woman's eyes widen in surprise before she shakes her head, and the look of surprise is replaced with a charming smile.

Huh.

It almost reminds Tome of-

"Ah, yes! Sorry, I was lost in my thoughts for a moment." The woman straightens her tie for some reason before flipping her hand out with flair. "Could you please lead me to your workplace? I would like to meet this... Reigen-san I've heard so much about."

"You've heard of Reigen-san?" Tome crosses her arms and stares at the woman who suddenly transformed from stony and mute to confident and lively. Maybe the lady really WAS lost in her thoughts, and this is just how she normally is. Yes, this is the kind of self-reassurance that Tome needs. "I know he claims to be a well-known psychic, but I didn't think people actually KNEW him outside of the people who pop in after seeing the flyers."

"I have my sources." The woman places her hands on her hips as she tilts her head to the side. "Surely you remember that broadcast starring Reigen-san a while back?"

Ah.

Yes.

She completely forgot about that.

Somehow, Reigen's televised shame was shoved to the back of her head after...

Hm.

How many times has the city been destroyed by now? Twice? That's already too many times already, but what can you do, she supposes.

She shakes her head.

"Uh, right. Forgot about that." The woman merely straightens her posture and looks pointedly at Tome. "Oh yeah. Right this way." Tome gestures for the woman to follow her, and leads her up the staircase to Reigen's office. The woman hums behind her before speaking up without Tome's prompting.

"So... About this Reigen-san."

"Yes?"

"What can you say about him?"

Suspicious question. But then again, Reigen himself is a rather suspicious person, and since this lady knows about Reigen's televised shame, it could be that she's trying to see if Reigen is worth a grain of salt (haha, god she should tell Serizawa that joke- no, wait, he'll just be disappointed that she belittled Reigen's worth like that, so maybe not), or if he's actually the real deal.

Tome knows he's about as genuine as a sugar pill.

But she can't tell that to a potential client. She's got to manage an amazing business spiel of her boss if she wants this client to stay and pay.

Not only that, but she's starting to run out of stairs to climb before she can convince this woman that he is truly, the shit.

"Well! Reigen-san is a very kind man," who likes to use espers for his business, "who charges remarkably less for what other psychics usually pay for." Tome thinks this is why her pay is so low. She doesn't even want to ask Serizawa how much he actually makes.

"He definitely does his best to solve whatever problem you have, be it small or big!" This, she can confidently say, is true. Despite his shady nature, he really does actually make good on his word. Sure, he'll advertise his lies as actual psychic remedies, but all their clients always leave looking happier than when they arrived. "He genuinely cares about his employees and makes sure that they're taken care of."

She can speak from her own personal experience, but she also knows that Reigen wasn't always... the best person. She remembers all the times when he'd call Mob out from a hangout just to exorcise a ghost. Mob was never happy about those moments, and she's sure that even though Reigen has a better understanding of his boundaries with Mob, Mob STILL kind of hates being called last minute to help with something.

Hm.

Well, half-lies are okay, right? Plus, Reigen seems like he's genuinely made an effort to respect Mob more and only ever really calls him for emergencies.

Like that one time he was about to literally die.

After saving her life.

Ah, she's run out of stairs.

Tome turns to the woman behind her, whose face has turned into something inscrutable, probably to digest all those "facts" Tome just told her.

That, or she's already judging the truthfulness of what Tome just told her.

Only one way to find out, really.

Tome opens the door to the office, holding the door open for the woman to step through. "Welcome to Spirits and Such Consultation-"

"Tome-chan! I was wondering where you were." Reigen is already walking towards her when he notices the woman standing behind her. He looks to her, then to Tome, concern already worming its way onto his face.

Right.

The last time she brought someone over, it nearly resulted in her AND her senpai's death, so it's not too surprising that Reigen is giving the woman a wary glance over as he tries to figure out what trouble Tome got into this time.

"Client." Just that one word is enough to reassure Reigen that no, this time she's just doing her job and not starting a whole new unnecessary adventure. Reigen takes barely half a second to compose himself, already gesticulating wildly as he greets the woman.

"Ah, yes! Welcome to Spirits and Such - are you here for a consultation?" Reigen flashes her his award-winning smile, and the woman smiles with amusement.

"Something like that."

"Right this way!" Reigen leads the woman to his desk, where Serizawa is sitting nearby, working diligently on his homework. As Tome walks over to her own desk, Serizawa suddenly jolts upright and looks wildly at the woman. The woman gives Serizawa a friendly wave before turning to face Reigen. Serizawa looks towards Tome, his eyes wide as he uses his pupils to point at the woman sitting in front of Reigen.

Tome just shrugs helplessly, watching as Serizawa's shoulders tense up the longer he studies the client.

Serizawa opens his mouth to say something, but Reigen speaks up before the taller man can get a word in.

"So! What could be troubling you today? Is it perhaps a spirit haunting your shoulders? A curse from a jealous rival? Maybe you've been hearing strange noises in your apartment or house?" The woman merely smiles a charming smile before answering Reigen.

"Nothing of the sort, really. Although you could say that I have a spirit problem."

Serizawa makes a strained noise in his throat.

Reigen raises an eyebrow at Serizawa before turning back to the woman. "Oh? Then what is it that you need help with? If you need an exorcism to deal with your little spirit problem-"

"Oh no, there's no need to worry about that." The woman folds her hands to rest on Reigen's desk. "I was joking, really. I would be well aware if I had any little spirits lingering around me." She chuckles to herself, leaving Reigen to study her before smiling again.

"Of course! So then, what services are you looking for today?"

"Reigen-san..." Serizawa raises a hand, looking as though to reach towards the woman. "She's-"

"A client." Reigen takes Serizawa's hand and puts it back gently on his desk. Tome leans forward from her seat, watching the interaction with nervous en- no, INTEREST. She watches the three adults with interest as something dark brews between the three of them. Serizawa is sweating bullets as Reigen takes back the woman's attention.

"Please don't mind my employee. Sometimes he gets a bit jumpy when he senses spirits lingering around our clients. Are you sure," Reigen gives the woman a pointed stare, "that you have no illnesses of any sort? No aches or pains for no discernible reason? No ailments at all?"

She shakes her head. "Not at all."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

Reigen turns to Serizawa, his lips drawn into a fine line. "What-"

"Actually." The woman interrupts Reigen before he can continue his question to Serizawa. "I'm actually here for an evaluation."

"Oh!" Reigen claps his hands a bit too loudly. "Of course! An evaluation!" He grins as he steeples his fingers together. "So, what is it that you would like evaluated?"

The woman smirks as she leans forward.

Something doesn't feel right.

The room fills up with a tense, heavy atmosphere, causing to Serizawa jump up with his hand outstretched.

"You-!"

"Serizawa, calm down!" Reigen grabs Serizawa's hand and shoves it back down. "I don't know WHAT'S getting you riled up, but you shouldn't try to exorcise anything without a proper evaluation!" Now it's Reigen's turn to start sweating bullets as Serizawa starts sputtering.

"But, Reigen-san-!"

"Trust me, Serizawa." The twitches in Reigen's smile let Tome know that he too realizes that something unnatural is happening. "If something bad happens, I'll let you do whatever it is you want. But for now," he gestures weakly to the woman sitting unfazed in front of him, "... client."

Serizawa remains standing, his hands clenched and trembling by his sides.

"Are you alright?" The woman looks Serizawa up and down, giving him a calming smile. "I promise, whatever it is you think you're sensing, it's not dangerous." Reigen sits back, looking over his client seriously.

"... so about your evaluation."

"Yes!" The woman turns back to Reigen, her arm resting on his desk as she rests her chin in her hand. "My evaluation."

Reigen narrows his eyes. "... you're up to something, aren't you?"

The woman's calming smile morphs into a smirk.

"Allow me to introduce myself."

With a slick movement, her hand moves from her chin to in front of Reigen, reaching for a handshake.

Reigen takes it slowly, gripping it firmly and giving her a quick shake.

Serizawa sucks in a breath, and Tome can only watch as Serizawa's anxious face morphs into utter confusion.

And then fear.

The woman squeezes Reigen's hand before tilting her head to the side. "I'm sure you've heard of the Sun Psychic Union?"

"I-" She releases her grip to gently backhand his face into silence. "Gak!"

"I've been hired by a certain psychic to evaluate the legitimacy of one Reigen Arataka's business."

"What-"

"To put it simply." She removes her hand from his face and straightens her tie, smirking as several papers begin to float from Reigen's desk. Reigen pales as he watches the spectacle, his eyes moving from the papers to the woman. She releases her tie, letting the papers drop back onto his desk and enjoying his floundering. "I will be the one evaluating you, Reigen-san." She glances from Serizawa to Tome, taking in the sight of both their faces, before leaning back and meeting Reigen's heavily sweating face with her bemused one.

"I am Chigami Haru, the Number One Psychic Inspector of the 21st Century." She gets up, walking away from the three gawking faces to move towards the door, opening it before turning to wave farewell. "I'll be back tomorrow for your evaluation!"

Before anyone can stop her, she shuts the door behind, her promise lingering in the air.

...

Well-

"WHAT THE FUCK!"

Tome covers her ears from Reigen's loud shriek. She doesn't get what just happened, but from just the feel of the room itself, she knows that it's something beyond what her occult books and prior experiences have prepared her for.

With a quick dig through her bag, she pulls out her phone and turns it on.

Maybe Mob can help Reigen out.

A/N: Ii4uLmhleSEiICBIZSBjYWxscyBvdXQgdG8gaGVyLCBoaXMgZmVldCB3YW50aW5nIHRvIGZvbGxvdyBhZnRlciBoZXIsIGJ1dCBmYWlsaW5nIHRvIG1vdmUuICIuLi5XZSBjYW4gZ28gc2VlIHRoZSBmaXJld29ya3Mgd2hlbiB5b3UgZ2V0IGJhY2ssIG9rYXk/Ig==

#mob psycho 100 #tome kurata #arataka reigen #serizawa katsuya #original character #not gonna lie i was worried tumblr wouldn't let me post this #mp100

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lunaschild2016 · 7 years ago

Text

Worth Fighting For Chapter 6 - The Way That I Am

Rating: M (violence, smut, language, references to abuse and violence)

Romance/Tragedy

He was ruthless, cunning and completely committed to protecting his city but her arrival to Dauntless called everything he ever thought he believed into question. Duty and following orders were no longer enough. They both found more than they ever thought possible. They both found something worth fighting for. Eric/OC AU M Tragedy/Romance

@kenzieam@ericdauntless@jojuarez26@jaihardy@iammarylastar@captstefanbrandt@captainviolets@badassbaker@readsalot73@fuckthatfeeling@dani5102@beltz2016@beautifulramblingbrains@affabletimelady@irasancti@meganbee15@pathybo@lauraaan182@gylisaa@scorpio2009@gylisaa @bookgirlthings

A/N: Posting this here but is also on ff.net site. Also….this is a slow burn for the romance/smut to get really good. Just an fyi!

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Chapter 6 - The Way That I Am

Kat

My morning had taken a turn I couldn’t have predicted. Not in the least. I had gone to the training room, partially to get away from the thoughts I was having about Eric, only to have him appear. I should have been uncomfortable, or at least more uncomfortable than I was, but I couldn’t be.

I had enjoyed having him there during my self training. Yes, he intimidated me but in a way that seemed to push me to do better. His manner when he would adjust or move me was rough and firm but I expected it. I got this rush, a flurry and flutter. Between the adrenaline high from the physical activity and the fact that I am finally being trained for real in Dauntless my body is buzzing with electricity. It might be showing that excitement in weird ways. Like my damn nipples straining against the material of my sports bra, warmth coursing through my body and thighs...but I was still feeling energized and enjoying myself.

Having this time with a leader of my faction and instructor was a rush for me. I wanted to pick his brain apart for moves I had thought of, read about or had been trying to piece together from other moves I already knew. Then having the opportunity to spar with him, something that I had only been able to do against Lynn, Mar and Uri; was beyond exciting. I was charged with the fire to take full advantage of it.

All thought, for the moment, had gone out of my head about things I had been thinking or felt in regards to Eric. That was until I was straddling him and he turned the most beautiful smile on at me. I swear my knees went to jelly. Thank god I had already been sitting down.

I had the urge to lean forward and press my lips against his perfect and full ones. To run my hands through that perfectly styled hair that is just begging me to mess it up. I seriously think I am about to do just that when his watch alarm goes off.

Saved by the freaking bell!

I am just flustered enough that I don’t even register where he has been guiding me after he commanded me in the most knee weakening way, that I needed to get breakfast and it was assumed I would be joining him.

I realize where we are when I hear him pressing in a code at what I now see is a residential door.

Holy shit! We are at his apartment?

I swallowed briefly and my forehead furrowed in thought. Surely it couldn’t be proper for me to be going into a leader’s apartment when I was an initiate. I thought about refusing and looked up to Eric’s face. He was watching me closely, waiting for me to make a decision.

Eric didn’t seem like the type to risk his position by doing anything that would be against the rules. It also wasn’t like I was worried about him even wanting to try anything with me. He is a leader and I could freely admit more handsome than any man had a right to be. I was sure he had much better prospects lined up and didn’t need to lower himself to being with me. Even if that thought stung more than a little bit.

I did enjoy our one on one time this morning and I would like to pick his brain more. Especially if I could get another one of those smiles. What could it hurt?

I shrugged and it seemed that was all he had been waiting for. He opened the door further and motioned me in first. There were sounds coming from what had to be the kitchen before his friend Zach walked out of it and looked to us.

His eyes seemed to widen slightly and then he smiled.

“Well, I guess we have another person joining us today. Coffee?” Zach asked with the smile still in place.

Eric had put his bag down and moved to show me where to sit, even pulling out a chair for me. I blushed and looked to Zach. “Please!” I replied in a pleading tone and a smile on my lips.

He laughed at that and poured a cup for me before he made one up for Eric then went back to the kitchen.

Eric moved a container of sugar and cream towards me but I just smiled and sipped on the black coffee and sighed in bliss. He gave a chuckle and sipped on his own black as sin coffee. It was good, much better than what my friends had been bringing me. I could definitely get spoiled to this rich taste. I could also get spoiled to having it served to me and getting to drink it next to him.

Dammit! Get away from that train of though Kat Prior!

We hadn’t been sitting there long before Chase walked in to join us as well. As soon as he got seated and greeted me, Zach brought in plates full of food and put them down for everyone to pull from. I sat back and looked over the selections, content to wait for the guys to get theirs first before I got anything.

Eric wasn’t going to have that because he rolled his eyes and started filling a plate for me. “I thought I wouldn’t have to worry about any of that selfless shit with you Kat.”

I laughed and took the plate when he handed it to me. “Oh, that wasn’t me being selfless, Sir. That was me wanting to keep my limbs intact. I saw how all the Dauntless born and members went after the food at lunch and dinner last night. I have also been eating with Uri for three years with a meal or two a day and believe me you don’t want a hand near food when that guy is hungry.”

Zach and Chase laughed while Eric graced me with that smile again as he shook his head. “I still don’t understand how you have known them for three years and obviously trained with them too.” It wasn’t said in a questioning tone but I could tell that it really was and one he knew I would pick up he wanted answered.

I had just taken a bite of the eggs that Zach had made and smiled at him. “These are very good Zach, thank you.”

He shrugged but looking smug too. “I do breakfast better while Eric tends to do better dinners. Nothing fancy but it beats the dining hall.”

I nod and take a sip of my coffee. Eric is still waiting for an answer, if his quirked eyebrow is anything to go by. He was letting me know he hadn’t forgotten the question and expected an answer.

“I ran often and saw them often as they would hang out in different areas where I was at. I am sure they didn’t even know I was Abnegation since it wasn’t like I could wear my faction clothes to run around. It would have drawn too much attention and raised too many questions. I honestly didn’t expect to ever speak to them or anyone on my runs. But Mar and Lynn had been waiting for Uri for something one time and while they were waiting some factionless kids started up on them. I went to help them and it just went from there.” I said with a shrug as I ate some more.

I kept my eyes on my plate though I couldn’t help but notice that all the guys had tensed the minute I started talking about being in the different sectors. The mention of Factionless had Eric tensing even more.

I knew I was treading into dangerous territory by answering the question. It wasn’t like I could lie about this because they could just ask one of my friends. I just hoped it didn’t bring up other things because I wasn’t sure how much I could or wanted to talk about.

We ate a little bit more before Chase broke the silence. “What clothes were you wearing if not of your own faction?”

He was frowning when I looked up to him and took a sip of my coffee.

“Well, I may have come into a few outfits for Erudite and Dauntless. I could have mixed and matched them but that would have made me look like a factionless kid and that could have spelled more trouble for me than helped.”

Eric had started to mutter something so low I couldn’t hear it until his eyes snapped to mine as if a thought just occurred to him. “You said last night something about encounters with the factionless. How bad did those get?”

And there it was. The exact question I didn’t know if I wanted to get into. Something I hadn’t ever talked about to anyone really, not even Mom. I couldn’t not answer him though. I tilted my head in thought as I looked at a leader of my faction and wondered how much I should go into or how truthful I should be.

“Everything Kat.” Eric demanded as if reading my mind. His tone was soft but I wasn’t fooled. He meant business and I had a feeling he was the type that if he suspected any subterfuge he would seek out answers himself and it wouldn’t be pleasant if he was forced to do that. Lying would only make things worse for me.

I sighed and nodded. “If you want to know everything…” I trailed off and took a sip of my coffee first. “I haven’t talked about this really, so forgive me if I ramble or it takes a while to put it together..”

Zach flinched as if he was preparing for something truly horrible and I smiled at him. “It probably isn’t as bad as I am making it seem. I just….I don’t talk about most things easily with people...even my family.”

Especially my family.

He nodded but his lips were thinned. All of their lips were. I sighed and looked to Eric. “I didn’t always show my hand that I wouldn’t be staying in Abnegation. In fact it was a shock to my father most likely because I played the role so well over the last few years. When I was younger though it was another story. For both my sister and I, we just couldn’t hide that we were miserable in Abnegation. Don’t get me wrong I think Abnegation has such wonderful points to it, they just weren’t meant for me.”

I saw disdain and loathing cross Eric’s face but I continued on. “Sir, I know that it isn’t perfect. No faction is perfect really. I also know that there are people in that faction that really shouldn’t be.” I had ground the last part out as I thought of one particular person that I would love nothing more than to see hung over the chasm and plunge into it’s depths after showing his true colors to the world.

Chase nudged me a little while I was lost in the dream of a justice far more merciful than the man probably deserves.

I looked up to find Eric studying me. His eyes looked contemplative but waiting. “There are people like my mother and father, though, that show me how good a faction can be when the person truly belongs. When they are committed to it and are working to do their best to not only be the example to the other members of the faction, but to find true happiness in their role. It was never more apparent for me than when I would work alongside my mom with the factionless. The people she tended to adored her. They could see how genuine she was in her want to help them and that she didn’t treat them like they were scum. She was never condescending to them or think they were subhuman.”

I paused and chewed my lip, feeling guilty for my own opinions and thoughts on the factionless. “I had issues with this and it was apparent in how they interacted with me and how they were with her. They could sense it even if on the surface I was nothing but the epitome of a perfect Abnegation. They weren’t hostile to me but I could tell watching them with her and then how they responded to me that they sensed or knew what I really thought. Sometimes I could look at my mom and dad….I wished that I had what they did there in Abnegation.”

My eyes met Chase’s and he tilted his head with a frown. I knew the question he had before he said it and I shook my head. “No, I am not saying I wish I could have stayed. I mean I wish I could find the peace and sense of completeness I know they have because they are committed to their faction and the work. They belong and they know they do because they choose to put everything they have into it and they get as much from what they put in. I never got that there and I longed for it. The best way I can describe it and them….”

I tilt my head in thought as I search for a comparison. One comes to mind as I chew my lip in thought and then nod. “I guess it would probably be a comparison to some of the great humanitarians in pre-war society. I am not saying they are not flawed or perfect because I am a realist enough to know better. My parents aren’t perfect or all knowing. They are kind and good though and the best way I could describe how content they are in their place is how someone once described Mother Teresa. It was said that she was someone so at peace with her place, her spirituality and the work that you could see and feel it radiating from her. That is what I see when I look at my mom and what I could never see in myself there, what I knew I never would see in myself there.”

I took a bite of my eggs and paused in my thoughts. Zach frowned and paused in his eating. “Are there many that are like you in Abnegation you think?”

I finished chewing and shrugged. “It’s not like I know everyone personally in Abnegation but those that I worked with, the girls especially, seemed to be very similar to my mother. There are and were some I wondered about but I think they stayed because they knew what to expect. The unknown can be a scary thing for some people. On the whole I would say the majority of people in Abnegation do really want to help. I know that sometimes I felt as if that help was pointless or in vain. Maybe that is where some of the...lack...builds up over time? It probably doesn’t help that across all factions dependents are told repeatedly to trust the test in one breath but if someone does then they are called a traitor and choosing the faction you are called to is taboo if it differs from the damn one you are born into.”

I huffed that last part out and was rewarded with nods from the guys as they ate.

“So what changed for you then?” Eric asked in between bites of his food. He hadn’t forgotten his original question it seemed.

I put down my fork and looked at him seriously. “Sir, do you remember that Dauntless used to patrol and police the factionless sectors instead of just responding to outbreaks or incidents?”

Eric’s face darkened and he nodded slowly. “Yes” He gritted out slowly.

Taking in his demeanor I gathered that not only did he remember, but maybe it had some personal significance for him that they had pulled out. It made me wary of telling him this next part but I had already started. “My father was adamant on all the votes that Dauntless be kept in that role. For years, really, he held to that vote.”

Zach had shook his head frowning. “Well, then what changed? Because his vote was the swaying one that had Dauntless pull out.”

Their eyes were all on me and I felt the crushing weight of my actions and what it had done to the city. “I happened.” I finally got out in soft voice, my hands in my lap as I looked down at the table. “I said I didn’t hide my wild side and I hadn’t. Tris wasn’t as bad as me but I pulled her along with me at times. She was my older sister so she felt she needed to be with me anyways. We were doing something; I don’t even remember what but it was something we shouldn’t have been doing. I think I was climbing the buildings. Some men, factionless men, came upon us. I think you can imagine what they wanted so I won’t go into those details.”

“Kat...did they…” Chase asked with a clenched jaw.

I shook my head. “No. I held them off with whatever tactics I could, mostly dirty. It helped that they weren’t expecting an Abnegation to fight back much less a little girl. I knew there was a guard station not far away. I may have been wild but I wasn’t stupid and if I was ever going to be doing anything I made sure I was in shouting or running reach of help. I ordered Tris to run after the guard and she did right away.”

“She left you there?” Eric barked out with an angry scowl.

I shook my head adamantly. “No, I was following her, almost right on her heels. But there was another man I hadn’t seen that came at me from the side and tackled me. I used a few well placed kicks and shoved gravel in his eyes hard enough to get him to let me go. I was up by the time the Dauntless came but he was alone, his backup was still a minute away. He ordered me to get behind him, weapon drawn and I was completely going to comply. I wasn’t stupid. I knew he had the weapon and I didn’t. It wasn’t until I saw that one of the factionless had drawn a knife and looked to be going to stab the patrolman that it went haywire. He was outflanked so it would have happened regardless.”

I had to pause for long moments to collect myself and go over that day in my mind. Still to this day it is murky and I don’t know what happened. One of the hands in my lap was enveloped in warmth and squeezed slightly. I looked up to see Eric looked at me in concern and nodded for me to continue.

“I still don’t know if I stabbed him or if was just an accident, the factionless guy that had the knife pulled.” I held Eric’s eyes as I spoke, or he held me captive in his piercing blue ones. Giving me the strength to tell this story to someone finally. Something I didn’t even realize I had needed so damn badly.

“One minute I was looking at things as if they were in slow motion and then this feeling of…..an all consuming fire came over me, it was all red and hazy. All I felt was fire and rage coursing through me. The next thing I knew was that the factionless guy was on the ground and I was perched on top of him with the knife buried to the hilt into him. There was blood and my hands were practically stuck around the hilt they were clutched so tightly. I don’t know if I was trying to pull it free but it came with my hands when I jerked them away. There was another factionless person in front of me and I heard yelling around me. The next thing I knew was I felt a new type of fire blooming from my chest and then I watched my shirt grow a red splotch that kept getting bigger.”

Eric’s face contorted in rage and his grip tightened on my hand. “Who shot you?”

“One of the patrolmen that came in as backup. All he saw was a young girl covered in blood and wielding a knife. He reacted exactly as he should have to eliminate the threat.” I was squeezing his hand now, having covered it with my other one as I tried to reassure Eric but I could tell he wasn’t having it.

“That is no fucking excuse!” Eric’s voice was like thunder sounding in the apartment and Zach put a hand on his shoulder with his own frown etched deeply into his face.

“That is why your father changed his vote? Because you were shot by one of the Dauntless?” Chase asked softly. His expression wasn’t judgmental or angry, he seemed understanding even.

Did he get how much guilt I carry around about that? I know I have never spoke aloud about how much I feel like I need to make up for. How much this drives me to not only make it in Dauntless but to make it up to Dauntless.

I nodded and sighed. “I argued and argued with him. I argued until I was blue in the face and I even hunted down Marcus Eaton and lit into him.” I snort in disgust at the memory of that foul man and his pleasure at my giving him exactly what he wanted, the Dauntless out. My lips thin and I take a deep breath to contain my rage at him so I can continue.

“It was too late honestly because by the time they released me from Erudite Medical an emergency vote had taken place. I was still in the operating room when it happened.” I was interrupted as soon as I got out, operating room, by Eric once again.

“Operating room? Where were you shot Kat?” Eric once again gripped my hand and was looking over me worriedly. I knew he would be looking to see if it would be a hindrance to my physical capabilities.

With a sigh I pulled my shirt aside so they could see the bullet wound. It was close enough to the heart that I could hear the breath being taken from Chase and Eric both.

“Fuck” Zach breathed out and he shook his head.

I smiled sadly and released my shirt. It was silent for a moment because I needed time to catch my breath and I refused to cry. I could tell Eric and Chase were disturbed by the events but I am not sure exactly what their thoughts were. I was just glad that as far as I could tell I was not seeing hate for being the cause of Dauntless being pulled from the factionless

#divergent #fanfiction #eric coulter #eric coulter fanfiction #divergent fanfiction #jai courtney #liam hemsworth #tris prior #four eaton #oc

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thedeliverygod · 7 years ago

Text

Good Enough

yatori college AU

Chapter 19/?

AO3|ff.net

“So how did you know about this place again?” Yato asked curiously as they exited the shop and started down the sidewalk.

“Yama-chan, Ami-chan, and I have stopped in a few times.” She looked down at the plastic bag which held a small cake, “But we’ve only ever gotten single pieces or small pastries, so I’m actually a bit excited to finally get a whole cake.”

Yato sighed and shoved his hands into his coat pockets, “Are you sure you don’t want any money? I still feel bad letting you pay for the whole thing.”

Hiyori shook her head insistently, “No, definitely not. This is the least I could do, you know, especially since I couldn’t go with you two to Kofuku-san and Daikoku-san’s house this weekend.”

Both boys had asked her a little over a week ago after a tutoring session and dinner and she regretfully had to turn them down due to a weekend field trip to a hospital for one of her classes to get more practical experience. Shortly after, she had suggested the idea to Yato that they could have a special dinner or something of the sort on Yukine’s actual birthday since it fell on one of their tutoring days. Of course, to make it more special, the two of them had kept it a surprise.

“I didn’t really know what to get him either, to be honest…” She admitted hesitantly with a slight shrug of her shoulders, “So I just gave him a bit of money with the card I got for him.”

“That’s probably the safest bet anyway. For me, it’s a hit or miss every year; he either loves it or hates it.” With a tired expression, he added, “With hating it being the more common response. He usually appreciates the sentiment, at least.”

Hiyori gave a small smile, “Yukine-kun is definitely very unique. I know he always loves to get new clothes, but yeah, I wasn’t sure if I would be able to pick out something that was his style.”

“Unique is definitely the word.” He sighed and scratched his head, “Guess at least he’s good with his money, you wouldn’t be able to tell that we’re poor if you look in his closet. But a lot of that comes from Kofuku and Daikoku spoiling him when we still lived there.”

“I can’t blame them. If it weren’t for you, I probably would too.” She admitted sheepishly.

Yato hung his head, “Yeesh, if only I had that kid’s talent with people. He’ll probably be some successful business guy tricking people out of their money with them thanking him for doing it.”

She immediately shook her head, “Mmm, I think Yukine-kun is too kind-hearted for something like that. But I’m sure he will be successful in some way, for sure. He’s very hardworking and dedicated.”

With a small forced laugh, he commented, “Well, I hope you two remember me when you’re both living the life and bringing in all that money.”

“Even after all this work, is it your plan to become the equivalent of a housewife or something?” Hiyori squinted her eyes at him questioningly.

His eyebrows raising, he answered, “That actually wasn’t what I meant. But y’know, I kinda like that idea, just staying at home with the kids and cleaning and fixing stuff around the house. Not bad at all.”

Blushing, she looked away, “What did you mean then?”

“Oh. Er… It was just a joke, don’t worry about it.” She noticed Yato passing her from the corner of her eye, picking up his pace, “Let’s hurry up so we’ve got time to cook.”

Hiyori let out a small annoyed huff at his avoidance of the question before following after him. And the more she thought about it, the more the frown on her face grew. ‘He didn’t mean… both of us leaving him behind, right?’ She stared forward at the back of his head, almost feeling a little bit insulted, ‘He should know better than that.’

They didn’t talk much the rest of the way home or even as they entered the apartment as Yato had switched into rush mode completely. By the time she had unloaded one bag of groceries, he had done three. She wanted to be able to blame it on the fact that he worked at a grocery store and was probably much more efficient than she was at that sort of thing, but she also couldn’t help but feel he was doing it to still avoid the conversation from earlier.

Not able to take it anymore, she reached out to grab one of his wrists, calling out softly, “Yato.”

“Hm?” His eyes slowly lifted to meet hers and he stood up a bit straighter.

Hiyori leaned into him and pressed a gentle kiss against his lips. “I’m… just guessing. But what you’re worried about; we’re not going anywhere. Especially over something so dumb as money.”

His mouth opened in surprise at first but then he gave a small smile, “So you figured it out that easily, huh? Guess I’m not so great at hiding things.” He rubbed the back of his neck, “It’s just a hard habit to break when you’ve been passed around by so many people.”

She nodded and pulled away from him, “I know, I just want to reassure you.” She took a small breath, “And as for Yukine-kun, even though you joke about it, I’m not sure if it really has sunk in for you. You are his family, you know; and I don’t just mean because of legal paperwork. He loves you.”

“I know he does, it’s just one of those things.” His eyes flickered off to the side, “Believe me, I’m working on it; accepting everything that I have. Because the last thing I wanna do is lose it all because I’m too stupid to believe what’s right in front of me.”

“Okay.” She nodded again and gave a small smile, “Just tell me if you ever need any help.”

“It might be more like telling you I need someone to kick my ass, but okay. Will do.” He shifted back to working on the food.

With a laugh, she answered, “Hey, I can do that too.”

He looked at her doubtfully, “Really?”

“You really think I haven’t learned anything from all these years of watching wrestling?” She put her hands on her hips.

He shrugged, “I mean, I guess...”

Hiyori started to roll up her sleeves, “I can show you right here, right now.”

“Later, focus on cooking for the moment.” Yato looked back to the countertop as he answered with a flat tone.

Blushing again, Hiyori moved towards the cutting board, “Right, right.”

They were almost done cooking when they heard the door start to swing open and Yukine’s voice come from the hallway, “I’m home!”

“Welcome home!” Yato and Hiyori answered simultaneously, working quickly to try and get things put into bowls.

“What smells so good?” Yukine asked curiously as he came around to corner, greeted by Yato and Hiyori with their hair tied up and both covered in all sorts of things; some accidental, some purposely flung at each other for fun.

“Happy Birthday!” Yato announced cheerfully, outstretching his arms to show off the dinner they’d prepared.

Yukine blinked in confusion, suddenly sounding very sheepish, “O-oh, you did this all for me?”

“Of course!” Hiyori answered with a wide grin, adding, “And needless to say, no tutoring today… unless you really want to. But I think you should just enjoy your birthday.”

The shock finally faded from his face and he grinned widely, “Thank you.”

“What about me?” Yato questioned in a pained tone from his side.

Yukine’s eyes moved over to him tiredly, asking, “It was Hiyori’s idea, right?”

She stayed quiet and Yato hesitated before answering, “Y-yeah, but still! We did it together!”

“Fine, fine.” The younger boy finally relented, “Thank you. Now can we eat? I’m honestly starving.”

Yato’s face brightened up again, answering automatically, “Yeah, of course. Go sit down.”

Yukine smiled back in earnest briefly before turning and heading into the living room, dropping his backpack to the floor and shrugging off his school jacket.

“I can finish up these last few things if you want to start taking things over to the table.” Hiyori suggested as she stirred a pot, looking up to him.

He blinked and nodded, “Ahh, yeah, that works. Thanks.” He bent down to swoop up a few of the dishes, carrying them over and commenting as he sat them down in front of Yukine, “I know it’s your birthday but even if it smells good, you’ve gotta wait till all of us sit down.”

“I know that.” Yukine growled back automatically, “I’m not a little kid.”

“I know, you’re sixteen now,” Yato tousled Yukine’s hair before dramatically wiping his eyes, “You’re growing up so fast.”

Yukine rolled his eyes, “Ugh.”

“You can go ahead and eat now.” Hiyori put down the last of the food on the table and gave an apologetic smile.

He gave a relieved sigh in response and immediately reached for the nearest bowl, “Thank you.”

Yato reluctantly stepped back with a pout before sitting down and starting to pick out food for himself.

A few minutes into eating, Yukine repeated, “Thanks again, for all of this.” He looked directly at Hiyori, “I still wish you could make it to Kofuku-san’s this weekend, it’d be nice if you could meet Suzuha.”

Hiyori gave an apologetic smile, “I know, I wish I could go too. But I’m sure I’ll meet him soon; maybe sometime while we’re on break for New Year’s.”

“Yeah.” He smiled happily, returning to his food.

She briefly caught Yato making a face, but he returned to his food the moment her glance had moved towards him. She parted her lips and tilted her head questioningly before deciding to let it slide. When they had finished eating and started to do the dishes, he voiced his concern.

“Aren’t you going home for break?” He focused his eyes on her while absentmindedly scrubbing the plate in his hand.

She gave a confused nod, “Yeah…” Hiyori paused before continuing, “But I’ll be back for a few days before the semester starts up again, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Mm. Okay.” He nodded as well before lowering his voice, his eyes falling back towards the sink, “Sorry, it’s just that Yukine gets pretty easily disappointed when people don’t follow through after saying things like that; like with Kazuma.”

Hiyori bit her lip and nodded again, “Ah, I understand.” Her eyes glanced over to the living room where Yukine was happily scrolling through a website on Yato’s laptop while also occasionally looking over to the TV.

“Not that you don’t keep your promises or anything like that.” Yato looked remorseful as his head snapped upward again to meet her eyes, “I didn’t mean—”

She held up her hand to shush him, “Don’t worry, I get it.” Going back to her dish as well, she added, “I wouldn’t want to make him feel that way, so I appreciate you telling me.”

He let out a breath of air before giving a small laugh at himself, “You would think that after starting to date you, I’d worry less about the stuff I say. But that’s not the case at all.”

Hiyori shrugged and bumped into his side playfully, “It’s not like I can’t say the same. We’re still getting to know each other, really, when you think about it.”

“So what secrets are you hiding from me?” Yato raised his eyebrows in mock concern.

She eyed him carefully before flicking a tiny bit of water at him, teasing, “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

“Stooooooooooop fliiiiiirtiiiiiiiiiiingggggggggg.” Yukine groaned loudly from the living room and caught both of their attention. He was giving both of them a distasteful look as he continued, “Or go back to whispering so I can’t hear it.”

“Sorry.” Hiyori answered bashfully, quickly looking back down to the sink.

Yato scoffed before answering loudly, “Alright, I’ll listen this time because it’s your birthday. But next time, you’re out of luck.”

“Whatever.” Yukine rolled his eyes and went back to the computer, his expression not taking long to mellow out into a small smile again.

Free of his gaze, Yato looked back to Hiyori with a smug grin before swiftly pressing a kiss against her forehead. She smiled back adoringly, at least until he stuck his wet hand on the back of her bare neck. She did her best to keep quiet, though she looked up to him with her mouth open wide in disbelief. He only wiggled his eyebrows in response, his smug expression still there.

#noragami #yatori #noragami fanfiction #good enough #my writing

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myuntoldstory · 7 years ago

Text

Harry Potter | Interacting Galaxies

FF.net | AO3

Wow, look at me posting a brand new story after not posting for a year—not counting last week. It feels good to roll with this positive thing; I hope to keep this positive thing going.

I hope you enjoy this. This was born from two ideas. One was Mary koala hugging Sirius—a scene that has never left me ever since it popped into my head ages ago. Two was the performing arts au that I talked about with my friend ages ago as well. It’s all a call back to past ideas, which I’m happy to breathe life into and post today.

Anyway. Onto the thing!

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Sirius Black/Mary Macdonald

Warning: N/A

Word Count: 4, 223

The hall is a bit… echo-y.

Mary frowns. The sound comes out full-bodies from the piano. Yet, as it spreads throughout the air it disintegrates before it even has the chance of bouncing off the walls. Nevertheless, she keeps her fingers dancing over the keys. Sonata Pathétique does not deserve this frustrating experience. It is as if she wants to take something, but she can’t even reach it. Mary sighs. What does she expect, anyway? This hall is a ceremonial hall—not concert. It’s not a practice hall either. The space was not designed in a way to contain sound. The walls not built to support musical instruments without proper amplification. Really, she does not have to be so snobby as to criticise a place she’s only using for a day.

Still. She wants this practice to go as smoothly—as usual, but especially now because of the venue change—as possible without any mistakes on her part. The end of year celebrations is two weeks away and with exams on top of everything else time is not their friend right now.

Damn Dirk Cresswell for stealing their already booked practice hall from under their noses.

“Early as always, Macdonald.”

Mary looks up. Sirius emerges from the shadows of the backstage dressed in shorts and a jumper with a bag slung across his back. He gives her a grin. She returns it. He goes to her and embraces her by the shoulders. She leans into him, but continues to play. “I have to warm up.”

He kisses the top of her head. “So do I. But I love sleeping in.”

“Well… so do I,” Mary quips. He releases her and drops his bag by the piano. Quickly, he removes his jumper, revealing a tight-fitting singlet underneath, and shoes. She peeks at him as he sets his garments aside before stretching up, revealing a dimpled lower back. She looks away, a smile pulling at her lips. “I just want more time to prepare.”

Sirius lowers his arms with a sigh. “I envy your discipline.”

Mary chuckles. “Yeah? Then try developing yours.”

“And risk eye-bags? Never!”

She rolls her eyes. They say no more as they focus on their own activities. Mary puts her full attention on the piece she’s playing, but sometimes she steals glances at Sirius. He’s going through his warm up routine. After stretching every muscle on his top half, he sits on the floor and works on the lower half. Sirius’ flexibility is ridiculous; just when Mary thinks he can’t stretch his limbs any longer, somehow he manages to reach an inch or so more. He’s one of the top contemporary dancers in the college, his interpretation and technique is second to none. Mary thinks it’s his body. He’s six feet tall, so he’s occupying plenty of space already, but when he dances it’s as if nothing can contain him.

It’s daunting, playing for him. However, when he asked her to compose for his end of year celebration performance she was quick to accept. There’s no way she would pass an opportunity to play to Sirius’ talent. And something about him dancing to her composition creates these little maddening flutters in her chest.

As Sirius stands, Mary slowly transitions to the opening notes of the performance composition, but he shakes his head. “Play what you were playing before.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I’ll warm up a bit more until Doe comes in.”

“Right.” She restarts the second movement of the sonata. She watches him, fingers flying over the keys without supervision because she’s memorised this piece upside-down, inside-out. Sirius walks around in a small circle, rotating his arms and craning his neck from one side to the other. Finally he stops, facing the stage. He closes his eyes.

Then he begins to move.

Being a classical pianist, Mary knows squat about dancing—except for the things Sirius tells her. Yet even then she barely understands the proper techniques or whatnot, the choreography and that. He’s the same when she talks classical music. But she’s not a robot. Though she’s watching something she can’t understand on a technical level, her heart and soul tells her that what she’s witnessing is something inexplicably beautiful. Sublime. Breathtaking in a way that overwhelms her.

Sirius dances to the piece, the choreography all coming from his head. The first time he did this with her, she was so worried of having to butcher the piece to keep up with his dancing… but she didn’t have to. Sirius took the music as guide for his interpretation than force her to accommodate him—unlike the other egocentric dancers in the college. He still does that now. She teases him about developing more discipline, but that kind of thoughtfulness not only speaks about him as a performer, but it also highlights his dedication to improving his craft.

“Bravissimo!”

The music stops. Mary’s hands drop to her lap as she looks towards the entrance hall. It’s Dorcas. She’s sauntering down the sloped aisle, applauding leisurely with a teasing smile on her face. Mary glances at Sirius and sees him planting his hands on his hips, giving Doe a less than impressed expression. Doe doesn’t even acknowledge that; she ascends the stage nonchalantly, ceasing the applause as she approaches the piano.

“Finally, she arrives,” Sirius comments wryly.

“I’m not that late—hello, darling.” Doe says, kissing both of Mary’s cheeks after dropping her bags next to Sirius’. There’s no room for small talk as Doe makes quick work of removing her shoes and jumper, revealing a loose one off-shoulder shirt worn over leggings that reach her calves. She then bounds to Sirius, kissing both of his cheeks as well while he hugs her. They start to talk amongst themselves, their voices too low for Mary to hear. She returns to the piano and does some quiet scales.

“Sorry, Mary,” Doe says, “I’ll warm up and we can begin.”

“Take your time,” Mary smiles. She can practically feel Sirius’ sharp glare at that. However, when she looks at them they have returned to their hushed conversation. She restarts the quiet scales before transitioning to the opening phrase of the performance composition. She imagines the choreography as she plays, going over some parts repeatedly to ensure she times it right. Neither she nor the choreography leads each other. It’s teamwork. Both dance and music working with each other to create a symbiotic performance. If she leads in anyway or if the dancers do then the whole message will vanish.

“Mary, darling?”

Her fingers freeze over the keys. She blinks out of her focus and looks to Doe, who’s giving her a cheerful smile. “Hi,” she says, “ready?”

“Yes.” Doe giggles. Behind her, Sirius is shaking his head in amusement before taking his position near the back of the stage.

“Right.” Mary straightens her back. Her fingers hover to its starting positions as Doe takes her place beside Sirius. Mary watches her dancers. She counts her breaths. After the third, she gently presses on the keys. The sound comes out softly—she worries that the hall’s spaciousness will destroy it even before it reaches Doe and Sirius. However, to her surprise Doe takes a step forward. Sirius follows her. Each individual note flows into the other—she can’t stop, but so far so good.

Sirius picks up Doe and turns in place with her caressing his face as the music builds and spreads into a joyous melody. Mary watches them. Foremost reason is because she needs to make sure that the dancing and her playing is synchronised. The other reason is because no matter how many times she has seen the same steps, it still captures her. It’s a story of true love. Doe suggested it because it relates to many people.

The exalting tone of the music transitions into something sadder, melancholic. After dancing together, Doe and Sirius now move away from each other. They dance in their own styles, but do a few moves in sync to show their connected hearts. They pass each other many times, but never touch—not even a longing glance at each other.

“Oh,” Sirius says, stumbling as he takes the wrong step and poses earlier than Doe. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Doe replies, “again. Mary?”

Mary nods. The two return to their previous places. She plays again and they move with the music as if they never stopped in the first place. Mary’s eyes close as she pulls the music away from its lonely tone, feeding the main theme underneath as she brings it to the third act: the reunion. She opens her eyes in time to see Doe catching Sirius’ hand. Sirius turns to her and as if his love implodes within him he pulls Doe flush against his body and lifts her. Now they move as one, their unified hearts giving them all the strength they need to move on with their lives together. There will be arguments, differences that reinforce the undeniable fact that they are two different people. And sometimes that will distance them.

But no matter what…

Mary gasps. The music goes to a crescendo. And stops. She takes her fingers completely off the keys as Doe leaps up in the air and sails into Sirius’ waiting arms. They lock in an intimate embrace. Mary’s hands clench into fists on her lap. She desperately wants to applaud, but she’s not done yet. But they’re near. This final act is where synchronisation between Sirius and Doe are paramount and they’re perfect. The music becomes more joyous, the main theme now on top of the melody. As they are seconds away from the end, Mary slips her second hand to her lap, with the first only playing the final phrase. She sustains the last note as the couple do their final pose.

Not one of them speaks.

“Perfect,” Mary says, only deeming it appropriate to speak once she sees the two relax.

“Nearly,” Doe replies. She faces Sirius. “We were off by three seconds at least.”

“We are,” Sirius agrees, “I think I got us behind.”

“Hmmm…” Doe nods. She taps her finger against her lips. “There’s something off about the jumps as well. I wasn’t high enough this time—and our pirouettes need to be a bit tighter.”

“Yeah. Let’s also consider increasing the tension in some of the lifts too.”

Doe nods again. The conversation continues, but Sirius takes his eyes away from Doe to look at Mary. She’s playing with the piano, seemingly in her own world. Her expression is blank, uninterested even. But not five minutes ago he could have sworn he glimpsed abject shock on her face when Doe flew at him and he caught her. That is not the first time he has seen such an expression on her either. Mary never says anything and she only shows the barest hint of interest when he talks dance with her, but during practice she always wears that look of surprise while she watches them.

He wonders what it is. He forgets to ask. Is it the choreography? Does it not fit the music she composed? Is it because he’s rubbish? Wait, it can’t be that. He doesn’t even know the concept of failure let alone actually do it. The many questions running in circles in his mind are so full of weight that it pulls the corners of his lips in a frown. Maybe when they take a break he can ask her.

That break does not come until an hour well into practice. Their runs are not as smooth as the first. In their subsequent tries they have to stop at certain parts to hone their technique and fine-tune their timing. The performance is in two weeks—a lot of time for most people, but with exams coming up it’s not that much at all. In reality, they may only have two days’ worth of practice to perfect everything—three at most. If they ever hope to live up to the expectation of their teachers and peers then this performance has to be perfect regardless of the fact that it’s just a celebratory dance.

Doe’s phone rings as they hydrate. She drapes her towel around her neck before picking the device from her bag and looking at the screen. “Ooh, I have to answer this—let’s take twenty?”

“Take your time,” Sirius says, a little sarcastically. He can feel Mary rolling her eyes at him.

“Thanks.” Doe jogs her way into the backstage as she answers the phone.

Sirius turns Mary, who produces sheet music from her bag and begins to write on it. He smiles before crouching to rummage in his bags. He takes out a condensed bottle of iced tea and a small box containing six macarons of different flavours. He goes to her side and shamelessly presses the bottom of the bottle to the side of her neck.

“Oi,” she chastises, flinching. “That’s cold.”

“Not by much.” He jiggles the food before her, chuckling at the child-like grin on her face.

“Oh! You remembered.” She takes the food and leans into him. “Thank you.”

“Of course; I pay my debts.”

“And what delicious debts they are,” Mary quips. She’s already munching the edges of a pastel yellow macaron with blood orange filling.

Sirius stares at her, compelled to commit the happiness on her face to memory. Honestly, he’s never seen anybody so happy to eat some overpriced, too-sweet French meringue almond biscuits before. After he gently nudges Mary so she can move and he can share the bench with her. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why do you always looked surprised during practice?”

Mary looks at him, lips clamped on the macaron. When she speaks again her voice is muffled. “Shurprished?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” She finishes the rest of the macaron and chews slowly before swallowing. “I—I—I’m just… I’m just amazed at the quality of dancing, is all.”

“But… you see it all the time.”

“True, true. But… it’s the way you two dance, you know?” she dramatically puts one hand over her heart and the other on her head. Then she breathes deeply. “It’s breathtaking. Sublime. Life changing.”

It takes a second or so for Mary’s words to sink into him. Sirius blinks. That just came from a woman who shows next to nothing in terms of expression when he talks dance. He doesn’t even expect her to express an ounce of curiosity or even contribute to the topic during the conversation. He’s so surprised that he says nothing in reply. He continues to stare at Mary, who has become red under his scrutiny.

“Well,” she begins with hesitation, “it’s the way Doe moves, to be honest. Absolute trust, you know? In her body and in the choreography and in you. She moves so seamlessly, trusting everything with every step. And when you lift her she just… flows with you like liquid—my god, when she soars into your arms without any hint of fear because she knows you’ll catch her it takes my breath away.” She sighs. “It’s amazing, you know?

Sirius stretches his lips in what barely resembles a bemused smile. He never had someone praise another dancer to his face before. And with such passion too. “And… I’m just sub par, am I?”

“No!” she laughs, holding onto his wrist. “No, that’s not what I meant at all—”

“How would you feel if I gush about Fenwick’s transcendent piano playing?”

Sirius answers Mary's shocked and amused look with a challenging one of his own. “I’d feel that’s fair,” she answers, “Benjy’s technique is second to none after all.”

Oh, he cannot miss the hint of offense in her voice. He chuckles and his expression softens, unable to help himself. He nudges her gently. “Joking. You’re the best in this place.”

“Well, I don’t know about that. But I know you are,” she replies, “I just like the way Doe flies, is all.”

Sirius nods. They become silent. He looks around the stage while Mary continues to eat. The college usually uses this hall for graduations, assembly, or slightly more professional productions. Practicing here is a little challenging, but unfortunately they have no choice today. Damn Cresswell for stealing their booked practice room from under their noses. Well. That’s over now and practice is going well. As he looks deep within the backstage he notices the outline of a platform that’s two feet high. It looks like the extendable kind from the way it stacks on top of each other and the wheels at the bottom. An idea forms in his mind, influenced by Mary’s words. He smiles and stands, taking Mary’s hand and making her stand with him. “You want to soar?”

“Pardon?”

Without another word, Sirius goes to pull out the platform. With a few meddling he extends it a third of the way. He looks at Mary, grinning at the utter confusion on her face. Oh, she’ll love this. Well, he will at the very least. He rubs his hands together. “Right. Climb on the platform and jump. I’ll catch you.”

Mary’s jaw drops slightly and her eyes widen. “Pardon?”

“You want to know how it feels to jump like Doe, yeah?”

She steps back. “I said nothing of the sort.”

“Come off it, Macdonald. Nobody gushes like that without wanting to try whatever they gush about at least once.”

She steps back again and shakes her head. “No, I can’t do it.”

“Why not?”

“In case it escaped your notice, I don’t dance.”

Sirius rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to dance to jump.”

“What if you can’t catch me?”

“Your lack of faith breaks my heart.” Sirius clutches his heart and pretends to stagger.

“I just mean,” Mary sighs, “that you’ve been dancing with Doe for years. You know how to work with her.” She gestures wildly at herself. “Not only am I not a dancer, Sirius, I’m also two stones heavier than her! What if I make you fall and break your back? What if you die? What if I die?”

He waves his hand nonchalantly. “It’s a two feet platform, Macdonald. No one will die—a broken bone at least.”

“That’s not even funny.”

“Come on.” He goes to her and takes her hands, pulling her towards the platform. Though she’s following him, he can sense her anxiety in the way she grips his hand. “You trust me right, Macdonald?”

“Of course…?”

“Then just think about that.”

Mary groans, but she does climb up the platform with Sirius’ help. He walks to the other end as Mary turns her back to him. Any normal person won’t know what she’s thinking about now, but Sirius has the privilege of being her friend. He can hear her thoughts aloud—she’s doing that thing of thinking about things too much. If she has the chance she’ll make an endless list of pros and cons. More often than not she makes her decisions with her mind. It’s a stark contrast to her piano playing, which clearly comes from her heart. That’s what makes her the best. Him teasing her about Fenwick is not a joke—more than once he’s heard that the man’s far better in interpretation and technique, but what makes Mary stand out is her heartfelt playing. It’s what makes her an artist… it’s why they all decided to attend this college instead of university.

But if at the end of all their education she still relies solely on logic when it comes to her life then all that effort will have been a waste.

“Macdonald,” Sirius calls. She turns to him. “Don’t think.”

Her shoulders slump. “I can’t help it.”

“Don’t.” He opens his arms. “Just jog and jump.”

Mary stares helplessly at him, but Sirius does not budge. She ends up squaring her shoulders and he has to let out a small triumphant smile. She takes a deep breath and like the crazy person she is, she closes her eyes and jogs towards the end of the platform without opening them. Sirius braces himself as she launches off the edge with a frightened cry.

And everything happened at once.

In a split second, he notices that her trajectory’s veering to the right so he positions himself accordingly. Her height is also higher than he expected so he takes two steps back. Then she is in his arms. He wraps his arms around her back and waist as she clutches at him with her arms around his neck and legs around his hips. He stumbles back, but he secures his hold on her and steadies himself.

Neither of them speaks.

Sirius’ breaths are shallow as if he’s just run a hundred meter relay. He never realised how long and wavy Mary’s hair was until now… when it’s basically smothering him. He reaches up to brush it away from his face. Against his chest there is a faint fluttering that he can’t identify. Is it his heartbeat? After seconds of thinking about it he realises it belongs to Mary’s. She’s breathing heavier than he is. He can feel it coming fast and warm on his neck, where she tightly nuzzles her face.

He’s never noticed things like this before.

It’s like he’s the first human on earth discovering another for the first time. He notices how tightly his arm fits around her waist, the softness of her skin against his sweat-filmed shoulder blades. She’s curvaceous, he realises. And there is this hint of a sweet, but tart scent... green apples? A funny sort of painful feeling swirls in his chest and pools in his gut. Before he can even stop himself he’s pressing her tighter against him.

Which is strange… because Mary’s his friend.

“Mary?” Sirius murmurs, surprising himself when his voice comes out gentle. “All right?”

Mary nods. He shivers when she starts to speak. Her voice is low and muffled, which does nothing for him except make him painfully aware of her lips grazing over the suddenly sensitive skin of his neck. In that moment he’s wishing that she keeps talking for a bit longer.

“What?” he says when she stops, clearing his broken voice.

“That was scary,” Mary says as she, finally thank God, pulls away enough that they’re looking at each other. She has blue yes—intensely blue eyes, like sapphires. Sirius knows she has blue eyes, but not that they’re ridiculously blue. She also has freckles, though not as many or noticeable than Lily’s. He can count hers in both of his hands and they’re barely visible underneath a layer of makeup. He finds himself wishing to see her fresh-faced next time to he can be sure that she really does have eight freckles spread out across her cheeks.

“Not… not as scary as you thought, right?” he says.

“It was,” she says with wide eyes, "it was. You have no idea. It’s all fine now since you caught me, but if you hadn’t and I face planted, all my worst fears would have been realised.”

“I… thought your worst fear was dying from that ridiculously low height.”

“Yeah. That would have been the death of my dignity.”

It isn’t even funny. But Sirius laughs. His mirth is too much that he bows his head and presses his forehead against her collarbones. She chuckles along with him. It can be the tension of the stunt… most likely it’s the unspeakable thing that’s now existing between them. But for now the only thing they can share is laughter.

“Should I suggest you two to get a room?”

Sirius stops giggling. Mary does too. They look at each other, eyes wide, and finally realise how their position must look. They scramble to separate, mumbling shy and awkward things to each other as Mary disentangles her legs from Sirius’ hips, allowing him to slowly lower her on the floor. She quickly steps from him and he feels this strange loss as she returns to the piano. He can still feel her, the warmth of her skin still tingles on his palms. He turns to glare at Doe, who’s smiling at him teasingly.

“Good catch,” Doe mumbles to him as soon as she’s close.

Sirius deflates, his irate expression turning to horror. She’s been watching for that long? “It’s not—”

“Don’t let that one go, eh?”

Sirius opens his mouth to protest again, but Doe stops him with a wink. After dumping her things on her bag, she goes to her position. Unbelievable. He satisfies himself with glaring at the woman who is meant to be his friend before looking to the piano where Mary sits, staring at the keys. Her face is red. Is his face red? It feels like it. He stares until she looks up and they eyes meet. Her face becomes redder, but she nods at him and straightens her back. She’s not looking at him anymore. Doe’s not looking at him. No one is looking any anybody.

Sirius shakes his head and puts the platform back before going to Doe’s side. What happened is still fresh in his mind. He wants nothing more than to go right now and run to a place where he can think about this whole new information that he somehow just stumbled upon out of nowhere instead of seeing it coming from a mile away.

He sighs and poses. Break is over. Back to practice.

#blackdonald #sirius black #mary macdonald #fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #fanfiction: harry potter #hpfanfic: oneshot #hpfanfic: supernova #hpfanfic: mary macdonald #hpfanfic: sirius black #i know nothing about the performing arts #forgive my mistakes #but do let me know about them as well so i can learn

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impracticaldemon · 8 years ago

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Words ~ 6500

Prompts for MiraFreed Week 2017: (3) Modelling; and (4) Flowers.

Chapter 1 is HERE (First Steps: I Will Love Her Darkness) Chapter 2 is on ff.net above, or on tumblr post under the image.

Author's Note

I regret the delay in posting this chapter; there was a RL matter that seriously occupied my time over the past several days. I hope you enjoy today's offering, though! :)

This chapter takes place about three months after the last chapter.

Chapter 2—First Steps: In the Limelight

[I] - Morning Tea

Freed walked unhurriedly to the Fairy Tail guildhall, impeccably dressed as usual in his trademark knee-length coat and white cravat. The coat was dark blue today, because he knew that Mirajane liked the colour on him. It was still an odd feeling—to know that somebody cared enough to have an opinion on what he wore, and to care enough for them in return to want to accommodate their preference.

He nodded to Gray and Natsu, who were having an animated discussion over a job poster they'd brought to their table to look over. When he realized that against all odds it actually was just a discussion and not a fight, he stopped to wish them a good morning. Gray returned the greeting with his usual "hey, Freed"; Natsu waved, but kept talking about the job. It was interesting to see those two in moments when they were behaving like adults instead of kids. Freed had known them both for several years, and was impressed with how quickly they were developing their powers.

On a more personal note, he appreciated the fact that they were both civil to him—willing to be friendly, even. There were still quite a few ostensibly more mature guild members who resented what he had done during the battle of Fairy Tail. Natsu was quick to anger and quick to move on, just as he had been in the past. Gray was just as reserved as he'd always been with people he didn't know well; he wasn't one to wear his feelings on his sleeve around strangers. That was fine with Freed, who could relate; it hadn't taken long for Freed to understand that a basic "hey, Freed" was Gray's way of being polite. At this point, it didn't reflect any true coldness.

Both of the somewhat younger men had taken his developing relationship with Mirajane in stride. It wasn't their business and they didn't want it to be. If anything, they were happy to see the Fairy Tail/Raijinshūu rifts closing. Freed appreciated both aspects to their attitude. It made the animosity—the occasional glare, or deliberate slight—easier to shrug off.

"Are you going to the fashion show to see Mirajane this afternoon?" asked Gray, ignoring Natsu's continued attempts to get him interested in the mission on the poster.

"There's a fashion show?" asked Natsu, interrupting himself to swivel around. "What kind of fashion show?"

Gray rolled his eyes at him. "What do you mean, what kind of fashion show, flame-brain? It's a fashion show—models like Mirajane will walk down some kind of raised walkway showing off fancy clothes. What did you have in mind?"

"Oi! Enough with the sarcasm, ice princess! I was just curious, that's all." Natsu hunched his shoulders irritably. "Erza and Lucy mentioned it and you never know with them—could've been armour or costumes or something. Why do you care anyway? You can barely keep your clothes on—can't imagine what use you'd have for anything fancy..."

"I care," replied Gray with exaggerated patience, "because the florist asked for my help keeping the flowers for the show fresh and I was hoping to find somebody who would could take the most delicate case—with a few special pieces—over to the location for me. Saves me an extra trip."

"I can do that," Freed put in. "I wonder if I can ask a favour in return—nothing that you aren't already doing."

"What do you need?"

"I'd like to bring flowers. If I could keep them cool with your magic instead of mine, it would be less… conspicuous."

Gray nodded, mostly to himself. Although people were starting to accept Freed and his team again, the dark aura—or at least appearance—of his runes could cause consternation. Or at least a negative reaction. Gray had noticed that Freed wasn't too concerned when people weren't always the nicest to him, but that he tended to look a little scary if it affected Mirajane.

They spent a few more minutes chatting and sorted out some details. It meant that Freed was a bit late for his mid-morning tea with Mirajane, but it was worth it. Every relationship that he built or rebuilt within Fairy Tail made Mirajane happier. It had occurred to Freed recently that Mirajane still wasn't completely sure that he was going to stick around instead of running off to track down Laxus. Every time he created ties to Fairy Tail, she felt more secure. She wasn't wrong that Laxus was very important to him. What she couldn't seem to accept was how much of his heart was hers. He hoped to take a step forward today.

Mirajane was in the square room behind the bar that she used as an office whenever she was acting as Fairy Tail's hostess for the day. Today, she looked preoccupied, although she had his tea and her coffee waiting on the round table she kept in one corner of the room. She was fiddling absently with a napkin, which wasn't like her.

"Good morning, Freed... I saw you talking to Gray and Natsu—is everything okay?"

Freed smiled, taking a moment to appreciate how lovely she was this morning in her soft white sundress with its print of bright flowers. He bent over to kiss her lips, brushed her cheek with his fingers, and seated himself. He always made a point of touching her whenever they meant. Because of her past, when people had been very afraid of her magic—as had she—she had become used to keeping a slight physical distance from people unless she was very certain they were comfortable with her and vice versa.

"Everything is fine. Better than usual, really, since they weren't fighting." Freed sipped at his tea, a simple green with lemon and nothing added. "Gray assumed that I'd be going over to the show later and asked me take some of the flowers for him. He's helping out with his ice magic, I take it. Seems strange to me, but he didn't look put out over it."

Mirajane took a delicate bite of the lemon cookies that she'd set out as a snack. She was an excellent cook. Freed recognized that the cookies had been chosen for him, since they went far better with his tea than with her coffee. It was part of how they were working out their relationship: small gifts of time; changes to long-established routines; a willingness to give priority to a person who wasn't Laxus (or Evergreen or Bixlow), in Freed's case, or Elfman (or any of a dozen members of Fairy Tail), in Mirajane's case. Every couple had to do such things, of course, but people as aware as Freed and Mirajane did it consciously—and carefully. Taking care was important when the partners each controlled so much power and potential for destruction.

"The guild has been trying to get to know the townsfolk of Magnolia a bit better since all the battle," Mirajane told him, once she'd finished swallowing. "A number of the members came up with the same idea, and I liked it, so I agreed to try to set up what you might call more everyday jobs—like Gray helping out the florist by providing specialized ice to keep flowers cool. He actually had to spend some time figuring out how to make it work."

"What do they get in return?" Freed asked, intrigued.

"Just goodwill, sometimes—and you can be sure that I don't let anyone get taken advantage of! But in many cases, small gifts, future concessions, and so on. If Gray were dating somebody, then he'd probably find it easier to get flowers at a busy time of year, or maybe he'd get a discount or something. Since he isn't"—

"Yet," murmured Freed, with a gleam of amusement in his eyes.

"Since he isn't dating yet," said Mirajane, dimpling slightly, "even though you would think—but never mind that. The point is that I'm sure he'll work something out with the florist. We're only just starting out, so who knows how it will go overall?"

"Very well, I expect," Freed assured her.

"Because I'm running it?" asked Mirajane, a trace of laughter in her blue eyes.

"Because it's an excellent idea," Freed responded gravely, ignoring the bait. Mirajane pretended to pout. Freed's mock-serious expression quirked into a slight smile: "And because you're running it, of course."

When Freed stood up to go, about twenty minutes later, he leaned down as if to give Mirajane his customary kiss. He surprised her by speaking quietly into her ear instead.

"I know something's bothering you and I can tell it has to do with me."

Mirajane reddened. She wasn't quite sure what troubled her more: the way that he'd gotten to know her so well within the last three months, or the fact that his warm breath on her ear made her conscious that he was a very good looking man. Before she could respond, Freed bent his head lower, kissed her gently just below her ear, and then on the lips.

"Whatever it is, you can tell me," he told her, ignoring her blush. "And if you don't, that's alright too." He waited a moment, and then bowed slightly when she didn't speak. "I'll see you later this afternoon, Mira. I'm looking forward to the show."

[II] - A Path Among the Briars: Hidden Thorns

The late afternoon sun was just beginning to dip toward the horizon as the final ensembles—filmy summer gowns—were being shown off by the region's top three models, which naturally included Mirajane. Although there had been some men's clothing featured earlier on, there was no question that it had been rather limited in sophistication and style compared to what had been on display for women. Freed hadn't seen much of great interest overall, but he would have been the first to admit that he was far more interested in watching Mirajane than the clothes. She looked wonderful no matter what she wore, but to Freed's perception it was the elegance of mind, magic and body together that made her stand out. The other two models were much taller than the lovely mage, but her presence eclipsed their height.

As the local favourite, Mirajane was the last of the three models to swirl down the runway, looking very much like a fairy in gossamer-thin chiffon over sheer silk in deceptively simple white that somehow glowed and shimmered like opal as she moved. Somebody had either been very lucky or very skillful in arranging the time and place of the show: the gown looked almost magical against the deepening rosy-orange hues of the sky. There was a rustle of whispers and indrawn breaths across the crowd, and then Natsu—who had arrived toward the end of the show, the gods only knew why—started to cheer. A moment later he was being shown how to clap politely by his teammates, Erza and Lucy. They had apparently pulled his scarf tight over his mouth.

It might have been because he was watching her so closely that Freed saw sudden apprehension dawn on Mirajane's face just as she took a moment to glance down at him. Acting on long-honed instinct,[i] he twisted and vaulted lightly onto the edge of the catwalk. Even as he moved, the place where he had been standing was doused in sticky black oil by the man who had been on his right. It was absurd and yet somehow menacing; the expression on the man's face was venomous. Mirajane looked stricken and then masked her expression with a graceful half-curtsey to Freed as if asking him to join her.

Freed flicked his eyes over his would-be assailant, even as he closed the short distance to Mirajane's side. It took an immense effort of will not to make the man suffer immediately for ruining Mira's pleasure in her success. Freed tended strongly toward the concept of law and order, not to mention crime and punishment; in this case what held his hand was the realization that almost any retaliation would reflect worse on him and those associated with him than on the perpetrators. The fact that Erza had appeared at the man's side helped considerably. Whatever he'd tried to shout was muffled by a strong (albeit white-gloved) hand over his mouth.

"You look incredible in that gown, Mira," he told her sincerely. "If you will do me the honour of letting me accompany you for a few moments, I would appreciate it. I can't do you justice, of course." He gave her wry look and extended his hand with a bow.

Mirajane managed a dazzling professional smile, although it didn't reach her eyes. Fortunately, most people in the crowd simply treated Freed as additional entertainment—the incident itself hadn't been visible to very many. Freed's name had been coupled with Mirajane's in recent magazine articles, and Fairy Tail wizards were notoriously eccentric, although Mirajane was generally held to be an exception.

The good-looking pair strolled to the end of the catwalk, Freed holding Mirajane's fingertips in his own as if he were about to lead her into some old-fashioned dance. He was careful to ensure that she could still show off her gown—and figure—to advantage. On the whole, it went quite well, although they were both glad to leave the runway once they'd returned to the far end. Mirajane still had to go back to give a short speech about the beauties of Magnolia, and to receive a small tribute and gift from the show organizer, but other than that she was done for the day.

While Mirajane was in the dressing room changing, Gray came over to Freed with the boxed flowers that the ice mage had agreed to bring.

"Didn't realize you were taking up modelling," Gray commented, with slightly raised brows.

"The timing was right," replied Freed, straight-faced.

"Ah. Well, apparently the guy who tried to give you a makeover right before your big debut wasn't looking for autographs. Seems that he's the head of one of Mirajane's nuttier fan clubs, and pretty disturbed that his fair-haired goddess has taken up with, um, somebody like you."

"Like me?"

"Maybe he doesn't like cravats? His goal was to paint you as black as your evil heart—or something like that. So that Mirajane would see you for what you really are. Anyway, that's all I heard from Erza, who said that you could break the bad news to Mirajane."

Freed had been about to turn away, but he paused.

"Bad news?" he asked, cautiously. With Erza, you never quite knew.

Gray smirked. "Yeah… Erza introduced the guy to Elfman—so to speak. Said that such a loyal supporter deserved to meet the family."

Freed thanked Gray for the news and the flowers and was waiting outside the dressing room when Mira emerged. He was a little surprised—and disappointed—when he saw that Lucy and Cana were with her.

"Don't worry, lover-boy," said Cana, poking him on the shoulder and eyeing the flower box with interest. "We were just touching base and bringing Mira up to speed. That guy was awfully sweet on her, but he wasn't playing with a full deck, if you know what I mean." Cana flipped her own deck of cards up into the air in some kind of complicated shuffle, and turned over the top card one-handed. "Aw, look at that, Luce, the Joker looks just like Freed!"

Freed had managed to end up at Mirajane's side with his arm around her waist, but he leaned in to look good-naturedly.

"You drew little green lightning bolts onto his hair?" asked Lucy, peering at the card.

"Ha! No, sometimes my cards just kinda pick things up. You look good in the harlequin outfit, lover-boy. But seriously, Freed, next time you model, get some tips from Gray—that woulda been way more exciting if you'd stripped."

"Cana!"

"Yeah, yeah, don't get your lacy pink bikinis in a twist, Mira. Oops! Look at the time—gotta go!"

Cana dragged Lucy off with her (possibly as a shield in case of retaliation from the fuming model), sending a parting shot over her shoulder: "You know what they say Mira—if you've got it, flaunt it! Better yet—share it!"

There was a short silence, and then Freed offered his arm. Although the episode with the crazy fan still disturbed him, certain of Cana's comments to Mirajane had taken a certain hold of his imagination. They started walking through the lovely public garden that had been the site of the show. Mirajane usually had boundless energy, but she seemed tired.

"I thought I was overreacting," she admitted.

"Ah… to what?" Freed blushed very slightly, trying rein in his imagination.

Mirajane gave him a critical look, and her somber expression lifting a little.

"Well, not to Cana, if that's what got your, er, knickers in a twist!" She peeped sideways at Freed and thought she saw the flush deepen across his cheekbones.

"Um… I'm not sure—"

"And they're not pink. But they are cute and lacy."

This time the blush wasn't her imagination, but Freed said nothing, just kept his eyes focussed ahead.

"Tell me what happened with your fan," he asked. "I assume that's what was bothering you this morning."

"I got an anonymous message—several actually—saying that you should leave me alone and things like that. And odd threats, very theatrical sounding."

"Maybe he was hoping for tar and feathers, but it was difficult to be inconspicuous with a large pillow—or chicken—at a fashion show. Still, it was unpleasant and I sorry it ruined things for you."

"Oh… in retrospect it's not so bad. But I was pretty sure it was him, you see. And then I realized he was right beside you."

"I should thank him for letting me spend more time with you."

"I suppose."

"Mira, here's a pretty place where we can sit, and I can give you your flowers."

She smiled up at him, noticing that he looked rather serious. The bench sat on a grassy sward and looked out over a wide lily pond. Brightly coloured fish swam like living gems in the depths, and the sunset was reflected in the gently rippling water.

Once they had sat down, she took the box, admiring the little snowflake design imprinted on the lid.

"One of Gray's boxes?"

"Mm-hmm. The florist did tremendous business today."

Mirajane lifted the lid and pushed aside the tissue paper. She smiled as she uncovered two dozen glorious long-stem roses, intermixed white and red. She'd never seen roses quite this size or style before—and even the scent was wonderful. Much of the foliage had been left on around the stems.

"I know that roses are rather traditional, but then, so am I," said Freed. "However, these are unusual roses."

Mirajane picked up one velvety red rose, admiring the deep colour. Then she gave a soft, involuntary cry, and brought a finger to her mouth.

"Thorns? I thought the florist generally got the ones without thorns? And… these are fairly serious thorns."

"They are, and florists do—dispense with thorns, that is. Easier for them, and the customer. But I bought these ones from somebody who grows the most spectacular flowers. He tends to prefer his plants with all of their natural defenses."

"You convinced Droy to part with some of his plants? And since when does he experiment with roses?"

"It was a special commission. We also discussed possible applications, and he believes the thorns could be quite useful."

Mira sat turning the incredible—and dangerous—red rose in her hands. Freed picked out a white rose and handed that to her as well.

"You're being symbolic, aren't you?" Mirajane said quietly.

"I'm afraid so."

"Beautiful roses with deadly thorns."

"Yes, but still the very best roses there are—although perhaps the thorns can only be appreciated by a few."

"What… is this about, Freed?"

"We've been seeing each other for three months." Freed hesitated then continued, watching Mira holding her two roses, enjoying the scent and the soft petals, but careful to hold the stems by the foliage or between the thorns. "And I wondered if, sometime in the near future, we could pick out an apartment together, or maybe a small townhouse." He sensed Mirajane go very still, her eyes still fixed on the roses.

"You see," Freed explained, picking his words with care, "you live with your brother, and you're very close. And I live with my team, and that's fine too. But I want us to be something more to each other. Maybe not married, because that's an even bigger step, in my opinion. But to share a space that we choose together and make ours. Learning each other's' habits—even the bad ones. Hopefully choosing to share a bed, although I can patient—despite how it may seem."

The silence stretched for almost five minutes, and then Mirajane sighed and set the roses back into the box. Freed tried and failed not to tense, but she had only left her hands open to take his, and optimism returned. He searched her well-known face for a hint of her thoughts.

"That's… a pretty major proposal. Or proposition."

"I know."

"But I'm not against it."

"So?" Freed asked, trying to remain as calm and steady as usual.

"Let's go looking. We can get people used to it in the meantime."

"Is that a yes?"

Finally, Mirajane laughed. "Yes, it's a yes. You really caught me off-guard though. I should be demanding to get married first or something though…"

"We can talk about that."

She shook her head. "You're very certain—about us, I mean."

"I am."

They stared at each other for quite a while, and then Freed leaned forward as he had much earlier in the day, to whisper in her ear: "I love you. You're the right person for me. And I'm the right person for you. I really believe that. I will look after you, and protect you, and treasure you. And I will share my secrets with you, and trust you, and let you look after me. That's what I want." His hands reached cradled the back of her head. Before he kissed her, he added:

"And, of course, at some point, I absolutely, definitely want to make love to you."

Mirajane blushed and tried to say something, but it got lost in the kiss.

[END]

[i] I resisted adding references to mystic and valor here. As you can see. If you don't catch the reference, you truly, truly aren't missing anything.

A/Note: I've had a concept in mind for this story from the start; it's primarily a romance, but I try to incorporate various aspects of the greater Fairy Tail storyline. It's like trying to fill in the colours while keeping the shape of the art the same. As usual, I'm learning as much from writing the characters as I have from the anime, fanpages and fanworks. I hope this chapter was enjoyable for those who appreciate this couple. \(^u^)/ As always, reviews, notes and comments are greatly appreciated. Just a simple comment can really make a writer's day!

~ Impracticaldemon (also, reblogs are much appreciated!)

#fairy tail #mirafreed #mirafreed week 2017 #fanfiction #impracticaldemon #prompts modelling flowers

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