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midorishinji · 4 months ago

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Clair de Lune

"One word from you will silence me forever, I hope you know that, but for that you need to say a word — your silence is distressing." "If one word would silence you forever, I hope fourteen are more than enough."

Sasuhina｜Oneshot｜Also published in Portuguese and on AO3

It was a lazy Thursday morning, in the middle of an unpromising autumn — or at least that's what Sasuke Uchiha thought. He tore one of the pages off the calendar without thinking much: today was September 22, 1988, the year in which the Iran-Iraq War came to an end, just over a month ago, after almost a decade of conflict; it had also been the year of the death of the Chinese president and the beginning of the USSR's economic restructuring, and the Gare de Lyon accident in Paris as well. It had been a troubling year to the world and, at the same time, a period of never-ending boredom for him, a mere high school student.

He left home for his first class of the day when it was early and the cold morning breeze dragged orange leaves away from the dry branches of the trees on his street. Next to him lived a fellow student and classmate, Hinata Hyuuga: the two hadn't really spoken to each other since they were children when they used to play together, and he rarely paid attention to her. Hinata had always been shy and reclusive, and this proved true even today when she walked every day protected from human contact by the headphones attached to her walkman. They didn't greet each other, as usual, they just followed the same path, in the same solitary and silent company as always.

Every second and fourth Thursdays of the month, the school newspaper was published, and Sasuke was an avid reader — not of the entire newspaper, but of a specific column, published by an author who hid behind a peculiar pseudonym, who wrote short stories. God forbid his swim teammates didn’t hear him say this, but he loved reading what that fantastic person, Charlotte Rimbaud, had to say!

Naruto, his best friend, knew this, and arrived at his locker with the most recent copy of the newspaper. — Your favorite author outdid herself this time, 'ttebayo ... I’ve read it, just out of curiosity, I mean, I wanted to see what it was all about since you like her so much, dattebayo …

— I like what she writes. — Sasuke corrected him, without taking his eyes off the math book he intended to pick up as he extended his hand towards the locker.

—Same thing, ‘ttebayo .

— I don't even know her.

That was the problem: Sasuke Uchiha, the boy who could have whoever he wanted in that damn school, couldn't have the only person he wanted because he didn't even know who she was. This bothered him, far beyond his wounded pride: it didn't matter if Charlotte Rimbaud didn't want him as a boyfriend, but perhaps as a friend or merely a fan, it would have been good enough for him. He needed to meet her and know what was going on inside the head of this extraordinary person.

— And you'll never know if you keep being a coward, dattebayo .

The bell rang before he could say anything else, and the two headed to the classroom. At the door, Sasuke bumped into his neighbor, who was carrying the journalism and literature club's attendance lists and other documents: perhaps that was a sign, he thought, before sitting down for Professor Kakashi's calculus class.

(...)

The end of the month always meant a lot of paperwork to fill out. Not that this bothered Hinata, she was already used to tedious tasks that allowed her to put on her headphones and let herself be carried away by menial tasks. At that moment, a new song served as a soundtrack to her duties: it was “Jane Says”, by Jane's Addiction; she had heard of them recently playing on the radio and she ran out looking for a cassette tape to record the song while in the first few seconds. It didn't matter that she had lost a couple of seconds of the track: the best things are discovered like that, by chance, and this loss was material proof of it.

The club room was already empty after four o’clock, except for her, who always stayed late to lock up the place and take care of the last details. It was during this moment of distraction that someone came in and suddenly took away her headphones, causing her to look up in annoyance. It was Sasuke Uchiha, from the swimming team. She knew they were neighbors, but frankly, she couldn't imagine why he was there. — Hey! — she said, taking the headphones back.

— Sorry, I’ve been trying to get your attention for a couple of minutes… — Sasuke said, very casually, as he observed the shelves full of books, carefully and meticulously organized — Anyway, I need a favor from you. I wanna know who Charlotte Rimbaud is.

—And why do you think I would know? — Hinata replied, without looking up from her papers.

— Because you are editor-in-chief of the newspaper and president of the journalism and literature club. Nothing is published without your approval. — what his tone of voice meant was: I'm not as stupid as you think.

— This means that I read what people submit for publication and I serve as a quality filter, that's all. Besides, has it ever occurred to you that anyone who is writing under a pseudonym is because they don't want to be recognized?

— Yes, but I need to know. I swear, I won't tell anyone, Hinata... I just need to know this.

She got up from her chair, taking the sheets of documents with her and giving a final tidy to a book that was slightly crooked on the shelf. — I can't help you, I'm sorry.

— A name, and I'll do everything else. She'll never know you told me. — the boy asked, blocking the path by placing himself in front of the door.

Hinata didn't give up, and turned the door handle anyway, forcing her way through. — I don't know if you've already considered the possibility, but not all the girls at this school are stupid enough to fall for your bullshit. — having said that, she put her headphones back on and, once they were both in the hallway, she locked the room and went to the principal’s office to deliver the documents. Meanwhile, Sasuke remained leaning against the wall, trying to come up with a plan to convince her to spill the beans.

(...)

— She didn't even want to hear what I had to say. She said she couldn't help me and that was that. And worse, she even said that not every girl in that school would fall for my bullshit! Can you believe it?

On the other end of the line was Naruto, who laughed at that crazy conversation. It was the first time he saw Sasuke Uchiha defeated to the point of not even being able to recognize it. —And is she wrong, dattebayo ? One time or another you were gonna fall off your high horse…

— I'm serious. I need to know who Charlotte is, and Hinata is my chance.

— One thing you already know, she's a woman, from what Hinata said... Why don't you try asking someone else at the club, 'ttebayo ?

— I've already tried: I spoke to Shino Aburame, and he said he didn't know anything. Sakura laughed right at me and said it's good that Hinata roasted me, so I can stop being an asshole. Kiba told me he didn't know anything either, but he looked so nervous that I suspect he’s lying…

— Then just go after Kiba and that's it, dattebayo .

— I tried, but he said that if I'm smart I'll get it, and that's it. After that, he hung up on me and he won’t answer my calls at all... And at school, he's avoiding me like crazy, I don’t know what else to do.

— Seems like nothing will come out of it then, dattebayo .

— My only option is Hinata. She has to give in at some point, right?

— I don't know, you know her better than me, 'ttebayo . Is she the type to crack under pressure?

Hell no, that's what Sasuke thought. They might not have been that close, but he knew that Hinata was as tough as nails, and when she got an idea in her head, there was no way to convince her otherwise: he remembered well when the school management tried to close the newspaper, and she just didn’t oppose it, she actually started the most successful publication right around that time and then managed to get a petition signed by the entire student body to convince the administration against closing down the newspaper. That's exactly how Charlotte Rimbaud's first story came about: out of spite. — Yeah, no, maybe that's not the best strategy... But I think you gave me an idea, so thanks anyway.

(...)

The following week, Kiba brought a stack of letters and left them on Hinata's desk, as she worked on the layout of the first page of the next edition very carefully. That broke her concentration, and she immediately questioned him. — What’s that?

— Letters from an admirer to Charlotte Rimbaud. He insists that they should be published in the newspaper for her to see. At first, I thought it was a prank, but we already have about fifteen stored in a drawer; it just seems like way too much work for a joke... By now, he should have given up if he wasn't serious. Wanna give it a read? — Kiba said, bringing the pile closer to her.

— No. As far as I'm concerned, you can throw it all away. — she replied, impassively.

— He said he won't stop sending until Charlotte answers him. He seems to be a pretty big fan.

She took the first one from the pile and opened the envelope.

“To Charlotte R.,

There's no one at this school who's a bigger fan of yours than me. I will continue sending letters until you answer, no matter how long it takes: you don't have to say your name if you don't want to, but I have so many questions and so much curiosity that knowing more about you would be enough. One word from you will silence me forever, I hope you know that, but for that you need to say a word — your silence is distressing.

Who are you, anyway? What do you like to do, to read? What kind of music do you listen to? What kind of TV programs do you watch? How do you manage to write your stories like that, so easily? What do you hide?”

— They're not signed, but the handwriting is the same, so they must be from the same person. — the Inuzuka said.

— You can throw it away. — Hinata replied, without hesitation. She felt her fists clench as she tried to control her reactions.

But Kiba had known her for way too long to see through that disguise. — Are you sure you don't want to read the others? They're not signed, like I said, but if I had to bet on a name, I think we both already know who it is, right?

— Sasuke’s an asshole, that's all. He just can't stand not having what he wants.

— And you're gonna let him send letters forever?

— He'll get tired soon and give up on this idea, and we'll be free of the problem.

— No, we will be pretending that the problem doesn’t exist, and that’s two completely different things. If I were you, I’d fix this.

With that said, he walked away from the table. They were the last two in the room, and soon, Kiba left her alone, while Hinata wrote down her response to a certain very persistent admirer on a piece of paper.

(...)

— She wrote back to me, can you believe it?

The excitement was noticeable in Sasuke's voice after he saw the small white envelope inside his locker. It wasn't signed or anything, but who else could it be? It had to be Charlotte! His insistence was certainly worth the price.

— And what did she say, dattebayo ? — Naruto asked, curious.

— I don't know, I haven't opened it yet… — the Uchiha unceremoniously tore open the envelope and then found the message that was there.

“If one word would silence you forever, I hope fourteen are more than enough.

Charlotte Rimbaud”

Naruto burst into infectious laughter, while his friend remained in disbelief. — Wow, what a woman… And she does have a sharp tongue, doesn’t she, ‘ttebayo ?

Sasuke, however, remained silent, still in shock. He had never imagined that his strategy would backfire…

Trying to cheer him up, his friend hugged him, patting the Uchiha on the back as they both walked to math class. — Give up on this while you're still on top, man. Actually, you’re not on top of it now, damn, dattebayo… !

— Your optimism impresses me. — the other boy grumbled. The classroom was still empty, as the bell hadn't rung, but little by little students began to arrive.

Naruto wasn't satisfied yet, of course, and needed to poke at the wound some more. — If you want, my mom has some Bonnie Tyler records to help you out, 'ttebayo , like “Total Eclipse of the Heart”, you know?

In the chair in front of Sasuke, sat the last person he wanted to see at that moment, Hinata Hyuuga, who arrived accompanied by Sakura Haruno, also part of the newspaper team. This certainly only worsened his mood, which became increasingly noticeable even to those who knew nothing about the situation. Like a good friend, Naruto added fuel to the fire: — Hey, girls, guess who just got dumped, dattebayo ?

If looks could kill, Naruto would be doomed by now...

— Do you have anything to do with this, Sakura? Talking shit about me to Charlotte would be very low of you... — the Uchiha said.

— You act like I need to talk shit about you to anyone, you worthless womanizer. — Haruno said, laughing, without having any real intention of offending him with the insults. The truth is that they both knew that he wasn't that bad, and that Sasuke Uchiha even had a smidge of ethics in dismissing suitors who didn't interest him and being straightforward in admitting that he didn't want anything serious. Not that that made him any less of a womanizer, of course.

— Maybe you should just give up. — Hinata said, very directly, as she put away her headphones and walkman in her backpack.

Sasuke sighed, regretfully. —That's what I'm gonna do. I promised her, didn't I? One word from you would silence me forever, as good old Mr. Darcy would say.

— I didn't know you liked Jane Austen.

— There's a lot you don't know about me, Hinata. Contrary to what Sakura thinks, I'm not a worthless piece of trash, no, at least not completely.

At least they both agreed on that. Part of ourselves is always hidden, like the dark side of the moon, and the face we show to the world is not always the face that represents us when we are alone. And sometimes we get this glimpse of who someone is when no one else is looking, which can be as surprising as swim team star Sasuke Uchiha reading “Pride and Prejudice” in his free time.

(...)

The remaining days of the month went away faster than they could imagine, and soon Halloween was knocking on the door, as was the promise of November. As promised, Sasuke didn't send any more letters to the newspaper's editorial office, and things seemed to be calmer, shrouded in the same haze of sameness as always. To his surprise, however, one rainy Tuesday morning an envelope appeared in his locker.

“If you still want to talk, Mr. Darcy, perhaps I will have some free time to read what you have to say. And, to answer your questions:

My favorite hobbies are reading and writing — my favorite book, as you may have already guessed, is “A Season in Hell”, by Arthur Rimbaud, a good last name for a pseudonym, don't you think? I like alternative music and my favorite artist is David Bowie. I don't watch much television, but I like watching new releases on MTV and watching movies, especially horror ones — my favorite is “Halloween”, even though I find the endless sequels detestable and just way too weak compared to the original. As for my writing process… I write the world as it is, beyond the appearances of normality, or as it should be; I like things that are interesting and out of the ordinary.

Charlotte R.”

To say that that letter had made him happy would be to underestimate his reaction: Sasuke Uchiha was ecstatic , and could barely control the stupid and stubborn smile on his face. It would be difficult to concentrate on training today, as he realized as he walked onto the school gymnasium. The place was almost empty, with few people watching the training sessions: winter was approaching and despite the pool being heated, it was still unbearably cold in the gym due to the lack of thermal insulation; it was probably the same feeling as getting inside a refrigerator, if he had to bet...

The coach, at the end, praised his performance and said that whatever had increased his motivation, it was good to keep close by — a thought that the Uchiha obviously agreed with.

Sitting down on one of the benches next to the bleachers, he saw a familiar figure, writing in a notebook. It was Hinata, and she didn't notice him until he was sitting next to her. — Writing much, huh?

This scared her and almost made her drop the notebook between the gaps in the seats. — Damn, Sasuke, what kind of idea, ugh…!

— Relax, I didn’t wanna scare you, I’ve just never seen you around here.

— Kiba is sick and someone needs to cover this fortnight's sports column, he's left to me, of course. — she explained, closing the notebook — What do you want?

— Nothing… But Charlotte answered me. I hope you don't mind if I send another letter to the editorial office, I don't know any other way of talking to her right now.

— It’s fine. — no questions, no complaints. This surprised him but in a positive way.

The one who actually had questions was Sasuke, who looked at the large mirror with an intricate, baroque-style frame, next door. — Is that yours?

— Yeah, a lady was throwing it out this morning, on my way here, and I brought it to take home later, Shino promised he would help me after he finished developing the pictures for the next edition. — she explained, tracing the arabesques on the frame with her fingertips. Thin, pale, and delicate fingers, like those of a pianist: Sasuke sometimes heard someone in the house next door playing, and now he was sure it was her.

Taking the mirror in his arms (which was quite heavy, he had to admit), he stood up and started down the steps. — Come on, I'll help you with this.

— I-it’s okay, Shino… — Hinata still tried to argue.

— Will take a long time, because developing photographs takes a long time. I know because my brother is a photographer, and I've seen him do it a million times.

The girl didn't answer, hiding her face inside the red scarf she wore, almost as red as her cheeks. Sasuke walked beside her, wondering how she had managed to carry that heavy thing to school, and where she could have stored it (probably in the club room, because it definitely wouldn't fit in the locker, it was too tall and large). What a determined mind, certainly…

Good thing the house was close by... Soon, they arrived at the Hyuuga family's yellow house, the one with sunflowers planted near the front window, from where it was possible to see the piano in the living room. — T-thank you... You don't have to be so nice to me, you know? I wouldn't ask for anything in return for letting you send the letters, you know...

— I know, and I know that I don't need to be nice to you or anyone else: I just wanna be. — Sasuke said, with a small smile of satisfaction. He was a person who didn't smile much — Are you sure you don't need help putting this up on the wall?

— No, my dad can help me with that, he should be getting home by now. Thank you, really, Sasuke.

It might not have seemed like much, but those simple words made a strong impression on Sasuke and, if he could describe it, he would have said that they melted his cold heart a little. There's a lot of beauty in being simple and to the point, and Hinata Hyuuga sure has a way with words, a certain firmness of character, he thought, as he walked into the house as well. It was a funny thought to have, accompanied also by a vague feeling of déjà vu .

(...)

Night fell and, for the first time in months, Sasuke heard the sound of the piano next door. First, someone playing a few stray notes, and then a familiar melody: "Clair de Lune", by Debussy. His mother, particularly, liked this piece: Mikoto, who was cooking dinner, stopped what she was doing for the next few minutes to listen to the music. Sasuke walked down the stairs and stood next to her, carefully savoring each of the notes, and the emotion behind them.

— Hinata plays so well. It's a shame she barely has time to play now... — his mother said, sighing deeply.

— I know. — Sasuke replied, in a tone of melancholy that he couldn't understand and, for the first time, there was a flash of pain in his heart, as if something was missing, and he couldn't understand exactly what it was.

He returned to his room after the song ended, still surrounded by a magical mist, which left him intoxicated. I wish I could’ve sat next to Hinata while she played, and recorded the song to listen to it countless times, or until the cassette tape fell apart from being used so much, just to be able to replicate the magic of that short moment a little bit more. He wrote, motivated by a hallucinated fervor, everything he wanted to say to Charlotte Rimbaud.

(...)

Half of October was gone in the blink of an eye, and the second fortnight would bring another publication of the newspaper, which Sasuke was very much looking forward to. Something had broken the ice between him and Hinata, which certainly surprised some and seemed expected by others, since they were now walking together, talking, to and from school, and he seemed to be hanging around the journalism and literature club more often than ever. The letters he exchanged with Charlotte became longer and longer, and he increasingly longed for answers.

It was a cold Friday afternoon when they were walking back home through an empty street. They knew that winter was approaching just from how the sky turned gray and dark so early, and the trees no longer had leaves on their branches.

— When are you gonna play again? — he asked, as they crossed the street towards the opposite sidewalk.

— Well, today, I guess? I don't know. Why? — the girl replied, while dodging a puddle of water, getting closer to Sasuke.

— If you’re gonna play "Clair de Lune" again, I want to record it. It's my favorite, and recently you've been playing it more often, I like it. My mom likes it when you play too, she always stops cooking to listen to you.

Hinata giggled shyly. — I can look for a cassette tape with the music already recorded by a professional pianist, I mean... It would be better than trying to use a recorder, I think the acoustics in my room aren't that good, and also, if I make a mistake...

— But it's different when you play. There's soul in every note, you know? Hard to explain.

She went silent for a moment, staring at the ground. — You know, it's funny you say that, because I think there's a little bit of me in that particular song. Not because I put my soul there, but because it has always been there , maybe even before I was born… Have you ever had the experience of recognizing something when you see it for the first time? Like déjà vu ... When I heard "Clair de Lune" for the first time, that's how I felt, as if I had already heard it somewhere, and suddenly the image of each note and my fingers playing the piano keys came into my head, even though it was long before I started playing, long before I understood anything about music. I just knew. My grandmother used to say that I was a peculiar child, an old soul, and maybe she was right about that, because I dreamed of the familiarity of old evening dresses and the glitz of the Belle Epoque , as if I had lived through it all and there was still a thread that tied me to the past, when I used to attend balls and waltz... — she paused and smiled — Or maybe I was just a very imaginative child and obsessed with a random historical period.

— My brother once told me that this reincarnation thing is probably true and that when we like people for no apparent reason it's because our souls have always attracted each other, gravitating around each other like planets around the sun. I found it very beautiful. I think he, like you, is also an old soul, and I am brand new, as modern as a color television. — Sasuke said, with a crooked smile — By the way, has anyone ever told you that you have a way with words? Right now, it’s like I felt a déjà vu too, as if I had already heard not those exact words, not those ideas, but this way, this soul behind it...

Pausing for a minute, suddenly Sasuke Uchiha felt terribly stupid, and realized the truth behind that almost comical situation: Kiba was right when he said that if he was smart he would get everything, and it seems that this thought had only occurred to him now. Arthur Rimbaud, who lived during the Belle Epoque, was an old soul just like the little Charlotte he finally met in person. — Charlotte... You're Charlotte, aren't you?

Giving up, the Hyuuga hid a little further inside the red scarf, as scarlet as she was. — Well... It looks like we've finally met, right, Mr. Darcy?

#naruto #naruto fanfic #naruto shippuden #hinata hyuga #sasuke uchiha #sasuhina #sakura haruno #naruto uzumaki #kiba inuzuka #fanfiction #writing #1980s #high schooal #au!high school #au!1980s #jane austen

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coffeeandmagicaltales · 1 year ago

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The Auror&The Devil part 2

The defender of Hogwarts, a fifth-year student, Morana, doesn't feel the taste of victory, but the pain of responsabilities tied to the ancient magic. After Professor Fig's death, prof. Sharp was supposed to take on the role of her mentor. Her sudden outburst of suppressed anger and grief, left him uncertain about Mora's future...

A story born in my head, about my OC character Morana and prof. Aesop Sharp. Sorry for my english, I'm from Poland.

(Student-teacher relationship platonic (for now), mentioned trauma, mentioned death, extensive use of the word f*ck, make some coffee/tea and enjoy)

"Here, this should help," Sharp said quietly, handing Morana a cup of effervescent liquid. "It tastes awful, but you won't catch a cold tomorrow.” Despite it scratching her throat, she downed it in one gulp without a word and handed the professor an empty vessel, wrapping herself in the blanket he had conjured especially for her.

She looked absolutely miserable; disheveled, huddled in the armchair, trembling. Emotions were just beginning to ebb from her, and adrenaline left her veins, leaving behind an intense coldness and a feeling of fatigue. She stared blankly ahead, desperately, without looking towards the part of Sharp's classroom, which her aggressive outburst had left in shambles, causing her embarrassment and guilt burning her cheeks. Piles of destroyed books and dozens of shattered vials containing Sharp's specimens were a pitiful monument to her tantrum.

The man watched her closely, leaning on the edge of the round table. Damn, she looked awful... She was a wreck of a person, and he couldn't fathom how someone could bring her to this state. His heart slowly filled with bitterness towards Professor Fig. Foolish man... he thought to himself, and made a silent tsk with his lips, when he was thinking about what might have happened if the fucking trials, Matilda told him about brought her death.

The silence was becoming irritating, so he crossed his arms over his chest, took a deep breath.

"Feeling better?" he asked with a hint of concern in his voice, eager to break the awkward silence. She responded with a nod and a sniffle. "Good," he replied and was about to say something when she interrupted him.

"I'm sorry for everything," she said in a voice so soft, filled with regret and shame... Merlin... His heart skipped a beat, and a tear welled up in his dark eye, which he quickly brushed away, pretending there was an itch under his eyelid. From the beginning, he had no intention of being angry with her. He knew what she felt all too well. She had suppressed her emotions for so long, and they had to find an outlet eventually. He was relieved it was happening now rather than letting the pressure build, leading to an explosive release. It could have ended differently. He had witnessed the suffering of others many times, especially when carrying out more challenging tasks for the Ministry, and their outcomes were far from happy. He often had to deliver news of a child's or a somebody loved one's death... He comforted others and had to be the voice of reason when others couldn't think rationally. Over the years, he had learned to keep his cool and suppress his emotions... Everyone considered him a man with nerves of steel, and maybe that was true, but only until the very threshold of his home. Once he crossed the magical boundary and entered his intimate, solitary space, he often collapsed on the floor and sobbed, feeling so vulnerable and fragile that he might shatter into pieces at any moment.

He wasn't heartless, quite the opposite. If the students found out who he really was... Sweet Salazar!... He was afraid he would completely lose control over them. He preferred to keep his distance and clearly define the boundaries between times of relaxed behavior in his presence and moments when seriousness and focus were required. Well, at least that's how it had worked until now... With Morana, those rules seemed to have no place, especially considering that just an hour ago, they were sipping tea together... well, to be honest, in the company of a stuffed Niffler and Mandrake... The memory made him feel embarrassed, but he wasn't sure whether he felt more awkward or scared of the prospect of gossip that would surely emerge if the girl accidentally told someone that the fearsome Professor Sharp once had worried about the fate of an abandoned toy.

"Why didn't you run away?" she asked with sadness in her voice, probably referring to the thunder of ancient magic she had unleashed on his illusion. Her big blue eyes, brimming with sorrow, were fixed on Sharp, who sent her a faint smile.

"Oh, if I weren't prepared for every eventuality, I would have nipped your aggression in the bud... And definitively, if I weren't in control, I wouldn't have allowed myself to make that highly cunning remark about goblins, for which I apologize."

„In a way, it was funny..." Morana sniffed, wiping a wet cheek, and confessed with a trembling voice: "I haven't been myself lately. I don't sleep well, I have no appetite... often, I feel like only my body is present... I constantly think about everything I did..."

"And what did you do, hmm?" Sharp asked gently, sensing that it was a good moment to learn more about her nighttime escapades.

"I tried to divert poachers from the creatures, and Ranrok's lackeys from people... Often on my own, less frequently with someone's help... I felt that the Aurors were doing nothing at all. I was furious. They weren't where someone needed help, so I decided to..." her voice broke.

"You decided to take matters into your own hands?" Sharp asked softly, and she nodded shyly in response. Lost in thought, he touched his lips with long fingers and then nodded. "I understand you."

"Hmm?" Morana mumbled, looking at him with slight disbelief.

"I understand you," he repeated and let out a sigh, sitting on the edge of the table as his leg began to painfully numb from standing too long in one position. He reached for the letters and put them in his jacket pocket so he wouldn't forget about them when he returned to his quarters, then mumbled to himself and unraveled his thoughts. "The world of Aurors is complicated, entangled in politics, rules, and orders that must be followed unconditionally. According to the myth, they are supposed to bring good, and sometimes, when requests for help are not heard, you can feel... hmm... left to fate. Trust me, many times I've been eager to take on a task, but I wasn't allowed to... I hate standing by idly, watching events unfold, not necessarily in a positive way, knowing that I could help resolve a case much more efficiently and better."

"I think I no longer want to be an Auror," Mora said quietly. Her disappointment audible in her voice, reminded him of his own words every time something in his former job didn't go as planned. Poor thing... he thought sympathetically, seeing her sad eyes and hearing the shatter of her Slytherin ambitions collided with hard reality.

"Well, not everyone has to be one. And certainly not to be content with life... That's what many students, especially those from Slytherin, confuse with the notion of achieving success," he explained, running his hand through his disheveled hair and then added in a more serious tone, hiding some deeply buried resentment, "... Some wizarding families exert tremendous pressure on my students, driven by this nonsense. I don't want that to happen to you."

"I don't know exactly where I come from," Morana explained. "It's just as likely that I was born into a Muggle family as it is that I was born into a pure-blood wizarding family."

"I know that the Dimm family adopted you... I also heard from Professor Weasley that you come from somewhere in the central part of the continent..."

"I was born in the Austro-Hungarian Empire, somewhere in Moravia. I spent most of my life in the local shelters, and then Mr. Dimm adopted me. He found me sleeping between bags of hops and grain, which he was transporting to the United Kingdom. There, new documents were made for me, and they estimated my age more or less..." Morana smiled fondly at the thought of the Dimms. "They are good to me. They knew that others called me a 'witch,' and yet they took me in. They always wanted to have a child, but the years passed, and there was no crying or laughter to be heard in the room they had prepared for their offspring... Then they got me. At first, I didn't know your language at all, and it took me a long time to learn it. We communicated through signs."

"Hmm," Sharp murmured. "You talk about them as if you didn't feel like their child.... And if they didn't care about you, I wouldn't have to brew an entire bathtub of Wiggenweld potion for Fig, who returned from the first conversation with them punctured with pitchforks..." he said in his usual sarcastic tone.

"Because I'm not their child," she cut in, and grumbled, "Mrs. Dimm asked me many times to call her 'mom' because it would make her happy, but I can't get those words out..."

"Well, yes, relationships with parents can be difficult," Sharp nodded understandingly, thinking of his own father. Then, noticing that it was already quite dark outside, he looked at his pocket watch and changed the subject. "It's getting late; you should get some rest. To finalize things... please tell me, what do you want to work on in the near future? The end of the year is just around the corner, and I think we'll take our work seriously in the next one..."

Morana paused for a moment. Sleep was pulling her more strongly in its direction; the warm blanket and the soothing bubbling of the cauldrons in the classroom didn't help. She stifled a yawn.

"I'd like to continue studying ancient magic... Maybe I'll consider becoming an Animagus... What do you think about that, sir?"

Sharp smiled indulgently. "I don't know why, but for some reason, I didn't expect you to mention additional lessons with Professor Binns, but planning to become an Animagus right away?" He laughed sincerely. Morana was surprised at how well the smile suited him. For a few moments, before he became serious again, he had become a completely different person from the one she had known until now; he leaned back amusingly, clasping his chest, and his eyes shone kindly. Despite his tall stature and the ominous scar, he appeared to her as the gentlest creature on Earth. She thought she'd rather die than ever disappoint him. "I think you should master more spells because you only know a handful of them. They're useful, yes, but they might not be enough when you run into more trouble, which I'm sure you will. 'Expecto Patronum' will be one of the priorities. Don't think that I'll let you off the hook with potions either. The cauldron and ladle are your best friends from now on, and I advise you to slowly get used to this idea. Understood?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Good," Sharp said, nodding his head and gestured with his hand toward the damaged part of the classroom. He smiled mysteriously, waiting for Morana's move. The girl gathered her courage and rose from the chair, leaving the blanket on it. She took a deep breath.

"Reparo!"

Her wand swished through the air, and the spell lifted all the shards of glass and scraps of paper into the air, swirling them together and returning them to their original form. Sharp looked at Morana's work without emotion, although he was secretly pleased with the results of her charms. He slid off the desk and limped toward her.

"Follow me, if you please, Miss Dimm," he ordered, passing by her. Morana walked very slowly, matching his pace, walking arm in arm with him. Sharp was not used to having someone walk beside him, and Morana could see the blush that appeared on his embarrassed face and the anxious glances he cast in her direction, as if he wanted to check if she was impatient with his slow walk. He was afraid he might be a burden to someone walking alongside him. Out of nervousness or cold, he rubbed his hands together and, not knowing what to do with them, held them closely to his chest. He had been talking quite a bit, confident in his words... Well, until now for he was compleately lost in thought, focusing on each step. Morana wasn't sure if she could say something that would convince him that she fully accepted the way he limped, that he didn't have to be so nervous around her. She looked at him with a gentle, cheerful smile, letting him know that she could easily adapt to his pace. In fact, she'd be happy to offer him her arm so he could lean on it because he must have been in a lot of pain. But seeing her sheepish smile, he seemed even more flustered.

"In ten minutes, I finish my 'shift.' The headmaster sometimes checks if we're at our post, and I don't want to disappoint him after the last 'incident.' Unfortunately, I won't be able to escort you to the dormitory, so I suggest you walk a bit faster later to avoid being catched by someone more competent in this regard than me." he said through clenched teeth, his voice filled with embarrassment as he glanced at his left knee.

Both of them stopped in front of the door leading to the dungeons.

"Is there something you wanted to show me, Professor?"

"Well, rather... I still have something to tell you..."

"AESOP SHARP!" The raised voice of the witch from the portrait shattered the silence in the castle, and Sharp rolled his eyes.

"For you, Professor Aesop Sharp, if you please," he mumbled without even looking at her.

Lethia Burbley let out an exclamation of indignation and waved her ladle at him.

"How very dare you! Well, let me tell you that the students are disappointed with the potions classes, and absolutely no one learned anything this year! They long for me to return! If only I were the one teaching these classes!"

"Well, maybe if you remembered the ingredients in your 'experiments,' then perhaps you would be still teaching them," Sharp retorted and before Lethia could make a sound, he raised his wand. "Nox!"

A thick darkness engulfed everything.

"Well, every shift is the same," Sharp sighed quietly. Morana heard him stow his wand in his sleeve. "I always have to choose between the light and Lethia's comments... it's not a fair choice, but between us, the Headmaster doesn't pay me enough to go any further than just a step outside the door." He grumbled under his breath and added in a whisper, his "What I wanted to tell you is not to cut yourself off from your friends, Miss Dimm. After my accident, I burned all the bridges, which was a big mistake, and I prefer that others know that loneliness is more painful than finding the courage to have an open and honest conversation with those close to you. Even though I treated everyone around me terribly, two of my colleagues didn't reject me at that time... for which I am eternally grateful to them... And now, go to the dormitory... Your first task from me for the foreseeable future will be to talk to others. It doesn't have to be tomorrow or right away; there's no need to rush, but please, do it."

"Lumos," Morana whispered, and in the faint light, she saw the professor looking at her expectantly, wanting to hear her assurance that she had taken his words to heart. "I promise."

"Good," he replied in a tone that was devoid of emotion, but his expression betrayed that he was pleased with Morana's response. As she started to walk back in her direction, Sharp approached a bit closer toward the light emanating from the tip of her wand and gazed directly into her eyes, gathering himself to say something more. In his mind, he carefully calculated every word. Morana was finally able to get a close look at his face. Typically, the potions classroom had a pale, greenish light that distorted reality, or she was simply too scared to look in his direction or stand closer to him. Unnecessarily so. There was nothing scary about him. In his dark eyes, where small glimmers of light danced like fireflies against the backdrop of a night sky, she only saw kindness... sensitivity... She felt safe in his presence, and the castle's cold walls became... cozy?

His narrow lips quivered. "Mora, even if you have doubts... even if you realize that your life is submerged in darkness... you can still walk through it guided by the light within you," he said softly and briefly, with just the tips of his fingers, touched her raised hand, which held the wand,. His cold, soft hands reassured Morana that she was in good hands and could count on him. She sniffled, feeling a bit moved by his words.

"Good night, Miss Dimm. Sleep well."

"Thank you, Professor Sharp... from the bottom of my heart."

"Well... ehm um," he stammered, only slightly turning his head in her direction, and then rolled his eyes. What am I going to do with you, girl? his expression seemed to say.

Morana watched him as he hobbled toward his chambers.

#aesop sharp #professor aesop sharp #hogwarts legacy #professor sharp #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy oc

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duckiereads · 2 years ago

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9 Books I Saved from the Store at the Barnes and Noble 50% Hardcovers Sale

Can you believe that people were just going to leave these books at the store without homes? I simply couldn't bear it, so I picked them up and took them home so that they might have a good home in the new year.😂

As I write this, it is in fact the last day of the Barnes and Noble After Christmas 50% off Hardcover sale. Last year, I only brought home two books. This year, I took a few more than that.

As always: Summaries are from Publisher/Author sites.

If any of these interest you and if you are able, please support your favorite bookstores or local libraries when acquiring these and other books!

Carmilla by Sheridan Le Fanu

In an isolated castle deep in the Austrian forest, teenaged Laura leads a solitary life with only her father, attendant and tutor for company. Until one moonlit night, a horse-drawn carriage crashes into view, carrying an unexpected guest -- the beautiful Carmilla. So begins a feverish friendship between Laura and her entrancing new companion, one defined by mysterious happenings and infused with an implicit but undeniable eroticism. As Carmilla becomes increasingly strange and volatile, prone to eerie nocturnal wanderings, Laura finds herself tormented by nightmares and growing weaker by the day...

The Project by Courtney Summers

From Courtney Summers, the New York Times bestselling author of the 2019 Edgar Award Winner and breakout hit Sadie, comes her electrifying follow-up—a suspenseful, pulls-no-punches story about an aspiring young journalist determined to save her sister no matter the cost. Lo Denham is used to being on her own. After her parents died in a tragic car accident, her sister Bea joined the elusive community called The Unity Project, leaving Lo to fend for herself. Desperate not to lose the only family she has left, Lo has spent the last six years trying to reconnect with Bea, only to be met with radio silence. When Lo’s given the perfect opportunity to gain access to Bea’s reclusive life, she thinks they’re finally going to be reunited. But it’s difficult to find someone who doesn’t want to be found, and as Lo delves deeper into The Project and its charismatic leader, she begins to realize that there’s more at risk than just her relationship with Bea: her very life might be in danger. As she uncovers more questions than answers at each turn, everything Lo thought she knew about herself, her sister, and the world is upended. One thing doesn’t change, though, and that’s what keeps her going: Bea needs her, and Lo will do anything to save her.

All Signs Point to Yes edited by G. Haron Davis, Cam Montgomery, and Adrianne White

A haunted Aquarius finds love behind the veil. An ambitious Aries will do anything to stay in the spotlight. A foodie Taurus discovers the best eats in town (with a side of romance). A witchy Cancer stumbles into a curious meet-cute. Whether it’s romantic, platonic, familial, or something else you can’t quite define, love is the thing that connects us. All Signs Point to Yes will take you on a journey from your own backyard to the world beyond the living as it settles us among the stars for thirteen stories of love and life. These stories will touch your heart, speak to your soul, and have you reaching for your horoscope forevermore.

A Show for Two by Tashi Bhyiuan

All Mina Rahman wants is to finally win the Golden Ivy student film competition, get into her dream school, and leave New York City behind for good. When indie film star Emmitt Ramos enrolls in her high school under a secret identity to research his next role, he agrees to star in her short film for the competition…if she acts as his NYC tour guide. As Mina ventures across the five boroughs with Emmitt, the city she grew up in starts to look more like home than it ever has before. Suddenly, Mina’s dreams—which once seemed impenetrable—begin to crumble, and she’s forced to ask herself: Is winning worth losing everything?

The Marvellers by Dhonielle Clayton

Eleven-year-old Ella Durand is the first Conjuror to attend the Arcanum Training Institute, a magic school in the clouds where Marvellers from around the world practice their cultural arts, like brewing Indian spice elixirs and bartering with pesky Irish pixies. Despite her excitement, Ella discovers that being the first isn’t easy—some Marvellers mistrust her magic, which they deem “bad and unnatural.” But eventually, she finds friends in elixirs teacher, Masterji Thakur, and fellow misfits Brigit, a girl who hates magic, and Jason, a boy with a fondness for magical creatures. When a dangerous criminal known as the Ace of Anarchy escapes prison, supposedly with a Conjuror’s aid, tensions grow in the Marvellian world and Ella becomes the target of suspicion. Worse, Masterji Thakur mysteriously disappears while away on a research trip. With the help of her friends and her own growing powers, Ella must find a way to clear her family’s name and track down her mentor before it’s too late.

All My Rage by Sabaa Tahir

Lahore, Pakistan. Then. Misbah is a dreamer and storyteller, newly married to Toufiq in an arranged match. After their young life is shaken by tragedy, they come to the United States and open the Clouds’ Rest Inn Motel, hoping for a new start. Juniper, California. Now. Salahudin and Noor are more than best friends; they are family. Growing up as outcasts in the small desert town of Juniper, California, they understand each other the way no one else does. Until The Fight, which destroys their bond with the swift fury of a star exploding. Now, Sal scrambles to run the family motel as his mother Misbah’s health fails and his grieving father loses himself to alcoholism. Noor, meanwhile, walks a harrowing tightrope: working at her wrathful uncle’s liquor store while hiding the fact that she’s applying to college so she can escape him—and Juniper—forever. When Sal’s attempts to save the motel spiral out of control, he and Noor must ask themselves what friendship is worth—and what it takes to defeat the monsters in their pasts and the ones in their midst.

Bloodmarked by Tracy Deonn

Note: Sequel to Legendborn

The shadows have risen, and the line is law. All Bree wanted was to uncover the truth behind her mother’s death. So she infiltrated the Legendborn Order, a secret society descended from King Arthur’s knights—only to discover her own ancestral power. Now, Bree has become someone new: A Medium. A Bloodcrafter. A Scion. But the ancient war between demons and the Order is rising to a deadly peak. And Nick, the Legendborn boy Bree fell in love with, has been kidnapped. Bree wants to fight, but the Regents who rule the Order won’t let her. To them, she is an unknown girl with unheard-of power, and as the living anchor for the spell that preserves the Legendborn cycle, she must be protected. When the Regents reveal they will do whatever it takes to hide the war, Bree and her friends must go on the run to rescue Nick themselves. But enemies are everywhere, Bree’s powers are unpredictable and dangerous, and she can’t escape her growing attraction to Selwyn, the mage sworn to protect Nick until death. If Bree has any hope of saving herself and the people she loves, she must learn to control her powers from the ancestors who wielded them first—without losing herself in the process.

I'm Glad My Mom Died by Jennette McCurdy

Jennette McCurdy was six years old when she had her first acting audition. Her mother’s dream was for her only daughter to become a star, and Jennette would do anything to make her mother happy. So she went along with what Mom called “calorie restriction,” eating little and weighing herself five times a day. She endured extensive at-home makeovers while Mom chided, “Your eyelashes are invisible, okay? You think Dakota Fanning doesn’t tint hers?” She was even showered by Mom until age sixteen while sharing her diaries, email, and all her income. In I’m Glad My Mom Died, Jennette recounts all this in unflinching detail—just as she chronicles what happens when the dream finally comes true. Cast in a new Nickelodeon series called iCarly, she is thrust into fame. Though Mom is ecstatic, emailing fan club moderators and getting on a first-name basis with the paparazzi (“Hi Gale!”), Jennette is riddled with anxiety, shame, and self-loathing, which manifest into eating disorders, addiction, and a series of unhealthy relationships. These issues only get worse when, soon after taking the lead in the iCarly spinoff Sam & Cat alongside Ariana Grande, her mother dies of cancer. Finally, after discovering therapy and quitting acting, Jennette embarks on recovery and decides for the first time in her life what she really wants. Told with refreshing candor and dark humor, I’m Glad My Mom Died is an inspiring story of resilience, independence, and the joy of shampooing your own hair.

Eros/Psyche by Maria Llovet

The Rose female boarding school is paradise for young girls...but only if you follow the rules. Because, if you disobey them, you can end up expelled, or even worse, dead. Sara and Silje are two students learning the rules of the school, which includes classes by day...and the casting of curses and spells by night. A love develops between the two, which is tender, but threatens to break under the weight of the dark secret society within The Rose. Acclaimed creator Maria Llovet (Faithless, Heartbeat, Loud) brings you a surreal, bewitching tale of love, magic, and tragedy in Eros/Psyche.

Did anybody else save some books from the shelves during the sale? What should I read first?

#booklr #book haul #books #the marvellers #carmilla #maria llovet #i'm glad my mom died #barnes and noble #legendborn #tracy deonn #sabaa tahir #national book award #courtney summers

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wtf-amiru · 2 years ago

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Ship asks: 2, 12, 13, and 46?

2. Who wakes up early/Who sleeps in late? I believe I've answered this before honestly, and I know I've talked about it but A'miru is NOT a morning person at all. I could see her a 10am wake up kind of person tho. G'raha is a morning person, perpetual student with perpetual student habits of being up early for class bc you know he's there because he wants to be. The only way you're getting Miru out of bed in the early am is with coffee lol

12. Do they have a difficult time when separated from each other, or are they fairly independent? I think they were both so solitary before each other that it's a weird mix of both. They're fine alone on their own and will get done what they need to do and do it without complaining or whining but gosh they miss each other. Miru misses not having to say anything to communicate how she feels and I think G'raha, honestly, misses her needing him for little things like waking up and when she forgets things. He enjoys coaxing her awake and being sort of the "organized one", and he enjoys the little things like joking around and being general cat clowns together, she brings out a lot of mischief in him, helps him let go after all he's had to sit through alone. So yeah, they're both incredibly independent but boy howdy they miss each other a ton. Don't bother them for a while after time away from each other, they're either gonna be gross or be menaces lmao.

13. How do they keep in contact when they’re apart? Do they write letters, talk on the phone, or simply wait out the time? Oh Tataru got them their own linkpearls. They're insufferable over a shared connection with other people. About 2 weeks after G'raha was back from the first Tataru gifted them their private linkpearl bc other scions were tired of hearing them chat about nothing for hours. Just like....I need you to picture being in a group chat with 2 gremlins in love. Literally the worst especially with traveling and mixed timezones. 2 am and hearing "found a bug that reminded me of you" and then hearing "A BUG?! Babe, c'mon, are you calling me a bug?" Like just....they're not incredibly sickly sweet @ each other, that's not why the scions wanted separate linkpearls for them, they're just stupid @ each other lol

46. Do they consider their relationship casual or serious? Is the answer different depending on who you ask? Why? They are that kind of casual you get when you know you're gonna be with that person for a good long while. Like yes they are "serious" but neither of them have grand plans or anything huge like that, they are not inherently serious people. They're both still in their mid to late 20's so they're not really thinking about buying houses and having kids kind of serious. So like....yes they both point at each other and go "that is my life partner" but also they're still very much.....i hesitate to say kids, but still figuring their shit out. Will they last forever? Well they sure hope so but understand life throws unimaginable curve balls at you (haaaaaave you played msq?) and recognize something could happen still to separate them, but have no plans themselves to spend their time with anyone else. And then after all this I have to try and explain how Estinien fits in. He fully has his own life and shit with Aymeric in my canon, him and a'miru just kinda have this closeness of comfort from when A'miru was dragging herself out of the depths of depression. So they have a weird little thing. They sleep together when they're on assignments together, they occasionally bang they have a non-committal relationship that the others involved understand and are fine with. He's her emotional support elf in extremely specific situations. G'raha -> words, comfort, home. Estinien -> stability, brick wall, blunt and not afraid to piss her off to tell her what needs to be said (he's the "you're being an incredible dumbass" one) Anyway I'm not sure this makes sense to anyone else but me but here ya go :3 lol

#ffxiv #askies #brainisafk #a'miru #a'miru headcanons #g'raha #estinien #i genuinely don't know how to make estinien make sense to anyone else but me #hopefully my ramblings are legible lol

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mt-musings · 2 years ago

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Bluebell

Chapter 49

After being abruptly transferred to the BAU at what she suspects was Gideon's request, Cassie Boann struggles to find her footing. Shy and solitary by nature, the transition is made all the more difficult when Dr. Spencer Reid seems to take an almost immediate dislike to her. Unfortunately for them both, their respective areas of expertise leave them paired off more often than not. But when Cassie's past literally starts hunting her, Spencer is forced to consider that he might, in fact, not hate her at all.

Quite the opposite, actually.

Spencer Reid x OC

Warnings: Canon typical violence, kidnapping, stalking, drug use, blood, injury, death, PTSD, eventual smut, more tags to be added

Series Masterlist

Read on AO3

49. Feel the Silence

“He’s targeting brunettes,” Spencer said as she poured over autopsy reports from the previous two victims.

“There’s an excess of rage in the attacks. In two out of three he’s broken the breastbone. That takes roughly nine-hundred and fifty pounds of pressure,” Cassie replied without looking up.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“He’s targeting brunettes. Doubtless they’ll be a run on the local beauty store.”

“Cass, I’m telling you, you need to be careful, you fit the profile.”

She looked up, biting off her quip that she fit the profile for about fifty-three percent of their victim types. “It’s fine, Spencer, you know I’m careful.”

“I know, but it doesn’t make it any less worrying. He killed the last girl in the ten minutes between shuttles.”

“Well, we better catch him fast then,” she said, turning back to the evidence. Spencer had begun to worry more since finding out about Hadeon, something that should have been endearing, but she found mildly irritating. She knew it wasn’t how he meant it, but it felt like he was questioning her capabilities as an agent, her ability to look after herself, and she’d worked extremely hard and continued to in order to keep in peak condition for the field. There was a reason she kept three guns on her at all times in the field, that she’s kept a knife lodged in her boot since everything had happened in Montana last year.

Nothing had changed since New York, since Frank, except for the fact that he now knew.

It didn’t help either that Gideon was off, had been since returning from bereavement. She didn’t say anything, knew it was perfectly understandable, all things considered, but she couldn’t help but feel if Spencer needed to worry about anyone, it should be Gideon.

She certainly was.

They hadn’t spoken, really, since she’d left his apartment. She’d tried a few times, but he’d always given her short, one word answers or declined her calls. She knew he needed time, knew it would be a while before the extent of the trauma he was working through even properly processed, never mind started to heal.

She wished she could do something to help.

She sighed and shut her files. “I’m going to see what Gideon and Hotch have working. Text me if you think of anything.”

“I’ll go with you.”

She shot him a look. “Spencer, I can walk to the other end of campus. You have interviews to get through with JJ. I’ll see you later.”

She left before he had a chance to argue. It took her ten minutes to cross the campus to where Hotch and Gideon were going over the school’s new security measures with the local detective.

“Have you gone over campus security personnel?” She asked by way of greeting.

“We have the Dean pulling files now, Prentiss and Morgan are conducting preliminary interviews,” Hotch replied.

“Who has access to the safety shuttle schedule?”

“It’s posted on the school’s website and hardcopies went out to staff and students.”

She made a face. That didn’t do much to narrow their pool then, though it was still most likely to be someone within the school community. Her money was still on someone within security—the timing was just too clean.

She glanced at Gideon as he surveyed the scene. He seemed out of it, almost distracted. It was disconcerting—he was always the first to say that the focus always had to be foremost on the case.

“What did you and Reid find out from the coroner?”

“Nothing that we didn’t already have an idea of. No particulates of use, nothing note-worthy as far as weapon, standard Bowie with an inch or so of serrated blade at the base. Spence and JJ are interviewing girls at the east dorm, where the latest victim lived.”

Hotch nodded. Cassie glanced at Gideon as the detective rattled off the plans for the new security camera, only half listening. She followed his gaze, finding nothing but a few gnarled trees. He looked away as if caught.

He avoided looking at her the rest of the day, avoided talking to her unless absolutely necessary—something that made the afternoon particularly difficult, considering she was supposed to help him interrogate their prime suspect. After all, he was a raging misogynist with a special hatred for brunettes—she was just the person to agitate him so Gideon could get him talking.

It didn’t work though, not really. They got about fifteen minutes in before he lawyered up. The way Gideon looked at her on their way out of the room made if feel like it was her fault.

She didn’t speak to Gideon the rest of the night. She didn’t try. She guessed it would only make it worse.

She stopped outside his hotel room on her way back from the vending machine. She knew he was hurting, knew he missed Sarah terribly, felt crushed by the guilt of her death. She wished she had the right thing to say, knew something to make it even a little more bearable.

She balanced a bag of peanut M&Ms on the handle without knocking.

When he’d first pulled her out of the woods in Montana she wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t talk, wouldn’t look at him. Until he’d come back to sit by her bed in the hospital with a bag from the vending machine. He’d sorted through it, filling a paper cup with just the blue ones. It was the first thing she ate in a week.

She doubted he even remembered it.

She turned toward her own door, looking forward to a few hours of fitful sleep. They’d caught the guy, at least. Now their only problem was going to be holding him.

She didn’t hear about the murder-suicide until after the ambulance had shown up. She’d been at the dorm with Spencer and JJ, going over Anna’s room.

She hated that she was glad she hadn’t been with Prentiss and Morgan, hated that she was glad she was spared the ten minutes of futilely trying to staunch the bleeding, of being soaked in the blood of two murderers.

She should have felt worse for the girl, Anna. She knew she should have—she was clearly ill, clearly suffering. It still didn’t change the fact that she’d killed a girl to see what it felt like, to try and get Tubbs to make her his next victim. A girl she’d claimed to like.

A girl who would never grow up and graduate, or start a career, or a family, a girl who’s family would spend the rest of their lives coping with her loss.

She wished she felt bad for Anna. She should, she knew. She was a troubled kid. Still, she only felt disgust.

She pushed it down, trying to ignore it.

She glanced over at the other side of the plane where Gideon sat, pretending to sleep. She knew by the set of his shoulders he was still awake, mind reeling.

“Cass?” Spencer asked softly, diverting her focus.

“Yeah?” she asked, voice equally as quiet, keen not to disturb the rest of the team that was either sleeping or reading.

He didn’t say anything else, just slipped his hand around hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. She squeezed his back.

It was the last shred of normalcy before everything fell apart.

First was the fact that Hotch was suspended for two weeks, the team grounded until he returned. They all knew it was a horseshit call, that Strauss had it out for him, but they couldn’t exactly do anything about it.

Gideon didn’t come in after the case. He didn’t answer her calls, either. He wasn’t at the apartment, or the hotel, and she checked with his friend Dr. Louis in the ornithology department at the Museum of Natural History—he hadn’t heard anything from him since everything had gone down with Frank.

So she called again. She called and called and called and called for days, and each day the dread in the pit of her stomach grew. No one else could get a hold of him either—he’d blown off his and Spencer’s weekly chess game without explanation and Spencer had slept the night in his office waiting for him to show. She knew Spencer didn't want her to know, but it was fairly glaring that he was in the same button up and trousers as the day before.

And now Prentiss a no-call-no-show.

She glanced at him across the table, brows furrowed, cataloguing the shadows under his eyes. He raised a brow and she looked away, towards the newest carnage on the screen.

She swore under her breath as JJ outlined the case, flipping through the coroner’s reports. The rib extraction was particularly brutal, completed antemortem and judging from the wreckage left behind, probably done with some sort of chisel. The marks were inconsistent with those that would have been left by a handsaw, too irregular to be done with a hobby saw.

Humans certainly were creative in the way they mutilated one another.

Her mood only soured further when she stepped on the plane to find Section Chief Strauss already aboard.

Cassie sat next to Spencer, spying on her behind their seats with one of the dental mirrors from her kit.

“You know, from this angle she almost looks human,” JJ said, voice too low to carry.

“That’s a stretch,” Cassie replied, sinking lower in her seat.

“Has anyone talked to Emily yet?” Spencer asked.

“She was gone before I heard the news.”

“Now we’re down two agents and Gideon’s MIA,” Morgan said.

“Doesn’t Strauss ever—“ Spencer began but Cassie elbowed him as she watched her stand and stride towards the group. She tucked the mirror out of sight before Strauss could see.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe it’s protocol to brief everyone before we arrive at the crime scene,” she said. JJ smiled—the warm kind that didn’t even look fake.

“Yes Ma’am.” She listened to JJ run over the case with kid gloves, watching Strauss’s face. She wasn’t a field agent, after all—she was a pencil pusher, her only focus protecting the Bureau’s ass.

In other words, useless.

She watched her physically recoil from just one of the crime scene photos that Morgan dropped on the table, watched her try and play it off as if nothing happened. She met his eyes before he stalked off to the other side of the cabin, before opening her own files and splaying them over the entirety of the table. Spencer gave her a look, but didn’t say anything about it as she started rambling about suspected tool marks.

---

Milwaukee was going just about as well as she could have expected with Hotch, Gideon, and Prentiss gone.

Which was to say, shit.

She hadn’t been able to find anything on the latest body that proved useful until she had a weapon to match the wounds to and the lab, as usual, was backed up with samples from other cases and wouldn’t have any results back for at least two days. Strauss had already managed to insult the lead detective, who’d worked the Dahmer case, who actually knew his stuff, in less that ten minutes of meeting him.

Luckily for them, he had a longer fuse than she did.

She was about one moderate inconvenience away from telling Strauss exactly what she thought of her leadership and field capabilities, that she’d effectively hamstring the team and was too entrenched in her dumb little castle of Bureau regulation that she couldn’t even see that her obstinate rigidity and unwillingness to adapt to their given environment was costing them real, actual, human lives. A consequence she didn’t even have the stomach to look at properly.

Maybe Cassie would have been less likely to want to bite Strauss’s head off at any given moment if it hadn’t been her signature that had come on more than a handful of the denied requests to re-open her parents’ case on the grounds of it being ‘a poor use of resources.’ Maybe it would have been less likely if she hadn’t been the first one to deny the re-testing of evidence when Cassie had first started at the Bureau, that she didn’t consider the massive failings of the Lab division in the 80s and 90s a good enough reason to ‘waste money re-running samples on a case without leads.’

She pushed into the empty conference room, the tang of blood still sharp in her nose, her throat raw from vomiting. It was getting harder to stomach the smell of it, since Sarah, since Rebecca. She’d have to consider the eucalyptus oil she kept in her bag if the bodies kept piling up, going full Silence of the Lambs like she’d advised Spencer to do nearly a year ago when he was struggling with the stench of decomp. She had to do something other than opt to carry around a miniature toothbrush to scrub out her mouth every time she was met with an eviscerated corpse.

She was losing her edge.

She dialed Gideon. It was almost a reflex at this point. She snapped her phone shut at the sound of his voicemail and swore, turning back to the map on the wall. She traced the radiuses Spencer had mapped out from each school to fit the timing of each disposal. Even operating under the smallest of possible radiuses left them with dozens of square miles to cover, with an unsub who’d already begun to observe their patrols and circumvent police presence.

It was still too much to cover. At least before the next woman’s heart was carved from her chest.

“Shouldn’t you be going over the newest body? That is your job, isn’t it, Agent Boann?” Strauss asked sharply as she entered the room. Cassie made a face, glad she was facing the board.

“It’s Dr. Boann,” she replied without turning around.

“That is your job Dr. Boann?”

“With all due respect, Section Chief, I know how to do my job, both theoretically and in practice. In fact, I’m good at it, so I suggest you leave me to it. Preliminary autopsy report is on the table, particulates should be back in 48 hours, which makes them fairly useless to us at the moment.”

She didn’t wait for a reply, instead stalking out of the conference room before she could dig a deeper hole. She spotted Morgan next to the door, no doubt just having listened to the whole exchange.

“You’re going to be the next one on leave if you keep it up,” he said, dropping a hand on her shoulder.

“Yeah, well, we need an actual Unit Chief to coordinate the search, but instead we’ve got the lion, the witch, and the sheer audacity of that b—“

“Watch it, Miss Morticia. I like having you on the team.”

“I don’t like her,” she said, with more venom than she intended. Morgan raised an eyebrow.

“I noticed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you be mean on purpose. I thought she was going to throw up on the jet.”

“She’s a liability and detriment to the investigation, and somebody ought to tell her if she’s to arrogant to see it for herself,” she said, knowing she sounded defensive and probably childish. Still, she was nearly past the point of caring and knew he at least felt similar.

“I’m not saying, you’re wrong, I’m just saying keep your head down and your mouth shut and focus on the case. You wouldn’t be running your mouth off like this if you weren’t on edge because of Gideon.”

“Maybe I’m on edge because we have twelve hours before we find the next woman with her heart ripped out.”

Morgan didn’t contradict her, though he gave he gave he a look that told her he didn’t quite believe her. “Come on, we have about four thousand school records to comb through."

---

Spencer watched Cassie flip her phone over and over in her hands as she watched Emily in the back of the ambulance. It had become a nervous habit the last two weeks, ever since returning from Flagstaff. He’d looked at her call history the other day when she’d been in the shower, just to confirm his suspicions. She’d called Gideon an average of thirteen times a day for the past week. It had been less the week before, only four or five times.

None of them had been answered.

Spencer hadn’t been able to get a hold of him either, going so far as to sleep in his office to wait for Gideon to show for their usual chess match. He’d told JJ not to mention it to the others—he hadn’t told Cassie, hadn’t wanted her to worry even more.

She wouldn’t talk about it with him, brushed it off every time he brought it up—he was fine, he was grieving, no, of course she wasn’t worried. He knew it was a defense, knew she didn’t want to let on just how worried she was. She’d been spending more time at the lab, barely sleeping at his place, taking the first Metro in to Quantico, rather than meeting up and riding in with him as had become their habit. By the time he’d get in she was already working, hair damp from her post-workout shower, her lips pressed into a thin line, the shadows under her eyes growing darker by the day.

The part he hated most was how similar her behavior was shifting to her first few months with the BAU, though there was a ragged edge to her now that hadn’t been there before. He’d seen a hint of it in Chicago, when she’d returned to the precinct after discovering the shoddy CSU work, ready to rip Gordinski a new one. He’d seen it again on the plane with Strauss, how she purposely displayed the most disturbing autopsy images while going off, in detail, about the force and tools it would require to create the wounds, as well as the extent to which the victim would be conscious for it. They were things she usually kept to herself or skated over with just the bare relevant details, but something in the way Strauss had reacted to the first crime scene photo Morgan had tossed her had set her off.

He crossed to lean on the hood of the police car next to her, watching the local PD bustle in and out of the house.

“Prentiss should get an MRI,” she said finally, without looking away. “She took an NSAID earlier for a headache, with coffee, both of which are blood thinners and increase the chance of hemorrhaging.”

“You should tell her that.”

“She’s more likely to listen to you.”

He glanced at her, searching her face for an edge of hurt or bitterness at the statement. There was nothing, as if it were just a statement of fact. He moved his hand over next to hers, close enough that their pinkies barely touched. She gave him a small, sad sort of smile.

She nearly jumped as her phone rang and quickly turned it over to read the caller ID. He watched her shoulders slump as she read ‘Smthsn AnthLab X DrG.’

“Sorry,” she said as she a stood up.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied, watching as she stepped away to the back of the car as she answered. He listened to her rattle off a litany of results and incoming remains off the top of her head, chat about a visiting specialist out of the Netherlands arriving next week. He hung back a moment before crossing to the ambulance and relaying what Cassie had told him about the MRI.

“I’m sure I’m fine, Reid, but thanks for checking in.”

“It was Cassie who brought it up, actually. She just, um,” he trailed off, unsure of what to say. Prentiss just smiled, furrowing her brows as she found Cassie in the crowd of officers still on the phone, one hand covering her eyes as she ran through something rapid-fire.

“I’m glad you’re not quitting,” he said, giving her a tight-lipped smile.

“Me too,” she replied. “I’m ready to head home, though.”

The plane ride back to Quantico was uneventful. Most everyone slept, except Cassie, who spent the flight glued to her laptop, a fresh set of remains on her screen. Spencer tried to make sense of what, exactly, she was trying to work out as she flipped through the images, but quickly gave up in favor of slouching in his seat and closing his eyes.

He woke just as the plane started its descent, face pressed into Cassie’s shoulder. She was still working, though she leaned her head on his affectionately as she felt him stir.

“I’m going to have to go to the lab tonight, Spence,” she murmured, voice low from lack of sleep. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s going to be late by the time we get back.”

“I know, but there’s a backlog of partials that came in from that nightclub bombing in Tampa and it’s all hands on deck.”

“Can you come over after? I don’t care if it’s late—“

“Spence—“

“I’ve seen you three times in the last two weeks.”

“You see me every day.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just—it’s been crazy, and I’m still trying to find a balance,” she said. He knew it was half true. He’d overheard enough conversations between her and Dr. Garvey and Ayesh and the rest to know they were swamped. Still, he knew she was overloading herself to keep busy.

“I know. Just—I don’t care if it’s late, come over?”

She surveyed him a moment before smoothing out his sleep-rumpled hair. “Okay. I’ll try not to be too late, okay?”

“It’s a deal,” he said, giving her a bright smile.

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#spencer reid #spencer reid x oc #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #long reads #slow burn

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cloud9in · 3 years ago

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You’re the only one who’s writing poppy x mc fics sooo, i have a request “ bea is a bad girl (like in a gang) in high school and also went jail couple of times for getting in trouble in high school senior year poppy was new transfer student and after 2 months bea join back school and met poppy bea and they just click yk like a connection slowly they started dating and in school everyone was shocked to see bea in a relationship ( bad girl and new girl) poppy is always worried about bea and few days before graduation bea got hurt really bad and poppy gives bea 2 options that she has to choose between her or her this (gang).. bea didn’t say anything to her so poppy left, after 2/3 years they met in college bea was a different person but so does poppy they become enemies (no one knows why they hate each other) one day they were arguing and poppy shout at her and says why you're back and bea put her hand on her cheek and smile and say i am here to win you back because i love you 😬

Promises (Poppy x MC)

Part 1/?

Can i just say I'm absolutely invested in this plot? You've got me hooked on my own story, as hectic as my life is, this is enjoyable to write. I hope you like it as well @iamsimpforpoppy

Word count: 1.8k (i got carried away)

“You know what to do Jackson, same old shit.”

“Yeah but it feels like a movie every damn time”, Bea responds confidently as she unbuckles her seatbelt. She sports a black mask with a yellow bandana, a vivacious color worn by only the Southside Spades, a notorious street gang who were known for robbery, and occasional blood.

Bea found herself wrapped up in the world of gangs when she turned sixteen. But before that the brunette would assist in transporting goods, also known as hardcore drugs. There was plenty enough to go around so Bea could indulge in any she wanted. Drugs didn’t give her the high she craved though, instead it was the thrilling game of cat and mouse with the cops.

Every now and then she’d get thrown in the slammer overnight. But this particular evening earns her one year in the NY State Penitentiary. See, the cops never gathered significant evidence to build a case against her, even though she was well aware of Detective Steinhelm who had some sick obsession with her. Following her everywhere, until Bea confronted her directly after noticing the same black sedan parked a street down from her house.

But she played the game right, and nothing ever led back to her. Until now.

“Where’s the money Bradley? I feel like I’ve been kissing your ass all week, the boss needs it now.”

A skinny blonde boy who looks like he had better days grunts in annoyance, “You’ll get your money...I’m just a little short right now.”

“Time’s up Ken doll, you know Carter will have your head for this.”

“Maybe he doesn’t have to know. Maybe this can be between us…”, Bradley strides carefully towards the blonde, a disturbing grin on his face which screams junkie. “Back the hell up now.”

Bea pulled her knife out with ease and pointed it towards him. She didn’t plan on actually using it. Murder was way out her budget for a simple money pickup but she knew that it would scare the boy easily. Except he kicked the blade out of her hold which prompted it to screech across the concrete before coming to a stop. Before Bea could think her fists reacted as she intercepted a punch that aimed straight for her jaw. She twists Bradley’s arm and he falls on his knees in pain. With his back to her, she kicks him down until he’s flat on his stomach.

“What is it exactly that you plan on doing now Bradley?” The blonde boy struggles under Bea’s foot but manages to reach around and slash at her ankle with a surprise shiv. Bea yelps in pain before kicking his head, rendering him unconscious.

“Stupid idiot. Had to make this harder than it should’ve been.”

Bea eventually finds the stash of money hidden under his mattress, an amateur hiding place at best. She congratulated herself for another job accomplished (kinda) and headed home. What the seventeen year old didn’t expect was the repulsive sound of a siren filling her ears as she stepped out onto her driveway. Her blood rushed to her head when she spotted Detective Steinhelm among the police officers surrounding her and retorts, “oh come on. I thought I told them about you harassing me. What do you want? Back here to strip search me again?”

The older woman only watches the blonde in eerie silence before smiling and gesturing to a police officer. “Beatriz Jackson you have the right to remain silent, anything you say or do can be used against you in a court of law-”

“What the actual fuck!” Bea yanks her arms out of the officers reach which initiates a struggle for dominance. This was nothing new to her, but it still felt sickening. Like she was some pet.

“You have the right to have a lawyer present during any questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be appointed for you if you so desire.” Detective Steinhelm finishes speaking and approaches the still scuffling blonde, “if you keep resisting I will tase you myself.”

Bea bites back the urge to headbutt the old hag right in her stupid face but she didn’t need any extra charges, for whatever the hell it was she was being charged for.

“Tell me why the fuck I am being arrested and I’ll calm down.”

That’s when Bea notices a familiar (bruised up) face from earlier. His smirk was enough to eat at her skin and she felt burning hot rage.

“Your blood was found at the scene of Mr. Denbroughs assault. You are being arrested in the case of second degree assault with intent to hurt someone with a deadly weapon.”

***

Bea only got one year in prison due to her kickass lawyer Ina Kingsley who played the minor card at every opportunity given. She also pointed out the fact that the knife wasn’t bloodstained, and Bradley never had any stab wounds so there is no proof the weapon was ever used against him. And it technically wasn’t. Good thing she didn’t bring a gun instead.

She did miss her 18th birthday though. And a few months of her senior year. But that’s what summer classes were for right?

All eyes were on the blonde when she returned, and whispers spread throughout the school about a certain new girl. Bea paid no mind to the fingers that pointed in her direction but the newcomer did manage to catch her attention, and pretty quick at that.

“Hey Jackson, how was solitary confinement?”

“I heard they make you use the bathroom right through the tiny food slot.”

Bea rolls her eyes and pelts a piece of not-so-fresh bread right at Ford’s head. The other people at the table join in on the laughter and Bea shakes her head and smiles, “it was Juvie you dumbass, and they made us sit in a circle together every Thursday like we were in an AA meeting.

“That’s jail for babies, goldilocks here wouldn’t last a minute in a real prison”, Carter joins them at the table with a cocky smirk, yet his eyes soften when landing on Bea. She shares a similar look with him knowing they’ll have a real conversation later. Because they definitely didn’t get to have that when Bea was getting dragged away to the police station in cuffs, and every event after that.

“It’s our girl’s first day out, we have to celebrate. And it’s not like she’s on probation...right Bea?”

“I do have a curfew, and I’m on juvenile probation so…when we partying?” The crew laughs as Bea shrugs. Her mother will deal with it. Zoey scoots in next to the blonde and wraps her arm around her shoulder in a side hug. “So glad to have you back Bea, and we are not risking you breaking parole so let’s just go to a sport’s bar tonight.”

Bea nods her head in agreement as the first warning bell goes off and everyone starts to clean up. Zoey taps on her arm and points towards one of the farther tables where a lone figure sits, wiping her hands with a napkin. All Bea saw were blonde tresses until she turned and they made brief eye contact.

“She’s the new girl, Poppy Min Sinclair. Rumor is she’s got a rich white daddy. You should totally invite her to the party.”

“And why would I do that?”

Zoey squints her eyes and leans in closer, her hands under chin in thought, “she seems like the broody type, you two would click.” She laughs at Bea’s comical expression but the blonde can’t bother to look in her direction, she’s way too wrapped up in what little the stranger a few tables away had to offer. She would sit on that thought, Bea was not one to shy away from anything.

***

The two became friends quicker than anyone could think.

One day after school, Poppy’s car wouldn’t start. It just didn’t comply. You would think she’d be poised and call her mechanic to come fix it, but instead the blonde slumped against the driver’s side window and let out a visibly frustrated, high-pitched yelp. Bea watched her pace around the car and even...kick?...the front bumper with her heels in efforts to wake it up.

“You know I may be wrong but I think that only makes it worse..” She approaches the helpless blonde with a small grin. Poppy’s persistence amazed her though, she’s never seen anyone determined to beat a car up. An expensive one at that.

“I hope you have some idea how to fix it, unless you’re here to waste my time and ask me on a date.”

Woah.

Okay that definitely threw Bea on a whim. She lets out a sharp laugh and bites her lips in amusement. She strolls towards the front of her car, holding Poppy’s gaze the whole way. She liked that the blonde didn’t avert her eyes. “And if I did? We couldn’t take your car of course, it’s obviously impaired.”

Poppy smiles and turns to look at Bea properly. She checks out every inch of her with no visible shame. An assessment so to say, and she likes what she sees.

“It’s your lucky day Poppy, I happen to know a thing or three about cars, and I desperately want to get this thing working so we can go on that date.” She winks playfully but god does she mean it. Bea silently prayed that the blonde wouldn’t take it the wrong way, but she knew she won when Poppy didn't protest, instead getting comfortable under some shade and holding her hand out, “the stage is all yours Jackson.”

***

“So what you’re trying to tell me is that I can’t jump over this obvious not-so-protected fence?”

“Judging by the sign right next to it that says...oh wow who would’ve thought, “DO NOT ENTER”, I don’t think so”, Poppy deadpans. It didn’t phase Bea of course because she was already halfway up the fence when the blonde turned away from the sign. The girl had a point to prove, maybe not a valid one, but still a point.

Poppy pinches her eyebrows in exasperation before looking back up to a nonchalant Bea swinging her legs from the top of the fence. She winks down at the blonde, “join me?”

Poppy didn’t expect to be climbing fences with a charismatic girl who had the same color hair as her when she moved schools, but she found herself embracing every moment of it. Although the trip up there was a struggle and some.

“I swear to god there’s a wire in my ass.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“And we’re both going to end up in the hospital. Get. me. Down.”

Bea tries to hold in her laughter the whole way down but lets it loose when she sees Poppy still up there, partly hovering in the air. “Pops...I’ll catch you, don't worry. Climb down slowly.” She doesn’t. But Bea had her feet planted and ready because any moment with the sassy blonde was unpredictable. And she loved it. Especially because she had Poppy engulfed in her arms and they were so close their noses touched.

Bea promised herself she’d kiss the girl next time.

***

“You’re...in a gang?”

Bea felt a clasp of cold air enter her lungs as she stared ahead. It wasn’t like she could hide it from Poppy. She has a reputation, and word has gotten around about the two getting close. This was just like that one time at the end of sophomore year where Bea met Kelly Hall, a beautiful girl with golden rimmed glasses. Unfortunately she only could imagine what could’ve been after whispers ended up right on the doorstep of Kelly’s parents, and she suddenly changed her number, and switched out of every class she had with Bea.

The blonde didn’t want to entertain the thought of Poppy doing the same, but this was a lifestyle she chose.

“I mean...how?”

Bea sighs and turns to look at her, “I fell into the wrong crowd. Or maybe it’s the right one because I never found a true home until I met them. They’re family, I wouldn’t expect you to get it though and I understand if you want to distance-”

“I of all people know what it’s like to not fit in Jackson. You’ve found people who make you feel safe. Maybe I don’t agree with the troubles that come with being in a gang but I don’t know the whole story.”

“Do you want to?”

Poppy wraps her arms around Bea’s and lays her head on her shoulder, “I want to know that you won’t get yourself hurt but I know that’s nearly impossible.”

Bea exhales slowly, not knowing what to say. She knew that this would upset Poppy but her acceptance meant more. She didn’t know what this would mean for the two of them, if there was a “them”, but she felt more encouraged to share more of her other life with the blonde.

“Just promise me one thing Jackson.”

“Yeah?”

Poppy’s voice comes out softer than expected, and Bea ingests every emotion that comes with it, “Promise me you won’t ever put yourself in a position where you have to choose between me or the gang.”

Bea finds her hand in the space where their thighs touched and latches onto it like a lifebuoy,

“I promise.”

***

“I just remembered something Poppy.”

“What, that you have half a brain cell? I thought that was established Jackson.”

Bea launches a pillow that (purposely) misses Poppy’s head by an inch. If she actually hit her and frizzed up her locks then she’d never hear, or see..or walk again.

“I’m being serious. I just remembered this too, we never went on that car date we talked about.”

Poppy squints her eyes in confusion, but was fully aware of what Bea was referring to. “You mean the first time we met?”

The blonde smiles to herself as she replayed that day in her head over and over again. She couldn’t decide if Bea’s openly flirty behavior is what drew her in or if it was her ability to fix any of her possessions with ease. And for free.

Bea pulls Poppy up by her hands until her back is against the lockers. Another perfect opportunity for the blonde to make do of that promise she made to herself, but something told her to wait just a bit longer. “So what do you say? Poppy Min Sinclair, will you go on a date with me?”

Poppy rolls her eyes playfully, pulling Bea in closer by the collar of her letterman, “now who’s being dramatic?”

“I didn’t hear a no”

“I think you know what the answer is.”

That night Zoey helped Bea prep for her first date with the girl that she could say she was almost in love with. The taller girl brushed some dust off of Bea’s jacket and planted her hands on her shoulders, “remember Jackson, give her the ride of her life. And I mean that in every way possible.”

Thanks Zoe.

Bea watched Poppy drive up in front of her house and something inside her mind couldn’t deny the pang her heart let out when she saw Poppy smile the way she did.

Bea took control of the driving and told Poppy to recline her seat and enjoy the ride, with her seatbelt on of course. Safe sacrifices. They cruised through an empty highway blasting Poppy’s spotify playlist named “Rich Bitch Songs” because that was their ideal perfect date. It’s amazing that the two could even come to an agreement, but here we are.

She watched the beautiful blonde sing her lungs out and couldn’t help but mirror her joy, taking her hands off the steering wheel. The pump of adrenaline prompts a new excitement in the air and Poppy wraps Bea into a secure hug, her hair flying wildly with the wind. Bea slows the car down but the rapid beating of her heart made it seem they were going 100 miles per second.

“I feel so alive Jackson.”

Bea stared at the girl in the passenger seat with a look that could only be described as love.

“You make me feel alive.”

Poppy kept talking and Bea found a way to focus on both the road and the blonde next to her. Because when you truly enjoy something, you’ll find a way to keep experiencing it. And Bea enjoyed hearing Poppy’s voice, she loved everything about her.

“I feel like kissing you.”

“Then what’s stopping you?”

“...Nothing. I should’ve done this a long time ago.”

They kiss when Bea pulls over. A hot feeling consumes them like fire when their tongues collide and Bea plants her hands around Poppy’s hips, pushing her back into her seat until she’s on top. The windows easily start to fog up in reaction to the heat, and not once did they take their hands off each other.

Promise 1/2 kept

--------------------------------------------------------

End Note: This chapter was to build their relationship, more angst incoming. BIG THANKS to @somewillwin for letting me use Jackson <3333

Taglist: @samanthadalton @somewillwin @clowneryme @baexpoppy @poppysmc @doey-eyes8 @veenast @straightlikewetspaghetti @phoennixxsblog @a-ghost-girl

#poppy min sinclair #queen b #playchoices #mc x poppy #a huge bug flew onto my screen during the writing process #gave me motivation to HURRY MY AAAAAAASSS UP

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lumosinlove · 4 years ago

Text

Previously On Relic Keel:

Remus, Saint, Sirius, Leo, and Logan have woken Luke in the dead of night and convinced in to take them into his father’s study to look for the treasure map he had supposedly taken out on loan before he was sent to jail. They explain to Luke what they need, but Luke has no knowledge of it. Tensions are high when Saint finds a hidden safe behind a frame and opens it to reveal an envelope addressed to Luke in his father’s handwriting. They only get higher when Logan snatches it from Luke’s hands and uses it as leverage to convince Saint to help him break Finn out of Saint Clair. Saint agrees and Luke is left alone with his father’s letter, and the memories of talking about the treasure with his father before he was taken away.

We meet Remus the next morning on the docks, ready for his morning sail, only to find Sirius waiting there for him. Sirius agrees to go sailing with him. It’s a little awkward, and Remus can’t stop wondering about Sirius and Saint’s relationship. As they ride the wind and waves together, some of the wariness is relieved and Remus learns how Saint escaped from Saint Clair: an accident. Sirius doesn’t know how he plans to do it again.

And Saint won’t tell him. Sirius has to follow him to the orphanage in order to get Saint to let him help. It turns out Saint plans to climb down the chimney and then exit the doors from within, just like last time.

Before we can see if he pulls it off, we go to Marlene and Dorcas. Marlene finally tells Dorcas that she got into college, at Berkeley. Dorcas is supportive of her girlfriend, promising that they’ll figure this out.

We go back to Sirius and Saint who make it into Saint Clair safely. We learn that Saint didn’t let Logan come because, if it went wrong, they needed someone on the outside who knew Saint Clair well. Saint gets cut on his way down the chimney, but is otherwise okay—except for the memories. Saint Clair brings back feelings of the Crucio-ridden dreams, and feeling out of place. Saint has always felt out of place—In the world, in his own skin. He hopes to find files on his mother, but they are locked up. We learn Saint’s real name is Sebastian, and that he hates it. They find Finn in solitary and get him out safely, though he is weak from not eating and from Crucio.

Logan is waiting nervously with Leo. Leo wishes Logan would have told him he was going to threaten Luke like that. Logan feels guilty, but there’s a sadness of missing someone that they share, only Logan is getting the person he misses back. Leo says that they can stay with him, when Finn arrives, if they want to. Logan realizes that he thinks of Leo as home.

Luke is sitting alone, having opened his father’s letter. There are only two words, a name: Pascal Dumais. He’s surprised to find Saint resting on his window sill, having climbed to his room once again—and hurt. Luke cleans his wounds and asks Saint why he came here instead of going home to Sirius and his other friends. Saint says it’s because Sirius will just want to talk about what happened and because Luke is mean, because Luke is what he expects him to be. Luke also learns that Saint knows exactly who Pascal Dumais is.

***cw: mentions of drugs and addiction, mentions of drugs used medicinally, mentions of hurricanes, mentions of grief and death******

part viii

Lily knew she would probably miss dinners at Gryffindor Club when she went away to school. She knew that she would miss her family—even Petunia. She raised her iced tea to her mouth and looked around their small table, the one they almost always sat at. It was like each family had an assigned seat, just as each student did in class. This who island was one of assignments. Neighborhood. Job. Partner. Everyone seemed to expect her and James to be together.

She wanted that, too—quietly. But not like this. Not with an assigned table.

Not, when James and his parents walked through the clubhouse doors, she could have predicted it to the very second. Clockwork, she remembered saying to James. This island ran like clockwork, and sometimes she felt like she was skidding across the watch’s face.

The hostess greeted the Potters as everyone did on the island. A hug, a laugh. Everyone loved them. James looked flushed and fresh out of the shower, dark hair curling into its usual wild self as it dried, his button-down snug around his shoulders.

“You’re hopeless,” Petunia said from beside her.

Lily rolled her eyes. “Shush.”

James hadn’t quite seen her yet, but if she knew where to look, where his table was, he knew where her’s was, too. When their eyes met, a smile crossed James’ face like a race, like Lily had seen him fly up a lacrosse field—and then it tripped. He caught himself in his happiness, and Lily’s heart caught with him.

He sent her a small wave, and then turned and sat down between his parents, his back towards her. That wasn’t his fault, all the tables angled towards the ocean, but it felt like he was looking away from her.

She looked back down at her dinner and tried to focus on what her father was saying, but it was difficult. While their entrees were being taken away, James made his mother laugh. While they ate dessert, he got that exasperated set in his shoulders that he did when college came up and his father patted a soothing hand on his back. When Lily and her family’s chairs scraped as they got up to leave, James turned around and rose, too. There were pieces of cake in front of his parents, but nothing in front of him. He walked over to her and greeted her parents kindly, said hello to Petunia, and then looked at Lily. His hair was completely wild again, and his hands were in his pockets.

“Want to hang out?” he asked.

“Oh, is that what it’s called these days?” Petunia grumbled, and Lily’s mother sent her a look. Lily just nodded.

“Sure,” she turned to her parents. “See you guys at home.”

“Don’t be out too late,” her father said.

“Dad, it’s summer.”

“Still,” Mr. Evans laughed as he held the door open for his wife and daughter.

“Do you want to go to the field?” James asked as they turned the other way, towards the open balcony doors—the same direction Lily had lead them the night she’d refused him. “I bet we could sneak some wine from the cellar.”

Lily smiled. “You better choose a good one.”

Olli, working at the bar, turned a blind eye to their not so careful sneaking down and up the kitchen stairs. James hadn’t looked too carefully at what he chose, but Lily didn’t mind.

“Did Luke ever get his car back?” she asked as they walked across the grass, Hogwarts Academy looming up in the dark in front of them.

James turned to her. “Oh man, no one told you?”

“Told me what?”

James blew out a breath, laughing and raising the bottle. “We better open this first.”

They settled in the very middle of the lacrosse field, just over the Hogwarts Castles’ logo, and James pulled the cork. They traded the bottle back and forth as James told her about the Voldemort, a tale they’d grown up with, and about Saint Clair and the breakout, and about Luke and his father.

“Pascal Dumais,” Lily repeated. “I’ve never heard of him.”

“Me neither,” James said, taking a sip. “But apparently Sirius and Saint know him. And Luke’s father, I guess.”

“How is Luke?” Lily asked. “Marls always says she can’t really tell. And then there’s the…”

James nodded and he swallowed, picking at the grass. “Crucio. I know. I tried to help, but I guess he’s still…He’s just so angry.”

“I don’t understand why though, with the Crucio, I mean. You know? Doesn’t it just…make you relive things? Why would you want to just keep reliving the same thing over and over again?”

James glanced at her, hazel eyes careful. “To change it? Or to hope that it might change?”

Lily felt herself flush, with the wine, and beneath his gaze. She hadn’t meant it like that, but she supposed that was what they were doing. Lily didn’t know what she would change, though. The island? James? Herself?

“Do you…” James began quietly, and when Lily looked over at him, he was still looking down. The high moon caught the curve of his jaw, the glint of his glasses. “Do you think about it?”

The question made Lily feel like all the field lights had come on at once, striking her and baring her to the world. He didn’t have to explain. Lily knew he was talking about that night. Their night. Lily looked back at the sky and closed her eyes. James’ hands had been warm, dipping between her legs, cupping the small of her back when she’d arched against him. He’d smiled into their kisses, like he couldn’t help it, until he couldn’t anymore, until her heat had made his mouth slip open, until she’d wrapped him up against her so tightly there was nothing to think about but never parting. It had been quick. Neither of them really knew what they were doing. But it had been perfect. Intoxicating.

“Of course I do,” Lily whispered.

“Sometimes I can’t stop thinking about it,” James replied, and it brought a thrill to Lily’s fingertips, adrenaline to her gut.

She thought of him, alone at night in his bed, unable to stop thinking about it. She knew she couldn’t sometimes, either.

“Not it,” he added, eyes still raised towards the stars. “You.”

You, Lily’s mind repeated. Him. Those smiles. James’ smiles. The way he blatantly asked for what he wanted, asked what she wanted. The way he’d knock on her door and they’d spend entire days together—the way they’d been doing that since they were ten. James had tried to teach her lacrosse, she’d tried to teach him how to knit. James used to come on the floaty that trailed behind their speedboat with her, when she was younger and never wanted to go alone. It had been both expected and surprising the first time they’d kissed—sixteen and awkward. She’d laughed it off and cried about it to Marlene later, unsure why she was crying.

You. I can’t stop thinking about you.

“I thought you wanted to stay in…in whatever space we’re in,” Lily whispered back.

“I thought you didn’t like the space we’re in,” James replied. “I want…Fuck,” he laughed a little. “Isn’t the whole point not to know everything right now? Isn’t what you want not to know everything? To get outside of this circuit? So, can’t we just…”

“James, this circuit is your life.”

“Stop telling me that,” James urged. “I have…” he ran a hand over his face, and there was real distress there, way beyond the two of them. “I have no idea what my life is.”

Lily reached out, brows drawn together, and put a hand on his shoulder. He was warm through his shirt. “J…”

“I don’t need to know,” James said and when he looked up at her, he looked pained. He took his glasses off, rubbed at his eyes again. “I don’t need to know. Do I?”

“No, of course not, I’m sorry,” Lily whispered. Her hand moved to his neck, thumb stroking softly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

He kept his head down and let Lily tangle her fingers in the soft hair at the base of his neck. Lily put her head on his shoulder. She felt James relax a little, felt his arm wind around her waist and his mouth press into her hair.

“Let’s just…not know for a little while?” he whispered, and she nodded, pressing closer.

Grimmauld place was wild and open, Logan thought, lying beside Finn. As he brushed Finn’s hair away from his face, he liked that the first thing Finn would feel when he woke up was the ocean breeze on his face, that the first thing he would smell was the salt and the sun.

Some books, piled up beside the bed, served as a place for a waiting glass of water and toast with butter and honey. Easy on his stomach, Leo had said when he’d dropped it off, along with some more filling foods for later, which were waiting in the refrigerator. Logan had wanted to ask him to stay, but Leo was going to work. Leo didn’t—Leo didn’t even know Finn. Logan didn’t know why he wanted Leo to stay.

Saint and Sirius had both come in at various moments in the early morning, as had Dorcas, but Logan was only dimly aware of their presence. Now, the sun was turning the morning warm, and Finn was beginning to stir beneath Logan’s touch. Logan propped himself up on his forearm, heart beating hard.

“Finn?” he whispered as Finn breathed in slowly—the easy, long breath of waking up.

“Finn,” Logan whispered again, palm on his cheek.

Finn turned into Logan’s hand and opened his eyes. Those brown eyes that Logan’s subconscious, that the Crucio, had never gotten quite right. Finn blinked heavily a few times and Logan held his breath, trying to reel the relief that welled in his chest. He wanted to throw himself onto Finn, crush them together—but Finn looked so fragile. Thin and confused.

His eyes cleared at the sight of Logan, though, and then filled with bright tears.

“Is this real,” he barely whispered the words, his voice hoarse from disuse, as if scared to break the spell. His hand twitched on the bed, as if to reach forward. But touching didn’t work with Crucio, and it would only hurt to know that they couldn’t touch—Logan knew that all too well.

Logan nodded, throat too tight to speak. He took Finn’s fingers in his own and kissed his palm before pressing it against his own cheek.

“I’m warm, aren’t I?” he managed.

Finn just stared at him, then past him at Grimmauld’s wooden ceilings, at the sunlight beginning to flood into the room.

“You’re out. You got out. You’re okay."

Finn found Logan again quickly, as if he couldn’t help it. His palm pressed against Logan’s cheek, sliding around to cup the back of his head.

“Come here,” Finn said the words like a breath of relief, like air, and Logan went.

He buried his face in Finn’s neck, let Finn pull as much of his weight on him as he wanted, and wedged one of his arms around Finn’s back, the other buried in the hair at the base of his neck, just like Finn’s was in his own.

They lay there, just breathing. Logan felt Finn’s chest rise when his own did. They pressed against each other, like their hearts were trying to get closer. Logan didn’t think he’d feel close enough to Finn ever again.

“Lo,” Finn whispered after a while, and Logan had thought that maybe he had fallen asleep again, was content to lay here and wait for him to wake again, but he looked up at his name on Finn’s lips.

Finn pulled him forward again and brushed their mouths together once, twice, and then smiled. A laugh spilled from him, eyes wet again.

“I missed you,” Logan felt his voice tremble beneath the words, and they felt too small. Words felt too small for Finn.

“You could have been caught,” Finn whispered, fingers combing Logan’s hair back from his forehead, as if re-memorizing the feeling. “God, I don’t remember…how?”

“I didn’t…I…Finn, I did some bad things to get you here,” Logan swallowed dryly, closing his eyes at the feeling of Finn touching him again. “And it’s really hard to be sorry about it right now, but…”

Finn made a soft sound, and Logan couldn’t help but smile when he felt Finn’s thumb brush just under his eye, a small warning, before they ever so lightly touched his eyelashes. They were long, and dark, and Finn had always loved them, had repeated that gesture a thousand and one times, even when they had been all of eight years old, whispering to each other and staying up past their curfew.

“You’re okay,” Finn said, and then, “God, I’m starving.”

There Logan was, being selfish again. He scrambled for the toast, cold now.

“Leo says to take it slow,” he said as he handed it over.

“Leo?” Finn asked as he pushed himself up to sit. He hummed gratefully when Logan handed him the glass of water, too, and took a small sip, then a bigger one.

“He’s—yeah, Leo. He—” Saved me. Helped me. Was kind. He’s what I think home feels like, but I need you there, I need you to tell me, to be sure.

“Oh,” came a voice from behind them, and Logan turned to see Sirius. “You’re awake. That’s good.”

Finn nodded, mouth full. He glanced at Logan. “Oh. Yeah.”

“Shit,” Sirius laughed a little. “I’m Sirius. Sorry. This is—uh,” he gestured around. “Well, I wouldn’t say my house. I live here? But welcome to Grimmauld, stay as long as you like.”

“He’s Saint’s friend,” Logan said, and then realized. He said quietly. “Bash.”

“Bash?” Finn’s eyes widened and Logan shook his head.

“He doesn’t like to be called that. I try not to slip. I’m getting better.”

“He never did,” Finn nodded, then said, with a small smile. “Saint, then. I…yeah, he…he was there. In solitary.” Finn shook his head. “I thought it was the drugs.”

Sirius shook his head. “No, we were there.”

Finn looked at Logan. “Lo?”

It wasn’t accusing. Just curious. But Logan heard the question anyway. Why weren’t you there?

“It’s not his fault,” came Saint’s voice as he emerged the same way that Sirius had come. His hair was a mess of curls on top of his head, his eyes a little puffy from a hard sleep, but focused clearly on Finn. “I told him not to come. He almost burned a house down to get you back.”

Logan flushed with guilt.

Saint walked over to sit beside Logan and smiled a tired smile. “Are you okay?”

Finn nodded. “Thanks to you. Saint.”

Saint’s eyebrow raised a little at the weight Finn put into the word. A pleased light flickered over his face.

“Eat something,” Saint said. “You look bad.”

Finn laughed a little as he took another bite of toast, and Saint rose, walking over to where Sirius was. Saint folded himself against Sirius’ chest and closed his eyes. Sirius was staring out the window towards the waves, but wrapped an arm around him, and tilted his temple to rest against Saint’s.

Finn’s eyes were questioning, but Logan just shrugged. He didn’t know if they were together or not. Sometimes it seemed like they were, sometimes it didn’t. Logan didn’t really care just then, he only wanted to reach out and run his fingers through Finn’s hair and watch him eat. He couldn’t wait until he had his strength back. He’d take him to Leo’s. They’d go swimming in the ocean for as long as they wanted and find work somehow. Somewhere safe.

Finn leaned into his palm as he ate, smiling at him in a way that made Logan have to scoot closer to him, their crossed knees touching.

“Leo makes good toast,” Finn said.

“Leo makes good everything,” Logan laughed. “Leo’s just—good.” Logan pressed his hands onto Finn’s thighs. He was still wearing the clothes from Saint Clair. They’d have to find him something else. Logan thought of the money in his bag, and where it came from, and the Crucio beside it. He swallowed, trying to keep the worry form his face, and rubbed a thumb over Finn’s knee. “You’ll see.”

A whistle came from down the hall, and Dorcas emerged, hair and mess and eyes on her phone. “Hurricane’s supposed to roll in in the next week. Fuck, it’s supposed to be really bad.”

Logan looked up. He could remember a few hurricanes while in Saint Clair. The rattling windows and the mess of fallen trees afterwards. “Have they named it yet?”

“Botilda,” Dorcas nodded. “Hurricane Botilda. Makes sense, after Albus last year.”

“We should start trying to board up now,” Sirius said. “Grimmauld barely made it last year.”

“We should try to be somewhere else when it hits,” Dorcas replied pointedly. “It wasn’t just the house that barely made it. And they’re saying it’s bad, Sirius. Really bad.”

Logan felt Finn scoot closer to him, and smiled when he felt a kiss pressed to his neck.

“Where will we go?” Finn whispered.

“If you suggest—” Sirius began, eyes dark and on Dorcas.

“James would let you two stay with him,” Dorcas said. “He would. And I could get away with staying with Marls.”

“No,” Sirius snapped. “We don’t need their help.”

“God, you’re so fucking proud,” Dorcas sighed.

“Interesting choice of words,” Saint laughed. “Gods, and their holy souls.”

Logan thought of Leo. Of his warm house, and his offer. They could stay with Leo…would Leo really want them to?

“Anyway. We’ll decide later,” Saint patted Sirius’ cheek and sauntered out of the room. “I have a lunch date.”

Luke had asked to meet him in Rowena, and Saint thought that felt neutral enough. Not the Hollow, not Godric. Although, if they were talking about Pascal Dumais, they might as well have gone to the Lion. Baby steps, Saint supposed. After all, he was already surprised that Luke had asked to meet up at all.

He was even more surprised every time he brushed against the bandage across his ribs. Had been surprised by Luke’s—touch, he guessed. He thought of his messy scrawl that filled the corners of the copy of Jane Eyre Saint had swiped, now sitting in Grimmauld. He had spent more time last night studying the formation of each written letter than actually reading.

Saint, standing on the sunny sidewalk, waiting, rolled his eyes at himself. Luke was an ass. Saint was, too. Luke liked books. Saint wondered if he liked to talk about them, wondered what he wanted to do with himself.

He probably wanted to leave here, just like Sirius did. Just like Marlene, and Dorcas, and Saint’s own fucking mother.

Saint wished he had tried harder to get into the files at Saint Clair. Maybe he could have known her name by now. He had tried so hard to remember, but the only thing that ever came up was maman. A hazy memory of crying, of reaching for her as arms carried him backwards, that he didn’t know if he made up or not.

Now, if felt like he never would.

“Sup.”

Saint turned to see Luke standing there, aviator sunglasses on and a white t-shirt.

Saint sent him a quietly disbelieving look. “You don’t actually talk like that, you know.”

Saint took his sunglasses off, folding them into his shirt as he led them towards the restaurant. “What?”

“Sup,” Saint parroted. “Dude. Hey, man.”

“How do you know how I talk?” Luke yanked open the door like he was fighting against it. It wasn’t the gentle touch Saint remembered across his skin, but Saint didn’t like it any less.

“Because I’ve read your writing now,” Saint replied, and walked through first, even though Luke hadn’t been holding the door for him.

“Hey,” said a boy at the counter. He had dark skin, and gold glinted in his ears. “Take a seat wherever.”

“No, you haven’t,” Luke snapped as he followed.

“Luke,” the boy laughed. “Chill, man.”

“Sup,” Saint said to the boy, then looked at Luke. “Deveaux, you picked the place, what should I have? Also, you’re paying.”

Luke shot him a look, but approached the counter. “Hi, Thomas. Two burgers. Also, are we scrimmaging later?”

“You know it, baby. Two coming up. How you like them, or…?” Thomas asked.

Luke looked at Saint. “Do you like pickles?”

“Nope.”

Luke grinned. “Yeah, how I like them.”

Thomas narrowed his eyes, but complied.

Dorcas ditched her bike in the grass outside of the building with the sign that read Blizzard’s. It was the most popular ice cream spot on the island.

The bell above the door rang out happily as she entered, the smell of sugar and sunscreen hitting her as she looked around at the bustling tables, painted bright colors. Natalie was behind the freezers, long blond hair scooped up into a messy bun as she handed out cone after cone. She winked at Dorcas when she saw her, and jerked her chin towards the back. Dorcas smiled back, and slid behind the counter and through the door into the back room.

“Meadowes,” Kasey looked up. “You’re early. Hear about the storm?”

“Yes. Kase, can I ask you something?”

Kasey smirked. “You’ve never asked to ask me anything before.”

Dorcas sent him a sarcastic glare, and leaned on the counter, feeling the weight of her pack shift against her back. “I’m thinking about getting out.”

Kasey paused for a long while, then sighed. “Yeah.” He looked back towards where Dorcas knew the greenhouse was, where the Crucio grew, hidden among the other plants. “Yeah, me too.”

“Seriously?”

“This was something I took up when I was younger, you know?” Kasey replied. “I wanted fast cash, and I was using Crucio myself at the time.” He rolled his eyes. “Felix. You know how it is. I was lost. This shit can pray on lost people. Now…now I want a different life. With Nat. I wanted it to be safe, you know? Crucio. I wanted it to be used correctly.”

Dorcas nodded. She knew that well, too. Kasey and herself had had countless discussions about the medicinal uses of Crucio. But it was a slippery slope. It could go wrong. It had gone wrong in the Carrows’ hands. They laced it with drugs that forced one to give up control of their memory, it allowed the reliving without the learning. It became a Pandora’s Box, a place where your greatest desires lived, as well as the addiction to desire. The Carrows put things in there that let the addiction out first, before any of the healing properties. Used correctly, the plant provided a safe place for grief, or hope, or longing. Used incorrectly, it created a false reality in which to live.

“That doesn’t sound like getting out of the game exactly,” Dorcas said.

“It’s getting out of the illegal part of it,” Kasey replied. “The dealing. I want to start a company. Therapy and classes. I want to help people, not give them a late night quick fix.” Kasey glanced up at her. “We were actually hoping you’d join in. But here you are, wanting out.”

Dorcas sighed and slid into one of the ragged leather chairs. “I like the sound of that. The only reason I agreed to work with you is because your aim wasn’t to take advantage. But I…”

“Marlene?” he asked.

Dorcas took her hat off, staring at the front, where Marlene had painted their initials, intertwined.

“She’s leaving,” Dorcas said. “For school. And I…I need to be able to go with her.”

“Do you have savings?”

“Some,” she nodded. “Enough for a plane ticket. I’ll have to get it in cash though, which always makes them think twice.”

Kasey laughed. “No bank account with drug money, I’m afraid.”

“Right,” Dorcas sighed, and let her head fall back. “God, Kase, what the fuck am I going to do? She’s going to meet some California chick at school and just…there are so many amazing people out there. And she deserves the best of them. Not some drop out.”

“If you drop out of one thing, you can drop into another,” Kasey replied. He pushed his chin length tawny hair out of his face. “Now, I’m tired of your feel-sorry-for-me bullshit. You’re smart and in love and one hell of a person.”

Dorcas let her head drift to one side to smile at him. “You too, Kase. You know that don’t you?”

“Oh, I tell him as much as I can,” came Natalie’s voice. She came around Dorcas’ chair and slid onto Kasey’s lap with a light kiss. “But he’s basically as stubborn as you are.”

Dorcas snorted, but then went quiet. She looked around at the back room. It was tidy chaos, the perfect environment for inspiration.

“You two could put the Carrows out of business,” she said. “You really could.”

“If we can get the funding up,” Kasey said. “Then, yeah,” he smiled at Natalie, stroking a hand over her bare shoulder. “We could.”

“Two burgers,” Thomas said, then laughed a little. “Extra pickles, no onions.”

Luke looked at Saint, who just sighed.

“You’re the picture of chivalry,” Saint said, but picked it up. “The very image.”

They took their first few bites in silence. Saint figured Luke would talk when he was ready, but when he just pulled out the letter his dad had left him, the single slip of paper with nothing but Pascal’s name on it, Saint guessed he’d have to take the first step once again.

“We should be meeting at the Lion, you know,” Saint broke the silence. “That’s where Dumo is.”

“Dumo?” Luke repeated.

“Pascal. Pascal Dumais. Everyone calls him Dumo.”

Luke nodded, as if taking this in. He was fidgety as hell. Saint had never seen him do anything with his hands except throw a punch or tuck them beneath his crossed arms. Or hold Saint steady. Now, he picked apart his fries, shredded the label on his soda and his paper napkin, and chewed slowly.

“I don’t want him there,” Luke finally said. “I want to know about him first. Tell me.”

Saint nodded. He could understand that.

Saint picked up his water, breaking the cap’s seal. “Me and Sirius have been…it’s just been the two of us for a long time. Most of our lives.”

“I remember when Sirius left school,” Luke said. “There were all kinds of rumors. Most kids thought he was, like, dead or something.”

“He sort of was,” Saint replied. “But, then again, so was I. We were free, but we didn’t know what the hell we were doing. Dumo could see that we were on our own, of course.”

“Did he threaten you?” Luke asked. “With authorities, or whatever?”

“The opposite,” Saint said, twisting the cap this way and that. “He didn’t push. He made sure we had what we needed, but he didn’t push.” Saint smiled. “And I hate to be pushed.”

“Yeah, I think I’ve figured that out.”

“He said something recently, actually,” Saint continued. “About Leo’s father. And the treasure. They used to go out on Leo’s dad’s boat together.” Saint shrugged. “Maybe your dad went, too.”

“I didn’t know anything about it,” Luke said, staring down at his food.

“I think, more often than not, children don’t know half of what their parents are.”

“Or anything of them, right?” Luke said, then winced. Actually winced. “Sorry. I don’t…”

“Right,” Saint just sighed. “Or anything. Like me.”

“I guess you’re tired of the poor orphan boy thing,” Luke said. “But you can’t tell me you don’t play that card.”

“I’m tired of it in more ways than I can count,” Saint said, then laughed. “But, yes. It’s helpful, when I need some extra work. Sometimes. Some people feel bad. Some people don’t trust me. Like you.”

“You haven’t given me any reason to trust you.”

“And yet, here we are,” Saint waved a hand at the restaurant. “You want your father. And I want my gold. And Logan wants to be free of debt, and Finn wants Logan, and Sirius wants…” Saint swallowed. “And I don’t actually know what Lupin wants.”

“I don’t think Remus knows what Remus wants,” Luke leaned back in his chair, and Saint felt their sandaled feet brush beneath the table as Luke stretched his long legs out. He pulled them back. “Sorry.”

Saint briefly thought about hooking their ankles together, just to see what Luke would do, but instead tucked his feet beneath his chair, giving him room.

“So, tonight?” he said.

Luke shook his head, confused. “What?”

“We’ll talk to Dumo tonight. You’ll come to the Lion, his restaurant, tonight. In the Hollow.”

Luke looked away, towards the other customers, the busy lunch scene. “Who else will be there?”

“Sirius will want to know. Leo. Maybe no Logan just yet, he’ll be with Finn. Bring Lupin, if you want. What, you don’t like people?”

Luke narrowed his eyes. “You’re the one who came to me because I’m mean.”

Saint laughed. “I came to you because I don’t like surprises and you’re exactly what I expect you to be.”

“And that’s mean?”

Saint rose, crumpling his napkin and throwing it onto his empty plate. “Five o’clock tonight, before the dinner rush.”

Luke nodded and followed him out of the restaurant, waving to Thomas, and back into the heat of the day.

“Oh,” Luke called as they split ways, Luke towards his car, Saint towards the beach. Saint turned to see him squinting in the sunlight. “And whatever it is that you took from my room—and I know you took something—bring it tonight.”

Saint hummed, as if thinking. Then, he pulled Luke’s sunglasses from his pocket and put them on.

“No,” Saint chimed, and turned on his heel, smiling at the curse that followed him.

Remus ran into Sirius outside of the Lion, and almost laughed at the surprise that washed over Sirius’ face when Remus smiled and said hello. In a way, Sirius reminded Remus of Luke. Unassuming when it came to affection, but bright when they let themselves feel it, accept it.

“I keep thinking I’ll see you again,” Remus said. “Waiting for me on the dock.”

Sirius pushed his hands in the pockets of his shorts. He had a tank top on, and Remus’ eyes lingered over his tan arms.

“I didn’t know you wanted me there,” Sirius sounded almost bashful when he said it.

Remus’ smile was teasing, but his eyes were firm. “I think you should stop assuming things about me.”

Sirius blinked, and went to open his mouth to reply, but Remus only shrugged a shoulder and held the door open for him.

“Did they ask you to come, too?” Remus said. “Saint and Luke?”

“Yeah,” Sirius mumbled. “Well, Saint.”

Remus nodded thoughtfully. “Hey, did you hear about the hurricane coming? It’s supposed to be a heavy one.”

“I’ve been trying not to think about it.”

Remus glanced back at him as they walked through. He didn’t see Luke or Saint yet. “What do you mean?”

Sirius pointed towards the coast as they slid into chairs. “We’re right off the point so, it’s a lot of nailing wood boards and sandbags and…you know.”

“The point,” Remus repeated, and Sirius nodded.

Remus stared at him. “You’re…not actually thinking of staying there.”

Sirius looked at him and Remus held up wary hands.

“That wasn’t a dig, calm down, I’m just saying—the storm.”

“We’re fine,” Sirius said. “We’ve always been fine.”

“You can’t be—it’s not safe.”

“Well, I’m sorry if not all of us can afford—”

“Stay with me,” Remus blurted, and it sent them both into silence.

Sirius shook his head. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know you a little,” Remus looked up as a waitress brought them ice water. “I knew you a little when we were eleven, before you disappeared.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t disappear. A God would think that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Once someone exits your little bubble, it’s easy to pretend they don’t exist.” Sirius scooted his chair to the side a little, defiantly, eyes on the door. “No. Thank you. We’ll be fine.”

Remus just stared at him. He was like two waring currents, Sirius Black. Hot and cold, mingling below the surface where Remus couldn’t see. They surprised him each time he brushed through a different one. He thought of the boat, and changing winds, and Sirius’ smile. There was no trace of it now.

“You’re going to risk your life to prove a point?”

“I’m not.”

“Which, risking your life, or proving a point?”

Sirius just scowled. “Thank you for your offer.”

Remus sat back in his chair, too, if only to mirror Sirius’ crossed arm position. They stared at each other.

“They say the winds are going to be up to—”

“Look,” Sirius sighed. “I—”

“You could really be hurt,” Remus said, and when Sirius opened his mouth again to respond, Remus cut him off again. “Or Saint could be.”

Remus watched the way Sirius’ eyes lightened at his name. He saw a crack in the surface, a shift, but before he could say more, there was a shuffle of feet and Luke was standing by their table.

“Luke,” Remus said, looking up at him. He didn’t look any better than he had the night they had gone to his house. Remus felt another wave of guilt about that. Luke had purple beneath his eyes and his sweatshirt was one that Remus knew well. It had been left at his own house for weeks, only for Luke to pick it up later. It was a little small, from before he had bulked up from lacrosse, but Luke still wore it, fraying edges and all.

“Hey,” Luke cleared his throat, pushed a hand through his hair, and sat down. “Yeah, hi.”

He was nervous, Remus realized.

“Where is Saint?” Luke asked.

Sirius raised an eyebrow, and Remus practically felt the cold current grow. “He’ll be here.”

Luke didn’t rise to the bait. He looked rattled. He pulled the sweatshirt off, his haste nearly taking his shirt with it. His cheeks had pink spots on them. Remus reached out to touch his arm.

“Luke,” he said. “Are you—”

“Yeah,” Luke cut him off, but then looked at Remus more softly. He nodded. “I’m okay, Re.”

Remus nodded, then looked back to Sirius in time to see his eyes dart from Remus to Luke and back, narrowed.

“What?” Luke snapped.

“Sup,” Saint’s voice came.

Remus looked at him as he sat down, then back at Sirius.

“Jesus Christ,” Luke mumbled.

“You know, Deveaux,” Saint said instead, and smiled at Luke. “There’s a song that came on in your car. Been stuck in my head ever since.”

“Where’s Pascal Dumais?” Luke asked.

“Straight to the point, then,” Saint replied. “He should be here. Might be in the back.”

Sirius rose, palms flat on the table. He still looked exasperated. “I’ll go find him.”

That left Remus alone at the table with Luke and Saint. Luke still seemed rattled, and Saint was just looking between the two of them.

“Are you all right?” Remus leaned in to ask. “You look…”

Luke took a slow, uneasy breath and looked over at Remus. The green in his eye seemed to blend more with the brown, his pupils large.

“This guy could have information about my dad,” Luke began, and glanced behind him in the direction that Sirius had gone. “I’ll let you know how I am when we talk to him. I…” Luke hesitated.

“Three,” Saint said softly. “Two…one—”

Luke pushed his chair back, too, turning towards the counter and the kitchen doors. “I don’t want Black warning him off or something.”

“What?” Remus made to rise, too, but hesitated. “Luke—“

But Luke was already ducking beneath the counter and more or less blasting through the kitchen’s door. Remus saw Leo do a double take and take a step towards him, shouting a protest.

Saint called out to him, then rose. “It’s all right!”

Remus watched him walk away in that smooth way of his, and lean against the counter, clearly explaining to Leo.

Remus had no choice but to follow.

The kitchens smelled like spiced meat and fresh bread. It was steamy with boiling water and frying pans, cooks yelling to each other as they prepared for a full service.

Remus floundered for a moment before he found Sirius and Luke. Luke was easy to spot, taller than anyone else there. He was talking very quickly to a broad man with a dark beard and kind eyes. He had the sort of hands that Remus associated with his grandfather. Meant for making, strong and scarred. Remus stepped up beside Sirius, who was watching.

“Pascal Dumais,” Remus said softly to Sirius.

Sirius was gazing at Pascal with a look on his face that Remus had never seen before. Soft.

“Dumo,” he replied.

Pascal shuffled them all into a back office where he pulled extra chairs around a table, pointed some of them to a slightly scraggly couch, and pulled out a bottle of what looked like homemade wine. It was light orange in color, and he handed each of them a glass.

“One of my wife’s many talents,” he smiled. “It’s orange wine.”

“Tell us now,” Luke said. “Tell me why my father—”

They all looked up when the door opened, and Leo slipped inside. He looked around warily at them, then managed a slight smile at Pascal.

“I don’t know how to reach Logan,” he said. “I…”

Pascal shook his head. “Sit down, Leo. You’ll need to hear this, too.”

Saint scooted over, into Sirius’ side. It pushed Sirius closer to Remus, and Remus tried not to settle into the warmth that Sirius radiated against him. He looked around the office instead, jaw clenched. It was filled with family photos, but it wasn’t until Remus looked closer that he realized it wasn’t just three children that appeared beside their parents, three children who were nearly Pascal and his wife’s spitting image. He recognized a young Sirius, and beside him, a young Saint. They were smiling wildly. It brought Remus back all those years.

Sirius, there one day, gone the next.

Pascal took a sip of his wine, his eyes going somewhat sad. Remus found himself looking at his hands again. He missed his grandfather.

All us Lupins, Remus. We go mad. At least that’s what they say.

“We shared a love of history,” Pascal said to Leo. “Your dad and I. But, of course, we by no means had the funds to truly commit to such an,” he laughed lightly, a little sadly. ”A hunt.”

He looked at Luke. Pascal spoke with the heavy island accent.

“That is where your father came in.”

Luke hadn’t touched his cup. “He was your funding.”

Pascal nodded. “But I didn’t know that he was…I didn’t know where he was getting it from. I never dreamed that he was…well, I’m not sure what they took him for, in the end.”

“No one seems to be able to tell me,” Luke said lowly.

“You never said,” Leo whispered. His blue eyes weren’t betrayed exactly, but he looked shocked.

“No, Dumo, you really didn’t,” Saint said.

“What was there to say?” Pascal replied. “Do you know how many people look for that treasure? At first I thought Wyatt, Leo’s father, was mad.”

Remus stiffened.

“And then,” Pascal rose. “Then he brought us the map.”

“The map,” Leo repeated, and he stood. “The map to The Cradle?”

Pascal swallowed and nodded. “Yes. I don’t know where he got it, he wouldn’t say.”

Leo stared at him for a long moment, and shook his head. “Why…why was he out there alone? Why was he out there in that weather?”

“You need a storm,” Pascal sighed and rubbed his eyes. “At least that’s what he and Victor thought.”

“My dad was actually hunting with you?” Luke asked. He and Leo wore almost identical expressions.

Pascal nodded. “It sounds strange, doesn’t it? A Hollow, a Helga, and a God, working together.” His eyes flit around at them all.

“Why a storm?” Remus asked. “Like, for tides or something?”

“Exactly,” Pascal nodded. “There’s a current in The Cradle. They call it—”

“The Horcrux,” Remus said, and when Saint sent him a questioning look he spread his hands, drawing a circle in his palm. “It’s a killer. It’s why people are so wary of sailing near there. It’s strongest when the winds are high, and the island ring keeps it contained. And it’s so rocky that it…” he looked at Pascal, realizing. “My grandfather used to call it the ship-sinker.”

Pascal nodded. “He’s not the only one. I thought Wyatt was insane, but Victor didn’t.”

Leo took a step forward, and Remus watched his chest rise and fall, eyes turning angry. “Then why wasn’t Victor out there?” He turned on Luke.

“Come, Le,” Pascal shook his head. “It isn’t this boy’s fault. We all knew it was dangerous.”

“And what?” Leo said, voice raising. “And he was the only one who thought it was worth the risk?”

Pascal was quiet for a long moment after that. Remus heard Leo’s real question, too. He was the only one who didn’t think he was leaving something behind? Pascal seemed about to speak once or twice, and then shook his head.

“I don’t know,” Pascal whispered, voice pained. “I didn’t even know he was going.” He looked up at Leo. “I didn’t know he had gone until we heard—”

Leo turned his back, then, and pushed the door open, disappearing down the hall. He left silence behind him.

Luke stood in the middle of it, like the quiet didn’t weigh him down at all.

“And my dad’s letter?” he asked. “Your name.”

“Jesus, Deveaux,” Sirius snarled from beside Remus. “Give it a fucking minute.”

“He’s not the only one who has been waiting for answers,” Luke snapped back. “It isn’t my fault he didn’t like them.”

Pascal rose without a word and turned to the desk. He opened a deep filing cabinet drawer and, from the very back, slid a rolled piece of paper, tightly bound in a protective plastic.

“The map,” Luke said, eyes trained on it.

“This showed up a few days after your father’s arrest,” Pascal replied. “That’s all I know. I tried to get in contact with him. I really did.”

“But it went down with Leo’s father,” Saint said. “Why are there two?”

“There is never only one of anything,” Pascal said. “The world is too greedy.”

Luke reached for it, but Pascal held it back with a knowing expression. “Do I look stupid? I’m not giving you any clue as to where that gold might be. I don’t need anyone else getting—”

“Caught up?” Saint mumbled, and Remus felt the motion of Sirius slugging him.

“All fine,” Saint said with a smile, and stood. “Don’t worry about it, Dumo. We understand.”

Pascal let out a slight laugh. “Don’t think I don’t know about your slippery fingers.” He tapped the rolled map on his palm. “This won’t be in the same place twice.”

Saint pouted. Sirius stood, too, keeping close to Saint. It left Remus feeling cold on the couch.

“Why did you tell us, then?” Sirius asked.

“Sometimes there are things that people need to know,” Pascal said. “And sometimes there aren’t. You had my name. I did tell you why. But this. This is dangerous.”

“This is opportunity,” Saint shoved his way in front of Sirius.

“For what, wealth?” Pascal scoffed. “There are easier ways.”

“You don’t what to finish the job?” Saint shot back.

“I already lost one friend out of it,” Pascal said evenly. “I won’t lose a son, too.”

Saint froze and Remus saw Sirius freeze, too. Saint didn’t even look like he was breathing. His silence was equally as heavy as the one Leo had left behind.

“I’m not,” Saint’s voice barely came out, but it filled the small room. Remus thought his hands were shaking.

Pascal just nodded, eyes solemn.

Saint turned, shaking Sirius off when he tried to catch him, and then Luke, tried, too. Remus blinked and they were all tumbling out of the room, Luke on Sirius’ heels, Sirius on Saint’s.

“Stop,” Sirius shouted as they broke back out into the night. “Saint, it doesn’t matter—”

“Nothing does,” Saint yelled back without turning. “And so nothing turns into everything.”

Sirius stopped as Saint turned into shadows, as he got farther and farther away. Remus caught his breath beside him, but Luke kept going.

“What?” Sirius asked. “You’re going after him?”

“We need him,” Luke snapped over his shoulder, and disappeared, too, the white soles of his sneakers glinting like the moon rising.

“You’re not?” Remus asked, looking up at Sirius.

Sirius’ eyes looked far away. With Saint, Remus thought.

“Saint can’t be chased,” Sirius sighed. “He loses everyone. He comes back.”

They stayed there, though, just at the edge of The Hollow, looking into the dim night. Remus wondered what Luke thought Saint would give him.

“A storm,” Remus said. “The treasure needs a storm.”

“Botilda,” Sirius nodded. “I know.”

“Do you think he’ll…or Leo and Logan—”

“Maybe.”

Remus reached for him, put a hand on his shoulder. “You know where I live, right?”

Sirius made to pull away, but Remus held on. “Just answer.”

“Of course I know where you live,” Sirius sighed. “This island isn’t that big. Though some people might prefer if it was.”

Remus huffed out an annoyed breath, and let go. “There’s the tower. Round, a turret. There’s a door at the base of it. Go through it, up the stairs, and through the door to your left. My room’s just down the hall, and there’s a guest bedroom right across from it. I’ll leave the doors open.”

He left Sirius standing there, and with a strange pull in his chest.

Finn couldn’t help but feel strange, walking up to Leo’s house, his hand in Logan’s. It was small but cozy, with warm light coming from inside the windows, and flowers growing in the small yard. He could see the workshop garage door that Logan had described. Someone had painted the metal as a sky full of stars.

“This is such a…” he began, then laughed, feeling almost giddy. “Such a house.”

Logan laughed, too. His smile hadn’t faded once since Finn had gotten back on his feet. He didn’t feel all the way there, the tiredness still lingered, but at least now he felt like he could eat an entire horse—and no longer in tiny bites.

“It is, I really like it inside,” Logan replied as they stopped at the door. He squeezed Finn’s hand, and kissed the back of his palm. “You’ll see.”

He raised his fist to knock, and they stood there for a long, quiet moment, Logan leaning his head on Finn’s shoulder, before the door opened. Finn let himself take Leo in. He was blond, and tall. Lean muscled and—and he looked unbearably sad. His eyes were red.

Leo looked at them and Finn almost could feel Logan’s smile fade.

“Leo?” he asked.

“I…” Leo began, but his breathing caught, his eyes falling shut as he tried to keep his tears at bay.

Finn didn’t really know what made him do it, but he reached forward and put a hand on his arm—at the same time that Logan placed on on Leo’s back.

“Leo, hey,” Logan said gently. “Hey… what is it?”

“Let’s sit,” Finn said. He caught a glimpse of the living room behind Leo and the two of them got the door closed and led Leo to the couch. He sagged into it.

“I’m sorry,” Leo choked out. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Logan said, shooting a worried, confused look at Finn. “We…what…”

“What can we do?” Finn asked timidly. Leo didn’t even know him. He probably didn’t want to be crying in front of him.

Leo looked up at Logan and a strange story spilled out of him. A ship, Finn caught. Gold. A hurricane and a death. Logan seemed to understand every word of it, his eyes wide. Finn realized he still had a hand on Leo’s back, and pressed it back into his lap.

“I never really thought too much about…” Leo’s voice broke. “How. If it was terrifying or…”

Finn looked at Logan across Leo. He shook his head, showing he didn’t understand. Leo must have caught the gesture in the corner of his eye because he turned to Finn. Finn stared at him. Some people just looked gorgeous when they cried. Leo was one of them.

“I’m sorry,” Leo rasped. “This isn’t how I wanted to meet you, Finn.”

Finn just shook his head. “I…no, don’t…It’s okay. It’s all okay.”

“He just,” Leo’s breathing caught, and he looked back at Logan. “There’s a difference now. It wasn’t the storm. He chose to—he chose to go.”

Logan placed a soothing hand on Leo’s neck and leaned in so that their foreheads nearly touched. Finn leaned back a little, staring at the inch of space between them.

“We know how it feels to have someone choose to go, Leo,” Logan said softly. “We understand.”

Logan looked at Finn, and Finn didn’t know what else to do but nod. That he could understand.

“We do,” Finn said softly. “We understand.”

Leo wiped his eyes and looked at Finn. He tried for a shaky smile. “I guess we have some explaining to do.”

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wolvesandpetals · 3 years ago

Text

Postscript. Part 2 of 3.

Loki x Sylvie "Our divorce never went through" Modern AU. Angst, Rated T.

Masterlist of my fics here.

---

He meets her again next week, same place, same time. This time, he doesn't buy coffee, just donuts.

[[MORE]]

She sits down with a fond smile. "You've grown your hair out", she comments, remembering the short brown mop that is now long and black.

His smile is tight, and he doesn't speak. He digs into his briefcase and wordlessly pulls out the papers and a pen.

It hurts how he wouldn't even talk to her, but she knows it's what she deserves.

She picks up the pen, ready to sign and get it over with. The familiar proximity to him, combined with the unfamiliar coldness, makes her feel things she can't quite describe. She feels like she might break in his presence, and she needs to get out fast.

"Don't you want to at least read that first?" He asks, amused.

She shakes her head, and continues signing.

"How do you know I'm not making you sign your possessions away to me?"

"Enough!" She finally snaps. She closes her eyes, willing the tears back. "I was twenty-one, I was scared, and I was foolish. I made a huge mistake. Do you have to keep reminding me of that constantly?"

A solitary tear slips off her left eye, and Loki melts. He is defenseless against her tears, his carefully acquired armour insteantly falling away. He has never been able to see her cry and sit idly by. "I'm sorry." He says at once. He lets out a small, nervous laugh. "I guess I'm still a little bitter. I don't know why. It was so long ago."

She takes in deep breaths, trying to calm herself.

"Do you want something to drink?" He asks hurriedly.

She shakes her head. "That's not a good idea."

He pauses. It's a decision he has to make within the next ten seconds, and he does. He picks up the papers, and puts them back inside his briefcase. Sylvie stares at him, perplexed, as he orders two coffees for them.

He smiles softly. For the first time, she notices the wrinkles that are starting to form around his eyes. Time, it has been kind at least to his physical appearance. "How have you been?"

"I'm okay." She says quietly. "I've been... busy, I guess."

"Travelled the world?" He asks. That was one thing she wanted to do, one reason she wanted out. He told her he'd go with her. "You go, I go", he said. But she didn't believe him.

"Yes." She says sadly. "The world gets old quickly though."

"Really?" He asks, a little surprised.

She nods. "Everywhere I went, I just-" she hesitates. She really doesn't want to confess, it hurts her pride. But this might be the last time she's seeing him, and if she doesn't say it now, she will never get another chance. "I travelled from city to city, country to country, and the only place I wanted to be was back at our old apartment in The South Bank."

He's stunned by her unexpected confession. "I moved." He informs her. "I couldn't stand to be there after you left."

She nods again, forcing a smile on her face. "Did you ever go back?"

"I couldn't." He tells her honestly. "I dropped out of college, as you know, moved in with my brother, and started a business. I've been working on it since."

"What kind of business?" She asks curiosly.

He ignores his lawyer's voice in his head warning him not to disclose anything about his financial situation. "A bar."

She laughs. "You always did love your alcohol."

He chuckles, a hundred memories flashing back.

---

The very first night he saw her was at a bar. She was with her friends, and he was with his, and he asked for her number. He kept texting her right from the moment, until his friends teased him mercilessly and he had to pause for a while. They talked till 4 am that night, till his cell phone died.

Their first kiss was also at a bar. They were out with their friends, drunk out of their minds, and though they had both agreed to take it slow, she cornered him near the basins and pleaded. "I can't." And he understood. He felt it too, the need to crash his lips against hers.

"You're mine." He had told her one everning, while she rested her feet on his lap and leaned back against her chair. She had nodded, flushed. Right there in the open rooftop bar, she knew, she would never be the same again.

"I need you." And off to his dorm it was.

---

"What about you?" He asks.

"I am a stunt coordinator now." She says proudly.

It's his turn to laugh now. "You always did love your daggers."

There's a silence that's comfortable, and Loki takes a moment to steal a glance at her. She's still just as beautiful as he remembers, and it hurts.

"How are your parents?" He asks.

"Fine." She says with a smile. "How are yours?"

"Same." He doesn't elaborate. He always had a strained relationship with his father, and that hasn't changed.

Sylvie steadies herself before she asks the next question. "And is there a future Mrs Loki in the picture?"

He shakes his head. "No."

"Really?" She asks, surprised. "I'd imagine there would be a line of men and women."

"Yes. There have been a few." He confesses, and she feels her heart sink, until he speaks again. "But nothing real."

She nods, knowing exactly what he means. "It's been the same for me." She tells him honestly.

The waitress calls his name, and he gets up to grab their coffees. Sylvie watches him leave, his silhouette the sole object of her focus as everything else fades away, and suddenly she realises exactly what has been missing from her life.

Loki hands her the coffee. Sylvie takes a sip, burning her tongue a little.

They used to do this every single morning in the campus. Meet for coffee, talk about everything and anything in the world. It was their thing. She hasn't been able to have a cup without thinking of him ever since.

"Thor's married now." He says, rekindling the conversation.

"Sif?"

He shakes his head. "Jane. He met her a few years ago."

Sylvie stares into the brown of her coffee, stirring it and watching it swirl, like the thoughts in her head. She never thought Thor would marry someone other than Sif, but she guesses people are replaceable.

She is irreplaceable.

One day soon, Loki would marry someone that isn't her. The thought hurts more than it should ten years later.

It hurts to look at him and feel the same surge of feelings that are supposed to have gone away. After all, it was her decision to end things, and she has no right to feel this way now.

She wonders if he-

"Do you remember Mobius?" He asks abruptly, before she has a chance to truly indulge in the thoughts in her head.

How can she forget? He was a senior, and one of Loki's best friend.

"You'll never guess what he does for a living." Loki says, grinning.

They used to play the guessing game, and she'd always lose, but she wants to try nevertheless. "FBI Agent?"

"No." He says, his grin widening.

"Boy band manager?" She tries again. Finally, her eyebrows rise in curiosity, signalling her defeat.

He looks excited as he says the words. "Jetsky salesman."

"No way!" She laughs. "Those things still exist?"

"According to him, they do." He joins her laughter. "According to him, they sell."

"I don't believe him." She says bluntly.

"Neither do I." He agrees.

She glances at him, then at the campus grounds outside the window. There are more trees now, and more students, and more shops with "Free WiFi" signs. "This place has changed quite a lot."

"Ten years." He whispers. "Everything changes. You've changed."

She knows she has. But she's curious to see the changes in the eyes of someone who once knew her best. "Me? How?"

He shrugs. "You're... less wild now."

She snorts. "I assure you, I'm not."

"Less headstrong then." He corrects. "Less impulsive."

She doesn't respond, doesn't tell him he's right. Instead, she says, "You've changed too. Less... mischievous."

She's right. When she left, she took that part of him with her. For the next few months, he was severely depressed, barely coping. Mischief was the last thing on his mind.

He takes the final sip from his cup, and hers is empty too. He picks them up and throws them in the nearby bin, and the dreaded moment arrives again. He pulls the papers out once more, and she steadies herself.

"Do you ever wonder..." She stares into the distance, unable to look him in the eyes. "What would have happened if we had met a few years later? When we were older and wiser?"

"All the time", he admits. He has pictured a hundred different scenarios in his head over the years, where they stumble upon each other, and their romance awakens one more time. He also pictures scenarios in which they meet differently, and at nights, while he locks up his bar, sometimes he can picture her walking in for one last drink.

"I'm sorry." She tells him sincerely. "I shouldn't have given up on us so quickly."

"We wouldn't have made it if we kept going." He counters. "It would be toxic. We would have resented each other more."

"Do you resent me any less, though?" Her voice is timid, young.

"I don't resent you, Sylvie." He clarifies. "I just... I just don't think I can relive that hurt again. It was the worst phase of my life."

She nods, and picks up the pen, ready to sign. He places a hand over hers, stopping her, and she knows he feels the familiar jolt of electricity too, but neither of them dare to comment on it. "I'm sorry too." He tells her sincerely. "We got married too young. I shouldn't have proposed so soon."

She gives him a tiny smile, and continues signing away. He looks at the menu on the wall, so that he isn't staring at her. He reads the name of each item but comprehends nothing at all, his mind focused on one thing and only one thing.

It takes less than ten minutes for her to sign all the papers and for him to put it away in his briefcase. They both get up, knowing it's time to go their separate ways again.

"Take care of yourself", she says, teary-eyed.

And he can't help it. He can't resist the temptation to hold her in his arms one last time. He hugs her, tentatively at first, then tighter when she reciprocates. It lasts longer than what is appropriate for two people who are now strangers. When they part, tears are falling down her cheeks and clouding up his eyes.

"Take care of yourself, too." He tells her, his voice hoarse with emotions he's struggling to hold back. He holds out the door for her this time, and walks her to her car, and for the second time in his life, watches her drive away from him forever.

(To be continued. Don't kill me.)

#fanfiction #sylki fanfic #sylki #pro sylki #loki disney+#loki x sylvie #sylvie x loki #lovedaggers

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isfjmel-phleg · 3 years ago

Text

And the concluding remarks! Full of spoilers!

There’s no evidence of Howl’s cold during his feats of magic (fighting the witch, working with Calcifer to move the castle), and he goes to bed afterward with “no groans, no shouts, and almost no coughing.” The illness is likely real enough, but its severity is a performance he can apparently abandon when necessary.

Sophie figures out Calcifer’s identity by what he reminds her of!

Howl caught Calcifer five years before, just after setting himself up as a wizard in Ingary, which means he’s been heartless since around age twenty-two. According to Jones, a spell from his studies for the doctoral thesis brought him to Ingary. That would make Howl quite a young doctoral student! Was he some sort of prodigy who breezed through his undergraduate and graduate degrees in no time?

“Howl only offered because he was sorry for me.” Sophie notes that that’s just like Michael--are Michael and Howl more alike than one might suspect? Not temperamentally, of course, but in their capacities for empathy.

“Lily Angorian has a heart like a boiled stone.” Exactly, because it belongs to the Witch of the Waste.

Howl denies accepting his “common” name when he uses it on the flower shop--it’s for disguise only, he still prefers Pendragon. But should we believe him? Although he still hasn’t resigned himself to the worth in things that are “natural” by the end of story, he might have been affected by Sophie’s preference and respect for his plain real name.

The Witch likes to think of herself as “A solitary orchid, blooming in the Waste.” She and Howl share a tendency for dramatic self-aggrandizing and a need to stand out.

“Only people who understood Calcifer were really welcome in Howl’s house.” On a practical level, this is because Calcifer is what keeps the house going. On the other hand, this probably has something to do with Calcifer’s being in possession of Howl’s heart.

“I could take any piece of you I wanted and leave the rest of you alive, if I went about it the right way.” An important ability to set up, although rather vague. What exactly is keeping Howl going physically, if he literally lacks a heart? How does this affect him physically? Is his blood just...aimlessly wandering his body with nowhere to go? Does he even still have blood? Etc.

“Sophie’s too kind herself to see how heartless Howl is!” As if Sophie has not spent the entire book calling Howl heartless, over and over again.

“I came to the conclusion that you liked being in disguise.” Like Howl himself!

“I did my best. Haven’t you noticed that your aches and pains have been better lately? Or do you enjoy having those too?” As we’ve seen early on in their relationship, Howl and Sophie both are keenly perceptive of the truths of each other’s characters, unflattering though it may be. And that’s why they’re perfect for each other. Howl sees Sophie as she is, stubbornly resigned to the self-fulfilling prophecy, and he’s not afraid to call her out on it (as she does with him).

“Howl showed his kindness rather strangely, but, considering all Sophie had done to annoy him, he had been very good to her indeed.” They have a weird relationship, but it is reciprocal, and both have proven in actions that they have each other’s best interests at heart. Just...unorthodox ways of expressing it--with green slime or weed killer.

“She had taken Martha’s view of Fanny, whole and entire, when she should have known Fanny better. She was ashamed.” While there was probably some truth to Martha’s assessment of her mother, it was not the “whole and entire” truth. Like everyone in the book, Fanny does not fit the role of the evil stepmother; although she’s not above being self-serving, whether consciously or not, she genuinely does care about Sophie.

“If this is the Waste, [...] then I feel sorry for the Witch having to live here.” This pity is a step forward for Sophie with her (well-justified) detestation of the Witch--not for the Witch’s benefit but for the sake of Sophie’s own character development.

“Howl had not bothered to shave or tidy his hair. His eyes were still red-rimmed and his black sleeves were torn in several places. There was not much to choose between Howl and the scarecrow. Oh dear! Sophie thought. He must love Miss Angorian very much.” SHE STILL CAN’T SEE IT.

Howl’s being honest about his cowardice is the last part of the curse but not really a curse in terms of character development.

And after Howl opens up about his faults, he dishes Sophie some more blunt truths when she falls back on her old mantra of “I’m the eldest! [...] I’m a failure!” He replies, “Garbage! [...] You just never stop to think!”

The first indication that the curse has broken is when Sophie gives Howl weird CPR to put his heart back and notes in passing that her hair is red again.

After getting his heart back, Howl’s “eyes seemed a deeper color--more like eyes and less like glass marbles.” He’s regained a part of his humanity--a part of his soul?--that he had lost in the deal with Calcifer.

“I’ve never seen why people put such value on things being natural,” Howl claims (he’s still in his dyed blond hair and artificially black suit--but a complete mess after skipping his usual preening), and “Sophie knew then that he was scarcely changed at all.” I think “scarcely” might be the operative word here. He’s still very much himself, but with some more complex views and new priorities.

“Sophie knew that living happily ever after with Howl would be a good deal more eventful than any story made it sound, though she was determined to try.” And that’s the crux of their relationship. They go into it with full awareness of each other’s shortcomings and no romanticized notions, choosing to make it work because they also see the worth in each other.

The book ends with Calcifer voluntarily returning to the castle, because, as he claims, it’s raining. The real reason, of course, being that he’s attached to the residents of the castle and doesn’t want to abandon them even when he has nothing keeping him there anymore. Calcifer, after all, is not a purely exploitative being; he has (forgive the expression) a heart. Although he’s no longer tethered to Howl, their character development parallels.

#jellicoe-lodge #not tagging the book because I am talking to you all and not to The Fandom At Large

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boop-le-snoot · 4 years ago

Text

masterpost • main masterlist • taglist & faq

previously on...

Chapter 3 is finally here. Sorcerers need their shopping done, too. Beyonce/Wong platonic ship (joking)! And finally some action, more witchy stuff. Bucky whump because I have a saviour complex. Stucky cuteness moment. Some blood/gore in this chapter.

My insides clenched, seeing the yellow and blue notice taped to my door - the building manager rarely left notes, so whatever it was, it wasn't going to be good. I had managed to wind myself up into an anxious frenzy by the time I had gone inside and locked my door behind me, immediately thinking I would have to exhaust myself by turning to magic to keep a roof over my head.

For once, the news turned out to be positive: a neighbor was being evicted and turned in to the police for stealing packages. The building manager urged the tenants to report any missing items and apply for a refund when possible, apologizing for the inconvenience. I wondered what prompted this, basically unheard of in NYC, act of kindness as my altar stared at me with mocking amusement, pointing out the obvious by its mere presence.

Grinning to myself, I texted Odette - predictably, she was happy for me, happy that my protection spell had turned out strong and steady, and added a few tips of her own for my spell to stay that way. It felt like I'd grown invisible wings, those days, with all the possibilities open - and never once did I let myself entertain a thought of getting back at an enemy of the past for longer than five seconds.

Sure, it was perfectly human to consider making the cheating ex go bankrupt or make sure the college professor, that failed a couple of students each semester as a 'reality check', trips and face-plants at least once a day... I mean, who wouldn't experience a malicious sort of joy from petty revenge?

But I found my powers were best applied with a positive result in mind. My friend's cat was the first test rat- I mean, living creature I had practiced my healing spells on. The eleven year old kitty was struggling and both me and my friend loved the critter dearly - so the short, but tiring spell I performed yielded exactly the results I was expecting. Odette said something about genuine love backing up the magic, and- well, Dumbledore much?

On humans, it turned out, it wasn't nearly as simple. I didn't know what I had expected would happen after performing nothing short of a whole improv-performace type of ritual right in front of my very puzzled but hopeful friend with chronic asthma, but it wasn't the sheer exhaustion that ran bone-deep and left me bedridden for a whole day.

Odette visited my dingy apartment with her signature enormous purse full of vials she spoon-fed me and trinkets she strategically placed in and around my immediate sleeping area. "There, there," the woman patted my head as I pitifully moaned at the ear-splitting headache. "The first one is always the most challenging. After all, if it would be easy, everyone would do it."

I understood that. But at the same time, it felt unfair that no good deed went unpunished. I told Odette so, raising my voice to the best of my ability as she rummaged around my kitchen.

"Nothing in this world comes out of thin air, whatever you decide to give has to be taken from somewhere," she explained patiently. "People like us are considered hedge witches. We do solitary work and draw most of our energy from the Earth, from mother Nature. We cannot perform miracles, however, the cost of our spells are very low," I felt an immediate peak of interest at the simple yet effective explaination she gave me. "We remain mostly human. Gaia* is kind and generous to the ones who pay respect," Odette continued over the clatter of pans and pots. "There are other kinds of witches - who take from other people, who take from the dead. But taking something by force always leaves scars and taking something from the dead means bringing a piece of them back to places it should not be."

I pondered the words as Odette brought the kettle to a boil, the whistling shriek piercing through my skull like a sharp projectile. "What about Voodoo practitioners?" I couldn't hold back my curiosity.

Odette cleared her throat. "What is left of them is mostly not human. Their gifts are great but the costs are greater. They can live far, far longer than the average witch but their souls will know no peace, just like the souls of the dead they anchor to themselves over time," Odette entered the room with a bowl of tangy, creamy liquid that smelled like pumpkin soup. "We do not bestow any judgement upon our brothers and sisters but it is our duty to inform the young." She cast a pointed glance towards me, passing me the soup and a wooden spoon I didn't know I had. "This should help you recover. Take tomorrow off if needs be."

She left shortly afterwards and I hadn't much strength than to use the bathroom, wash the rune-engraved spoon and curl up in my bed, only waking up when the meager light shone over my face from the window. Sleepy and fog-tinted, the early morning NYC was damp and windy as I stuck my head out of the window to soak my sleep-heated head in the cool air.

As uneventful as the day at the café was, I still wasn't up to 100% energy-wise, but the long walk from Jeremy's to Odette's was pleasantly invigorating. I didn't find the cold autumn moisture displeasing; the small raindrops kept me awake and alert. Odette nodded in muted pleasure as I clocked in and returned the special spoon back to her. The runes on it were interesting; I had taken a picture of them for research purposes, fully intending to craft myself something similar.

"Odette has taken on an apprentice," Wong's voice had me take in several deep breaths in preparation for the inevitable fuck-fest on my patience. "She has been avoiding me. And the girl is painfully slow."

I didn't hear the answer of Wong's companion over the rustling of the boxes I was hastily shoving in their places before the Asian man's temper grew foul. More foul. Ugh. The sharp ding of the bell had me yelling a, "Just a second please, I'll be right with you," while trying to keep my tone polite.

Wong's sour face and a list of items required greeted me as I flew out of the backrooms, noticing the locked doors of Odette's office on my way out. Wong's companion stood at the far end of the store - his robes quite different from the ones I'd seen people of their kind wear, his lithe, tall figure seeming strangely familiar. I squinted my eyes at his back. "Is this all you need?" I waved the list around, increasing the volume of my voice.

The tall man turned around and I could only gape. He, in turn, also froze, the stern, unfriendly expression losing heat and giving way to perplexed wonder. "I had placed an order, for sorcerer Strange," Tony's boyfriend eyed me somewhat sheepishly under Wong's concerned gaze.

I nodded, eyeing Wong in turn, letting satisfaction nestle a warm ball in my chest. Stephen's look of displeasure had turned onto his... Colleague. By the time I finished retrieving Strange's order and packing up the items on Wong's list, the Asian man had left, leaving Stephen to sheepishly pretend to examine the books on the furthest shelf. I waved the paper bags as he took long strides towards me, his fancy, large necklace glimmering under the lights.

"So, how long have you been working here?" Sorcerer Strange asked after I told him the total.

The cash register beeped loudly, coins clattering on the desk as I counted out his change. "Some time now," I shrugged noncommittally. I felt his magnetic eyes gloss over my adornments, the star necklace, the various rings; I could practically feel him coming to his own conclusions. "Long enough for your colleague to get an attitude with me," I had to make sure he knew I would be taking no bullshit from him - or anyone else, for that matter. Odette's opinion on his kind was firm and I was heavily inclined to agree.

"Hmm, I see," Strange was equally as keen on hiding his curiosity. It was a funny thing, really, that we, being adults that we were, treated this encounter like some sort of a dirty secret. "Don't take it personally. Wong is like that with everyone," The man briefly scratched his beard with a gloved hand before pocketing his change and picking up the bags. "Except Beyoncè, maybe," the wink he threw me was positively mischievous as it caught me off-guard, giving him a fox-like appearance.

I sighed as the door shut behind him. Pretty white boys - the ultimate human disasters.

I had no time to dwell on them, however, as something - or someone, hit downtown with all the malicious intentions to wreak havoc on the innocent civilians calmly going about their day. Mutants and people who knew Odette came in hordes, scrapes and bruises and strange wounds that required imminent healing.

My boss was no rookie, she dutifully accepted each and every single soul, looking worse for wear with each minute. Not being able to withstand seeing her drain herself, I simply took over the simplest tasks - and she said nothing, just gave me a nod, instructed to use whatever I needed and write it down somewhere along with the name of the person who required the healing.

As the battle raged, the crowds thinned but the ones who managed to come to Odette's spouted more serious wounds, obviously a result of them fighting back. Mutants covered head to toe with coats and hats and robes, for me to swallow my shock when they undressed - horns, tails and weird skin textures were on the far end of the normal. I dutifully extracted small pieces of information from each and every person I treated.

Yes, the Avengers were winning. No, there aren't many people hurt, most of the damage is cosmetic. Yes, the villain of the week is as stupid as usual. It was like a mantra. Odette poked her head into the spare room every now and then, her eagle eyes briefly scanning over me to make sure I wasn't exterting myself.

As I applied the healing salve to a tiny, pink-skinned woman, bandaging up her hands, my boss entered and closed the door behind her, setting down on the creaky chair with a loud thud. "Just got the news, the Avengers apprehended the terrorist," she sighed long and slow. "We've done all we could, the next few days I'll be handling house calls so you'll be here on your own. I'll probably see you in a few days, don't hesitate to give me a call if something comes up," Odette seemed to be barely standing up, yet when she tore off a few pieces of her jewelry and chucked them into a big tin can under the sink, the glossy sheen in her eyes melted away.

"Okay," I mumbled under the watchful eyes of the mutant woman. "Will there be more people coming in today?"

"No," the woman in front of me snorted. "SHIELD is prowling the streets. They are not fond of us, they always say we intervene unnecessarily even though we willingly do their dirty work so our children could be safe," the bitter, harsh tone took me off-guard.

I had to admit, there was reason behind her words. "Will you be able to get home safely? I have a puffy coat and a hat you can borrow." Figuring an expensive taxi ride would be a better alternative to something terrible happening to the woman, I offered her my winter clothes.

She smiled at me, razor blade teeth and large, red eyes the kindest I'd ever seen on a person. In the end, she took the clothes, promising to bring them back in a few days and Odette gave me a parka that was too small for her frame - despite it smelling like someone's grandma's attic, I found it to be quite lovely vintage. The puffy knitted scarf she added felt like warmth and safety - she had to have knitted it herself, for I knew, handmade items carried a significant amount of energy in them.

The shop was eerily quiet as I cleaned and scrubbed the stained, dirty floors and disposed of the bloody clothes and bandages in the tiny, odd fireplace in Odette's office - that was a thing most peculiar, it burned everything I put in it, but had no chimney, no place for the smoke to exit. Magic.

Something banged loudly against the entrance door. I let out a startled shriek, broomstick falling out of my hand and adding to the sudden cacophony of noise as the figure behind the stained glass slowly slid down the door, a deep, male voice groaning something incomprehensible loud enough for me to hear.

Grabbing a large serrated knife we used for mincing the bones of small animals, I made quiet steps towards the door, seeing a large, obviously humanoid figure helplessly lean on the door. The man's arm glinted chrome black and gunmetal grey in the low light. "Sargent Barnes? Bucky?" I whisper-shouted, carefully plying open the door.

He lifted his head, blood dripping down from it, his face looked like someone went to town on it with a meat mullet, his eyes were unfocused and couldn't keep a straight line. His flesh arm leaned heavily on the door frame, the prosthetic hanging limply, dragging his whole body to its side. It must've weigh a ton.

"Я должен найти капитана Роджерса," he whispered.

I didn't understand Russian at all but I could make out the name of his boyfriend. Which made sense. Bucky looked severely concussed - I idly wondered what exactly they had been fighting, what could have given a freaking super-soldier such a brain-leaking injury. "Sargent Barnes, follow me," I put on my big girl shoes and used my momma bear voice, towing the man behind me.

He, too, weighed a ton, as I stumbled, helping him into the chair in the spare room that became my healing station for today. The longer I looked at Bucky, the less lucid he grew, eyes falling shut as he murmured something in jagged Russian, slurring his words.

There was no time to think about the consequences of exposure of my witchcraft; mortar and pestle, herbs and salves flying everywhere, I assembled a healing spell and memorized the according ritual in what felt like record time. He was bleeding all over the chair, fresh crimson blood pouring out of his nose and mouth and it was all I could see.

I hadn't known true terror until the blood that poured out turned black. Whatever it was in him, it was poisonous - my protection charms grew hot, scalding as they left marks on my skin; powering through the pain and unable to turn my eyes off the convulsing Barnes, I finished the chant just as the flow of vile, tar-like liquid suddenly ceased. It pooled around his feet, dripped down the armrests and matted his long hair. It reeked, too, of copper and putrid meat.

Bucky had passed out somewhere mid-spell, the slow, steady breathing bringing me my own sense of calm. To say that I was drained would be an understatement - my vision swam and my world spun on it's axis as I unlocked Odette's office to messily rummage through a cabinet for the emergency tonic I knew she kept there. I chugged the vial, an avalanche of almost anxious, jittery energy hit me like a freight train - exactly what I needed.

I bought myself a couple hours of time. Cleaning up the sludge around Bucky's feet and removing the outer parts of his gear was easy as he remained as relaxed as a cooked spaghetti noodle. The amount of weapons he had on him was impressive, but those weren't what I was looking for - his phone. It was dead, so I plugged it in, waiting for the 5% to show and bringing it to his fingertips, hoping he used the print recognition instead of the password option... And I lucked out.

"Hello, this is Star, I found a Bucky. Tell Dr. Strange to come get him, he knows where I am." I texted the "Stevie ❤️" contact, my inner fangirl self squealing at the dorky name of his boyfriend's contact in Bucky's phone. Shortly afterwards, I went ahead and snapped a picture of myself next to sleeping Bucky, figuring out some actual proof wouldn't do any harm in this bizarre situation.

The answer didn't let me wait long. "10 minutes" came the first text, and shortly afterwards - "Is Bucky okay??????". I had to snort at the amount of question marks before honestly replying "He will be ☺️" and putting the phone back in Bucky's pocket. I cleaned up and attempted to lift Bucky up, succeeding in waking him up into a half-lucid state, probably courtesy of decades of training and whatnot, to at least drag him to the front of the store. I wasn't particularly comfortable with strangers seeing the backrooms.

Bucky leaned with his back against the counter, ass flat on the floor and a towel with a cold compress pressed to his head when the doors all but flew open, revealing Captain Rogers, still in uniform and Stephen Strange, arguing with his boyfriend, both still suited up and bloody and grimy.

"Uhh," I blinked owlishly, causing the men to stop bickering and stare first at me, then at Bucky. "I think he hit his head," I offered weakly, backing up slightly at the amount of burning eyes staring at me.

"Shortcake, that you?" Tony's eyebrows rose as he surveyed the bodega, the items on the shelves, the black and red blood stains on my previously pristine, yellow shirt.

"Now is not the time, Tony. Go with Rogers, make sure the medical is prepared for Barnes and disable his arm," Strange barked out authoritatively, shooting me a puzzled but compassionate look. "The portal is open. I'll talk to Star, find out what happened." He advanced towards me as Captain picked up Bucky bridal-style as tenderly as he could while making sure the compress stayed on.

"Keep that tone fo the bedroom," Tony's voice was more than displeased as he shot me and Strange a hurt look, but followed Steve into the golden circle right outside the door before it sparked shut.

"Now, now, what happened here?" The sorcerer's voice lowered into a soothing drawl as I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding. My shoulders sagged, fingers twitching with anxious energy. The man extended a gloved hand, briefly squeezing my shoulder. "It's alright, take your time."

Damn, did I look that bad?

Taglist: @couldntbedamned @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @mostly-marvel-musings @persephonehemingway @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites

#bun writes #practical alchemy #tony stark x reader x stephen strange #tony stark x reader #Stephen Strange x reader

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willakin · 3 years ago

Note

OC asks - Ida, 2, 9, 17, and 25. And for Frank, 13, 10, 3, and 6.

2. What were they like as a child? Were they quiet and reserved, outgoing, or a bit of both?

Ida was a confident child. Her older sister took on the nurturing role after their mother died, leaving Ida to be the more outgoing of the two. She was the kind of child who craved adult attention and liked to show off her talents.

9. What was their first kiss like?

Her first kiss was with the man who would become her husband, the tea planter Jonathan King. While Ida was always flirtatious and enjoyed male attention, she had to ensure there would never be any question about her virtue. The kiss was unremarkable, but triumphant.

17. Do they consider themselves to be romantic? Why or why not?

Ida doesn’t think she has the luxury of being a romantic. She comes from a modest family background (a clergyman father does not give one high status in British India) and has her entire life planned for what will keep herself and her children safe, comfortable and happy.

25. What events changed them as a child?

Her childhood in Bombay (now Mumbai) was unremarkable, but a few experiences left their mark on her. Her mother died when she was about five, leaving her father and elder sister as the two strongest influences on her life. Her father, hapless but well-meaning, wanted his daughters to be as accomplished as possible despite his limited means, and Ida learnt that she could better her lot through her accomplishments. She saw how her missionary father was treated by fellow Englishmen and learnt that she would, under no circumstances, marry a clergyman.

13. What special abilities or talents do they possess? Did they develop through training or were they born with them?

Frank is particularly talented at two things: learning languages, and practising medicine. The medicine was developed through training, of course, and he’s very studious, putting in hours of study while his fellow students went out and had fun. His knack for picking up languages is more innate - he just has an ear for them. He learnt German by himself in preparation for doing his medical degree in Germany, and he picks up languages in India just by exposure. In a similar vein, he can memorise passages of poetry quite easily.

10. Favourite place? Do they go there often?

He has fond memories of the attic of his family home, where he would hide for hours to read or simply keep away from people. Unfortunately, after breaking with his family he has not been there since before going to medical school. In Simla, his favourite place is Ida’s parlour...

3. Are they an early bird or night owl?

An early bird! He can do all-nighters when he has to, but definitely prefers to go to bed at a sensible time and wake up early.

6. On an average day, what can they be found doing after dinner?

Frank is both an introvert and very private, so after dinner he could be found reading or doing some other kind of solitary activity. Any attendance at dinner parties or the Club in Simla is done with gritted teeth.

#my writing #frank and ida #queer period drama co-star

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chatonne-rousse · 4 years ago

Text

Zibeline

Happy birthday, @tsuki-chibi! This one’s for you. 😘

A Christmas gift exchange story with unintended (though not unwelcome) consequences.

Read it on Ao3.

This is not the first time it’s happened. It is, in fact, not even the fourth or fifth. It’s like he has a sixth sense or the fine-tuned hearing of a fellow feline, that leads him straight to them.

Often, it’s just one cat, skin and bones and scrounging in an alley for restaurant scraps. Sometimes it’s an entire litter, abandoned and alone, mewing frantically in search of a savior. Once in a while, he finds their mom there, too, ragged and worn and tired from life on the streets.

It always ends the same way.

Chat Noir knows the location of every animal refuge in Paris, their hours, and the names of each employee and volunteer he’s met so far. Several have even set up crates in a secure area for the cats he brings after closing. It’s amazing that it hasn’t made the news in all these years, but somehow, Paris’s own black cat has humbly and quietly saved the lives of dozens of the city's neediest felines.

Tonight, Ladybug accompanies Chat Noir to the SPA to drop off a one-eyed senior tomcat they came across on patrol. His solitary eye is cloudy with age, one ear torn from a long-ago fight, but he purrs contentedly in Chat’s arms, his demeanor as gentle as the hands that hold him close.

Once the cat who’d been affectionately dubbed Pirate upon his discovery is safe and secure in the little pen, Chat sends the rescue a quick email from his communicator to let them know about who they’ll find the next morning. Baton returned to his back, he crouches down for one more scritch behind the old grey tabby’s ears.

Ladybug is used to this, well aware after several years of partnership that her own kitty’s heart is a fathomless well of kindness, but it never stops warming her heart to see it. Without thinking, her movement mirrors his, reaching out to scratch behind his leather ears, her gloved fingers tousling his hair. His faux cat ears twitch, and he glances up at her, grin radiant even in the dim light of the refuge foyer.

“Okay, cat whisperer, let’s go. It’s almost midnight.”

He nods, still grinning, and turns back to tell his new friend goodbye.

“They’ll take good care of you here, Meow-seur Pirate, I purr-omise. Cat’s honor.”

Pirate meows his appreciation as Ladybug fondly rolls her eyes.

One hand kiss, one ‘sweet dreams, Buginette,’ and one chilly swing across rooftops in the crisp December air, and Marinette can finally crawl into the warmth of her bed and curl up against her cat pillow to go to sleep. The feline theme suddenly seems so prevalent in her life that she can’t help the snort of laughter she muffles behind its ears.

Tikki zips over to hover in the air above the bed. “What is it, Marinette?”

“Cats, Tikki. Everywhere. Cats.”

They share a giggle as the kwami settles down on the pillow to rest.

“You like cats, don’t you?” she asks. “I’ve seen a cat in some of your family portrait sketches.”

Marinette can feel her face heat up. “Tikki!” she admonishes, before trailing off into laughter again. “I love all animals! Well, almost all of them. But no one loves cats like Chat Noir.” She sighs in mock exasperation. “Give a guy fake ears and a tail and suddenly he’s a magnet for strays.”

Silence falls in the darkness of the loft, sleepy and comfortable, before it’s broken by Tikki’s tiny voice.

“You know, I think it has less to do with his miraculous and more to do with his heart.”

Marinette smiles against the pillow. “I think you might be right, Tik.”

********

Even if Père Noël no longer visits, Christmas is still exciting when you’re a teenager. If nothing else, there’s a two-week break from school to look forward to, and Marinette is counting down the days until she can shelve at least one of her many commitments, albeit temporarily. Alya, on the other hand, is living for the class gift exchange.

“I hope I get Nino this year,” she whispers excitedly, dumping her bookbag on the table and sliding into the seat beside her best friend.

Marinette’s brows furrow in confusion. “Why?”

“So I can give him something awesome and win Christmas, obviously.”

“But...if you give him a gift in class, what will you have for him on the actual holiday?”

Alya wiggles her eyebrows suggestively and gives her a sly smile.

Marinette laughs and elbows her, ears burning, just as the boys walk into the room. Nino gives a quick wave and Adrien settles into his seat with a soft smile toward the girls behind them.

“Damn, Sunshine. I hope you spend the holiday break sleeping. You look like you need it.”

Adrien leans back toward Alya, blond hair brushing Marinette’s desk. (This does not go unnoticed.)

“I think we all know that’s not going to happen,” he replies with a wry smile.

Alya pats his shoulder consolingly. “Truth.”

********

The morning slides by, and Ms. Bustier ends the lecture early before they break for lunch. She leans against her desk, holding a bowl in her hand and shaking it gently. It takes a long moment and a deliberate clearing of her throat for the students to focus on her instead of packing up their bags. She smiles kindly at them once she has their attention again.

“I’d have done this at the end of the day, but not every student will be with us in class then, so we’ll choose our gift exchange recipients now.” Adrien ducks his head. He hates when people make concessions for him, but at least Ms. Bustier is thoughtful enough not to draw further attention.

She starts up the stairs, shaking the bowl again, beginning in the back row this year. “You decided by class consensus earlier this week that your gifts would be €20 or less and no bigger than a shoebox.” Nathaniel takes a slip first, his face unreadable as he folds the paper again and lays one hand atop it. Shake, shake. “We’ll have the exchange on December 21st, during our holiday party in the afternoon. You may bring your gift in the morning and I’ll keep them all in a safe place until it’s time for the exchange.” Rose chooses, followed by Juleka. Both seem pleased.

As more and more students choose a slip from the bowl, the room buzzes louder with whispers and murmuring among friends.

Ms. Bustier’s voice cuts through the chatter again. “This is a secret gift exchange, so remember, do not share your recipient’s name. No trading. We’re all friends here.” If she glances quickly at the back of Chloé’s head as she says this, no one says a word.

Marinette waits her turn quietly. In three class gift exchanges, she has never pulled Adrien’s name, nor has he chosen hers. So much for ladybug luck. All she really hopes for at this point is to not choose Lila. She doesn’t want to break Ms. Bustier’s rules, but if that happens, she’s totally trading with Alya.

The bowl shakes near her ear, and she reaches up to blindly choose a slip. Slowly, carefully, she opens the folded paper, and suddenly all she can hear is her pulse roaring in her ears. Because there, in Adrien’s familiar script, is the name she’d given up hoping to receive.

She looks up just in time to see Adrien’s ears pinken and his shoulders scrunch as he hastily refolds his own paper slip. Marinette wonders for just a moment who he’d chosen before her brain kicks into holiday overthinking mode.

She’d rethought many of the gifts for his next several dozen birthdays, repurposed them for other friends or dismantled them to their raw materials and created something new. But a portion of the chest in her room still holds gifts meant just for him. She could choose one of those, or she could make something new. She could create a gift or purchase an item somewhere. Perhaps she could knit a hat or gloves to match his birthday scarf. Oh, the possibilities are endless!

A nudge in her side shakes her from her swirling thoughts and returns her to the din of the steadily-emptying classroom.

“Ready for lunch, Mari?” Alya asks. Nino and Adrien are looking at her expectantly, too.

“Oh. Sure! Yes! Ready for anything. Soup?”

A beat of silence.

“You heard the girl!” Nino says, slapping one hand on the table and standing up. “Let’s go get some soup.”

Alya just pats her on the back and shakes her head as they pack up their bags.

********

Soup actually turns out to be a good idea today, even if Marinette has no idea why she said that. The four friends huddle around a table in the warmth of a nearby cafe, full and relaxed and reluctant to return to afternoon classes. Adrien startles suddenly when a calico cat jumps into his lap and meows loudly, demanding pets.

Nino backs away a bit, but Adrien simply melts.

“Hello there, pretty girl!” he coos. “Do you want scritches? I can do that.” The cat twists her head, showing him exactly where she wants to be scratched, and he happily complies. Marinette can hear the cat’s contented purr from across the table. “Oh, you like that, don’t you? Yes, you do.”

Alya has her phone out and recording, but Adrien doesn’t even notice. This is the first time they’ve seen this cat at this particular restaurant, but she's definitely not the first resident feline to find them while they ate. Or shopped. Or hung out at the park. Adrien attracts cats like Chat Noir, and loves every moment of it.

“And here we see the Cat Whisperer in his natural habitat, among his harem,” Alya narrates the video as though it’s a nature documentary, and Adrien snorts with laughter before looking up, a sheepish half-smile lighting up his face.

“I just really like cats,” he says, and looks back down at the kitty. She abruptly headbutts his chin, making his teeth knock together with an audible clack. He stares at her for a moment before throwing his head back and laughing, rich and joyful, but loud enough to scare the cat from his lap. She trots over to the counter and stops to groom herself.

Adrien, still chuckling, brushes fur from his pants and shakes his head in fond amusement. “Cats.”

The proverbial lightbulb flashes on above Marinette’s head, the stirrings of an idea so crazy it just might work.

She has an executive assistant to email.

********

It’s shockingly easy to get permission for something so important.

“Do you think Nathalie even asked Mr. Agreste?” Marinette wonders aloud to Tikki above the whir of the sewing machine. “I can’t imagine she didn’t, but…” she trails off, shaking her head. Adrien’s household is a web of very strange relationships she has never quite understood.

Tikki hums and shrugs a tiny shoulder. “If Nathalie said yes, I guess the answer is yes.” She flies from her perch on Marinette’s shoulder to sit on top of the sewing machine; Marinette promptly releases the pedal and meets her kwami’s gaze.

“I’m glad she did, but the longer I think about it, the more I wonder if this is a terrible idea.”

“You still have a few days to decide,” Tikki reminds her.

Marinette nods before she catches a glimpse of the clock on her computer and jumps up in alarm.

“Gah! I’m late for patrol! Again!”

********

Chat Noir is waiting quietly at their appointed meeting spot, knees pulled up to his chest and tail dangling down the opposite side of the pitched roof. He unfurls like a night-blooming flower when he hears her land nearby, legs flopping to the roof, arm raised to wave at his partner, tail animated and alert. His bright smile makes Ladybug smile in return as she plops down next to him.

“Sorry I’m late, kitty. I lost track of time.”

“It’s okay, Bugaboo.” He bumps her shoulder with his own. “I knew you didn’t forget me.”

“As if I could!” she laughs, bumping him back.

He’s still smiling, but silence descends over the pair after a moment.

“You okay, Chaton?”

“Yeah, just thinking. Our class is doing a gift exchange for Christmas and I’m having trouble deciding what to get for my...my person.” He glances at his partner, but she only nods in response. “I got one of my friends this year. Not that they’re not all my friends, but...she’s special.”

“Special, huh?” Ladybug asks, a teasing lilt coloring her voice.

“It’s not like that,” Chat rebuts. He breathes a laugh, but his smile turns impossibly soft as he looks out over the lights of the city. “We’re friends, but she’s...I don’t know. There’s no one like her. She deserves a gift as beautiful as she is.”

Ladybug blinks once, twice, caught off guard by the tenderness in his voice. If she didn’t know any better, she might think the feeling in her chest was jealousy, but that can’t possibly be right.

His words catch up to him when he looks back at her again and frantically waves his hands between the two of them. “Oh! Not like that!” he repeats. “I mean, like, beautiful on the inside. Her heart.” He holds a clawed hand to his chest, and Ladybug quirks an eyebrow.

“Okay, she’s beautiful on the outside, too. But it’s...really, it’s not like that. She doesn’t like me that way, and I…” he trails off. “You know.”

Ladybug takes pity on him and tucks her hand in the crook of his elbow, patting his forearm indulgently as the inexplicable knot in her chest loosens a little. “Yeah, kitty. I know. Maybe I can help. What does she like?”

Patrol is forgotten for the evening as two superheroes take the time to simply be two friends chatting about Christmas above the city they protect.

Some of his ideas need to be reined in.

(“It’s just a skein of wool!” he gripes.

“One of the most expensive in the world, Chat! Don’t you have a spending limit?!”)

Others are nixed immediately.

(“You are not buying her an embroidery machine!”)

Finally, he decides on a pool of several items that might work - he's leaning toward tickets to a fashion show, and Ladybug is only a little bit envious of Chat's 'very special classmate' - and settles back on his hands, relieved.

“What about you, Bug? Your class does this every year, too, right?”

She nods in assent. “Yep. But I already know what I’m getting him.”

Maybe he hears it in her voice, or maybe he’s just returning her earlier tease in kind. “Ooooh, him? Did you draw Mr. Mystery Crush’s name this year?”

Ladybug doesn’t answer, but her blushing cheeks do.

“Well.” Chat clears his throat and starts over. “Well, what is this lucky guy getting for Christmas from Paris’s favorite bug?”

She turns to him with a grin. “A cat.”

It’s his turn to be left speechless with his own twinge of jealousy.

“Before you ask, I already got permission from his family. Sort of. Well, I...the bottom line is that I got permission. I’m going tomorrow to the SPA to choose one for him. I’ve already called and made sure that I can bring it back without a problem if he doesn’t like it, but I can’t imagine that happening. Chaton, I’ve never met anyone else whose love of cats rivals yours. It’ll be perfect.”

After a long moment of silence, Chat seems to come to a decision before he stands and bows gallantly to his partner. “It would be my honor to accompany you to the shelter tomorrow to choose a feline fur-ever friend for your friend. I am the chief cat-bassador of Paris, after all.”

Ladybug looks up at him and thinks of how he cradled Pirate in his arms the other night on the way to the refuge, the calm, gentle way he whispers to tired mother cats, his delight in being approached by the everyday cats of Paris out for their evening strolls before returning home for the night. It has less to do with his miraculous and more to do with his heart, she hears Tikki whisper from the back of her mind.

She takes his hand and lets him pull her up before wrapping her partner in a hug.

“It would be my honor, kitty.”

********

And that’s how Marinette finds herself at the SPA just before closing on a Saturday afternoon, suited up as Ladybug and accompanied by Chat Noir, to adopt a cat for her friend Adrien, who happens to be a teen supermodel.

She thinks distantly of how she once said she was an ordinary girl with an ordinary life and wonders what in the world she was thinking.

The staff at the shelter are friendly and positively bubbling over with excitement to have Ladybug and Chat Noir in the facility to adopt a cat instead of simply dropping off rescues. Chat is eating it up, and Ladybug can’t help but smile with pride. He’s ridiculous, but in a dozen lifetimes, she could never find a better partner.

They make their way to the cat room amidst the distant sound of barking dogs from the other side of the shelter. She knew to expect it, but the look of absolute delight that crosses Chat Noir's face as he walks in the room is like the first rays of sun after a week of rain - brilliant, bright, and beautiful.

A cacophony of cat vocalization fills the room as they walk the rows of cage enclosures, from tiny mews to hearty meows. Little paws extend through the bars when they approach, and Chat tickles their toe beans or brushes their soft fur with his own clawed fingers. It's all a bit of sensory and emotional overload, so Ladybug purposefully brings her mind back to the task at hand, turning toward a shelter employee.

"I'm thinking of a relatively young cat, but not a kitten. Calm and friendly."

The employee nods. "We have a few that I think would be perfect for you." She smiles warmly toward Chat Noir, who is currently holding a giant ginger tabby who'd been roaming free in the room. "He's rescued several of the cats housed in this room right now. We're so grateful for him." She leads Ladybug to a bank of cages to the left, swinging open the door of an enclosure at eye level. "I've been calling this fellow Sable, but your partner was a bit more creative with naming when he brought him to us."

The label on the cage reads: My name is Zibeline. I'm super happy to be here instead of on the street! I was brought to the SPA on 14 December. I am about 8 months old, fixed and up to date on my shots. I'm a little shy, but I love treats and cuddling and I'm good with kids. I get along well with other cats after proper introduction. Are you ready to take me to my forever home?

Ladybug's heart twists. She can't choose the very first cat she sees, can she?

"Oh, you found my Zibby Bear! Hi, buddy!"

Chat Noir resituates the ginger tabby cozied up in his arms and reaches out a hand over Ladybug's shoulder to scratch Zibeline under the chin. The cat extends his neck and purrs happily.

He turns to the staff member. "He looks amazing. I knew there was a gorgeous coat under all that matted fur."

"It's true. He's like a brand-new cat."

A few moments later, Ladybug finds herself sitting cross-legged on the floor, dangling a little mouse with a bell in it over the head of a deep brown Burmese mix, falling more and more in love every time the cat turns his big yellow eyes toward her. He's active and alert but still mellow and sweet. As soon as she tucks the little toy behind her back, he climbs into the space between her crossed legs and settles his front paws on her knee. She looks up at Chat Noir helplessly, and he and the employee both laugh.

"Well, that was easy," he says. "Is The Zibster the one?"

She nods, running her gloved fingers gently through the cat's thick sable fur. She can't wait to pet him with her bare hands when they get home.

The staff member leads them to the front desk while another volunteer prepares the impending adoptee for his freedom ride. As they walk, Ladybug notices a large posterboard full of photos on the wall just outside the cat room door. "Thank You, Chat Noir!" is spelled out in die-cut letters across the top. Some photos are of cats looking out from their enclosures, some include Chat Noir himself holding either cat or crate. She does a quick count by fives and is astonished at the number she comes up with.

"Chaton, you've rescued 32 cats?"

His cheeks heat up, but his smile is soft. "At this shelter, yes."

Ladybug swallows quickly around the lump in her throat, changing tack to cover her sudden surge of emotion. "And do you give all of them ridiculous names?"

"Hey, I'm an excellent cat namer, thank you very much."

"What does Zibe-whatever even mean?"

He laughs. "It means sable - it's a little animal like a mink. My mother had a long sable coat that I remember her wearing to big, fancy events when I was little. Zibby's fur reminded me of that when I found him. Er, well...I thought it would once he was cleaned up."

"Why not name him Sable?"

Chat spreads his hands out in a grand gesture. "Well, I'm a learned gentlecat who speaks four languages, Buginette. Also, I already named one Sable last year."

Ladybug just shakes her head and laughs. This dork is truly one of the best people she's ever known. Perhaps she's luckier than she thought.

********

Monday morning dawns bright and lovely, a cold, crisp Winter Solstice to mark their last day of school before the long holiday. Marinette wakes to a shaft of sunlight across her bed from the skylight above, illuminating the deep chestnut fur of her temporary companion purring against her side. She can't resist reaching down to pet him, rousing him from sleep. He lifts his head with a questioning "mrrr?" before he closes his eyes again.

"Do we have to give him to Adrien, Marinette? I want to keep him." Tikki looks up at her with huge blue eyes, and she almost, almost decides to just give Adrien the forest green beanie she knitted for his 28th birthday. But she doesn't have time for a pet, her parents are busy with the bakery, and, well...this is already Adrien's cat, even if he doesn't know it yet, and she can't take that away from him.

"Sorry, Tik," she says with a yawn, sitting up and scooping the cat into her arms to help him down the ladder to her room. "We'll just have to swing over and visit him at Adrien's sometime." Her cheeks flush at the thought.

She preps a small gift bag with the supplies she purchased with her €20 - a little bag of catnip-infused toys, a shaker container of treats, and a bell collar embroidered with brightly-colored fish. Adrien doesn't need to know that the shelter waived the usual €150 adoption fee, nor that the neon green litter pan and carrier were thrown in for free as well. She has a feeling those were a donation by a certain masked black cat, but no one mentioned it outright and she didn't ask.

She kisses the little cat on the nose with a reminder that she'll be back for him later, opens her purse for Tikki, and sets off for school.

********

The class is abuzz with excitement. They've slogged through a morning of last-minute assignments and a pop quiz that brought groans from the students until the teacher said they could use their notes. Lunch was spent trying to get each other to give up the secret of who their giftee was, but none of them would budge. Marinette had made a quick trip across the street to "pick up something she forgot" just before the lunch break ended.

Finally, finally, it's time to return to homeroom for their Christmas party. Nino's phone plays a curated playlist of holiday music that provides a cheery background the students' chatter. Ms. Bustier's desk and a little table set up next to it are filled with snacks and treats. Red and green macarons decorate a silver tray, and a bowl filled with berry punch sits next to it, little splashes marring the smooth surface of several adjacent cookies. Marinette snags those for her own plate and slides the tray a few inches away before going back to her seat.

When everyone's plates are left with only crumbs, the teacher finally gets their attention. Nino turns the music down but not off, and everyone scrambles to get their gifts for the exchange.

Marinette sends a quick text to her mom before setting her phone on the desk beside the little gift bag. Adrien, she notices, holds a simple envelope in his hand, tapping it nervously against the desk.

Gifts are given to squeals of delight, oohs and aahs and one "whoa, rad!" from Alix.

When Sabine Cheng peeks in just as Nino is digging into his gift bag, Marinette excuses herself for a moment before returning with a carefully-ventilated shoebox. Okay, it held a pair of her father's giant shoes, but Marinette still followed the gift-giving guidelines. Sort of. She settles back in her seat, the contents of the box making a loud scrabbling sound, followed by a plaintive meow.

Every eye in the classroom is suddenly on the second row.

"Why don't you give your gift next, Marinette?" Mrs. Bustier says, eyes focused on the now-wriggling box.

Marinette slides the box forward on the desk toward Adrien, who is already turned in his seat, eyes wide. His gaze flickers to hers, to the meowing box, and back to her.

"Joyeux Noël, Adrien."

Chloé huffs at the look of wonder on his face as he brings the box into his lap, but no one else makes a sound.

Slowly, reverently, he begins to lift the lid. After just a few centimeters, a tiny black nose nudges into the open space, followed by one little paw covered in deep brown fur, then a second, before the cat pushes the lid up and off and climbs Adrien's t-shirt like a tree. His hands wrap gently around the cat's body and hold him close to his shoulder. Oblivious to the class going crazy, Alya filming the moment in shocked glee, and Ms. Bustier remarking to no one in particular that she thought they'd been told not to give living creatures as gifts, Adrien simply buries his face in the cat's fur.

"I thought you'd like, crochet a blanket or something, Mari," comes from somewhere behind her. Across the aisle, she hears, "Or bring a cake or madeleines or, I don't know, not a cat!" And, predictably, "Giving a cat as a gift is utterly ridiculous." But none of that matters. The world narrows to Adrien's shaking shoulders and the beautiful chestnut cat sniffing at the hair above his ears, making no move to wriggle free of the hands that hold him firmly but gently in place. For several frantic moments, Marinette is gripped with the fear that she has made a horrible mistake here.

When he finally raises his head, Nino surreptitiously passes him a tissue and pats him on the back while he reluctantly hands the cat to a squealing Rose, the first of many in a long line of cuddles in the cat's immediate future.

Marinette couldn't have said whether she was breathing or not before Adrien's eyes meet hers, but she's distinctly aware of the moment her breath catches. Where she thought she'd see the same joy he'd displayed during his many feline encounters over the course of their friendship, she finds something different. Gratitude mixes with a tinge of sadness, but behind it is something profound that makes her feel exposed and comforted all at once.

He blinks, his brow furrows, and the moment is gone.

"Marinette, I...well, my father..."

"Oh!" she exclaims. "I got permission. I can show you Nathalie's email if you'd like." She reaches for her phone, but Adrien stops her with a hand over hers.

"You're amazing, Marinette," he says, voice painted with the same wonder that shines in his eyes.

Alya is making a sound like a whistling tea kettle behind her still-recording phone. It takes Nino asking, “So, mec, what are you going to name your new little dude?" to truly bring them all back to the moment. The three sets of eyes in Nino's immediate vicinity snap to him, but the rest of the class looks to Adrien for his answer.

He rubs his neck and glances at the floor before answering. "His name is, um...Zibeline."

"Ziba-what now?" Kim asks, and half the class laughs.

"It means sable," he says quietly. "His fur reminds me of a coat my mom had that she'd wear to fancy events when I was little."

Max pipes up, “Adrien is correct. The sable is a type of marten found in the forests of Central Asia." He looks down at his phone for more info. "In fact, its scientific name is Martes zibellina. Zibeline is a little-known term in both French and English used to describe the sable or an item with sable-like qualities."

"Well, it's a very fitting name, Adrien. I do hope you enjoy your new pet." Ms. Bustier gives Mylène a pointed look, gesturing toward Adrien with her head, and the cat is reluctantly returned to his new owner. "Next year, please, no live animals in the gift exchange."

Alya nudges a malfunctioning Marinette, who nods absently. "Got it, Miss," Alya answers for her.

Marinette hears none of this. Her heart pounds in her ears, drowning out the class, their teacher, Alya. She stares, transfixed, at Adrien's bare hands holding Zibeline, trying and failing to reconcile that those same hands, previously gloved in black, had scratched the cat's chin two days before at the shelter. It can't be true that the same doofus who makes incessant cat puns and throws himself toward danger with a smile, who finds and saves the most vulnerable cats and kittens in Paris and has loved her for literal years is sitting in front of her now, cradling the cat they adopted together and looking back at her with those big green eyes she's seen in her dreams since she was thirteen. Right? Right?

Except...he can. He is. She sees it with perfect clarity as soon as she allows herself to truly believe it.

Less about his miraculous and more about his heart, indeed.

She's brought back to the moment when a crisp white envelope slides across her desk.

"For you, Marinette."

(Oh, even his voice is the same. How did she never realize?)

Inside are two tickets to a fall preview fashion show in early January, just as she knew there would be, just as she and her partner had discussed at their chilly rooftop meeting point on Friday night.

"Thank you," she whispers, finally meeting his eyes and finding a guarded hope that makes her heart ache.

Well, that won't do, she thinks.

Ms. Bustier wraps up the gift exchange, thanking the students for their participation and wishing them a very happy holiday. The class moves around them, students getting more snacks and punch, Christmas music turned up again to party volume for the last few minutes of the day. Alya and Nino get up together to refill their drinks, leaving their two seatmates and one cat.

There's a beat of silence between them.

"Beautiful on the inside, huh?"

Adrien's eyes widen in relief and he hides a laugh in Zibeline's fur. "I'm pretty sure I said inside and out."

Marinette giggles helplessly as a giddy glee spreads through her. "You did. And then you picked out your own Christmas gift." She reaches out to pet the cat but Adrien goes one step further and presses Zibeline into her arms. The cat settles happily, propping his paws on her forearm before laying his head on top of them.

"I love him, Marinette. Thank you."

Her breath catches in her throat again. Ostensibly, he’s talking about the cat, but his eyes speak something slightly different, with a weight that compels her to respond in kind.

“You’re welcome. I...I love him, too.”

His answering smile is pure, radiant joy. It makes her heart beat a little out of rhythm, and she clutches Zibeline just a bit closer, grounding herself in the feel of his thick fur. For a moment, Marinette is stunned by the wave of emotion that rises in her chest, a sudden vision of limitless possibility that makes her feel as powerful and determined as she does wearing her spots.

As he slides from his seat to refill his plate with likely-forbidden snacks, Adrien gives her a cheeky wink and leans in close enough that she can smell his familiar cologne. “That embroidery machine is still on the table, by the way. Seems like a super gift for a girlfriend who’s beautiful inside and out, doesn’t it?”

Marinette sputters as he saunters away, her ears and cheeks burning.

“Well, well, well,” Alya drawls as she sets down her drink. “Three years and two dozen failed schemes, and it turned out all it took to make something happen between you two was a cat.” She pops an entire macaron in her mouth and chews thoughtfully. "You won Christmas, by the way."

"I thought the competition was between you and Nino?"

Alya shrugs and points at Zibeline. "No one can beat that." After a long swig of punch, she reaches over to scratch the cat behind the ears. “Girl, I hope you like cats, because in a few years, this one’s going to be yours, too.”

Marinette looks down at the cat in her arms, then back at her best friend, and all she can do is laugh.

“Don’t worry, Alya. I love them. I always have.”

#miraculous ladybug #fan fiction #marinette dupain-cheng #adrien agreste #I'm trash for reveals #happy birthday chibi!#my writing #of course there are cats involved

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