#i really love space it's increasingly a problem and a pattern with my taste in media

[marmolady]

Livita: Part Two

Book/Series: Endless Summer

Main Pairings: Estela x MC/Taylor (f)

Summary: Post-ending. Freed from Vaanu, Taylor has been building a life with her soulmate… but their family remains not quite complete. Read PART ONE and PART THREE.

Word Count: 3545

Reviews and reblogs are hugely appreciated!

Tagging: @sceptilemasterr​ @saivilo​ @greengroove 

San Trobida, March 2023

 The months initially dragged by; the nervous wait for those vital early milestones agonising. Life had taught Estela that nothing good ever came easily; at any moment this could all turn to tragedy-- she woke up each morning with no expectation that she wouldn’t have lost the baby by the next. Taylor was far more secure in her optimism, though at times it did threaten to crumble. Some five weeks in, the pair were married, officially, in the grounds of Catalyst International’s new San Trobidan resort, surrounded, of course, by their extended family. At the end of the night, Estela had said ‘screw you’ to fate, and confided her condition to her tio, who had wept with joy. His belief in her, the support unyielding as always, did wonders to help her through those most vulnerable days.

After the twelve week scan, there was a joint exhale of relief, and the reality that this was happening at last began to set in. Through those early months, home was San Trobida with Tio Nicolas. In time, Estela and Taylor would return to La Huerta, where they had always planned to raise their child, close to Aleister and Grace’s own little family, and to Diego and Varyyn. Estela would not be fit to travel for a whole lot longer, though, so the time spent with her uncle was precious.  While in San Trobida, Taylor was faced with a rush to establish her youth programmes during the brief window in which she’d be available with her full attention. The country was in the midst of a great rebirth, its people boldly stepping out from the shadows left by the cruel dictatorship that the revolutionaries had brought to its knees. To be able to play her own part in that story was, to Taylor, an immense honour, and a responsibility she took very seriously. Those fleeting months were intense, with meetings on top of meetings and enough networking to test even her people skills. Once the baby arrived, everything else would take a back seat, and her role would be as a part-time counsellor specialising in LGBTQ+ youth, and a mentor to students-- all of which she could carry out from their La Huerta home.

Estela had slowly dialed back her role with Catalyst International-- with both herself and Aleister on parental duties, delegation had become increasingly necessary. She kept up with the few bits and pieces that interested her, primarily assistance and scholarships for San Trobidan students, which allowed her to work nicely in tandem with Taylor, but anything else could be someone else’s problem. Staying with her uncle, a sense of peace had descended upon Estela. Her body gradually changed-- and morning sickness had plagued her-- but she took it in her stride.

The front door creaked as Taylor strode through. “Honey, I’m home!” She found Estela sitting cross-legged on the couch, leafing through a collection of baby sewing patterns. “Hey, are you feeling better?��

“Better. You didn’t have to come home….”

“As if I need an excuse to be with you.” Taylor crossed the room, and sat herself beside her wife. “I finished what I needed to get done. So, I got myself back to where I needed to be.”

Estela huffed happily. “I won’t complain. Maybe we could work on that blanket some more. You know how much of a kick Tio gets out of the sight of me knitting.”

“Yeah,” Taylor giggled. “He laughs, but I’m pretty sure he knows you are more than capable of disemboweling someone with those needles if a threat came up.”

“Of course. A spear could never be so subtle.”

They laughed together, then Estela took Taylor’s hands. “Actually, I wanted to share something with you, in my room. We can knit at the same time.”

Estela’s old room had changed little since she was a teenager; it was a cramped but cosy space, decked out with just a few shelves of childhood possessions and faded photographs upon a narrow dresser. Nowadays, alongside the charred-edged photo of a young Estela on the beach with her mother and uncle, was another of Estela-- now older, far more battle-scarred and world-weary-- on the very same beach, her arms around a smiling Taylor. Sat on that worn single bed, Estela could enjoy the comfort of familiarity as she carried on her journey toward a great unknown… and with her wife beside her, she found the courage to face the shadows that crept in along with those memories.

“Gordita, I made you up some of your horrible patacones,” Nicolas announced, pushing open the bedroom door with a shoulder as he presented a large plate. Since the pregnancy had been announced, Estela had been his gorda, with no care paid to how small her bump might actually be. At six months along, though, the belly was living up to that new nickname. “I despair. You get rid of one dictator, and suddenly we have jumped-up young people thinking they can eat peanut butter and jelly with their patacones. Is this the terrible price of freedom? Have I made a grave error?”

Estela snorted with laughter, taking the plate as her uncle kissed her forehead. “And yet you made these up for me; I must be very loved.”

“Always, mija. But you should notice there are some with mango salsa for your poor wife. I won’t have her suffer for your insanity.”

Taylor smiled, gratefully taking a patacone.Nicolas has been doting on the both of them relentlessly since the news had been broken-- Taylor didn’t think she’d ever seen him quite so happy. When the time finally came for them to leave for La Huerta, it would be a great wrench. “Cheers! You’re the best.”

“I’ll have that in writing, Taylita.” Nicolas’ eyes twinkled as he looked over his nieces. The time was fast approaching that they would be on their way again, ready to start the greatest of adventures. He would miss them so. La Huerta had never been a draw to him-- he’d not visited once-- but there was no doubt in his mind that even his stubbornness would have to concede once Estela had that baby in her arms. There was not a force on heaven or earth that could keep him away. “Okay, gorda. I will leave you to it. I’m sure you’ll let me know if you have any other culinary abominations you want me to whip up.”

“Thanks, Tio.”

Alone together in their small sanctuary, Estela and Taylor cuddled close. Taylor braved a nibble of one of Estela’s controversial patacones and admitted that Nicolas had a point. Those things just weren’t right.

“I’m with Tio,” she said. “Our little nene has played havoc on your taste buds.”

Estela chuckled, more forced than she’d have liked. There was something else on her mind. And it hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“Hey. Are you okay? You had something you wanted to show me?”

For a moment, Estela considered changing her mind. It had been over a decade that she’d avoided this, what was to say that now was suddenly the right time? The bump of a little foot up against her ribs gave her clarity. She wanted to show this to her baby someday; that meant she had to brave it. She pulled up her laptop and placed it on the bedside table, then rummaged in a drawer, taking out a disc.

“It’s… it’s our old home videos.” She took a deep breath. “Tio put it on a DVD ages back to make sure we didn’t lose it, and he had an extra copy made for me. You know, just in case I ever….” Her cheeks became pink. “I… I haven’t watched this for a long time.” How long, she didn’t say, but she didn’t doubt that Taylor would know, understand.

Taylor squeezed her wife, her own pulse quickening. She knew this was huge. “I would love to watch with you. So much. But only if you’re really ready.”

“I think sometimes, the closest thing you’re ever going to get to being ready is wanting to be.” Estela offered a wobbly smile as she picked up on Taylor’s concern. “Mi amor, I’m okay. I’m doing this with you.”

She leaned into Taylor as the DVD began to play. Then came a voice that made her heartbeat quicken.

“Hola Nicolas!” Olivia said, waving with one hand, while she supported the small infant Estela with the other. “Here she is! This is your niece. This is Estela.”

Taylor felt Estela’s hand clench around the bottom of her shirt, clinging on for comfort. She placed her own hand on top and gently squeezed. I’m here.

They watched as Olivia placed the infant in a bassinet, then picked up the camera to give a tour of her home.

“So, this is the first place I lived; my mom’s apartment in Colombia,” Estela explained, her voice shaking at first, then steadying. This… didn’t hurt as much as she’d anticipated. If anything, it was a comfort. The last pieces of film she’d seen of her mother had been that horrifying footage in the Elysian, and the VR warning message from Olivia’s office in the MASADA complex. This was Estela’s mother as she knew her, the person she’d been missing so painfully. There was the inevitable pang of longing as she looked at that face, but the wash of memories made her seem closer than she’d been for so many years. “It was a few months before she had everything sorted so we could move to Tio Nicolas’ place, so Mom made a videotape to send him. A friend at the lab she worked at gave her the camera; it was so Tio could see the new baby, but we used it a long time after that.”

With the apartment tour complete, the camera was placed down on some unseen table or stand, and Olivia came back into the frame, picking up baby Estela and cradling her in her arms.

“If you’re lucky, you might get a smile out of her,” Olivia said, grinning as she gently tickled Estela under her chin. “The twentieth of July was her first real smile. You’re going to laugh at me, but I cried. Maybe you’ll get it when you meet her. She’s just so, so beautiful. I swear I’m addicted to this girl.”

Taylor snuggled under Estela’s arm, and watched, entranced, as the baby on the screen grew and changed under the loving care of her mother, and then uncle as well.

“Wow, Tio Nicolas looks different!” she commented, to Estela’s chuckle. Time, unimaginable stress, and facial hair could do that to a person. It was impossible not to smile as she watched the young Nicolas bouncing his little niece on his foot. That he’d be utterly, totally smitten with Estela’s own child had to be the surest thing in the world. Taylor saw on that screen an image of a dream come true, a future that now lay before her and Estela. God, could I be any more clucky right now?

“That’s going to be us, Taylor. Our own little family.”

Instinctively, Taylor put her hand to Estela’s bump, stroking it. Her family with her soulmate; it wasn’t what she’d been made for, but she was certain it was what she was meant for.

“I’m going to be someone’s mom. When I think about it, it’s just… incredible.” She cuddled in close, and gently kissed Estela’s cheek and forehead. “It means so much that you shared this with me.” She gestured to the screen. That had taken a whole lot of bravery. “Watching this… I see so much of you when I see your mom.”

“She would have been an amazing abuelita,” Estela said softly. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply. Her mother’s sacrifice had brought her to Taylor. This new family would carry a great deal of Olivia Montoya’s influence, though she’d never know. “Thank you. I know it’s silly for me to say this, but I really appreciate you saying that. I’m gonna do her proud.”

The child on the screen was older now, toddling around the so-familiar house on stumpy legs. She held in her arms a soft doll.

“Oh-- that’s Babydoll. I was… creative at naming things when I was two. Mami gave him to me on my birthday, and I just took him everywhere. It always made sense to me; there was no way in hell Mami would ever leave me it home, so how could I ever leave my baby?”

“So, when you say you always wanted to be a mom?”

“Yeah, it goes back a long way.” Estela stroked her belly, meeting Taylor’s hand there. “I’m glad I had no idea just how rough the path would be… how that dream just burned and died. But we’re going to get there.”

She could see it. A lot of what had made her childhood had been lost in a wash of pain and trauma, but it couldn’t be taken away completely. Those memories, there before her, they were still a part of her. Those warm family moments were hers to pass on to her own child.

“Actually, I think Mom kept Babydoll. Maybe as a souvenir of my brief period of childhood innocence. I should dig him out--” She faltered, and her cheeks flushed. This shouldn’t still be a problem….

Catching on in an instant, Taylor squeezed Estela’s knee, and met her eye with a warm and loving gaze. “We have time. And if we need to enlist Tio Nicolas to do most of the necessary rummaging, that’s fine too. It would be really nice for nene to have something of yours.” Memories were powerful. They made up so much of who each person was. Lacking her own childhood, Taylor had found herself gain a great deal from Estela’s, something that had always been generously shared with no hesitation, in spite of the pain that came with those memories. That family history was important, and it bonded them together.

With a small, appreciative smile, Estela nodded. “Yes… we have time.”

  La Huerta, May 2023

 “Right; tell me. Which end am I kissing?” Taylor scooched forward in the sand, reveling in the gentle heat of the lowering sun upon her back and shoulders.

“That’ll be nene’s back.” Estela gestured to her lower belly, then the top. “Head. Butt. Right where they should be.”

Taylor smiled warmly, and went back to lay another kiss against her wife’s swollen abdomen. “Bub’s got it all worked out. Ready to high-tail it outta there and start lapping up the cuddles.”

“It’s come around fast,” Estela stated. It had. Almost too fast. Pregnancy had been an adjustment for sure, but she’d become comfortable with sharing her body with the small passenger. She could take care of herself, and that meant that baby’s needs were met too. What came next was a great unknown. Estela knew better than most how good intentions of keeping a beloved child out of harm’s way could go up in flames. What her life had been… grateful though she was for the person it had made her, she didn’t want a life like that for her baby. She could tell herself that it would be different, that the fight was over, but she’d seen too much to not be protective. The person she might have gone to for reassurance, the person who’d truly have understood, was long lost to her. Rarely had Estela missed her own mother more than in these days leading up to the big event. It made her all the more grateful for Taylor; already completely besotted with the tiny person they were waiting to meet. In Taylor, her loving hero, she had all the faith in the world.

“Yeah...” Taylor put on a forlorn gaze as she looked up into Estela’s shining eyes. “Just a few more days, and I won’t be able to outrun you anymore. I’m pretty devastated.”

“You’re a beautiful dork, Taylor. But don’t worry. You’ll be able to keep ahead of nene for a few years, if you’re lucky.”

Taylor snuggled into Estela’s lap, and together, they watched the sun journey towards the horizon. The rising tide licked at their bodies. All was peaceful, tranquil; the only sounds were the rolling of the waves, the calls of tropical birds, and the distant laughter of children in Elyys’tel, voices carried upon the wind. Taylor quietly studied Estela from head to toes, taking in everything. The pregnancy had added further lines to Estela’s scar-painted body; marks of something happy at last. Her carriage gave off a quiet confidence; the baby was safe in its strong, resilient vessel. And in Estela’s face, once the vision of heavy burdens, so great that it might might have been those of the whole world… quiet, happy serenity. Taylor felt a wave of affection wash over her. It happened to her a lot. Goodness knew how she’d ever get anything done when she had Estela and the baby to love on all day.

“Estela?”

“Mi amor?”

“You know, I think a part of me is going to miss this. Being able to put my arms around you and hold the two people I love most in the world at the same time.”

Estela’s lips quirked into a smile. “You’ll still be able to do that. Soon enough, baby will be hugging you back.”

“It’s… got to be normal to be a little scared, right? I’ve got nothing, nothing at all to look back and remember as a reference for how the hell to raise a kid. What if I--”

“Taylor.” Estela took Taylor’s face in her hands; gentle but firm. God, Taylor… no one could ask for more than to be loved by you. “I’m scared too. But I’d be a hundred times more scared if I wasn’t doing this with you. It’s a whole actual person depending on us. A whole person we could screw up in a million different ways. But we won’t. Taylor, look at me. You won’t. Just… be scared with me. And all of us… we’ll be okay.”

Taylor pulled herself up and put both arms around Estela. Holding the two people she loved most at the same time. To be scared with Estela was almost to not be afraid at all. “You’re right. Wise Mama Estela.”

“Because of you. Don’t forget that.” And Estela kissed the tip of her beloved’s nose, growing cold with the retreat of the sun. She gave a little wink. “Mama Taylor.”

Her eyes glazing dreamily as she stared out to the sunset over the sparkling sea, Taylor felt a little kick against the arm that she had around Estela’s middle. She didn’t even need to look to know that there would be the most beautiful of smiles across her wife’s face. Pure elation. Mama Taylor? She could get used to that.

[anxresi]

Here, here. Zoe is the worst-written ‘character’ I’ve ever seen in ANY kind of show, animated or otherwise (although, I like to think of her as more of a failed plot device, so thoughtlessly rushed was her introduction in S4 and her less-than-subtle sole reason for existing).

Everything about her reeks ‘Mary-Sue poser’, and if you admit to liking her incredibly thin persona I would question your taste in anything media-related from that point on. Sorry, but this is one point of view where I WON’T be swayed.

Yes, I am a Chloe fan and found it extremely annoying that my favourite girl got cheated out of her development by a vengeful creator who seemingly can’t stand her for some unknown reason (any idea why? My PMs are open…)

But even if I wasn’t, the sight of this hitherto unknown perfect ‘sister’ suddenly appearing from outer space to steal the hearts of practically everyone in Paris, while the writers ditch without explanation every shred of depth Chloe ever had while hammering home the message time and time again that SHE’S E-V-I-L…

From a neutral perspective, I’d be pretty damn pissed off at such terrible plotting. As well as feeling quite insulted that I was supposed to just accept such inconsistent and downright sloppy work. Then however, I’d notice how terribly produced the rest of ML is, and see a bit of a pattern emerging…

Finally, I’d understand that this worthless character (Zoe) wasn’t such an outlier after all; in fact, she’s highly symbolic of the show’s problems as a whole. No thought, effort or real purpose behind her role, with the lazy writers giving off the impression they’re just making it up as they go along.

Same thing could be said for five seasons of an increasingly tiresome love square, stupid rehashed akuma fights and SO much filler that if they’d just kept all the interesting stuff, it would surely just be just a couple of hours long at the most. Max.

If I were you reading this right now, I’d quit and never look back. But I get it: there are some people out there who, even though the show drives ‘em crazy on a regular basis, they still enjoy certain aspects of it and they love the fandom and fanworks etc. so on balance they’d rather be in than out. I can respect that, and won’t force anyone to follow my example.

It’s the ones who, without a trace of irony, say that Miraculous Ladybug is some kind of modern classic beyond compare. THEY’RE the ones I could really argue with for hours (but I don’t, because like I said I’m not out to change minds. If you want my opinion though, you better get ready for a late night…) 💬 💬

Saw your post about Andre

What do u think about Zoe, then?

As a character, she's not bringing anything worth getting excited about. Personality wise, she's just Marinette-Pre-Origins: sweet and eager for friends, but ultimately letting her fear of Chloe rule her behavior until someone else reaches out, and now she suddenly has a spine. And I'm all for the idea of Marinette taking the lessons she learned in Origins about standing up for herself and not sitting by and letting injustices happen, and then turning around and inspiring someone else to do the same, so on paper, Marinette being that person for Zoe would be sweet and make sense. Except we have a full class of kids that she could've and should've already been that inspiration for, so this feel very Too Little Too Late.

And the few things they did to try and make Zoe unique didn't have enough thought or effort put into them so they fall flat.

So she got bullied out of her old school because she "was playing a part; being someone else" and when she dropped the act, "everyone turned against me". Um, yeah, if I found out my friend who'd I'd been confiding in and getting close to lied and faked their entire personality, I wouldn't want to be friends with them anymore either. I wouldn't go so far as to put cockroaches in their locker, but I can't blame Zoe's old "friends" for feeling betrayed.

(And let's be real, the writers definitely HAD to throw in the cockroaches thing so that Zoe actually had examples of being bullied instead of "no one wanted to be my friend anymore when they found out I was a totally different person")

So she's an actress, putting on different faces to please the people around her (clearly, she learned nothing from her previous experience - it's reasonable that people didn't like you because you lied, not because they didn't like who you really are). But then they didn't even keep up this 'acting' thing for more than one episode! Sure, she dusts it off in "Gabriel Agreste", but that entire aspect of Zoe's story is resolved as soon as it's introduced.

(Though it's obvious that the show is trying to convince you that her old friends DID turn on her JUST because they didn't like her as a goody-two shoes nice girl).

With Zoe putting on a fake persona, there could've been intrigue over the episode, or even the season, about who Zoe really is. Like, Marinette is SURE that Zoe is faking being like Chloe, but she has no way to know Zoe wasn't faking being nice to her when they first met. Why not show Zoe putting on different personas than just those two? Have Zoe interact with Juleka by being low energy and stand offish, then swapping to bubbly and energetic around Rose? Have Marinette be confused and that becomes part of the Mystery of Zoe?

And how about that contrivance, that Marinette met "nice" Zoe first and so is SOOOOO sure that Zoe is faking being "mean"? And because Marinette declares this To Be So, all of her friends just believe Marinette and are willing to give Zoe a chance. (despite not believing her about other things *cough* Lila *cough*) This is the same Marinette who's canonically declared her hatred of "liars" more than once, so even if Zoe is only "pretending" to be mean, why is Marinette giving her a pass? I'll tell you why - because we need to seamlessly integrate Zoe into the main friend group so we can speed run her taking over as the new Bee.

Because that's the main problem with Zoe - it's so blatantly obvious what the writers are trying to get out of her, because they don't even TRY to hide it. Don't get it twisted, I don't care that Zoe is brought in to replace Queen Bee, Queen Bee deserves to be replaced. I care how Zoe was brought in to replace Queen Bee. If the writers had taken enough time and care to ACTUALLY seamlessly integrate Zoe, instead of just shoving her in and bending the characters to accept her with no hesitation, then Zoe wouldn't come across as such a Mary Sue-Diet Marinette.

We already have a pretty full cast, so making the audience care about this new character that they've neither hinted at or bothered to build up to in Season 4 was already a big ask. Which is why I believe they should've stretched her "faking personas" story over several episodes. Have Marinette be as wary about Zoe as she was about Lila, esPECIALLY since she's Chloe's sister, but then have Zoe showcase her range of "personas" to throw Marinette off guard. Then you can have scenes of Zoe's mask slipping, like small acts of heroism where there's no time to think: pulling someone out of the way of an akuma attack, distracting the akuma if it gets too close to Ladybug, or even using her acting to help someone else get out of trouble despite Zoe getting nothing in return. Show the REAL Zoe through her actions DESPITE her acting, which then justifies Marinette being sure that "mean" Zoe isn't the real one.

Could've even had Chloe notice that Zoe's slipping and isn't acting very much "like a Bourgeois" and make it CHLOE who digs up that Zoe was bullied, make it CHLOE who airs out all the things that were done to Zoe. I mean, who better to call out a poser than Chloe? Especially since the rest of the class would more willing to take Zoe's side against Chloe (you would think) and it helps with the whole Zoe vs Chloe thing with the Bee Miraculous. Plus, having that information aired out when Zoe didn't want it to could've been a better reason to be akumatized than just "I'm giving in to playing the role I was already determined to play and putting my shoes in this hole with my dreams." Just saying.

But they didn't want to take the time. They didn't want to try. They didn't want to put in the effort to make Zoe someone to care about, both for the audience and for the characters. They shoved her in, gave her an exposition dump, and suddenly everyone was totally cool with her, No Questions Asked. In fairness, they didn't actually have Zoe be mean to anyone other than Marinette One Time in front of Chloe, so there wasn't much to overcome. But that's just another check in the "wow, you didn't even try" column.

I can't bring myself to care about Zoe because she's just a tool. She was brought in with the sole purpose of putting in nearly no effort to become friends with everyone and use the Bee Miraculous, as quickly as possible and as effortlessly as possible. Never mind that such a thing probably should have been earned. I just hate it when I can see the writer's intentions so blatantly.

But I get it, the Bee Miraculous is seriously OP and it'd be a shame not to use it just because Queen Bee was benched. Too bad Ladybug can't just merge Miraculouses and use it hersel- ohhhh, wait.

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: What Comes After (5/?)

Summary: Dead Like Me AU. After Belle French loses her life in an accident, she finds out that she has been recruited to join the ranks of the Grim Reapers, helping souls pass on. It’s a huge upheaval to deal with, but her fellow reapers are there to help her out, especially head reaper Gold.

Who says you can’t find love after life?

Rated: T

[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [AO3]

What Comes After

Five

Having spent the day in Granny’s scouring all the job adverts in the newspapers and drinking more hot chocolate than was probably healthy, Belle had fallen into something of a daydream and was people watching, wondering how many of the other patrons of the diner were reapers from other divisions, and how many would be meeting their post-it appointment later in the day.

She shivered at the thought and pushed it to the back of her mind, looking pointedly back down at the ads she had circled, tapping a finger against one of them. One of the florists in town was looking for a delivery driver. It wasn’t her father’s, she knew better than to get involved with anything to do with her old life and she didn’t know what Moe might say if the woman from the housing agency who’d ostensibly broken into his dead daughter’s apartment suddenly turned up on his doorstep looking for a job.

All the same, floristry was a small business and all the shop-owners tended to know each other, and it would be likely that she would meet Moe at some point during her time there. She crossed through the ad and was about to move onto the next one when someone slid into the booth opposite her. It was Graham.

“How’s it going?” he asked. “Getting used to all the ins and outs of reaper life?”

Belle nodded slowly. “I think so. Thanks for getting me somewhere to stay, by the way.” She looked down at the paper again. “Now I just need to find something to let me pay rent on it.”

“Something will turn up,” Graham said cheerfully. “But speaking of a place to stay, that’s the real reason I came over here. Dorothy’s just come off her shift, so I’ll take you over to have a look around the place now if you like.”

“That would be great, thanks.”

Dorothy Gale was a no-nonsense emergency department nurse and although her manner was somewhat direct, Belle thought that they would get on all right together as roommates. As Gold had said, it was unlikely that their paths would cross much during the day, and if Belle could get herself a job soon, then even better. Moving in took no time at all, and once more, Belle was struck by just how much of her old life she had lost. All she had was a suitcase full of clothes, none of her photos of her family, or her trinkets, or any of her prized books.

She was going to have to start from scratch again and rebuild her life over. She supposed that there were some advantages to that. She could start new hobbies, reinvent herself completely if she wanted, but at that moment, staring at the blank walls in her new room, Belle really didn’t want that. She wanted all her old things back.

Belle wasn’t sure what it was that brought her meandering through the town towards Gold’s shop. Maybe it was just the desire to have something, anything, that could make the place her own, and something unique from the antique shop would certainly fit the bill.

It certainly wasn’t because she wanted to spend some time with Gold. She wanted to ask his advice, a new recruit looking for mentoring from their nominate boss. It was a purely professional interest, that was all.

All the same, she was rather disappointed when she arrived at the shop to find the door locked and a sign in Gold’s spidery writing informing her that he’d be back in five minutes. She supposed that he had gone out to a reap, so she sat down on the steps to wait, getting out the paper again. Pizza delivery was looking increasingly like the best option, and she sighed. She really was starting from scratch again.

“Hello there.”

Belle looked up to see Gold watching her with an amused expression, and she scrabbled to her feet, trying to look like she had not just been sitting on his doorstep resembling a lost sheep.

“Hi.”

“Did today’s adventures with Mulan go well?” Gold asked as he unlocked the door.

“Yes, no problems. W. Gibson went quietly, and I’ve moved into my new place with Graham’s colleague.”

“Things seem to be moving on quite nicely then,” Gold said. “So, what brings you to my shop?”

“Oh, you know. Just browsing.”

Gold quirked an eyebrow as they entered the shop, but he didn’t say anything, just moving around behind the counter and hooking his cane over it. Belle was itching to ask him about it, thinking about her conversation with Mulan the previous evening about all the perks and limitations of the undead body, but when it came down to it, she barely knew the man and it wouldn’t be polite to be asking such personal questions so soon.

She turned her attention to the trinkets and nick-nacks that lined the walls and shelves, not really taking any of it in, her mind miles away.

“Mulan says you’ve been dead for over a hundred years,” she said eventually, breaking the heavy silence that had fallen in the shop.

“I have. I died in 1916.”

Right in the middle of the First World War. Belle could hazard a guess at how he died, but she knew better than to ask.

They fell into silence again as Belle continued to look at all the items in the shop, but it was a companionable quiet, and Belle didn’t feel as much awkwardness as perhaps she might have done in any other circumstances. There really wasn’t anything better than dying for putting things into perspective.

Her eyes alighted on a tea set in a display cabinet, at a markedly lower price than some of the other things in the place but still out of her budget range, and she looked at the delicate china, white with a blue pattern.

“Do you like it?” Gold asked. Belle nodded.

“It’s lovely. How come it’s so cheap? Well, so much cheaper than everything else. Considering I’m not earning at the moment I should probably be somewhat thriftier in my tastes.”

“It’s incomplete. Missing a cup that got chipped when I was setting it out for sale.”

“That’s a shame. Couldn’t you repair it?”

“I couldn’t find the chip. I still have the cup though.”

He went over to a cupboard behind the counter and took out a single teacup in the same white and blue pattern as the rest of the set, a very noticeable chip taken out of the rim. Belle smiled when she saw it, something imperfect in this pristine world of perfect restoration and conservation.

“How much for it?” she asked.

“Pardon?”

“How much for the chipped cup? It’s not like you’re going to sell it to anyone else and although I’m generally one for supporting local businesses and the like, the rest of the set would stretch my wallet slightly.”

Gold just gave a huff of soft laughter. “If you want it that much, it’s on the house,” he said. “You’d be doing me a favour; it’s only taking up storage space.”

He wrapped the cup up in paper for her, although seeing as though it was already damaged it seemed like a pointless exercise, and Belle slipped it into her bag with the job ads. It was a small thing, but it was something that was hers and something connected with her new life, rather than her old one. It was her first step towards rebuilding herself, and she felt very proud that she had made it.

“Thanks,” she said. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow for the post-it hand-out then?”

Gold nodded. “Yes, you will. Good evening, Belle.”

“Good evening, Gold.”

There was a pause then, a moment in which Belle thought that perhaps she ought to say something else, although she didn’t know what she was going to say. It looked like Gold was going to say something too, and then Belle remembered what Mulan had said in the diner that morning. She broke their shared gaze with an embarrassed cough and hurried out of the shop, only sneaking a look back over her shoulder once she was safely outside with the door between her and Gold. He wasn’t looking at her, absorbed in something on the counter, and Belle rushed away before she could make a fool of herself any further.

Dorothy was still in when Belle arrived back at the flat, trawling through Internet dating profiles with an air of frustration.

“It’s kind of hard to meet people when you work shifts in a hospital,” she grumbled. “So far, every date I’ve had off here has been terrible, but something keeps me coming back. Do you ever have this problem, Lacey?”

Belle shook her head. “Can’t say I’ve ever tried Internet dating.” Truth be told she hadn’t really been one for dating even when she’d been alive. The interest that Gold had sparked in her wasn’t exactly a frequent feeling, but one that she had felt often enough in the past to recognise it for what it was, causing her to try and tamp it down. It would have been terribly unprofessional.

Although, were they really colleagues? Reaping was sort of a job, although they didn’t get paid for it. Was Gold her boss? Mentor? Something undefined that she definitely shouldn’t be thinking about in that way? Or did being dead blur the lines somewhat? It was all too complicated to think on and Belle determined to put it to the back of her mind.

“Oh well.” Dorothy clicked on a profile seemingly at random and began to type an introductory message. “Let’s see how we get on with this lady in red.”

Belle left her new roommate to it, and retreated into her bedroom, taking the teacup out of her bag and putting it in pride of place on her nightstand. Soon enough things would join it, but for now at least she had the feeling that she was making the place her own.

Tomorrow she would see Gold again, and she would officially begin her career as a grim reaper, receiving her first post-it.

X

Belle was the first person to arrive in the diner the next morning, perhaps out of an anticipation to get her first reap over and done with as soon as possible, although objectively she knew that getting there early wouldn’t necessarily guarantee that her reap was going to be early in the day. She might be hanging around until the evening to meet her post-it date, and she wondered how she was going to fill the time.

Perhaps a part of her early rising was also out of a desire to impress Gold with her dedication to the job. Now that she had accepted that this was what she was going to be doing for the next hundred or so years, she thought that she probably ought to show a little enthusiasm for it in the hopes of maybe currying favour with the powers that be that controlled the reapers’ quotas and getting to move on a bit quicker.

Gold was the next to arrive and the corner of his mouth quirked up into a smile when he saw her sitting alone in their usual booth.

“All ready for the first time?” he asked. “You always remember your first.”

Belle raised an eyebrow at him and he wrinkled his nose. “All right, perhaps that wasn’t the best analogy I could have chosen, but it is true.”

“What was your first?” Belle asked.

“Accidental drowning,” Gold replied, remarkably cheerfully all things considered, but when one had seen as much death as he had and helped so many souls to cross over, then it probably stopped affecting one quite as much as it was still affecting Belle. “The young man in question had decided to dive into the lake at the foot of a waterfall. It would have been a very impressive feat if he had managed it, and all his friends were very much looking forward to witnessing this miraculous jump. Unfortunately, he hit his head on the rocks on the bottom.”

Belle grimaced. “Ouch. I hope my first one is slightly cleaner than that.”

“Clean deaths are few and far between in external influences, I’m afraid.” Gold had opened his notebook and begun writing out the day’s post-its. “That’s our lot in this life. At least it always adds an element of adventure, as Ella would say. Graham’s constantly complaining that his reaps are boring because there’s no guesswork involved.”

“That’s morbid.”

“We’re dead, Belle. Morbid is in our very nature.” He handed her a yellow post-it. “There we are. Your very first reap.”

Belle looked down at the note.

A. Morgan, North Road Dental Surgery, ETD 10:56 AM

“How on earth am I meant to get into a dentist’s office?” she asked. “I’m not a dentist, nor do I know enough about dentistry to be able to blag it with any degree of confidence.”

“You’ll be fine,” Gold assured her. “If in doubt, take refuge in audacity. If you look and sound as if you’re meant to be somewhere then nine times out of ten, people will believe that you’re meant to be there. If you don’t have that assurance and confidence, then they’re going to suspect that something’s wrong. The more official you can make yourself seem, then the better you’ll get on.”

“Right. You know, drama was never my strong subject. There’s a reason why I became a librarian and not an actress.” She paused. “Can’t someone come with me as back-up? I know that death is non-transferrable, and I’d do the actual reap, but if someone could be there to give me some tips, that would help.”

Gold shook his head. “The first reap is one you’ve got to do on your own,” he said, and Belle just looked at him, wide-eyed.

“I’ve only witnessed two!” she yelped. “Considering that everyone’s told me how many different ways that there are for people to die in this division, I don’t think I’ve really had enough training yet!”

“Just be observant,” Gold said. “That’s going to be your best asset in this line of work. Watch out for the gravelings; you’ll only be able to see them out of the corner of your eye but if you can catch a glimpse of one, then it might give you a clue as to who’s going to die and how they’re going to do it.”

“What if it all goes wrong?” Although Belle had felt comparatively safe and at ease whilst she had been going around watching the other reapers at work, now that she was going to have to go it alone, all kinds of things that she had never thought about until now were making themselves known in a display of blind panic. “What if I get accused of murder or something?”

“I can safely say that none of my reapers have ever been accused of murder whilst I have been the head reaper of this post-it crew,” Gold said. “I’m not about to let you be the first to break that record.”

Belle nodded and took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. “Wait, does that mean that reapers from other departments have been accused of murder?”

“There have been a few sticky situations in other areas in the past,” Gold admitted. “But never in Storybrooke. We pride ourselves on keeping our reapers out of trouble.”

Not entirely convinced that everything was going to be all right at the dentist’s office, Belle just sat back and stared at her post-it note, taking it all in and trying to formulate back-up plans of back-up plans to get A. Morgan’s soul out of his or her body and onto the afterlife without anyone noticing.

David and Mulan arrived within a few minutes of each other and both gave Belle wide grins when they saw that she had received her first assignment.

“You’re almost officially one of us,” Mulan said. “We’ll have to go out tonight and celebrate you taking your first steps into the reaping world. Will you join us, Gold? Ella will definitely come, she’s always up for anything that might involve the slightest possibility of gin in any shape or form; she’ll be there the moment we suggest it.”

Gold shook his head. “I really don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Oh, why not, Gold?” There was an amused smile on David’s face and Belle wondered if he knew something that she didn’t. “And don’t say that you’re too old, because you’re too old for everything by this point, and it never stops Ella.”

“That’s because Ella’s still stuck in the roaring twenties,” Gold muttered.

“Come on, Gold,” Mulan wheedled as she took her post-it note from him. “We’re celebrating Belle’s first reap! You can’t miss out on that.”

Gold rolled his eyes. “I’ll think about it.”

“Did someone say celebration?” Ella wafted in, wearing a different fur coat this time.

“I told you,” Gold said. “She can hear someone mentioning gin from three miles away.”

“Don’t be a stick in the mud, darling, it’s most unbecoming. You yourself were fond of a little tipple back in the day.”

Mulan left Ella and Gold to their arguing and turned to Belle.

“The Rabbit Hole tonight?” she suggested. “Drinks are on us to celebrate your induction.”

Belle nodded. “Yes. That sounds good.” Since she had a new life now, she might as well live it. There wasn’t going to be a lot of point in making herself miserable for the next however many years.

“Great! Now, go and get your reap. You’ll be fine, I promise.”

Belle wasn’t feeling quite so confident as she left the diner and made her way through the town towards the dentist. She was going to be far too early for her post-it appointment and she mulled around the street for a while. There was a post office a little way down from the dentist with its windows full of job ads, and Belle took a look at them. They were mainly for odd jobs and handymen, and although that would definitely give her some flexibility, she also wasn’t the greatest with a hammer and nails.

Then she saw it, and it was as if all her Christmases had come at once. The post office itself was looking for new postal workers. Bicycle and uniform provided. It would mean a lot of very early mornings, but it would give her the freedom she needed to get around to her reaps (and a bicycle with which to do it) and would allow her to get inside people’s homes. She wouldn’t even have to fake UPS deliveries like Mulan had.

She was about to go in and inquire, but then she looked at the time and dashed back towards the dentist instead. It was almost showtime. Belle glanced at the names of the dentists on the board. No A. Morgans there.

The receptionist was on the phone and paying no attention to any of the patients in the waiting room; her name badge read Tracey, so she was unlikely to be the unlucky victim. Since she was distracted, Belle leaned casually over the reception desk to look at the appointments book. Bingo. Adelaide Morgan, appointment at 10:50 AM.

Now all Belle had to do was find the Adelaide Morgan in question and take her soul before her appointment. The clock was ticking, and there were three other women in the waiting room. Any one of them could have been the mysterious Adelaide, although Belle thought that it was likely to be the elderly lady in the corner, with a regal bearing and a fur coat remarkably similar to Ella’s. Perhaps that was what Ella would have looked like if she’d lived to old age.

Belle took a seat in the waiting room next to the water cooler; no-one seemed to pay any attention to the fact she hadn’t checked in at reception and had ostensibly just wandered in off the street and sat down. She had a plan, and she just hoped that it was going to work.

A dentist came out of the one of the offices.

“Adelaide Morgan?”

Belle was right, it was the elderly lady in the corner. As she tottered towards the dentist, Belle rose from her seat and went over to her.

“Here, let me help you.”

Although Belle had seen souls being removed before, she didn’t really know exactly how the process worked. As she touched Adelaide’s arm, she concentrated hard, and felt something pulsing beneath her hand. The only word that she could use to describe it was bright, even though she couldn’t see it, and she held on a little tighter, drawing the soul out and watching the wispy white dissipate around her hand. She had taken her first soul, and it had come almost by instinct.

Having delivered Adelaide safely into the dentist’s office, Belle sat down to wait again. She really didn’t want to know what was going to happen in there to cause the poor woman’s demise, and when she saw a graveling bounce out of the window out of the corner of her eye, she scowled at it.

From inside the office came the crackling sound of electricity, and then all the lights in the waiting room went out and the dentist shot out of the office as fast as his feet could take him, his hands smoking slightly as he screamed for Tracey the receptionist to call an ambulance. Behind him, at a much slower pace, came Adelaide. Belle got up to meet her.

“It’s all right,” she soothed the soul. “It’s over now. I’ll take you to your lights.”

Adelaide nodded gratefully and accepted Belle’s arm, and together they left the building. A beach scene was spread out in front of them, and Belle let her charge go. Once the lights had faded, Belle didn’t know what to do. She just stood there looking at the road, misty drizzle beginning to fall all around her.

“Well done.”

She whirled around and saw Gold waiting outside the dentist.

“I thought you said no-one was going to come with me?” she accused.

“No-one did,” he pointed out. “You did the entire reap by yourself, and you did it very well. I just thought you might like a friendly face in the aftermath.”

Belle smiled. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure. You’re now a fully-fledged reaper. Congratulations.”

They walked off down the street together, back towards the post office and Belle’s possible new line of work, and they stopped outside. Belle took a deep breath. If she could take a soul on her own, then she could say her piece.

“You know, it would be really great if you could come to the Rabbit Hole tonight.”

Gold nodded. “I’ll see you there.”

And despite whatever misgivings Belle had had, when she arrived in the bar to the cheers of the other reapers, Gold was right there with them.  

[mysunfreckle]

The secret places of Paris

Jehanparnasse, Urban Fantasy, Trans!Montparnasse, Faerie!Jehan, 3k

Fluffy one-shot that fits as a sequel to Coffee and Faerie Cakes, written for day 1 of Jehanparnasse week 2017: Magic. Also on AO3.

Cw: alcohol and…recreational use of magic (?).

There is a pattern to the days and a pattern to the magic held within them. Friday belongs to the Fae, Sunday does not. Jehan respects that and they know better than to try do anything too draining on a Sunday as far as magic is concerned. Today, however, they feel like nothing could possibly drain them. They are walking on Montparnasse’s arm, with a rose he just stole from a garden tucked behind their ear.

Montparnasse chuckles.

“What?” Jehan asks, squeezing his arm.

“That rose wasn’t quite so pretty when I picked it,” he grins. “It’s wilting in reverse.”

Jehan smiles, but doesn’t answer. They are so excited they could glow. “Tell me more about the club!” they say eagerly.

“Patience,” Montparnasse smirks. “You’ll see soon enough.”

“You’re a tease,” Jehan complains, giving Montparnasse a reproachful look.

He smirks a little more and still refuses to talk. All Jehan knows about the place they’re going to is that it is owned by humans who possess sorcery and that it has become one of hidden places in Paris where those that know about magic gather.

“It’s dangerous to leave me alone with my imagination,” Jehan warns their boyfriend. “I might be disappointed.”

They aren’t. At least not when they finally get their first glimpse of the building. Not that it looks particularly special in any way, but Jehan can feel it is. There is no crowd at the door and the sign above it is modest. It reads “Club Destin” in letters that look like they’re melting and about to drip off the wall. That is telling in itself and Jehan can feel the magic that has seeped deep into the ground all around this place. Montparnasse mentioned that it’s two sorceresses that run the club, between them they must have a considerable amount of magic.

“Nervous?” Montparnasse grins as he knocks on the slightly shabby door.

“No,” Jehan lies.

He pulls them a little closer. “You’re going to love it,” he promises.

That is not exactly what Jehan is nervous about. They never really knew any magical humans before they met Montparnasse’s friends… If anything they might like it a little too much.

The door is opened by a young man with bare feet that seems to know Montparnasse on sight.

“Merci,” Montparnasse grins and without waiting for an answer he pulls Jehan down a corridor and before they know it they are surrounded by loud music, dim lights and such a blur of mingled magic that it tingles on their skin.

“Oh,” Jehan breathes, their eyes open wide.

Montparnasse has his arm snugly around their waist, but he gives them time to take it all in while he raises his hand in acknowledgement at a couple of people.

Jehan has never felt so much different magic packed in one space. The air is heavy with it. They realize it can’t feel like this for everyone, humans don’t feel magic the way Fae do, but they have to ask… “Is it always like this?”

Montparnasse follows their gaze through the room. The club is small and filled with every variety of young person. Some of them are dancing, others are lounging on couches in the corners, a few are hanging at the bar. “Pretty much,” he hums.

Jehan feels a burst of heat and movement and turns their head to see a kid that hardly looks old enough to be here snap literal sparks from their fingers. Their blatant display of magic is met with nothing but cheerfulness. Magic being used out in the open, just like that… Jehan looks at Montparnasse, silently, but with eyes shining like stars.

“That’s what this place is about,” he says with a smile. “That and the drinks of course.” His smile turns into a grin. “Let’s go get a drink.”

Still slightly dazed Jehan allows themself to be led to the bar. Behind it a plump woman is just presenting a group of four with two shot glasses each. As soon as they leave she turns towards Montparnasse, looking from him to Jehan with laughing eyes.

“Well…” she says with a smirk. “I never thought I’d see the day. Parnasse arriving with someone instead of leaving.”

“Jehan, this is Maggie,” Montparnasse says smoothly, glossing over her teasing. “She runs this place.”

“Tsk,” Maggie tuts. “We run this place,” and she gestures to a beautiful woman clad in all black that is laughing and talking with some of the patrons.

“Missy looks the part,” Montparnasse grins at Jehan. “But Maggie’s the one with the real talent.”

“Your flattery is of the most insulting kind,” Maggie chides, but Jehan can feel he is right when she smiles at them. Maggie’s magic doesn’t feel like most of the magic in this room. It reminds Jehan more of Sous’ sorcery, strong and very deliberate.

“But,” Maggie says with a smirk. “I suppose it’s true. My drinks are famous.” She winks. “Or they would be if I wasn’t so liberal with my shots of amnesia. So, what can I get you two?”

Montparnasse gives Jehan a questioning look, but Jehan is not ready to answer. They look from Maggie to him and back again. “You sell magic?” they say, blinking at her in wonder. “And people know?”

“That’s what they come here for, honey,” Maggie smiles. “Well, that and some other things.”

Jehan is all amazement. “What sort of stuff can you make?” they ask excitedly. They haven’t tasted human magic since they were very little. No wonder some of their customers could taste the happiness they baked into pastries at their café, if there were actually people selling magic food for the sake of the magic…

“Most things, I’d say,” Maggie replies, looking at Jehan with an increasingly curious expression. “Take a look on the menu.”

Behind the bar there is no mirror like in many other places, nor a blackboard, but above the rows of bottles words seem to have been scorched into the painted surface. Jehan lets their eyes pass over the curved letters. Contentment… Fear… Excitement… Joy… Surprise… They’re not drinks, they’re feelings.

“You might have told your pretty date what you were getting them into,” Maggie reproaches Montparnasse good-naturedly.

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” he grins.

Jehan beams at him. He must have been dying to tell them. They’re almost offended he didn’t take them here sooner. Almost. “What do you like?” they ask Montparnasse eagerly, but before he can answer Maggie interjects.

“Why don’t I start you off with something manageable,” she decides for them. “I’ll get you both a glass of light-heartedness.” She gives Jehan a meaningful glance. “You’re new, let’s not overdo it.” She grabs two glasses and nods towards Montparnasse. “He usually overdoes it.”

“Slander,” Montparnasse scoffs, leaning on the bar without letting his other arm leave Jehan’s waist.

Jehan leans against him, almost giddy with excitement to see Maggie work. She is using the contents of several different coloured bottles to mix them their drinks, but Jehan can tell they are all filled with water. They are impressed. Maggie is probably only putting on a show for the sake of theatricality, she very likely doesn’t need to do this to make her magic work. Jehan knows this type of magic. Once upon a time humans gifted with the talent to brew potions were quite common. The Fae never understood why the mortals insisted on the names. Potions, medicine… It’s all water magic. Water is an especially good conductor of magic, that is why stirring a little extra wakefulness into a cup of coffee takes Jehan no effort at all. Maggie seems to be doing something similar.

“There you go,” she says, sliding the two glasses towards them. “Give that a try.”

Jehan takes their glass while Montparnasse pays and inhales the scent of magic. It’s subtle, but it’s definitely there. Maggie is watching them very closely and Jehan remembers that most humans cannot smell magic. “You put magic in the water?” they ask, trying to sound surprised as well as fascinated.

“Something like that,” she hums. “Go on, try it.”

Montparnasse raises his own glass and grins at them. “In one go,” he says.

Jehan grins too, tilts the glass back and drains it. The water is cool as it slips down their throat, but it warms them up inside. A laugh jumps to their lips and rings out merrily, making Montparnasse twinkle his eyes at them. “Oh that’s wonderful,” they sigh and they laugh again, because they just can’t help it. They feel so light and unconcerned and there is magic all around them.

“Come on,” Montparnasse says, plucking the glass from their hand and putting it on the bar beside his own. “Want to meet some people?”

“Yes,” Jehan beams, grabbing his hand. “Yes, I do.”

With that lovely light feeling still filling their head, Jehan follows him to one of the couches, where several people raise their heads in acknowledgement when Montparnasse approaches. Jehan isn’t shy, not now, they’re smiling brilliantly and before they realize it they’re chatting to these people like they’ve known them for ages. No one asks them who they are or why they are here and they sit on Montparnasse’s lap like they belong there, because they do. Someone goes to fetch a round of drinks and Jehan learns that Maggie serves normal drinks as well, because Montparnasse is given a white wine and they are offered something fruity that is free of both alcohol and magic. After a while people get up to dance and Jehan pulls Montparnasse to his feet too, because they really want to dance. They’re not worried their dancing will be a problem. Not because of the light-heartedness, that has worn off by now, but because their faerie magic will hardly be noticeable in this club and besides, Jehan is wearing sturdy ankle boots that weigh down their feet at least a little.

“Having a good time?” Montparnasse mutters, holding them close against him as they move with the music.

“Yes,” Jehan sighs. “Yes, I’m…” They can’t explain what they’re feeling. It’s so much. They wish they could, they wish they could make Montparnasse understand, but- Jehan lifts their head and an eager smile spreads across their face. “I’m going to go get us another drink,” they say. “Hold on…” And they quickly slip out of Montparnasse’s arms and hurry towards the bar, glancing back laughingly when Montparnasse calls after them over the music:

“You better come back soon!”

Jehan sweeps up to the counter and leans on it, eyes still bright with their new idea.

“Having a good time, hon?” Maggie smiles.

“Yes,” Jehan says emphatically.

She chuckles.

Jehan glances behind her for a moment and then they ask: “Can I order something that isn’t on the menu?”

Maggie slants her head and gives them an appraising look. “Sure,” she says. “I like a challenge.” Her eyes narrow for a moment. “But I don’t do love, or lust, or anything like it.”

“Of course not!” Jehan says, startled.

She smirks. “You’d be surprised how many people ask.”

Jehan pulls a face, but then they smile and look back at Montparnasse. “I don’t need that anyway.”

She follows their gaze and makes a soft sound. “No…you don’t,” she hums thoughtfully. Then she turns her smile towards them again and asks: “So what’re you craving?”

Jehan smiles. “Freedom.”

Maggie’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Freedom…” she muses. “That’s not exactly an emotion.”

“Sure it is,” Jehan says. Emotion, feeling, it doesn’t really matter what you call it.

“Hm,” Maggie hums. She seems genuinely puzzled. “I get what you mean,” she says. “But…” She frowns. “I guess I could mix some boldness with a shot of euphoria.”

Jehan nearly clicks their tongue in disapproval. They don’t, but Maggie can clearly read their expression.

“Ok,” she says, a glint of ambition sparking in her eye. “From scratch it is  then. I’ll give it a try.”

“Mind if I watch?” Jehan asks politely.

“I insist,” she says, and she grabs a large glass and two bottles.

Jehan watches her work and breathes in the magic around her. The other drinks she made were made with showy sparkle, this time she’s really trying. Her magic feels heavier, slower. She really is very talented.

Maggie swirls the liquid in the glass counter clockwise and Jehan shakes their head. Her eyes dart up. “What?” she asks.

Jehan didn’t mean to tell her what to do, but it’s clear Maggie has already guessed they know much more about magic than she previously thought so they might as well. “You’re making liberation,” they say gently. “Not freedom.”

Maggie puts the glass down and looks at it. “What’s the difference?��� she asks, fascinated.

“We’re all born free,” Jehan says softly. “Liberation shouldn’t be necessary.” That’s the thing about freedom. It’s a memory more than anything else. Of course you can’t make a shot of freedom like you can make a shot of happiness, but you can make something that makes you remember. If only just for a moment.

Maggie gives Jehan a long, penetrant look. Then she empties the glass, takes out a clean one and pushes it towards Jehan. “Would you?” she asks.

“Sorry,” they say, shaking their head. “I can’t.” They’re not quite lying, but what they should have said was ‘I shouldn’t’. Jehan is very glad it’s Sunday. If it hadn’t been they might be tempted to try.

“Alright…” Maggie says, grabbing the glass. “So, clockwise then.”

“Clockwise,” Jehan agrees.

She begins afresh and while she is working, Montparnasse comes up behind Jehan and drapes his arms across their shoulders.

“What’s taking so long, petit lutin?” he murmurs in their ear.

“Your date has issued me a challenge,” Maggie says, not looking up from the liquid spinning in the glass.

Montparnasse hums in surprise, but he keeps quiet, hugging Jehan from behind and watching Maggie work. Jehan wonders if he can feel the difference in her magic too, he’s quite sensitive to magical sensations for someone who doesn’t possess sorcery himself.

Under Maggie’s hands the water seems to grow thicker for a moment, she puts the glass down and straightens up, looking at it with a slightly glazed look. She hums and looks up at Jehan. “You realize I’m making a big exception here, right?” she says. “I usually do not serve things I haven’t tested and I don’t drink while I’m working so I can’t test it.” She gives Jehan another appraising look. “But I’ve got a feeling you’d know if I messed up.” She pushes the glass towards them.

Jehan lowers their head just a little and inhales. The magic buzzes at the back of their mind. “It’s perfect,” they beam. They look over their shoulder to grin at Montparnasse, who looks extremely curious. “Can you divide it across two glasses?” Jehan asks.

Maggie glances up at Montparnasse. “I take it you trust them?” she smirks.

“More than I trust myself,” he grins.

Maggie’s mouth twitches and she divides the oddly sparkling water among two shot glasses.

“Thank you!” Jehan says delightedly. “How much do I owe you?”

“Considering I probably got a new recipe out of this, it’s on the house,” she says, waving her hand.

Jehan smiles vaguely at her. Human magic does not work the same as faerie magic does, but still… “You mean it’s free?” they say.

Maggie gives them an odd look. “Yes,” she says. “It’s free.”

“Thank you!” Jehan repeats brightly and they grab the glasses ,while Montparnasse reluctantly unwraps his arms from around them.

“What did you ask for?” he asks, while Jehan gestures with their head towards a quiet corner to make him follow them.

Instead of answering they hold out one of the glasses to him and say: “This is what it feels like to be with you.”

Montparnasse gives them a bemused smile and they smile back.

“It’s not what I feel for you,” they explain tenderly. “It’s not what you make me feel. But it’s what it feels like to be with you. Just for a moment, when I’m not thinking.”

They raise the glass to their lips and Montparnasse follows suit. There’s a single beat of hesitation and then they both knock back the contents in one go.

Jehan’s eyes flutter shut as a flood of memories come rushing in to form one single glorious feeling. It’s running into the sunshine with their parents calling behind them, it’s leaping barefoot in the moonlight, it’s throwing open the doors to their very own café, it’s climbing the roofs of Paris with Feuilly, it’s singing at the top of their lungs, it’s pulling Montparnasse into a heedless dance, it’s declaring out loud that they’re Fae, it’s giving Montparnasse their real name, it’s looking into his eyes with nothing to hide.

With a sigh Jehan’s eyes fly open and they do just that, looking straight into Montparnasse’s eyes and seeing every feeling they just felt mirrored there. Before they can speak his lips collide with theirs and they’re swept up in a kiss that latches onto the magic like it’s magic itself. When they break apart, they’re both breathless and Montparnasse mutters, with a look that is almost painfully soft:

“I love you, Jehan.”

Jehan can feel their smile spread a warmth that wraps around the both of them. “And I love you,” they reply.

Montparnasse touches their face, smiling, before the softness melts into a grin again and he grabs their hands, pulling them back onto the dance floor.

Jehan laughs, singing the praises of love and freedom with every sound they make. They lift their head and dance. There is so much happiness inside them, so much magic and joy around them, that they do not even remember to mind the rhythm of their steps. Jehan’s feet are still safely laced up in their boots, but the more they dance the faster they move. Montparnasse keeps up with them, eyes shining and his hands never leaving their body. The top button of his shirt is undone and Jehan can just see the roses they know bloom all over his chest. For a moment they close their eyes and when they open them again it seems the entire club is dancing around them. The couches are empty, the dance floor is full and the air is full of elated energy.

Jehan isn’t dancing to the music coming from the speakers anymore and neither is Montparnasse.

“I can feel your heartbeat,” Jehan breathes, arms wrapped around him.

“And I yours,” he says with a grin and he pulls them into a kiss that puts even their dancing to shame.