#sitting here wobbling grouchily

[fisherrprince]

aw zoinks I KNEW 5.3 was gonna be mean to ME

[floralcavern]

Writing for my story, introducing new characters!

part 1

The owl spirit laid out two beds for Xavier and Solaria to sleep in, Solaria getting her own room. 

“Women deserve their privacy,” she had said simply. 

Volpes sat next to the knocked out Xavier, who had been released from his puddle form and is physical again. Volpes wondered if Xavier was conscious during that time. 

Noctua entered the room, holding a tray of tea. 

“Your other friend is also still resting. I sense great magic in her.. more than you. Is she perhaps a goddess?”

Volpes hesitated. He knew Solaria wanted to keep that a secret. But it was mainly a secret to mortals. Would she be fine telling a spirit? Noctua was a night spirit, but creatures of the day and creatures of the night got along rather well. There was no deep seeded hatred that mortals often liked to say in their fairytales. 

Volpes decided to not say. “She’s a witch of Spexik,” he lied. 

She nodded, but didn’t seem convinced. “I see. A human who still respects the gods..” she took a sip of her silver tea. “A rare sight nowadays..”

Volpes nodded. 

“Have you rested, fox spirit?” She asked. “Creatures of the day must charge under the moon..”

“I’m fine..” he murmured. “I can go one day without my magic..”

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t believe that to be wise.”

“It probably isn’t..” he clutched Xavier’s hand. “But I want to be here if he wakes up.”

“A deeply rooted bond between a spirit and a human..” she smiled softly. “I have not seen that in at least 300 years..”

He smiled down at Xavier, but quickly caught himself and looked back to Noctua. “Yes, well.. we’ve looked out for each other for a long time.”

She went to a soft hum and nodded. “ I think that humans and spirits should interact more. But with humans closing off the gods now, I fear they will also try to run us spirits off..”

He paused before nodding. “This most definitely could happen..”

She sighed and handed him a cup of silver tea. He took a sip and within second, he felt a wave of exhaustion rush through his body. 

“Ngh.. what..?”

“Sleeping nectar manufactured by the goddess Lunid herself. Fox spirit, you must rest..”

“W..wait.. come back..”

He had heard about sleeping nectar. It was extremely potent. Though, it has no affects on spirits of the night. 

His whole body felt like lead. He felt himself crumple to the ground. He reached out to hold Xavier’s hand and he eventually passed out in exhaustion.

In what felt like minutes, Volpes was awake. The sun shone through the window and Xavier was already awake. 

Xavier had at first no idea what was going on. He began to panic and quickly got up, but his legs felt watery and he could barely stand. Luckily, Volpes managed to catch him before he fell. The back of his head rested Volpes’s shoulder. 

“Ugh.. where are we?”

“The cottage of an owl spirit. She saved us.”

“Ugh. Another spirit. One of you is enough.”

“Do you want me to drop you?”

“I don’t need you to hold me,” he said bitterly, standing up straight, his legs wobbling. “Cmon. We need to find Solaria.”

“Right.” Rings of light went up Volpes and he jumped onto Xavier’s shoulder in his fox form. 

 “Do I have to carry you EVERYWHERE?”

Volpes squeaked in reply and Xavier grumbled in annoyance before leaving the room. 

The room they entered was a small living area. A stove was in the corner of the room, cooking what appeared to be a stew of sorts. There was an eating area and a resting area, where Noctua was sitting at, dozing off. 

“Is that her..?” Xavier asked. Volpes nodded. 

Xavier approached the owl spirit. She jolted up, her eyes shooting open. 

“Yes, I am awake!” She exclaimed. 

What a hypocrite, saying I need to sleep Volpes thought grouchily. 

“Thank you for taking us in,” Xavier said with a bow. “We’d like to take our other friend and leave, please..”

“Your other friend.. oh, yes. Come along.” She stood up, her wings hanging limp on her sides. 

She led them to a room in the corner. She knocked on the door. “Are you decent?” Noctua asked. 

“Yes,” Solaria’s voice could be heard on the other side. “Enter.”

The door opened and Solaria was sitting on her bed roll, wearing a new pair of clothes. They were blue and silver, clearly clothes that Noctua had leant her. 

She seemed to have been meditating. She looked up at them and Volpes leapt off of Xavier’s shoulder and transformed into a human, landing in front of Solaria, bowing. 

“My goddess,” he greeted with closed eyes. 

“Goddess..” Noctua whispered in the corner. 

His eyes flew open and he smiled awkwardly. Shoot..

“Yes.. I lied about her being a witch,” Volpes admitted awkwardly. 

Xavier gave him a look that said ‘you dumbass.’

Solaria sighed and stood up. Noctua was taken aback by how graceful she was. Solaria was gorgeous..

Solaria curtsied in front of Noctua. 

“Solaria, Goddess of the Solar Flare. I apologize if my two friends here have caused any.. issues..”

“N..no..” Noctua said, admiring the grace of the goddess. “They were no trouble..” Then she snapped back into reality. “Wait, Solaria.. as in Spexik’s daughter?”

“She who was crafted from ash,” Solaria said, nodding. 

“Wow.. I-I heard about the whole ‘Spexik sending his daughter to the land of mortals’ but I didn’t think-!”

“He didn’t send me here. He tried to kill me,” she said darkly. 

“Right.. right.. um.. I am preparing stew for you all to eat! It’s not very good for a great goddess such as yourself, but-!”

“It will be fine,” Solaria said. 

Noctua nodded shyly. “Yes, well.. come to the kitchen when you are ready,” she said before scurrying out. 

“As usual,” Volpes started. “My goddess captivates others with her alluring grace and elegance.”

She rolled her eyes and Xavier chuckled. He liked it when she was fed up with Volpes’s dramatics just as much as he was. 

“Do you trust Noctua?” Xavier asked her. 

“Do you not?” Volpes asked him.

“I’m not sure. I heard that creatures of the day really don’t care for-“

“Those are just fairytales! We all have mutual respect for one another. Geez..”

“Boys,” Solaria interjected. “Stop fighting.”

“Yes ma’am..” they said at the same time. 

“Now.. Noctua is kind enough to bring us into her own home and take care of us. Whether you find her suspicious or not does not matter. It’s dawn, so if she were to try anything, she’d be foolish to try it now when her powers are weakened.”

They both nodded. Volpes sighed. “You are right.. it’s just.. after watching her turn Xavier’s body into a puddle-“

“She did what now-?” Xavier interjected. 

“-I’m just a little on edge around her.”

Solaria sighed. “Well you’ll have to get over that.”

“Excuse me, are we going to ignore the puddle thing-?”

“Cmon, boys,” Solaria said. “We shouldn’t keep our host waiting.”

Xavier clicked his tongue in frustration. “Guess we are ignoring it..”

The three left the room and entered the kitchen, where Noctua was ladling stew into 3 bowls. 

They all sat around the table. 

“Thank you, Noctua,” Solaria said before pulling her long, black hair behind her neck. 

“Of course..” she said shyly. 

As they all ate, Noctua’s eyes continued to dart toward Solaria. Volpes thought she was just admiring the beauty of his goddess, but Xavier was more suspicious. 

Noctua was the first to finish eating. She quickly stood and took her bowl. “Just.. finish up quickly..”

She placed her bowl down on her counter and went to the main living room. It was right across from the kitchen and small and cramped. 

“She’s definitely up to something..” Xavier whispered to them. 

Volpes looked shocked. “What? How? She’s been nothing but polite so far!”

“Have you seen the way she’s looking at Solaria?”

“Admiring her comeliness, I am sure,” he said with a scoff. 

“Why are you suddenly believing she’s good? Because she fed you a good meal?”

“I am not that easily won over you-!”

“Xavier is right, Volpes,” Solaria said as she took a sip of her tea. 

Xavier gave him a smug look and crossed his arms. 

“I am not sure what she could be planning. She seems smart, so I don’t think she’d try to attack us. So I don’t know what trick she has up her sleeve..”

They all sat there, trying to think, but they were cut off by Noctua asking for them to come to the main room. “Please, come quick!”

They all exchanged a look of suspicion before getting up and heading toward the room. 

The main room, which has been a normal, small, cozy room had seemingly completely changed in a matter of minutes. 

Furniture pushed out of the way, grains of white sand and salt all over the floor and a circle of some shiny type of stone that Xavier couldn’t quite figure out what it was. 

But Solaria and Volpes knew. They knew all too well. 

“Sand and salt..” Solaria whispered under her breath. 

“Moonstone and lapis…” Volpes whispered a little louder. 

“I apologize..” Noctua said softly. 

“Wait, what?” Xavier asked, beginning to panic. “Guys, what is she-?!”

Noctua opened the curtains of the window. Beams of light from the sun hit the strange ritual on the floor. The crystals began glowing green-blue, nearly blinding Xavier. Volpes and Solaria were unaffected, probably because they’re not mortals. 

There was a loud boom followed by what sounded like the singing of a choir. 

Finally, Xavier managed to open his eyes, blinking out the black blotches in his eyelids. 

Standing at the center of the circle of stones stood a tall man. No older than Xavier. He looked rather unthreatening, but he had a look of regal authority that Xavier felt the need to bow down to as his history of being a royal knight. 

Volpes hid behind Solaria, hissing at the man, who Solaria seemed bitter towards. 

The man took a step forward, which was followed by a light jingle. Xavier realized that this man had bells accessorized all over his outfit. Xavier had a habit of associating bells with jesters, but he somehow managed to make them seem sophisticated and royal. 

“Nox..” Solaria hissed under her breath. Noctua jumped and skittered off to another room. 

Coward Xavier thought coldly. 

The man, Nox, bowed to them, his fluffy black hair falling into his face. Like how Solaria had highlights of yellow in her hair, he had highlights of deep blue. It was hard to see it as it camouflaged with his raven hair. 

“Who is this?” Xavier asked, backing up toward Solaria and instinctively reaching for a nonexistent sword on his hip. Right. He left his sword in the room he had woken up in. 

Solaria sighed. “This is Nox.”

Nox smiled, which somehow made him even more elegantly handsome. 

“God of the moon craters,” he said, reaching to take Solaria’s hand. “He who was sculpted of ice.”

“Wait!” Xavier said quickly. Solaria and Volpes had been teaching him more about the gods. He attempted to rack his brain for names. “Son of Lunid! Moon goddess, right?”

Volpes looked at him with beaming pride. “You remembered the lesson!”

“Boys,” Solaria said, exasperated. 

Nox chuckled and shook his head. “Gosh. When Noctua called me in, I wasn’t expecting to be in the presence of the Great Ribbon of Fire herself. You’re more stunning than the rumors. I don’t think words could ever do you justice.”

She sighed and pulled her hand away. “Cut to the chase. I am not here for flattery. What do you need me for?”

He glanced over at Volpes and Xavier, thinking. “Well.. that’s a private matter. I’m afraid they cannot be here.”

They were about to protest when Solaria cut them off. “I’m afraid I don’t go anywhere without them.”

The two looked at her in surprise before smiling smugly at the god. 

Nox sighed. “That’s too bad..” he glanced at the boys and flicked his fingers. The sand and salt on the floor began to dance around them, but there was no wind. It began to materialize into a heavy fog of mist. 

Suddenly, the room was dark. Volpes and Xavier were no where to be seen. Just Solaria and Nox, surrounded by a veil of mist. 

She glared at him and stepped forward. “What is it you want from me?”

“Why my goddess,” he said, defensively putting his hands up but not a look of actual guilt on his face. “I simply wish to talk..”

Next

[enternalempires]

In Your Dreams

This is a Lukanette soulmate fic. Lots of fluff, a lil confusion and a good portion of frustration. But it’s cute so whatever. Hope you enjoy! Haven’t figured out how to use links yet but my Ao3 username is the same.

The background was bleary but the scene was all the same; scattered leaves floating through the air and clumping to the ground in odd piles with mud puddles here and there, the air was chilly and stuck to his lungs in little pricks but it felt nice.

In Luka’s dreams— their dreams, he supposed— autumn was nothing short of a safe, warm feeling despite the fact that it could send his body shivering and teeth chattering. He’d be wearing gloves and his favorite jacket, jeans and thick boats but still get shudders going down his spine.

He always met her in his dreams, too, and this night was no different.

She wore a long, soft pink coat and black leggings, her midnight hair fluttered around her shoulders and under a black beanie with little dots on it and her eyes— god, her eyes were a brilliant blue that never failed to make him restless.

His body always got so high strung around her, aching to pull her close and never let go, burning up from the inside out and screaming at him to just find her, why don’t you find her already? We need her! We need her so bad that it hurts!

Luka wanted to; and he looked as well.

He’s been looking since he was a little eight year old hiding bruises and busted knuckles and teary eyes but had such a gentle girl visiting him after he finally felt safe enough to close his eyes.

He’s looked and looked and looked and looked.

She wasn’t in his classes, wasn’t in his school, didn’t hang out where he hung out and didn’t have any mutual friends.

He didn’t even know her name.

So what was he supposed to do?

They didn’t say much; in a dreamland like this, touch was so much more important but their short conversations told him enough.

Told him she lived in a bakery that her parents owed and that she loved them (and by god did he spend the next couple of weeks searching through every cafe or bakery or cake shop in Paris but never saw those blue eyes), that she wants to go into fashion, that she had bullies and insecurities but was the loveliest person he ever met and doesn’t even realize it.

And everything— everything— about her made him fall in love so deep that he could feel it in his bones.

These dreams, he knew, connected people to their soulmate.

So how did she get so lucky ending up with her?

The nameless, beautiful girl who haunted his dreams. The talented, brilliant girl whose laugh rolled over him like a wave of joy. The brave girl who held so much power in her hands and never dared abuse it. The girl he so desperately needed to know how to hold— how she would feel against his chest, in his arms. Not in their dreams, not when her warmth was shallow and her body melted against him almost like she was half-tangible and even less sure of herself.

They had a little place against the whirlwind of leaves that they always sat; a nice groove between two trees that always kept them dry and blocked the wind from biting at their cheeks.

Today he got their first, humming a melody into the nothingness around him and then there she was, washed in pink and black and with those freckles of hers, blue eyes watery as she sat down next to him and crawled into his lap without saying a word.

Luka held her— because even if he wanted to do so much more than just sit here in silence, this is what she needed— and continued to hum her song for the girl he fell in love with.

Some nights they do things that leave them waking up to a belly full of laughter and a smile so wide that their cheeks ache— other times, after bad days, he wipes the tears away from her face and wishes he could be there to do the same when she wakes up or she’ll hold him to her and hum his song right back.

This was one of the bad days and he wonders what it is this time.

A bully? A fight with a friend?

“Today was really hard,” She sniffles and he startled, not used to her talking much but ran his fingers through her hair in acknowledgement and comfort to her words. “My friends they… they all found their soulmates already so everyone was doing a paired up game thing but— but I was all alone and I missed you so much. This girl, she keeps lying and telling everyone I’m greedy for not being content with the people already in my lives. She’s making it seem like I don’t appreciate my friends and that I think I’m better than them but i don’t! I love my friends, I’m happy for them— I just want my soulmate, too. Is… Is it selfish to just want you with me already?”

“It’s not selfish at all, my melody,” Luka gently kissed her forehead, lips feeling like they’re brushing against nothing but solid air. “I want you already, too.”

She’s quiet for a moment before sitting up— consequently straddling his lap as well, her hands clutching onto his jacket and a frown coming onto her features as he brushes away the leftover tears staining her cheeks— and saying, “I want to know your name.”

“Are you sure?” Luka asks, not because he didn’t want to share it but because they… just never talked about this before.

Never said ‘I miss you’ or anything of the sort, though both knew that they were missed from just one look into their soulmate’s eyes. She never told him her name, so he did the same. She didn’t want to know at first and he didn’t ask why.

So this, the talking, the questions, the fact that they’re going to just be one step closer to finding each other, is a very unfamiliar feeling.

“I’m sure,” She looks him in the eyes and Luka practically melts. It should be illegal to be so beautiful, to look so cute even after she just got finished crying. “Do you, um, do you want to know mine?”

“Yes.” The answer is instant.

She smiles in reply and he grins back, bringing her hand up to kiss every knuckle before saying, “I’m Luka Couffaine.”

“Couffaine?” Her smile freezes, jaw going slack, and her eyes widen. “Wait, like, Juleka Couffaine?”

He blinks, “You know my sister?”

“Sister?” She shrieks, then laughs, her hands gently grabbing his face and planting a kiss onto his forehead. “I know who you are!”

“Wha—”

And then she disappears.

She’s awake and he’s stuck there and she knows his name but he doesn't know hers and he’s never been more frustrated in all his life before.

Luka wakes up and screams into his pillow, then a couple seconds later the partition separating his and Jules sides of the room is thrown open and his stupid sister is throwing a brush at him. 

“Shut up, idiot!” Juleka hisses, wobbling on her legs as she groggily stumbles back to her bed. “I was having a serious conversation with my baby flower.” Her ‘baby flower’ was Rose, her soulmate, and they’ve been annoyingly in love since they met in second grade.

His rolls over and crawls back under her covers, shoving his pillow over his head and swearing a couple times before falling silent. Luka glares at her before glaring up at the ceiling, the morning lift drifting in through the window and the familiar, comforting sound of the waves splashing against the Liberty is enough to remind him that the real peace is being with her.

Not here, not in this bed, not with his sister— but in her arms, seeing her smile, hearing her laugh.

Grunting slightly as he sits up and stands out of bed, Luka gets dressed and opens to hatch to get out of his room, his guitar on his back as he grouchily goes into their kitchen and makes himself breakfast.

Juleka and his mom notice his grumpiness and, like true Couffaine’s, decide to embrace the chaos and be grumpy right back.

Like always, Luka walks with his sister to school after meeting up with Rose in their regular route but this time he’s silent and staring at the ground with pure annoyance ripping through him like a burning coal.

Why couldn’t he just know her name?

Was that too much to ask?

“Hey,” Juleka nudges his quietly as the school comes into sight, kids scattered all around. It was her first year but Luka’s last year in Lycee and while he was familiar with the school, he still kept a map in his bag in case his sister got lost and needed help. “You okay, loser? You’re acting strange.”

“Last night my soulmate learned my name,” He grumbled out the words. “And, apparently, she knows me as your older brother so she knows you but I didn’t get her name.”

“Poor Lukey,” She chuckles, making Rose pout up at her for being mean. “But, like… if I know her, she probably goes to our school. You get that, right?”

Luka just looks at her blankly.

“What?”

“Our school, dumbass. She goes to our school. My only friends who know I have a brother go here.”

Luka blinks. Once, twice. Three times.

Then he’s snapping his head up to the students around him and looking around, trying to pinpoint anyone that even resembles his melody as Juleka laughs at how frantic he turned and Rose cooed at how adorable it is that he is so excited.

Excited?

Nervous?

Feeling like he’s gonna throw up?

Feeling his heart pound in his chest?

Check, check, check, and check.

Then— then he catches the sight of midnight hair in the corner of his eye and whips around fast enough that his neck kinda protests at his movement but he just doesn’t care.

Because it’s her.

She’s wearing a soft blue dress because unlike in their dream it’s a little warm out and she has a black sweater cardigan that goes down to her knees and looks so comfortable and she’s wearing matching flats and her hair is in two pigtails and her eyes are bright and happy and so blue and he’s going to drown.

And god, she looks prettier than he could’ve imagined.

Is his heart supposed to beat this fast?

She has the same happy smile and same giggle as she sees him looking and he’s too shell shocked to do anything but watch as his soulmate bounds up to him and holds out a box of macaroons the color of his jacket.

“Hi,” She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear and shyly meets his eyes. “I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng and um, I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you that before I woke up.”

“It’s really you,” Luka breathes out, hand raising to gently cup her cheek. Both of them give a low gasp at the wave of warmth and energy that washes over them as soon as their skin meets. Marinette leans into his touch with a soft smile and closes her eyes. “You’re really here.”

“Where else would I be?” She kisses the inside of his palm. “In your dreams?”

Luka laughs before pulling her into a bone-crushing hug, the poor box of macaroons falling to the ground but he’s too happy at the moment to feel guilty.

“God,” He breathes in her scent— chocolate chip cookies and the faint smell of vanilla. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

She’s tangible; right here, right now, in his arms she’s tangible.

Her arms wrap around him, too, and he starts to cry because every nightmare she helped him escape, every problem, every thought wearing on him too heavy that she soothed with the sound of his laugh just melts.

Nothing can compare to this.

She’s real and she’s his and they fit together perfectly.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever let her go.

Soulmates.

That’s the term people use, right?

It suddenly doesn’t feel descriptive enough.

“Luka,” Marinette says, pulling back enough that when she looks him in the eyes she can be the one to wipe away his tears instead of the other way around. “Are you okay?”

“Perfect,” He pulls her closer, head falling to nuzzle into her neck. “I’m perfect.”

There were people scattered around them, kids from their school and friends and other couples but they didn’t care. They were together and there were no leaves or mud puddles or a groove between two trees, there was no wispy wind and half-tangible hugs and voices sometimes too soft to hear.

They were together, they didn’t have to miss each other or be alone.

And there wasn’t a single selfish thing about that.

[freckles-and-jalapeno]

First Snow

Word count: about 5K 🎧: this Originally I posted it on AO3 in 2 languages, English and Russian. Check it out if you'd like! Other than that, I hope u enjoy! 🌟

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First snow...

No, we’re not talking about that pathetic, grey, mashed potato-like mud that makes your socks wet. It’s not those soggy pieces of cold white cotton wool, blown into the folds of your scarf by the wind. And it’s not that icy-cold frost that bites into your cheeks and ears, ruffles your hair and pierces the layers of your coat and sweaters. It’s that warm, pure December snow that quietly falls from the sky in soft flakes.

- What fine weekend weather we‘re having today! - happily said Tonks as she was crunching on her cheese toast. - Last week, you said exactly the same thing about the snowstorm - remarked Talbott, briefly looking up from his book "Transfiguration Tips for Young Wizards and Witches".

"What’s wrong with enjoying life?" Tonks would have answered, but since her mouth was still full of food, she only managed “Fffoosss wwonkk ittph eehooaaifff?”

Indeed, everyone at Hogwarts was in high spirits: the winter holidays were in full swing, half of the tables in the Great Hall were removed to accommodate beautiful Christmas trees, and students from different houses were allowed to sit together. Y/N, Tulip and Bill were the first ones to arrive for breakfast and attack the apple oatmeal; then Talbott and Tonks joined them. The air was full of joyful hubbub: the owls, who already delivered their morning parcels, were hooting and flapping their wings; students were rattling with their spoons and cups or loudly discussing the latest gossip from The Daily Prophet . And yet, there was one man in the castle who did not share the common joy.

Charlie has entered the Great Hall and tragically plopped down next to Tonks. - It’s a nightmare. I asked Francesca Wayne out on a date, and she agreed. - And... isn't that good news? - Bill gestured with his spoon of oatmeal towards his brother. Coincidentally, some oatmeal flew off the spoon, soared over the table and sludged right onto Barnaby’s shoulder.

- Her agreeing to go on a date with me was good. - Charlie said. - We were strolling around Hogsmeade, and everything was swell until some fifth-year Slytherin student unexpectedly jinxed me with the Tarantallegra charm. I began to tap-dance like a madman!.. And then it got worse. I was still dancing by the time Fitwick showed up. He did cast a counter-spell, but.. - Charlie covered his face with hands, and now was talking through his fingers. - ...by that time I had already managed to plummet into some mud nearby… I suspect it was porlock’s dung. It smelled all the same. Basically, I looked like a complete idiot ... oh, crickey!

Just at this moment they noticed a group of cute Hufflepuff girls passing by. For some mysterious reason, all girls had their hair gathered in a neat, long ponytail. The tallest gal from the gang stopped and waved in their direction.

- Hee-hee! Hiiiii Charlie! .. How are your legs doing today? ..

The feeling of shame caused Charlie’s face to take on a shade of beet.

- This is officially it. I quit girls. From now on, I will become a druid, go somewhere like Egypt and will only be dealing with dragons.

- Oh come on, Charlie! Don’t mind Francesca! - Y/N reassuringly patted her friend on the arm. - You know, I often see her in Potions class: she hides behind a cauldron and picks her nose, thinking that no one can see her.

- So true, - Tulip signed with her brows. - I bet she’s eating her boogers, too!

The whole company burst into loud laughter.

- But seriously though, - continued Tonks. - Let's forget everything about these bloody incidents and celebrate the weekend properly! Let's visit Hogsmeade, buy some butterbeer….

- Take a look at Zonko’s! ..

- Blimey, how could we forget about Zonkos’ for a split second?..

- Actually, this might be a good idea. I do need a new moke leather bag...

- I”ll get some sugar quills! ..

And so they agreed.

* * *

After shoving themselves into warm sweaters, hats, and mittens, they headed out of the Courtyard together. Bill, Charlie, and Tulip were walking in front, followed by Talbott, Y/N and Tonks. The group chatted about the upcoming semester and wondered which subject will have them writing most essays. Shortly thereafter, they met Professor Snape, grouchily making his way back to the castle, and they started proposing different versions of why he wasn’t around much these days and what mysterious business he was up to. Finally, they had an argument about what kind of festive pudding the elves would be making for the last day of holidays. Talbott betted galleons to Fizzing Whizzbees that the pudding will have strawberry flavor, Y/N voted for lemon, and Tonks - for cherry.

The road was gradually getting covered in white. Snow was sneaking into their boots, and the wind was merrily propelling them forward.

Suddenly, when friends were walking past a small brome grass field (now frozen and covered in snowdrifts), a large snowball glided through the air, furiously whistling all the while. It crashed directly into Tulip’s hood and majestically exploded with snowflake glitter.

- What the %#!*i9&! - angrily cursed the Ravenclaw as she turned around in search of the culprit.

Tonks was standing a little further away, now mockingly tossing another snowball up and down.

- Haha. One-zero, Karasu. C’mon you guys, we can't just walk away from this much snow.

Tulip shook her head to get the snow out her hair.

- Well, you're doomed, you little pink-haired witch! - she yelled and lunged herself at Tonks.

- Look at yourself, you tomato head! - metamorphine shouted in response and dashed away from her friend, laughing uncontrollably.

Unable to resist such good fun, the rest joined the battle, which was about to become the greatest strategic snowball battle in the history of Hogwarts.

They split into 2 teams. While one of his teammates was distracting the others, Talbott would conjure gigantic snowballs and avalanche them onto the heads of enemies via Wingardium Leviosa. Meanwhile, Tulip sneaked up on Charlie using a disillusionment charm; she grabbed his red hair and dipped him into a snowdrift right up to his neck. Bill, suddenly filled with brotherly instinct, jumped in front of Y/N and covered her from a charge of Tonks’ snowballs with his body. This sacrifice, however, turned out to be utterly useless, as the very next moment Charlie doubled the snow artillery in her direction; so much so that he knocked Y/N’s cap off.

At last, they tumbled in Madam Rosmerta's pub as one noisy lump of fun and laughter: cold, wobbly and covered with snow, but lively and carefree nonetheless.

- A table for six, please! - Tonks demanded in a jolly voice.

- For six? M’dears… - a low pitched, cackle-like noise came from a table at the very door.

It was professor Trelawney who tremulously perked up from underneath her thousand and one sherry-scented shawls.

- I think I heard I ... saw that you wanted a table for six? But did you know, m’dears, that the ancient scroll of prophecy specifically says NOT to sit down at a table on the sixth day of lunar December, if you are a group of six? The last one to sit down will lose a friend on the very same night ...

The group of friends exchanged puzzled glances. Of course, no one believed in Trelawney's predictions, but it was still very uncomfortable to hear things like that.

- Here, please. - Madam Rosmerta appeared in front of them before anyone had the time to reply to the terrible omen. She led the group up to a cozy table next to the fireplace.

- Blimey! What rubbish this old blind cat is saying this time? - Tonks hissed.

- Nonsense, like the usual. Every tea leaf class she’s now predicting a painful and a horrible death for just about everybody. Woo-o-o-o! Some dark forces are hovering over Hogwarts… - Y/N mimicked professor Trelawney’s voice and gestures. - But when aren’t they?

- Right. - nodded Talbott. - Besides, no one has died so far.

- Uh .. Well, who wants to sit down last? - Charlie asked hesitatingly.

- I’ll go! - volunteered Y/N.

- Suit yourself. - shrugged Charlie and hastily sat down.

- You don't believe those silly predictions, do you, Charlie? - Tulip settled down on a nearby chair. - Take a look, there are so many people around here sitting in groups of six. This doesn’t mean they will all lose a friend overnight ...

- Numerologically speaking, it is simply impossible, - added Bill and sat down, too.

Tonks sat down next to Bill. Talbott thoughtfully gazed at Y/N for a moment, and then he silently joined the others. Y/N was the last one to sit.

Without listening to friends’ endless squabble about Trelawney's competence, she stretched her legs towards fire, feeling blissfully warm and tired. Today was such a good day. And Madam Rosmerta is about to bring butterbeer for everybody! ..

- While we’re here, - Tulip cleaned her throat, - we need to make sure that there is enough of the wonderful drink for each one of us.

She took out her wand and pointed it at the glasses with beer.

- Engorgio!

The glasses had grown twice in size. They weren’t glasses anymore, really - they were jugs.

Bill raised his jug in the air:

- Let's drink to friendship! - To loyalty! - To honesty! - To dung bombs! - To holidays! - To Hogwarts!

Comfortably nestled at The Three Broomsticks, friends were clinking their glasses and drinking, and then some more, and a little bit more. At last, when everyone started to feel the soothing and flushing effects of the caramel liquid, Tulip grabbed a pack of Self-Shuffling playing cards from her coat.

- Alright, friends. How about we play some truth or dare? - she suggested.

- Since when does truth or dare require cards? - argued Charlie.

- Since today, you silly redhead. Highest card gets to ask. Lowest card gets to answer. I'll start, you chickens... Y/N, take one card, too.

Y/N stretched her hand forward and caught a card that jumped out of the deck. One moment later, the two girls smashed their cards onto the table. Charlie declared:

-Three of feathers and a phoenix. Hey, Tulip wins!

Tulip let out a wide mischievous grin.

- Y/N, tell us the truth then. Marry, flip, kill: Penny, Merula, Charlie.

Bill and Tonks immediately started to giggle and nudge each other with their elbows. Talbott and Charlie, on the other hand, straightened up in their chairs, leaned forward and stared at Y/N solemnly, without blinking.

After some thinking, Y/N tilted her head to one side and replied:

- Okay, I think I got it. I’d marry ... Charlie.

Tonks let out a loud whistle.

- I ... Uuhhh thanks I guess? - responded Charlie, blushing furiously.

- I would flip ... Merula. - continued Y/N.

- You mean you’d flip the greatest witch at Hogwarts? Ha-ha, that’s an interesting choice. - Tulip mightily slapped Y/N on the shoulder.

- Wow Tulip. - Talbott gingerly proceeded to remove Tulip’s hand from Y/N’s shoulder. - You pronounce “horrifying” differently than I do.

- Wait, so this means that you kill ... Penny? - Bill's jaw dropped in astonishment.

-Don’t get me wrong ... - explained Y/N. - She’s nice and all, but sometimes I get this feeling that she’s following me everywhere… and I mean everywhere. So yeah.

- Poor Penny. The sun-like creature who is always happy to see you. - Talbott chuckled. - And now, she has to DIE.

Their table shook from the loud cackling.

Brilliant! - Tulip clapped her hands. - The first round is over. Y/N, you won, now you get to choose who draws cards next..

Y/N chose Bill and Tonks.

- 7 of wands and 9 of stars! That was a close one, Bill. - Tonks’ face glowed up and her hair turned raspberry color. - So here is your dare, William...

- Oh no, no, no ... - Bill grabbed his red hair and started to crumple them.

- Don’t fret, dear Bill! I like you, so I will provide you with options... You can either ask Ismelda for a kiss or... you can kiss a garden gnome’s tummy!

Y/N and Talbott simultaneously snorted into their butterbeer glasses, almost choking on the drink. Bill, on the other hand, looked like someone had just asked him to drink a cup of newt’s goo.

- What bloody hell is this, Tonks ?? - he howled from annoyance and smashed his fists on the table. - There are NO gnomes in here!

- Most certainly there are. - Tonks replied calmly. - Take a peak at that table in the corner.

The table in the corner was taken up by Hagrid. He was quietly cooing with a small potato-like creature he had brought to the pub - apparently in secret from Rosmerta. At this very moment, he was feeding colorful Bertie Botts beans to the gnome.

- Merlin's saint underwear! - Y/N whispered reverently - It looks like Hagrid knitted a suit for him ...

And surely so, if one was to look closely, the gnome was dressed in a blue sweater and coarse-knit socks that were almost reaching the creature's thighs (if garden gnomes have thighs, of course). By some unknown coincidence, the gnome had no pants at all.

Bill looked at Tonks with the most touching expression Y/N had ever seen in his eyes.

- Can we play without the kisses?

- Hey, come on. I'm not asking you to kiss a Dementor, aren’t I? - Tonks just laughed in response.

(read here if you want Bill to kiss Ismelda)

I can't believe I'm doing this. - Bill shook his head. - I'll go out there and ask Ismelda for a kiss.

Charlie delightfully roared "Hallelujah!" and let a few green sparks out of the end of his wand. Tulip, Y/N and Tonks began to synchronously thump on the table and whisper: “Smooch! Smooch! Smooch! Smooch!”... Talbott threw his hands behind his head and settled himself more comfortably on the bench, getting ready for the spectacle.

... As a prisoner goes to be executed on a guillotine, that is how Bill Weasley was approaching Ismelda. The Slytherin gal was chatting with her fellow students at the bar.

- Check it out, it looks like she noticed him ... - Tulip started to comment on the action. - He’s telling her something ... great, they have contact! Come on, come on ....

- I almost feel sorry for him now - announced Charlie.

- Never let me forget this, ok? - Talbott smiled lazily.

Nobody else had the time to add anything because in the next second, the pub was filled with Ismelda’s shrilly wails, immediately followed by the ones of Bill. The girl, as one might expect, went absolutely berserk at Bill’s proposal and wacked him in the eye with all her mighty strength.

- Left hook! Fa-la-la…. A punch to the stomach! Fa-la-la ... And our hero returns ho-o- ome! .. - friends began chanting Bill's name merrily, with no tune or tempo whatsoever, which attracted even more attention to the oldest Weasley.

- Somebody please tell me why I became friends with a bunch of brainless doxies.. - Bill muttered under his breath as he was sitting down. He tried to say it with the most serious expression there is, but all the while his lips were quivering from a suppressed smile.

(read here if you want Bill to kiss the gnome)

- I can't believe I'm doing this. - Bill shook his head. - I choose to kiss Hagrid’s gnome.

- On the tummy! - abruptly corrected him Tonks. - Otherwise, you'll have to redo the dare!

- His tummy looks like pumice, did you know that? It’s crusty and hard and got some weird flakes falling off of it… And it smells just like my Great Aunt Tessie’s feet! - Bill exclaimed in anger.

- Stop whining! Just go already. While we sit here and enjoy ... - one could hear pure delight in Charlie’s voice as he was (for once) telling his older brother off.

Bill let out a sad sigh, got up from the table and started to make his way towards Hagrid. Apparently, the giant was not very happy to see him - the garden gnome would be considered quite a contraband for Madam Rosmerta, and she could forever ban Hagrid from The Three Broomsticks.

- Crickey, it's starting now! - excitedly squeaked Tulip.

The company stared at the show unfolding in front of them without blinking.

- Ah, it seems that the birds started chirping, can you hear? - Talbott said quietly.

- Fountains are sparkling, little hearts are flying in the air! - continued Y/N.

- Oh gosh, oh look! Oh, he’s kissing him!

As a matter of fact, it seemed like the angels themselves started crooning the moment Bill's lips softly touched the gnome’s belly button.

The friends doubled over with mirth. Tonks laughed so hard that butterbeer and snot started spewing from her nose.

But the gnome, as it occurred, did not like being distracted from his bean feast at all. The creature got even more upset as all the boundaries of his personal space were violated, and probably that’s why he suddenly growled and bit Bill’s nose. "Crunch!" - the sound echoed throughout the pub. Bill angrily yowled and burst out in obscenities. Now all the eyes in the pub were watching in his direction only.

- Yeh… What are yeh doing?! Stahp scaring the baby ... - Hagrid said gruffly and hid the gnome in his pocket. - Go back to yer’ friends, now, or he’ll start molting from stress .. And tis’ the worst, you know ...

Bill returned to their table, still rubbing his swollen nose in frustration.

- Oh, hey, Father Christmas! Did you bring us any gifts? - Charlie mused.

- I brought you a whipping, reptiloids... - Bill replied with the most serious face he could make, but his lips were quivering from a barely suppressed smile.

* * *

It was getting dark. While the group of friends was drinking and enjoying themselves at the pub, Hogsmeade was slowly being enveloped by velvet darkness. One after the other, the stars were lighting up. Here and there, windows of little shops and huts were blossoming in shades of orange. The garlands and wreaths, untouched after the holidays, were glittering with frost. Now there was cheerful music emerging from Madame Rosmerta's pub - those were the local musicians. They were playing flute, lute and tambone. One of the guests, who had a pig's snout instead of a nose, joined the musicians and started to grunt and beat on the drum. Many visitors picked up this joyous tune and began clapping and tapping to the beat - slowly at first, then faster and louder. One of the guests - a bubbly witch dressed in a lilac robe and a pointed hat - jumped from her chair, knocking over a mug of fiery whiskey, and began to dubstep dashingly with a goblin in a tweed jacket.

- Wowza, it's getting hot in here, - Bill said, wiping his beer mustache away. - Let's have the last round and head back. Talbott and Charlie, now it's your turn.

- My pleasure, - replied Talbott and drew a card.

Charlie drew a card with a higher suit.

- A perfect ending for a perfect day! As you can see, I'm a man of many talents, not only Quidditch. - Charlie boasted and gracefully ran his hand through his hair.

- Uh, yeah, except that quidditch sucks, - Talbott raised his eyebrows.

- You suck! - Charlie blurted.

- Mmm ... not as much as quidditch. - smirked Ravenclaw in response.

The young Weasley's cheeks turned so red that one could easily fry eggs on them if they wanted.

- Fine. Okay. If you do hate quidditch that much, maybe you’d care more for dancing? I dare you, Talbott Winger, to go out there and have the best time of your life on the dancefloor - yes, IN FRONT of the musicians! But of course I can’t let you suffer alone - sarcastically added Charlie. - Go ahead and invite someone to dance with you… if they agree to dance with a haircut like yours, that is.

Talbott squinted his eyes and examined Charlie’s face in disbelief.

- Uhhh ... I look cool.

- Pffft. Whatever you say. - the redhead let out a cheesy grin.

- I say I look cool. - Talbott replied calmly.

Tulip and Tonks audibly snorted.

- Now then… Who will be the lucky one to have the ultimate all-inclusive Talbott Winger experience? - asked Bill and started to tap his fingers on the table. The rest of the group picked on this beat and joined Bill, making the sound be a very accurate drum roll.

- Hmmm ... I know just who to take on this adventure. Y/N... would you like to dance with me? - asked Talbott and offered her a hand - I promise not to step on your toes more than three times.

- Oh? I thought you “fly solo”... - teased him Y/N as she was taking his hand and getting up from the table.

Talbott didn’t answer, just sighed and rolled his eyes at her.

The two entered the dance floor in an uncertain and shy manner. A new festive holiday song was just beginning. Another vocalist stepped onto the stage, bowed, and dimmed the pub lights with Nox . He then casually flicked his wand, created a few golden and silver wandering pellets of light, and then sent them floating around the pub. Soon, the music began to play, and the vocalist started singing in a heart-warming voice:

Last Christmas, I gave you my Hippogriff,

But the very next day, you gave it away...

Y/N felt that the majority of gazes were directed at her and Talbott - not at the singing wizard. What a strange feeling - to be in the spotlight. It got very hot; she felt a few sweat drops form and slide down her forehead. Talbott looked at Y/N with a weird expression on his face. He seemed to be slightly uncomfortable, too. Without changing his bewildered expression, he took Y/N's hands and placed them on his shoulders, then dropped his hands on her waist.

- Talbott ... I hope you know what you’re doing? - Y/N inquired quietly.

- What kind of question is this, of course I don’t know what I’m doing. - said Talbott with feigned confidence.

- Now I get it. You're winging it, Winger!

Both dancers burst out laughing. The tension was released. They began to move, jump and spin to the beat of the music. And even Merula's screams about how they looked like two prancing warty frogs could not spoil their mood. Maybe they weren't professionals and had no idea what they were doing, but they were having a lot of fun together.

The song ended. To Y/N’s great surprise, there was an applause from the audience! Someone from the crowd even threw them a bright, fragrant bouquet of orchids, freshly conjured from the air.

- For the record, I hate dancing. But it wasn’t all that horrible with you around. - Talbott said bashfully. - Maybe I should have gathered my courage and should have gone to the Celestial ... you know ...

Talbott and Y/N returned to the table, slightly out of breath after the dance and still holding hands. “Two brooos !! chilling at the Three Broomsticks! Five feet apart ‘cause they’re not friends!” - the others hollered and cheered and greeted the two back.

- Will you just shut up?.. - chuckled Y/N as she was letting Talbott's warm hand go.

* * *

It was time to return back to the castle. Friends were getting dressed in silence. All their wet clothes had almost dried up by the fire, and for those pieces that weren’t dry yet, they used their wands. Before leaving the pub, Y/N gave the bouquet to Madam Rosmerta. At the very exit, Trelawney's warnings came back to Y/N. It was so scary to think that on this night, according to the prophecy, she would lose a friend, and so she chased those thoughts away. As soon as the group stepped outside, contrast between the warm pub and icy cold air made them cough. Sniffing and cursing from freezing weather, they rushed towards Hogwarts down the snow-cleared path. This night was especially quiet: there was only the sound of snow creaking under their feet, and from time to time there came a bird’s distant cry.

- Bloody hell, we never bought anything, - Charlie complained in annoyance.

- Well… Let it burn, then. It will just be added to that list of four hundred things I have to do tomorrow ... or the day after ... or after.. or after .... - Tonks answered him with a loud yawn.

Friends were already approaching the doors of the castle when Talbott deliberately started to slow down. He stopped right in front of a path fork that was turning off the main road and leading to the owlery.

- Ummm... I need to send a letter to someone, - he said shyly, milling about the path. - Care to join me, Y/N?

“Hmm .. that’s a strange request, it’s practically nighttime... Something is fishy (pardon me, birdy) here.” - Y/N thought in her head, but out loud she only said:

- Uhh .. okay, sure. Let’s go.

After all, Talbott was her friend, and she had no reason to mistrust him.

The group of friends said their goodbyes and parted ways. Talbott and Y/N turned to the owlery. Tulip was waving at them a very long time after that, until their silhouettes blurred out, enclosed by the veil of snow.

Several minutes had passed since Talbott and Y/N were alone together. They were strolling down the path and talking about all sorts of things that happened during the past few days. The two of them were approaching the little towers of the Owlery rather quickly, and now only a small meadow was separating them from a brick staircase leading upstairs. In the summertime, the meadow was blooming with daisies and dandelions and was serving as a perfect playground for Puffskeins and Knarls. But now, the meadow seemed to have stopped in time: bare bushes were the only thing that was left from thick flowering plants; icy ground was tightly intertwined with fallen grass and wrapped in snowdrifts. Here and there, towered a few cedar pines, spruces, and chestnuts, but now they all were covered with white snow dust. For some reason, Talbott stopped walking towards the Owlery when they reached this meadow, and he began searching for something in his pockets. Finally, judging by the way his face lit up, he found what he was looking for. Aloof animagus beckoned Y/N closer. He was clutching something in his fist. As soon as Y/N approached, he opened his hand; there were two small luminous grains lying on his palm.

- What are these, Talbott? - said Y/N in quiet astonishment.

- These are midnight mint seeds, - he replied. - Professor Sprout gave them to me this Christmas.

- I have never heard of them…

- These are very rare. They can only be harvested once a year from underneath ash flowers. In places where you plant them, blood will never be shed again. - Talbott remarked in a lowered voice.

Y/N couldn’t stop staring at the grains. They seemed alive.

- Don't be afraid, touch them.

Y/N carefully raised her hand above the luminous grains and covered them with it.

- They’re warm! - not expecting that, Y/N let out a smile from ear to ear.

Talbott nodded. He looked straight into her eyes.

- I kept looking for an opportunity to plant them. Today seemed very special to me, and I decided to do it now. With you. If you want to.

- I ... of course I do! - Y/N’s cheeks and neck were rapidly getting covered with blush. - But aren't seeds planted in the fall?

- Not these. These should be planted in winter. They can only be planted under snow.

Y/N and Talbott knelt down and started preparing the soil for the seeds. They dug up a sufficient amount of snow, and then carefully placed glowing grains onto dead grass. They covered them with several layers of grey leaves and twigs, and then put a dense snow blanket above it all. But even through all these layers, the magic light of the seeds was shining through. Moreover, it seemed to have intensified and was now pulsating. For a brief instant, the pulsation stopped, and little blue stars began to emerge from under the snow, where the seeds were planted - similar to mini-fireworks. The stars took off and fell, crumbling and shattering into smaller pieces and dust. But the most spectacular thing that two friends were now hearing was... singing. It was a wonderful, calm and solemn melody without words. It was sung by the grains! Y/N had never heard such music before; she felt how her heart was opening up because of this melody. If someone had looked out of the Owlery window at that moment, then through the veil of a starting blizzard, they would have only distinguished a soft blue light illuminating two young faces floating above it.

The singing ceased; the blue light also faded away. Friends were silent for a minute, as if they were afraid to destroy the soothing feeling that the magical grains have produced within them. Finally, Talbott said in a hushed voice :

- You know, I didn’t actually need to send any letters. I just wanted to spend some time with you but without those dorks. So ... Thank you for being here with me.

His eyes crinkled at the corners as he was smiling softly at Y/N.

- It was my pleasure, - she answered quietly.

Talbott rose and brushed the snow off his knees. He then reached out his palms towards Y/N to help her get up, but he did not let go of them after that.

- There was something else. Care for one more dance with me?

For the second time during that evening, Y/N and Talbott were dancing together. But this time it was so much different than it was in the pub!! Instead of all the noise and din of The Three Broomsticks, soft spruce paws were playing them a silent symphony of winter. It was a melody of silence, a melody of bright joy, a melody of snowflakes and wind. This melody cannot be heard unless one would actively try to listen to it. The snow was falling inaudibly. It was cascading from the sky in large flakes, performing a couple of waltz motions with the dancers, and then laying down on the ground and sparkling merrily under their feet. These instants were filled with a sense of miracle: without any magic or magic wands.

- You know, dancing like this is so much better than having to dance while hundreds of thousands of eyes are staring at you. - Y/N noted.

- Agreed.

Gradually, without noticing it themselves, two friends stopped dancing. They were now standing across each other, looking at individual snowflakes on their faces and hair. Every now and then, several small crystals would shiver and gravitate down, but they would never reach the ground as they would melt in a cloud of frosty haze from their mouths. It was very quiet now. Soft light was being reflected from snow and onto their cheeks, flushed from the cold.

- We might freeze this way. - said Talbot, slightly smiling.

Slowly and gently, he unwound his blue and silver scarf and wrapped it around his own neck first, and then around Y/N's neck; now their heads were even closer to each other, connected by knitted threads. Y/N could see his face much more clearly now. She could see glitter in his brown eyes, his every eye lash, every mole, she could smell the herbal scent of his shampoo ... she could even feel the warmth of his breath.

- What I actually wanted to tell you, Y/N, - Talbott said softly, - is that the longer I think about it, the more it seems to me that professor Trelawney was right about her prophecy.

- H-how do you mean? - stuttered Y/N.

- You’re about to lose a friend because I don't think ... I don't think that I can stay friends with you any longer ... I want to be much more than that, - Talbott whispered and leaned over toward Y/N's lips and kissed her.

It was a light, subtle kiss, but Y/N could clearly feel the warmth gently spreading among her skin. And then, another kiss followed … and one more ... and one more.

All the while, the snow was falling - soundlessly, tirelessly, tenderly.

* * *

Much later, after going back to her dorm in the Gryffindor Tower, Y/N had been sitting on a windowsill for a very, very long time. She was looking through a window, wreathed by frost: at the icy lake, at never-ending fields, covered with silver and at the...

First snow.

[unicyclehippo]

beaujester + “You’re trembling.”

the salt-spray is powerful at the bow. it stings at scrapes jester hadn’t realised she had, stings at her eyes, fills her nose until it’s the only thing she can smell. she clutches at the salt-crusted rail, feels the crystals grind beneath her skin, and wonders, in a very focused way that bars any other thoughts from creeping in, whether orly could make a tattoo using salt in place of gem dust. or whether that’s, just, y’know. a normal tattoo.

so focused is she on this that she doesn’t notice when, precisely, beau came to join her. the other girl is leaning scraped-red elbows and forearms on the railing, not seeming to feel or mind the sting. the wind whips in beau’s hair, tugs at it until more and more of the long strands come free of her topknot. it’s harder to escape the goggles, the leather keeping her hair mostly pinned, and after a short while, the wind dies down.

that’s normal, obviously, but it makes jester smile to think of it sulking. maybe the wind is a prankster too.

‘beau! when did you get here?’

‘little bit ago. would’ve said something but, i dunno, you looked like you were thinking hard. figured i could wait.’ beau drags her hands through her hair with a small noise of complaint. she stands, pulls her goggles down to hang around her neck, and continues to talk as she tries to fix her hair. ‘you alright? anything you wanna run past us?’

jester can’t help but look askance at her friend. ‘us?’

‘you know. the group.’

‘i don’t see the group here. just you.’

‘i can go get someone...?’ beau lets the offer trail off when jester scoffs. ‘what?’

jester shakes her head.

‘no, seriously, what is it? is everything okay?’

‘i don’t know.’ jester digs her nails into the wood, watches the splinters curl and the salt whiten and crack away. ‘is it?’ out of the corner of her eye, she can see the way beau’s hands slow as she works her hair into a tight braided coil. she turns the tiniest bit more, wanting to see something that explains anything, but beau’s expression is as stoic as ever—unruffled, vaguely thoughtful. her frown isn’t cranky, just protects her eyes from the wind that has started up again, long lashes dipped low. ‘did you want something, beau?’

the other girl starts. finished with her braid, she lets her hands fall slowly back to the railing. pulls herself back into her nonchalant lean, though it loses some of its carelessness with the way she turns toward jester, the way she—seemingly without intent, without effort—focuses on jester, eyes boring into her, through her.

sometimes, jester wishes beau were simpler. easier to understand. less of a liar. she pretends so much that she doesn’t care, doesn’t care, doesn’t care—but then she’s the one who has all the questions, the one who looks and stares and examines and learns and questions everything. jester thinks, maybe, beau cares the most out of all of them, about everything; she pretends she doesn’t, that these things don’t matter, but the attention betrays her. jester wishes beau were easier to understand. wishes she knew whether beau cares about everything equally, or whether the weight of her attention means something special.

‘you’re trembling,’ beau says softly. the words have barely reached jester when the wind—that asshole prankster—whips them away.

jester sniffs. tosses back her hair with a jaunty shake of her head. ‘i’m fine. did you want something or not?’

beau is quiet for a bit. then, ‘yeah,’ she admits, voice gruff. ‘but—if this is a bad time,’

jester musters a smile. gives it to beau, who stares at it and the way it sits on her and seems to see how it is misaligned. how it doesn’t quite reach jester’s eyes. ‘it’s not! i’m happy to help!’

beau drops her eyes. dips her head over her hands, over the rail, and stares down toward the sea below them. her shoulder blades press together as she stretches. sunlight glints off jade.

‘i was hoping,’ she says, and the words come out haltingly like she doesn’t want to say them, or like she is still debating whether this is the right time, ‘you could - send a message to my dad.’

jester jerks. ‘oh.’

‘it’s cool if you don’t want to, or if you don’t have that prepared, i don’t know what you have prepared, but i just figured it’s probably time to be like oh hey i’m still alive. or. whatever.’

beau turns toward her with a grimace, one that crinkles up her face, and jester is struck with sudden affection for her friend. she looks young and uncomfortable and vaguely grumpy at the notion of having to send him a message. she looks alive, and jester loves her for not leaving. for still being here. loves her desperately and sharply, a stinging pain beneath her heart, for being here when jester thinks she might want to leave still.

‘i—‘ jester clears her throat. tries again, trying to pull strength into her words. ‘um. i can do that.’ she smiles brightly, glances teasingly over at beau, who looks abruptly worried and charmed by jester’s shifted expression. ‘what i’m hearing is that you’re giving me permission? to message your dad?’

beau snorts. ‘yeah.’

‘he’ll know it’s me now so i can’t pretend to be the witch,’

‘probably for the best.’

jester doesn’t necessarily agree with that. she thinks beau could make something with him—thinks he really does love her, even past the fear and misery—but it doesn’t mean jester shouldn’t be able to torment him a little bit.

‘what do you want me to say?’ she asks, summoning the playful wind back to her, compressing it into something that can carry this message. she curls her fingers, feels it nudge and buffet at her, eager to race halfway across the world for her.

beau mutters under her breath, fingers moving as she counts. ‘uh. okay. we are alive. met the witch, got what we wanted. your deal still stands.’ beau’s voice quavers the tiniest bit but she pushes on. ‘beau is fine. anything happen there?’

‘five more words.’

beau shrugs, dismissive. then, ‘say hi to the kid.’

jester smiles sweetly. nods. she brings the held wind to her lips and whispers the message into it, watches faint green and pink wash through it. as soon as she opens her hand, it is gone. just as quickly, it returns.

‘ah. good. i’m—glad to know she’s okay. i was worried—we were worried—when no one returned. everything is as it was here. do—‘

jester rolls her eyes. ‘some people just don’t understand the concept of a word limit,’ she tells beau grouchily. beau smiles, hides it quickly, and jester narrows her eyes. ‘what?’

‘nothing, nothing. did he say anything?’

‘just that he had been worried. it sounded like he was going to ask something. do you want me to send another message?’

beau sighs. ‘no. yes? no. if everything was burning or whatever he would’ve said that first up.’ she cracks her head to the side, neck popping. ‘did he—say anything about me?’ she grimaces immediately.

‘he said he’s happy you’re okay.’

‘hmm.’

‘that’s good, right? that he cares?’

beau shrugs. ‘maybe,’ she says, very softly. ‘thanks. for sending that for me. and—for sticking by me in there. i didn’t say it then but—thanks.’

they’ve been standing side by side for the entire conversation but jester feels it powerfully like she is crossing a line, stepping over it, when she reaches those meagre centimetres to put her hand over beau’s. squeeze.

‘of course, beau.’

‘it’s not an of course, though. you know that, right?’ beau peers at her. flips her hand so she’s holding it, loose enough that jester could slip away. fingertips pressed firmly where they sit, like she can read jester from the pulse beneath her skin. ‘no one else did that. they were all there but you—you stood next to me and i really - i really appreciate it. i was gonna lose my shit and you helped me. not everyone does that.’

‘well. i’m not everyone,’ jester tells her, all exaggeration and coy smile.

beau slides her thumb across the back of her hand. over the waves of her knuckles, the sea-blue skin. ‘you’re not,’ she agrees, voice low. careful, cautious almost, in the way one would be careful with something precious. ‘you’re not like anyone i’ve ever met. i kinda think you’re a god, you know.’ she shakes her head when jester giggles. ‘i’m serious. you—you’re amazing and powerful and it’s who you are. i’m—fuck, i’m sorry you’re having a rough time with it,’

‘i’m not!’

beau ignores her lie. no—she hears it, nods, steps over it. ‘i can’t say for sure i trust this dude, but i just want you to know that i trust you and what you do and who you are and i’ll do anything to protect that. and i didn’t come here to ask you to send a message for me, i wanted to make sure you were okay, because you’re—you’re not alone,’ she says, with the same fervour she had thanked jester for standing with her. ‘you’re not alone in any of this, and maybe we can’t do it for you but we’ll be right there alongside you—‘

‘will you?’

beau blinks. ‘what?’

‘will you be there?’

‘i mean—i was saying we, it’s kinda implied,’

‘will you be there?’ jester asks again.

beau glances down at their joined hands. jester sees her shoulders shift as she drags in a deep breath. ‘yes. as—as long as you want me there.’

and there’s the problem, jester realises, the same stinging pain taking up residence beneath her heart. because she thinks, with sudden clarity like the purity of the unmitigated burn of sunlight, like salt reminding her of her wound, that to have beau leave at all would wreck her.

‘forever, then,’ jester says, voice a little wobbly, a little unsure.

beau’s hold on her hand tightens and then loosens once more. ‘okay,’ she says. ‘okay.’

[kikizoshi]

GoDost Historical AU: Sonya & Raskolnikov Room Meeting 2

An hour or so past midnight, in the sleeping town of St. Petersburg, a tiny apartment’s door suddenly became victim to an intense, forceful banging.

           The rattling and creaking of the door, followed by one final slam, roused the room’s tenant, a young, healthy civil servant of about twenty and three, who, having woken in such an abrupt manner, promptly flailed, toppled off the decaying couch on which he slept, and landed on the floor with a groan (whether from the floorboards or the man, it was hard to say).

         Cursing, the civil servant pushed himself up onto his feet and stared grouchily toward the door. The banging had ceased, and in lieu, some muffled, raggedy breaths could be heard. ‘My door’s attacker has tired himself out already,’ he thought, ‘and just at the beginning of his tirade! It surely serves him right, but what has he come for? I paid the rent already…’ Thoughts carrying on in a similar manner, the young man shuffled over to lean against a battered vanity, atop which many half-transcribed sheets of paper rested. He was careful not to displace any of them.

         He couldn’t simply rest, he knew, yet the idea of confronting whatever beast came walloping upon his door wasn’t a pleasant one. He sighed and gazed about the room. He had no choice but to meet his attacker, lest a second and third barrage rob him of the little sleep he could gain--or, Heaven forbid, break the lock, the replacement of which would surely tear a hole in his wallet--and shouldering this responsibility, the civil servant trudged back over to the couch, along the back of which was laid a drab grey undercoat. He swung the thin fabric around his shoulders--making no effort to wear it properly; his visitor could reap the hospitality he sewed--and turned round again to the door, wondering what to do.

         Just then, a stream of moonlight glinted off a polished samovar--the man’s one luxury--and for a moment, the twinkle whispered a wicked idea into his mind. As quickly, however, he shoved it away and spat at it for good measure. ‘And why would I do something like that? I’ve not even heard out this stranger yet! Though who would call upon a man in the dead of night--and not only call, but hammer!--without any slight inclination such as my own... Well, but I know not him…’ And again, the civil servant’s thoughts wandered.

         Suddenly, he laughed and said aloud, “But who would draw such attention to himself if that were the case?” Certain, then, he went to the door and amiably, in a full display of manners which he would have liked himself to receive, and knocked thrice upon the--surprisingly--sturdy wood door.

         “Might I inquire,” the civil servant began, raising his voice so as to be heard through the door, “what brings such a violent tirade upon my lodging at such an hour?”

         “Inquire trite.” A thin, exasperated voice, with an edge that the young man couldn’t place, sounded faintly back. “Let me in, Gogol.”

         Gogol, as the voice named, stood back and contemplated. Soon, he had a tailored reply, but at the impatient “now” proceeding the voice’s words, Gogol took firmly the door’s handle, unlatched the poor lock (which by then wobbled on a few loose screws) and opened the door.

         Not a word managed to pass Gogol’s lips before the man who called upon him--Fyodor Dostoyevsky, that was, a young student Gogol struck up a camaraderie with over the past few months--shoved past him and into the small room. Gogol smiled and shook his head, shutting the door (and for what it was worth, relatching the lock).

         “You could have at least a greeting,” he said, affecting offendence, “But- hey, what’s gotten into you?” Dostoyevsky, as though in delirium, paced around the room, muttering to himself. Gogol strained an ear, but managed to decipher nothing, and so moved cautiously closer, leaning against the vanity. His nose twitched at a faint iron smell. “Really, what’s this? It’s as though he’s gone mad! Surely you’re still with me, Fedya.”

         “I’m here, I’m here!” Dostoyevsky gritted his words, wringing his hands as though the noise buzzed around him.

         “Are you really?”

         “Yes, really. Quit with your stupid questions.”

         “Really?” Gogol squinted. Amid Dostoyevsky’s ramblings, a cloud had passed over the moon, casting everything in shadow. As such, Gogol could not see the panicked expression plaguing his friend’s features, nor make out the blood flaking his overcoat. “They’re not stupid. I may be blind, but my ears work perfectly fine. You’re practically hyperventilating!”

         In fact, quite the opposite was true. Dostoyevsky’s breaths weren’t fast, but they shook, and came at an uneven pace. The snow which Gogol noticed covering his friend when he came in had mostly melted by then, and he shivered and dripped onto the grimy floorboards.

         “Well, anyway,” Gogol started after a moment, “What have you come for? And so late?”

         “I…” Dostoyevsky began, but trailed off. He himself was quite incapable of answering such a question. Understanding that he must speak, however, Dostoyevsky made an effort to continue. “I needed… that is, I wanted… but no, no it’s all… Why have I come? The answer is quite… that is to say… Why have I come?” The last phrase, spoken as though without taking any notice of Gogol, worried said man further.

         “You’re shaking,” Gogol said, “Here, sit down here,” he pointed to the couch, “Don’t worry about dirtying it--I needed to clean it anyways. Hey, why simply stand there? Sit, I say!”

         “I’m not a dog,” Dostoyevsky spat, “You need not command me.” And, petulantly, as though to emphasise his words, he moved away from the couch. In his new location closer to the window, a stream of moonlight escaped the sky’s sheet of grey and illuminated a streak along the young student. Gogol set his jaw as the first spike of genuine dread shot through him.

         In a lower pocket of Dostoyevsky’s overcoat, the light caught on some heavily-embroidered purse, shot through with golden threads and splotched with a muddy, dull reddish-brown. The colour seeped from the pocket, streaking down the coat to join the melted snow on Gogol’s floor. When his eyes found the courage to travel back up to Dostoyevsky’s face, he drew a breath.

         “Perhaps I’m not the only one with evil in him,” Gogol said drew a breath. “I dare say you’ve done something despicable.”

         “And what if I have,” Dostoyevsky whispered, “what will you do? Call the porter?”

         “Well, and what if I do?” Gogol cocked his head. He was careful to hide the discomfort creeping up his spine by crossing his arms. “Will I meet the same fate?”

         Dostoyevsky was silent. For several moments, a tangible fog suffocated the room. It pressed in around both men, squeezed their lungs, crept into their minds and robbed them of their rationalism. Dostoyevsky’s eyes slowly, as though dragging across sand, shifted over to the samovar, matte by then in the darkness’ shroud. The same horrid thought passed over his features, and Gogol tensed. For two more minutes, they stood in apprehension. Finally, Gogol spoke first.

         “It won’t be as easy, anyway.”

         “What? What won’t be easy?” Dostoyevsky shook his head, tried to dispel the buzzing fog and, when he found he could not, scowled and turned from the samovar to face Gogol. “No, I won’t do that, why should I? You won’t tell anyone.”

         “Won’t I?”

         “No, you won’t. Of that I’m certain.” Dostoyevsky crossed his arms.

         “As certain as when you decided that,” Gogol pointed to the purse, “was a simply capital idea?”

         “It is,” Dostoyevsky hissed, “Or do you not trust me? Do you need me to spell it out?”

         “That would be appreciated,” Gogol said, voice carefully restrained. His eyes never left their intent focus on Dostoyevsky. “I, simple, mortal man as I am find it hard to understand, you know, how it is I am to… trust, a man in such an attire.”

         Dostoyevsky clenched his jaw. Was he to spill every detail of his plans to a man whom he knew for not even a full year? Was he to incriminate himself so thoroughly just for the sake of a slightly cleared conscience? Even if Gogol wasn’t one to speak, if anyone found out about their visit, he would surely be questioned. ‘And then it would all be over,’ Dostoyevsky thought. ‘My efforts would vanish into nothing, and nothing is what would come of me.’

         “Or maybe you don’t have a reason?” Gogol brought out.

         Dostoyevsky said nothing. The moon, finally unobscured by the passing clouds, shone brightly in the room once more, and the new illumination upon the weak man’s features--how gaunt he was, and, starkly, the copper blood--transformed him into a pitiful sight. Gogol pursed his lips, and Dostoyevsky couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was laughing at him.

         “And what’s your excuse?” Dostoyevsky snapped. “What with your misplaced emotions, you ought to be ashamed, and swear your devotion to the Tsar at once.”

         Gogol drew a breath, an angry twitch pulling at the corner of his mouth, “Ashamed of what? The only thing I have to be ashamed of is not turning you out right now! ‘Ashamed of my emotions.’ Bah! What’s there to be ashamed of? Tell me. And make it clear, mind you.”

         “Oh, you know very well. It’s the reason you’ve let me stay, is it not? Certain feelings for--”

         “Oh, you!” Gogol flung his hands up in exasperation. He hadn’t thought Dostoyevsky would be so crass as to say it aloud. “Out with it! Why have you come? And if you don’t care to answer, then I don’t care, and get out.”

         “Perhaps I don’t care to answer,” Dostoyevsky screwed up his eyes, “What will you do then?”

         “But you know very well what I’ll do!” And, in a state of frenzy, Gogol went over and grabbed Dostoyevsky by the arm with every intention of hauling--or, more likely, throwing--him out the door. Dostoyevsky paled.

         “No, I can’t go out there yet,” he brought out in a whisper so faint, Gogol nearly missed it. “I’ll leave you, certainly, but not yet.”

         “Now or later,” Gogol said, grip strong on Dostoyevsky's forearm, “What does it matter? Unless--no! You have a witness? A civil stalker? If so then they have every right by me to--”

         “That isn’t it.” Dostoyevsky pursed his lips. “I have a… premonition, and I’m sure I’m right. I can’t go out yet--it would be the death of me.”

         Gogol raised a brow. “So what? The ghost of whatever poor soul you killed wants revenge, is that it?” Dostoyevsky shook his head. “Well what, then? A demon’s come sniffing your malice and decided to take you in? Good riddance, I say! It’ll be all the better for the world.” Dostoyevsky’s downcast expression was soon joined by his eyes to examine a raggedy carpet gloomily, and Gogol scoffed halfheartedly, a pitying nature seeping into his angry tone. “And once more, your delicate sensibilities escape my reason. How a man can kill and yet be devastated by the tiniest outcry--it defies all reason.”

         A despairing look overcame Dostoyevsky’s face. Gogol felt a pang of guilt. ‘But why should I be guilty?’ thought he. ‘Fedya has surely killed a man--or a woman, more likely!--and for what? A decent purse and some change? No, not him, the crime doesn’t fit. So why…’ Gogol’s hand loosened, and fell to his side when Dostoyevsky pulled away.

         “You’re wondering why I did it,” Dostoyevsky said, “And… you’ve reason to wonder. But I’ve not time as it is--” A spasm crossed his face, and his eyes widened, purple irises laced with fear as he stumbled over to lean on the vanity, displacing a few neat stacks of paper. “I’ve not time,” he continued, “I can feel it. I just know… I’ll tell you later, but for now...”

         “What are you, dying?” Gogol faltered, could not figure out whether offering his arm would be justified, and stood in worried confusion.

         “I don’t… believe so. As said, I’ll leave you come morning, so please just let me…” Again his strength failed him. Concern dispersed the last of Gogol’s outrage, and he hurried over.

         “Well here, don’t strain yourself anymore. Sit.” And he guided Dostoyevsky to the couch, the latter collapsing onto it with a grimace. “Ah, water!” Gogol exclaimed, “But I don’t have any. I’ve not even any left-over tea. What to do, what to do...” He tapped his foot agitatedly.

         “It’s alright,” Dostoyevsky said, “I just… I need rest. Let me be.” He sank back against the couch, face scrunching involuntarily at the grime--though the couch was in no worse condition than his own, in fact, Gogol’s was cleaner--and pulled a tattered grey blanket round his shoulders. Gogol frowned at his friend’s condition.

         ‘To think this frail man committed such an act…’ Gogol thought, ‘It seems like such an impossibility, yet here he is, right before my eyes.’ He sighed and drug a hand over his face. “Here, give your overcoat to me,” Gogol said aloud, gesturing to Dostoyevsky’s huddled form, “You can’t sleep covered in blood, and I don’t want my couch smeared with it, anyway.”

         Dostoyevsky nodded, shakily removed the blanked and overcoat from himself and, handing the latter to Gogol, drew the blanket once more around himself and lay down, his back to the other. Gogol raised a hand, as though to touch Dostoyevsky, but cursed quietly and lowered it.

         For the next few hours, nothing but the sounds of Gogol’s scratching pen and Dostoyevsky’s ragged breaths could be heard dispersed in the silence. In a brighter hour, when Gogol was halfway into a new stack of transcriptions, Dostoyevsky suddenly was thrust into a wave of convulsions, for which caring spent several hours more into the morning. It was nine o’clock by the time Dostoyevsky’s faculties returned enough for Gogol to--hesitantly--deem him suitable for going out.

         “Wait,” Gogol stopped him at the door. “You’ll want an overcoat, but you can’t go out in that, covered in blood.” He pointed to the abandoned coat.

         Dostoyevsky shrugged. “Well, give yours to me then. I’ll be sure to return it.”

         “Give you mine!” Gogol exclaimed, “I don’t have one of my own!”

         “Haven’t you? You talked about saving for one, didn’t you buy it too?”

         “Oh, yes… Confound our Russia.”

         Dostoyevsky cocked his head to the side, amused.

         “I bought a new one, yes,” Gogol elaborated, “But some bastards stole it during a trip. I went to some important personage, to see if I might be avenged, but when at last he received me, I was turned out just as quickly! It’s a miracle I didn’t die of hypothermia on the way back… Such is the beauty of our glorious nation. So I don’t have one anymore.”

         Dostoyevsky chuckled, a frail, tinkling sound, and unlatched the wobbling lock. “Give your undercoat to me, then, and I’ll return it with an overcoat.”

         “Sure, sure, but only if you return both! I need them, you know.” And taking off his undercoat, Gogol paused once more, and quickly added, “If you get any blood on it, I’ll thrash you,” before handing it over.

         Dostoyevsky took the coat with a smile. “If I did,” he said, “You’d never be any the wiser,” and he went out of the small apartment.