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pixla · 3 years

Note

hi hon! i adore your writing and i have a request for tommy: so you know that scene in the caves when alice breaks her leg and cindy has to like put the bone back into place? could that be with tommy x gn! reader instead? and both of them have a really really cute moment where the reader confesses how they never felt alive until they met and started dating tommy? they both survive and flashforward with fluffy smut pls?

Special thanks to the j-st-patricks-day and all my friends who helped with the process of writing this fic <3

broken bones and beating hearts

Tommy slater x nb!reader

Warnings: swearing, graphic descriptions of murder, graphic descriptions of injury (eg. Broken bones and stabbings/cuts), Possessed!Cindy, alice dies, Arnie dies, vomiting, fluff, pet-names, knocking out teeth, sex, unprotected sex, this au doesn’t fit with any of the other films (feel free to tell me if there’s any others)

Word count: 3.2k

POVC= point of view change

Tommy gripped your wrists pulling you out through the narrow cavern as it collapsed only seconds later. “Fuck!” You tucked your legs close to your body, trying to shake the feeling of Cindy's grip around your ankles. “What the fuck is happening?” You looked up as Tommy still held you close, you both too scared to move from the previous near death experience.

Everything was normal. You had all just ran out into the woods, you and Alice teasing Cindy about some stupid witchcraft book she had found in nurse lane’s office. But then Cindy decided to slash Alice and Arnie’s guts open with a machete.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck!” You cried, bawling your hands into fists, wandering down what felt like endless hallways. You both soon realised that you had been going in a circle. It didn’t make any sense, it felt like another dimension or a mirror maze, where everything looked the same, maybe even was the same. “Y/N.” You turned your head to face tommy. “What?” He looked at you confused. “I didn’t say anything.”

You were going to shake it off as you just imagining it, but then you heard it again. “Y/N!” This time you knew it wasn’t Tommy, it was a woman. “Hello?!” You yelled out, hoping that someone had finally come to your rescue, but Tommy just continued to look at you like you were crazy.

You strayed from Tommy’s side following as the voice repeated your name. “Where are you going?” Tommy yelled after you as you wandered, not bothering to pay any attention to his questions.

You followed the voice, bending through the same corridors and hallways, not knowing where you’d end up. It was when you twisted round one corner you halted in your steps. It was a huge room, far larger than any of the ones you had previously found. But the greatest way it stood out was the mass in the centre of the room.

It was dark and fleshy, like clumps of meat thrown into a pile. You gasped as you stood closer gaining a better look at the thing. It was alive. It rose up and down almost like it was breathing and it thumped like a beating heart. With each whisper of your name you grew closer, drawn to it. You reached your hand out transfixed, but when your hand melted into its flesh, you froze.

It all flashed through your brain so fast. Cyrus Miller, ruby lane, billy baker…Cindy Berman. It was every single one of those shadyside phycos, even Cindy. It was all of the pain, all of the suffering and all of the evil. You lifted your hand, a thick slime dragging with. You backed up slowly, expecting to hit a wall. You were soon proved wrong when you felt your body fly backwards.

You cried out as you landed with a thud, Tommy finally catching up to you, peering over to find you clutching your leg in pain. “Shit, are you okay?!”

He had jumped down helping to lift you from the pit. You sobbed, tears running down your cheeks like a broken faucet, your hands clutching at His shirt. Tommy held you running his finger gently through your hair, shushing you softly as you buried yourself into his warmth.

Tommy gently slipped from your hold, leaning down to examine the damage. It was bad. So bad, you could practically see the bone protruding from the skin. You felt your gut wrench at the sight causing you to lean over beside you, regurgitating your dinner onto the cold cave floor. “Don’t look, okay? Just look at me.” Tommy leant over wiping your mouth with his jacket. You nodded slowly, trying your best to keep your eyes locked with Tommy’s despite how hard your morbid curiosity urged you to look down. Ripping his plaid jacket into strips he looked up at you. “We’re gonna get out of here. You’re gonna get out of here. No matter what I do, I’m gonna make sure I protect you, just like I always have.”

“I love you so much Tommy. I’ve never and never will love someone the way I do you.” You lean into him pressing your foreheads together. “I can’t lose you, okay?” He nods sympathetically, pressing a light kiss to the slope of your nose.

“Do you remember those dates we’d go on, out to the forest at night, and we’d just lay there, staring up through the cracks in the trees?” You nod. “I want you to think about that, okay? I want you to think about how many more we’ll go on once we get out of here.”

You hold a tight grip on his arm as he wipes away at the area. “I’m gonna have to put it back into place now.”

You pleaded with him, as the tears started again. “Please, no. Please just leave me here. Just go and find help okay? I can’t do it Tommy, I can’t do it”

“Hey, hey, hey. C’mon, look at me.” He places his hand on your cheek, tilting your head to look him in the eye. “You're gonna be fine, okay? You just gotta focus right now.” You nod timidly, the tears starting to slow.

He holds the bottom of your calf with one hand and your heel with the other. “Just count to three and I’m gonna do it, okay baby?” He looks up at you, his soft words lulling your anxiety. You bite your knuckle nervously, unsure as to how you should answer, but the look of trust in his eyes persuades you easily. “Okay.”

You breathe in. “One, two-” You let out a blood curdling scream as a large crack rung out, bouncing against the walls of the cave. Your fist gripped Tommy’s forearm tightly as you cried out a series of various curses. “You fucking asshole.” You whine out in pain, letting out an airy laugh trying to brighten your rather dull circumstances.

“You're okay baby.” You wince as he wraps the piece of fabric he had ripped from his jacket around your leg, tying it tight enough to hold you together for the moment. You grabbed Tommy’s shoulder as he wrapped his arm around your waist lifting you from the ground. You hiss as you feel your leg throb from the sudden movement. “Do you think you’re able to stand?” Tommy watches as you wobble trying to stay grounded. You nod. “Yeah.” You had no choice and you both knew it, if you wanted to live, you’d have to.

You both started your journey, finally entering a new environment as you trudged deeper into the earth of Shadyside. Why did these tunnels even exist? The intricate details of the maze made it easy to come to the conclusion that they were man made, but by who? Not once had you ever heard of these tunnels, and by the looks of it, nobody else had either, despite nurse Lane of course.

“Be careful.” Tommy tightened his grip around you. “You might slip.”

“Okay.” You mumble, too exhausted to form a real answer. You looked around at the walls, floor and ceiling. The further the two of you walked, the denser this moss became. You felt a wave of familiarity but you couldn’t quite place it. Red moss…red moss! It hit you, Cindy! Her red stained shirt, she said it was from the moss in the outhouses. “Tommy! It’s the fucking outhouses! We fucking made it!” You would probably be jumping up and down with joy right now if it wasn’t for your broken leg.

You look up, spotting the out house toilet openings. Wow, real nice, you’re both sitting in Sunnyvale shit and piss right now. “Yeah, but how are we supposed to get out?” Tommy sighs looking up at the roughly 15 foot climb. “You can’t climb that.”

You look at him. “Yeah, but you might.”

“No. I’m sorry but no, I’m not leaving you down here, especially when there’s Cindy running around up there trying to kill us. C’mon let’s go, if we’re at the outhouses, we must be near to camp.” He directs you along but before you can both carry on your interrupted. “Did you hear that?!”

“No I-“

“Shush.” You both stayed quiet listening as to what caught your attention. It’s screaming. Someone is screaming from the outhouses. “Hey! Help! Please, we’re stuck down here!” You yell trying to get the attention of the voices.

The space grows quiet as the screaming halts, the both of you waiting nervously for any indication of life when a head pops out from one of the seat holes. “What the fuck are you guys doing in the toilets?!”

It was ziggy, Cindy's sister. “Ziggy..” you wonder if it’s right to tell her what’s happened to her sister but you decide against it, not wanting to put the girl in such an emotionally vulnerable state whilst she’s already physically. “Gary’s up here too!” She yells down as Gary’s head pops out another toilet hole. “Hey!” He yells, surprisingly light heartedly considering there’s a murderer running around camp butchering little kids with a fucking machete. “Can you get us out of this fucking toilet or not?!”

Gary had managed to make some sort of bucket contraption with some rope. “It’s just like You’re Gothel climbing up Rapunzel's hair, okay?!” He yelled down, lowering it down to you.

You're about to slip onto the contraption when you hear Ziggy's unfortunately very familiar screams, and before you know it Gary’s decapitated body lies beside you on the floor. You and Tommy let out an in sync gasp, him pulling you away into his chest, as to protect you from the image. “We’re gonna have to find another way out.”

You think to yourself. Alice…she had shown you something whilst you were robbing nurse lanes office with Arnie. “I know how.” You pull out the book that started this whole thing.

“Baby, I don’t get how that book is gonna help us, let’s be honest it’s some random witches and wizards bullshit written how many hundreds of years ago?”

“No, tommy.” You turn the book to him parting the pages. “It’s a map.” You rest the book on the floor, the two of you leaning over it. “It's a map of camp, you see over here, these x’s are the graves we found. And over here, that’s where we entered.” You point your finger on the page. “Here, there’s another exit. Mess hall.”

His eyes lighten. “Jesus, fuck! You’re so smart!” He pulls you in for a kiss.

—-

You sat, your back arched over as you watched Tommy laid on his back kicking open the vent that led to the mess hall when another scream rang out. You instantly knew that it was ziggy, far too acquainted with the tone of her screams.

“Tommy!” With one final kick the vent flew open, Tommy hauling himself through in a split second. “Don’t move, stay here! I’m gonna go help Ziggy.”

Tommy always cared so much for the kids at camp, you honestly weren’t surprised that he was willing to risk his life for one of them.

—povc—

Tommy barged through the doors of the mess hall, an all too familiar song ringing through the speakers, the noise made his head thump as it blared.

Tommy followed the screams, grabbing a mallet that lied on a nearby counter. Cindy stood beating at a supply closet door as ziggy screamed from within. Tommy pulled cindy's shoulder for her to face him as he swung the mallet into her jaw. Cindy tumbled to the ground as she spat a mouthful of blood and teeth onto the floor. Tommy hesitated holding the mallet in his hand, ready to strike Cindy. But before he could come to any decision Cindy grabbed her machete from the ground slicing at Tommy’s thigh.

Tommy dropped to the floor, his mallet sliding across the freshly mopped floor tiles, Cindy rising to her feet, towering over Tommy. Overpowered, he crawled backwards digging the heels of his hands into the cold tile floor. He was braced for impact when Cindy stopped turning around.

—povc—

You lunged at her digging the knife you found into her back, pulling it out as she turned to face you, plunging it into her chest over and over until she hit the floor unresponsive. You fell. You had finally reached your limit. Your leg was broken for fucks sake and you just murdered Cindy. Pure-hearted, hard working Cindy Berman. You plunged your knife deep into her chest until you split it down the middle. You dragged your body over to Tommy’s wrapping your arms around him, wetting his shirt as you became inconsolable. He held his hand at the back of your neck placing soft kisses onto the top of your head. “It’s okay baby, it’s okay. She’s dead now, we’re gonna be okay.”

You heard as ziggy opened the closet door, dropping to her knees at the sight of her sister dead on the floor. The red headed girl pulled her sister's body over to face her, wrapping her arms around Cindy crying into her cold lifeless body. You crawled over to the girl pulling her away from her sister's touch into yours. “I’m sorry.” You whispered.

The three of you struggled as you heard the last bell ring signalling that the bus would be leaving. Ziggy yelled out as the bus doors began to close. The wheels began to roll forwards but before it could depart a boy budged the doors open, calling out to her. “Ziggy!” You released your grip from the girl's side as she ran to him, embracing him. You rested your head on Tommy’s shoulder at the sight of the two. “I hope she’ll be okay.”

The two of you had found a place on the bus as Ziggy sat with you fellow councillor Nick goode. Finally being able to breathe, you rest your head on Tommy’s shoulder. “I’m so glad you're okay.” You look up at him smiling at his words. “Maybe you're the one who really needs protecting, without me you’d be dead meat.” You press your lips together, smiling softly into the kiss. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if I had lost you.”

Your eyes wandered to the window watching as the camp nightwing sign slowly floated away out of sight. Finally it was over.

———

After the accident medics treated and hospitalised many of the camp nightwing campers and counselors such as you and Tommy. Your leg was thankfully saved. They said if not for Tommy it probably would have had to be amputated due to infection.

It was two months since that night, you still had to use crutches but besides that, you made a speedy recovery alongside tommy. Although he was in a much less critical condition than you and was discharged within a few days, he still spent every night in the hospital with you.

You laid beside Tommy his leg slotted between yours as the velvet underground played softly in the background. You run your fingers through his hair slowly as he whines quietly into your chest. It finally felt like the first time since that day that you both could finally relax.

You pulled away from his touch leaning over him, kissing his lips softly. “You look so pretty.” You hum. He smiles into the kiss. “Not as much as you, baby.”

You lifted yourself straddling Tommy’s hips, deepening the kiss as your hands ran down playing with the hem of his shirt, travelling underneath. He pulls away, his hand rubbing your thigh. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“I’m okay.” You reassure him, pressing soft kisses along his collarbone. You removed your shirt as Tommy’s hands floated up to your waist.

“God, you're so beautiful.” He mumbles, kissing up your chest slowly as you take off your pyjama shorts, throwing them to the floor.

You lean down unbuttoning Tommy’s jeans, taking him in your hand. Tommy twitches at the contact as you align himself to you. You lower yourself onto him slowly as his hands hold a firm grip on your lower back. Tommy lays his head back, his hips thrusting up into you.

You shiver as you lift yourself up and down, your thighs shaking from the stimulation. His thrusts hardened, your soft whimpers of his name encouraging him. “You look so fucking good right now.” He gripped your waist helping you keep a steady pace.

You steadied yourself, leaning your arms out pressing your hands against his chest as you felt yourself near your climax. “Shit, Tommy I’m gonna come.” You whined under your breath.

“Don’t worry baby, me too.” He runs his hands down your back lovingly.

You threw your head back as you felt Tommy’s hand wander down edging you on further, your breath quivering at the touch. You felt his hips buckle beneath you as he reached his peak, yours following soon after.

You sighed your body collapsing onto his chest. “I love yours so much.” You mumble into his skin as he presses a soft kiss against your forehead.

—-

It was the 16th anniversary since that day at nightwing, the two of you still happily together. Despite the permanent scar that night had left on the both of you mentally and physically, you both managed to stay strong, the event probably making the two of you even closer than you already were before.

Every year instead of hiding from the memories of that night, you both embrace it. Tommy’s favourite way to do this was to ‘reenact your youths’ in his words by driving the two of you out to the forest, where you would’ve spent so many nights together when you were younger.

You would open the sunroof and lay out the seats creating a little bed for the two of you. Probably not the safest thing the two of you could do, but most definitely the sweetest.

The two of you laid there staring up at the trees, resting your head on Tommy’s chest, your arm draped across his abdomen. Looking up at him you pressed a small kiss to the slope of his nose, pressing your heads together. The moonlight glazed over his cheeks, giving him a paler look. “You look so beautiful.”

—-

The car ride home was quiet but the atmosphere felt soft and comforting as Tommy rested his hand on your inner thigh. The velvet underground played softly on the radio as your eyes gazed out at the passing scenery.

#fear street #fear street 1978 #fear street 1994 #fear street 1666 #tommy slater #simon kalivoda #fear street x reader #tommy slater x reader #simon kalivoda x reader

324 notes · View notes

raineydays411 · 3 years

Text

And the adventure begins

Bruce Banner x daughter!reader

A/n: yay! Another part out! Finally lol. Now time to work on my Loki fic and ignore this one for two weeks lol💀 jk I’m trying to keep up y’all I promise. Anyway hope you like it💕💕

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now that you think about it, maybe you shouldn’t have skipped school today. Maybe then you wouldn’t be in this situation.

....On another planet. Watching Thor be forced to fight some old dudes “Champion”, whatever that means.

Let’s go back to the beginning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nerves filled your body as you walked to school. You had an audition in the school play today and you were determined to get the part. Tony had offered to take you to school today but you decided to walk as it would give you extra time to learn your lines. As you pushed through the busy streets, occasionally bumping into a random pedestrian, you heard some girls whispering.

“Oh my god is that..”

“Yes! oh my go, he's so handsome”

“Ask him for a selfie”

“No you go ask hm”

At first you rolled your eyes, thinking it was just some youtuber or Tik tok star, you kept walking, eyes down re-reading your script. Then you heard the girls speak again.

“Thanks Thor, I’m sorry Jane dumped you.”

Hearing the name, your head swiveled up. You scanned the crowd looking for the blonde man, at first missing him as he wasn’t in his usual outfit of a cape and battle armour. But then you saw him, in a hoodie and some jeans. Picking up the pace, you jog toward the god not noticing the darker clothed man next to him.

“....it was a mutual dumping”

“I didn’t know the renaissance fair was in town” you say, a small smirk making its way on your face at the quip.

Both Thor and ...Loki?! Turn around in surprise at the sudden voice behind them. Only to see you looking up at them with a arched brow.

“Lady Y/n! How wonderful it is to see you” Thor boomed as he brought you into a bone crushing hug. Over his shoulder you could see Loki roll his eyes.

“Honestly, had I known this trip would consist of young woman flocking to you, I would have allowed your hammer to kill me.”

Thor ignored his brother as he put you down. “My how you’ve grown.”

You smile and say, “Well the last time you saw me I was twelve.” Then you eye Loki with distrust. “Um Thor, why’d you bring brother dearest back to New York?”

Loki looks at you with distaste, “ Who is this child, and why is she conversing with us?”

“Brother” Thor warns and then turns to you, “ Lady Y/n, we are searching for our father, it seems as if my brother” Thor harshly pats Loki on the shoulder, “ Has misplaced him.”

You look at Loki and then look at the building that has been demolished

, “ Woah, I didn’t know Gods put their parents in nursing homes” You say “ If you want we can go back to the Tower and try to track him down”

Thor smiles at the suggestion, “ A wonderful idea, tell me, how have my comrades been in my absence?”

You cringe at the thought of explaining the events of the so called “Civil war”. Then notice a ring of sparks forming around Loki.

“Uhh Thor” You say as you nod your head

“What’s this..wha.what are you doing?” He asks in alarm. Loki looks confused as the sparks get larger and more erratic.

“ This isn’t me” Loki says in confusion. Then suddenly the ground opens up beneath him and he falls through with an alarmed “Oh!” only leaving behind a business card. You and Thor look at each other, confusion written on both of your faces.

“Loki” Thor whispers as he nudges the card with his umbrella. You look at him with concern and think to yourself

“Does..does he think the cards Loki?”

You bend down to pick up the business card and read it out loud.

“177a Bleeker St” you look at Thor and ask,” Do you know anyone from there?”

“ No” He says, ‘ i don’t even know where that is.”

You sigh, looking down at your script and making a decision. “ Well, lets go find your brother.”

And with that, you turn around and start walking to your destination.

“Oh well, school can wait”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Thor find yourselves in front of two big black doors. You stand near Thor as he raises his hand to knock. Suddenly, before his hand is able to touch the door, you find yourselves inside the building.

“What the fuck?” you mutter to yourself as you look around.

“Thor Odinson” a deep voice says. You look up to see a floating figure in the shadows coming towards you both. Thor pushes you behind him as he holds him umbrella threateningly. If you weren’t in potential danger, you would have laughed at the sight. The figure floated into the light and you saw it was a man.

He was wearing a cloak and some weird robes with yellow gloves. He was relatively handsome, salt and pepper hair that was slicked back, high cheek bones and a goatee. He wasn’t horrible to look at. His deep, baritone voice was soothing.

“God of Thunder” He said looking at Thor. He glanced at the umbrella. “ You can put down the umbrella.” Then his gaze turned to you.

“Y/n Banner. I wasn’t expecting you here” He said eyes narrowing at you,” Shouldn’t you be in school?”

You chuckled nervously, “ Eh, how can I abandon a friend in need?”

The man smiles and looks back at Thor and suddenly your in a different room. Looking around in awe you hear Thor start talking.

“So..Earth has wizards now” He says, picking up a dagger from a display on a table, then dropping all of them trying to put them back. You try to hold back a laugh, feeling embarrassed for the god.

You might have failed though because Thor looked at you with an unimpressed glance. You giggle out loud this time, as you watch him struggle with the knives. Everytime he managed to put one back, another fell.

“The preferred term is Master of the Mystic arts...” Clank! another knife falls. The man looks very unimpressed, at your giggling and Thor's clumsiness.” You can leave that now.”

At those words Thor leaves the knifes, trying to regaine his cool, he leans against the table.

“Alright wizard, who are you and why should I care?”

“Thor! That’s rude!”

Ignoring you, their conversation continues,

“My name is Dr. Stephen Strange and I have some questions for you.” He says as he eyes you and Thor. “Have a seat”

Within a second you’re in another room in the building...or least you think it is. The wind blows your hair back as you are suddenly dropped into a chair. You can see Thor look around startled and confused at the sudden setting change. You’re sure your face mirrored his as well.

“Tea?” Dr. Strange asks nonchalantly, a cup of tea appearing in your hands. You look at it in awe, not used to this level of magic, or magic at all. Thor on the other hand looked unimpressed with the cup.

“I don’t drink tea.” He says examining the cup that looked small in his hands.

“Well what do you drink?”

“Not tea.” Thor says shaking his head. You roll you eyes as you go for a sip of tea, but before you can a large pitcher of beer was in its place. You look up at the two men with a raised eyebrow.

“I hate to be a bother, but I do drink tea”

Strange looked at you in amusement as he returns the beer to tea.

“Jesus made water into wine, you make beer into tea. Interesting..” You say as you sip your tea. It was perfectly brewed of course. Dr. Strange smiled at the comparison

“Well its not exactly like that” Then he turned to Thor, “ So, I keep a watch list of individuals and beings from the realms that may be a threat to this world. Your adopted brother Loki is one of those beings.”

You scoff and roll your eyes and mutter, “Yeah no kidding.” Then you finish the last sips of tea, as you bring it down, the glass is already refilled

Thor looks up from his glass that he basically chugged,”Thats a worthy inclusion” His beer is refilled as well. He looks at it in astonishment.

“Then why bring him here?” Strange asks leaning forward.

“We’re looking for my father.”

“So..if I were to tell you where Odin was..all parties concerned would return to Asgard” He then looks at you, “ or upper Manhattan.”

“Promptly” “Try and keep me away from this place.”

“Great then I’ll help you...and get to that later”

You smirk at the doctor, knowing that it’s basically impossible to squash your curiosity once you get started. Then you realized something.

“Wait, if you knew where Odin is, why didn't you tell anyone?”

“Well he was very adamant he was not to be disturbed,” He turned to Thor, “Your father had chosen to remain in exile. Also you don’t have a phone.”

“Hmm, no I don’t have a..a phone but you could’ve sent an electronic letter. It’s called an email.”

“Thor you don’t have a computer.”

“What for?”

You lock eyes with Dr. Strange and share a look.

“Uh huh well, my father is no longer in exile, so if you can tell me where he is, the quicker I can take him home.” Thor then takes a sip of his beer.

“Okay, hes in Norway.” Suddenly your on your feet again standing an a library of some sort. You’re a bit unbalance and catch yourself on the self. Strange is muttering to himself as he looks through a book. Then again, you’re in another room with a shelf. Nearly falling over you cling onto Thor, but he’s in no better shape than you, beer spilling everywhere.

“Oh we don’t need that” Boom, in another room, this time you do fall and Thor breaks another shelf. He places the glass on a table, shaking the spilled beer of his person.

“Can you stop doing that?” He asked irritated

“Please” you add in, looking up from your place on the ground.

You’re on your feet in a blink of an eye, feeling dizzy at the continuous movement.

“Can I..I need a piece of your hair.” Strange says looking at Thor.

“Let me tell you something, my hair is not to be --OW”

You smile sweetly as you pass the yanked out hair to the Strange. “ Here you go Dr. Wizard.” He makes a face at the nickname but takes the hair with a nod of thanks. Thor looks at you in betrayal.

“Don’t be such a drama queen” You say rolling your eyes. You then walk away from the duo, examining books and artifact that were in the room. You were too caught up in looking at all the cool stuff you didn’t pay attention to the rest of the conversation. Suddenly you were in the front room again. You managed to stay on your feet as Thor tumbled down the stairs. You watched in amazement as Dr. Strange did some hand movements and created a shape in sparks.

“Could’ve just walked.” Thor muttered as he brushed the dust and wrinkles out off of his clothes.

“He’s waiting for you.” Then Dr. Strange turned to you,” Would you like to go home Ms. Banner?”

You looked at him with consideration,” Um Mister Strange, do you think you can help me find my dad?”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Then he turned to Thor,” Don’t forget your umbrella.

“Oh right.” Thor sticks his arm out like he’s summoning his hammer. You look at him confused. Then you here several bangs and crashes, as if something is being thrown around the rooms.

“ohhh thats where your hammer went”

Dr. Strange looks at Thor unimpressed again.

“Sssorry” The umbrella lands in his hands and he brushes the glass off the hammer.” I suppose I need my brother back”

“Oh right”

The a portal appears a few feet off the ground, in comes Loki screaming as he falls and hits the ground.

He flips his hair back as he catches his breath, “ I have been falling..FOR THIRTY MINUTES”

You snicker as you go to help the god of mischief up,” Come on reindeer games, lets get you up”

He doesn’t decline your help but he doesn’t thank you either. You turn to see Thor and Strange shake hands.

“Handle me?!” “Oh boy” “ Who are you?”

“Loki..”

“You think you’re a sorcerer? Don’t think for one minute--”

“Alright bye bye” The portal then is thrown to them as Loki charges with two daggers.

It’s silent in the room as you whislte,” Well he’s very catty.”

Strange laughs as he nods,” Come on kid lets find your dad.”

You’re then taken back to the library and you give him a piece of your hair.

“You have had quite the adventure today.” Dr. Strange says as he looks through the books again.

“Ehh, when you live with the Avengers stuff like this is an everyday thing.”

“I could imagine” He says smiling at you. “ Well..it seems like your father is off world”

“Off world?” You question,”why would he be...?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Then a bag appeared in front of you.

“I have a feeling you won’t stop searching until you find your father.” He nods to the bag. “ Everything you need to survive in Sakkarr is in there, I trust you know how to use knives?”

“Yeah, Bucky taught me.”

“Perfect, now you must try to get on the grandmasters good side, that’ll give you the resources you need to find your father. Don’t get caught by scavenger or scrapper , you’ll either get eaten or sold into slavery.”

“Slavery?” you ask with an eyebrow raised.

“Sakkarr is known to be the ‘dump’ of the universe. It’s filled with people you must be weary of. The main entertainment are these gladiator type fights the Grandmaster puts on.” He thinks for a bit the conjures up a portal. He pulls a amulet out of it then hands it to you. “If you find your father, or need a quick escape, rub this amule three times t and I’ll make a portal for you to come back home”

You nod, nervous to go on your personal mission. You look up at Dr.strange and hug him. “ Thanks Dr.Wizard.”

He pats your back uncomfortably,” It’s Stephen.”

You let go of him and smile,”Well, beam me up Scotty”

He rolls his eyes and creates a portal, you take a deep breath and look at him. He sends you a reassuring smile and you’re filled with determination. Then you step through.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You step through it to see...the steps to some weird looking palace. You look around to see an even weirder looking city. It looks like its built out of scraps of metal or parts. You walk up the steps and into the palace. You look around, astonished at the amount of people??

Beings. So many different kinds of aliens. All different colors and shapes. It was like a Star Wars movie. Then you see a familiar face.

“Loki??”

He looks up at you in confusion, you speed towards him, happy to see a familiar face. Even if it is Thor's evil brother.

“Ah Thor's child friend. This doesn’t seem like your type of setting.”

“I’m looking for my father, Stephen says he’s here.”

He scoffs, looking around the room. “It seems everyone is looking for their fathers.”

“What are you doing here? I thought you were in Norway with Thor and your dad”

“Well it seems that father dearest has been hiding a secret daughter. Who appeared after my father died. And is destined to destroy Asgard.”

“Well shit” you blurt out. “Are..are you okay?”

Loki looks at you like you’re a puzzle.

“What.”

“Well..” you start nervously, “it sounds like a traumatic experience, so..are you okay?”

He’s quiet for a few minutes, just staring at you. Suddenly he turns around. “We must see the grandmaster. He’s the only one who can guarantee your protection, and I’m sure you would prefer not to be slaughtered brutally in the competition.”

He walks ahead of you, and you stare after him wondering what just happened. Then after he noticed you’re not following him he turns and says

“Well, come on. I haven’t got all day.”

“Oh right.” You catch up to him and walk by his side. Looking around in wonder.

“Why are you looking around like that?” Loki asks as he makes his way through a crowd of...pink women. They had their hair in very intricate styles and weird metallic unitards. They eyed you as you passed by them.

“I feel like I’m in a Star Wars movie.” You pass by a man, he looked almost reptilian. He had pale yellow skin with green slits as his eyes. He looks like he was gambling or something.

“I don’t know what that is. Why would stars commence in battle? It makes no sense.” Loki scoffs as he turns to look at you. You laugh at his misunderstanding.

“I just..never seen..” you trail off not knowing how to explain. Luckily, Loki seems to get what you were says.

“ I can see this is a bit of a change for you. But..you have seen people from other planets before.”

“ yeah..it’s just a lot to take in.” You smile at Loki, “ I’ll be fine, don’t worry. I can freak out about it after I meet the Grandmaster.”

He nods his head and starts walking again, but this time he’s closer to you. Finally, you reach a large room. It’s filled with guards all wearing different colored armor. They part as Loki walks through them, confident with long strides. You follow him, shrinking under their gaze. Loki leans down to whisper to you

“ when you meet the grandmaster, do not be too meak . And do not mention anything about your father till I tell you. Actually, just follow my lead.”

You look up at him and before you say anything, a large woman appears in the room. She looks normal to you. Stocky, a stern face with white markings. A slicked back bun. She’s wearing yellow armor with black accents. She’s holding a large staff with an orb attached to the end.

“ Didn’t the Grandmaster just see you” she says to Loki, glaring at him. Loki smiles charmingly and says

“Oh yes, but it appears that I have found a...friend.. of mine. She, like I, has arrived here on Sakkarr by accident and is hoping to meet with the Grandmaster.”

Then Loki nudges you in front of him, and into the view of the woman. She looks at you with distaste.

“ Poor child is skin and bones. She’s puny.”

You look in offense, but before you can say anything Loki spoke for you.

“Yes, and that’s why I have decided to take her under my wing.”

“ Can she not speak for herself? You expect the Grandmaster to—“ “ Easy Topaz”

“Loki! How wonderful to see you again, even though it’s been about twenty minutes”

A voice cut through the air. Suddenly everyone in the room stood up straight. Topaz immediately stopped talking and turned. A man came in on a floating throne. He was wearing red, blue, and gold robes. He had a blue line down his chin and blue under eye liner. He...he looked like..

“Jeff Goldblum?”

Loki looked at you like you were insane and the Grandmaster and Topaz just looked confused.

“What did she call me?” He whispered to Topaz, she looked at him in equal bafflement. She then tries to hand him the staff.

“ Why are you handing me the melty stick?! She had a slip of a tounge! That’s not a capital offense”

“What is wrong with you?” “I’m sorry! It just slipped out!” “ Do you want to die” “To be fair, that was the biggest compliment I could have given him. Jeff Goldblum is basically a god of cinema.”

Topaz looked at the Grandmaster, “ apparently this..Jeff.. is a god from her world.”

“Hm, child.”

You and Loki stop your whisper arugument and turn to the Grandmaster.

“Come forward.”

You look at Loki in fear and step up to the floating throne.

“Hm” The man says as he examines you. You suddenly feel self conscious about what you’re wearing. A Jurassic park shirt (ironically) with a turtleneck under, some plaid pants and converse. To be fair you weren’t expecting to end up on a different planet.

“I don’t know what Jurassic park is, but look there’s a big lizard on her shirt” he says to Topaz, “ you like lizards?” He asks you. Your eyes widened at the question not expecting it.

“Oh I think I’ve embarrassed her, it’s okay if you like them. I don’t personally like them, they’re all scales and fast and blegh” the Grandmaster rambles then Topaz chimes in

“ and they can grow back limbs”

“Yes! That’s disgusting”

“ I’m sorry, it’s not a lizard, it’s a dinosaur ” you explain. “ it’s from a movie, it has Jeff Goldblum...”

You trail off as they stare at you.

“ Go on, you keep mentioning this Jeff Goldblum, I’d like to hear more about him.”

So there you were, explaining all the different movies Jeff Goldblum was in. From the Fly to Jurassic Park. Everyone seemed...intrested. The Grandmaster somehow got it in his head that you were this great storyteller. So now you were on his good side, just like Loki.

“ Storyteller, I welcome you to Sakkarr! I have never met a child with such interesting stories!” He turns to Topaz, “ Aren’t they entertaining?! So adventurous!”

“ I think they’re weird.” “ Oh don’t be such a buzzkill”

“ I thank you Grandmaster, for being so gracious with my...ward” Loki says, “I assure you that I will keep her out of trouble.”

“ Yes yes, now go, if she is going to stay here, she’ll need to fit in. Topaz, see if you can find a tailor for the child, she’ll need a change of clothes. You as well Loki”

She nods and gestures for you both to follow her. As you walk through the futuristic castle, you are completely in awe. Even though you live with Tony, this is a different kind of technology. Topaz gives you both a tour. She mentions the fights and the arena, but you don’t pay too much attention. Finally you make it to the tailor. After being fussed over and much debating, you finally come to an agreement.

You end up with a sort of body armor. With a black catsuit made out of a leather like material, there were pieces of armor covering your legs, hips, torso, shoulders and arms. Blue fabric was wrapped around your waist, draping down the front and under the armor there. There was also fabric wrapped around your upper arm and shoulders preventing the straps from rubbing against your skin. Finally, to top it all off, a long blue cape drape down your shoulders. You felt awesome. You took the daggers Stephen gave you out of the bag and attached them to your hips. And the amulet around your neck.

“What do you think?” You asked Loki. He looked at you for a bit.

“Your daggers should be attached to your thighs, that way the hilts are at your fingertips and not your shoulders.” He squints for a bit, “ that cape looks ridiculous.”

“Fuck off man I look awesome.”

Loki just laughs and goes to put his outfit on. “ Such foul language for a child.” Then he comes out fully dressed. With a yellow cape.

“ oh? My cape was ridiculous?”

“Hush.”

You smile, and a silence falls between you both. You sigh and look down, playing with the end of your cape. Loki looks at you, examines your face, then looks away.

“ Why...why did you ask if I was alright?” He questions, “when you first saw me..?”

You looked at him your face scrunched in a puzzled expression, “ because.”

“Because what?” Loki asks, not understanding where your coming from.

“ I don’t know, because like I said, something that traumatic must’ve been shitty. I know I wouldn’t be okay.”

“I do not understand you. Why care about someone you never met? Nevertheless someone like me?”

“Someone like you?” Now you were really confused. What does he mean by that?

“No midgardian would trust me. Especially after...” He stops, hinting about the attack of New York. “ I am not... not a good person. Nor a good influence. Not for a child.”

“That’s bullshit.”

Your words seem to startle him.

“I beg your pardon?”

“ That’s. Bullshit.” You stand to face him.

“Loki, I’ve known you for about six hours. And in that time, you managed to help me gain favor of a ruler, enough for him to give me a room to stay in and new clothes. You also helped me when you could’ve just left me alone. From what I’ve seen, you’re pretty chill.”

“Chill?” He asks quirking an eyebrow.

“A good person.”

He stops and looks at you, “ you think I’m a good person? Even though I nearly destroyed your planet?”

“ Sure. We all make mistakes.”

He stares at you for a while. Smiles briefly and then gets up from where he was leaning.

“ You, my dear, are one odd child.” He walks out of the room. “Come along, I must get you to your room. It’s late and I am certain you e had a long day.”

You follow him to your room, turns out someone was paying attention to the tour. He leads you to your temporary room, shows you how to open the door and lock it, then makes sure your settled.

“Well, it’s time for me to retire. Good night child.”

When he doesn’t get a response he turns around, he sees you’ve fallen asleep on the bed. He chuckles at the sound of you muttering in your sleep.

“ An odd child indeed.”

Then he covers you, turns out the lights and shuts the door. Leaving you to go to his room.

( he promptly freaks out over how quickly he’s grown fond of you.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @ella-ivanov

#thor ragnarok #bruce banner x daughter!reader #loki x teen!reader #marvel x reader #loki x poc!reader #avengers x teen!reader #bruce banner imagine #bruce banner #hulk #marvel #thor odinson #reader insert #poc reader #thor odison x reader #dr strange

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juniorgman187 · 3 years

Text

Serendipity (Reid Fic) Part 1

A/N: If you’re wondering if this is at all based on Rosie and Marco’s storyline in “What to Expect When You’re Expecting,” then you should know - it totally is.

Summary: An FBI gathering brings Reader and Spencer together after years of distance. This one night changes not only their future, but their perspective on the past. Category: Angst, Smut, *NSFW content Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: Mentions of traumatic childhood, child neglect, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, menstruation, pregnancy Word Count: 10.2k

I originally thought I would be able to fit everything into 1 part, but after further reconsideration, this will be a two part series.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

Serendipity: (n). Finding something good without looking for it.

A word I would only come to truly understand many months from now on a warm Thursday morning in May at St. Mary’s Hospital.

But whenever my thoughts drifted back towards the past, I would always remember that this was how it all began - on a chilly Saturday night in the heart of D.C.

Not more than four hours ago, Emilia and I drove down here for an F.B.I function that hired us. Under normal circumstances, we wouldn’t have agreed to be the caterers for an event so far away, but we eventually signed on after learning that there were at least 600 people attending. That meant a considerable amount of customers and an exorbitant amount of money. Saying yes was clearly a no brainer.

Just to put it into perspective of how big this event would be, Emilia and I got lucky if we could park somewhere with 80 customers. 80. So this event would be colossal for us.

But who would have guessed that in a crowd of 600, I would run into the one and only - Spencer Reid.

To preface, this wasn’t just any old birthday party, parade, or festival. It was a celebration and a grand one at that. Considering it was a private event at the Washington Monument, we were given special instructions to abide by the black-tie formal dress code that guests had to follow, too. I guess the caterers can’t look like slobs in the United States’ Capitol, now can they?

I definitely spent more time than I should have deciding on what outfit to wear, but my conscientiousness, or rather indecisiveness, did pay off in the end. For I would run into someone worth the trouble of impressing.

My hair, unlike Emilia’s, was down and curled in big waves, and on one side, some of my hair was tucked behind my ear and designed to stay that way thanks to copious amounts of hairspray and an ungodly total of bobby pins. Emilia lent me a black, floor-length dress that had a plunging v-neck that didn’t fit her anymore, but luckily, fit perfectly on me. Although I would have to remember not to lean over too far tonight, otherwise, the customers might get a show they didn’t pay for. I, however, didn’t look half so good as my business partner.

Emilia was clad in a navy blue silk dress with puffy sleeves and a high collar; the dress clung to her every curve, including her newly protruding belly bump. She looked regal and pregnant all at the same time, qualities I hadn’t seen coexist in anyone but the Queens and Duchesses in England.

“Well, don’t you look hot?” Emilia purred, running her fingers through my curls, then letting them fall and sway back into place.

“Are you kidding? You are quite literally a sexy mama.” I gushed to her, receiving a light chuckle in return.

“Yeah, well, when you’re five months pregnant, tell me how sexy you feel in a tight dress.” She remarked, turning her back to me while she arranged all the supplies in the kitchenette behind me. But even as she faced away from me, she still managed to recognize the effect her words had. Maybe it was something in my silence, or our sister-telepathy, but Emilia immediately felt the room depress. In an effort to take back the remark that turned the room cold, she sweetly added while hugging me from behind, “You’re gonna be a mom one day, too. I promise.”

I leaned into her embrace, feeling guilty for ruining the moment while also feeling burdened by the reminder of the terrible reality I had to face every day.

Ever since I could remember, I thought I was destined to be a mother, but that destiny had yet to be fulfilled.

Emilia was born only three years after me, and though that age gap isn’t big enough for me to be mistaken for her mother, I, she, and our younger brother Saul would all agree that in many ways I was their mom. I was the parent our parents never were. I was there for everything - soccer games, dance recitals, winter musicals - never getting the chance to participate in my own, but always attending their’s.

I had to admit sometimes it was a burden, having to grow up so fast and help raise my siblings while still trying to navigate through my own struggles of adolescence, but I saw it as something I was meant to do.

See, I wouldn’t have minded all the responsibilities of being a parent so much when it’d be my own kids that I’d be fulfilling them for - when it would be by my choice to fulfill those responsibilities and not by unfortunate birth order.

However, as the years have gone by, my calling to be a mother has gotten quieter and quieter and quieter until eventually, I don’t think I’ll be able to hear it anymore.

It’s not that I can’t have kids, but the fear of rushing into having one is what’s stopped me from pursuing that dream.

As someone who grew up with divorced parents and practically became my siblings only reliable caregiver, I knew what having a baby too soon could do to a family. So rather than repeating history, I chose to wait to have kids. I didn’t want to make the same mistakes my parents did, and so I lived my life. I traveled all across the globe, I met new people, tried new things, I even started this taco truck business with Emilia.

But still that gaping hole in my chest remained. A hole that nothing could ever fill the way that a child would.

No amount of living could make up for the emptiness of a life with no family.

I could pretend all I wanted that I was happy living out my twenties, but the truth was I didn’t want to spend the rest of my years working in a food truck, amounting to nothing more than a mediocre cook and middling entrepreneur. That was never my dream - as exciting as it was.

My real dream was to have a good life. The kind my parents never had thanks to the unplanned arrival of me. The kind my baby sister was already living out.

“You know what? It’s a really nice night out. I think I might go for a walk. Do you wanna come?” Was this my blatant avoidance of breaching the subject of pregnancy? Yes, but it was also my escape from this food truck that felt like it was getting smaller and smaller and smaller by the second.

“No, I’m okay. I’ll just get everything ready.” Emilia resigned.

She knew why I was really leaving - sister-telepathy, I’m telling you - but she didn’t feel the need to acknowledge it. For that, I was thankful. Maybe we were better at communicating with no words at all.

I carefully stepped off the back of the truck, making sure to hike up my dress high enough so I wouldn’t trip over the mess of fabric when my feet hit the floor. The nippy December air felt like a cool balm on my hot skin. I was burning up in that truck, and maybe it was nerves or something else, but I just had this weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. There was no explanation for it, but I realize now that the pit in my stomach was caused by something my intuition could sense but something my mind couldn’t understand.

Someone important from my past was here tonight.

As I sauntered around the monument, I took in the breathtaking view of the structure’s silhouette against the blazing orange sky that melted into an ocean blue. I regretted not bringing my phone to take a picture of it so I could show Emilia when I got back, but that one regret quickly turned into another when the night sky’s breeze brought a rude awakening. My body shivered at the frigid gust of wind that blew through and I suddenly started to regret not bringing a jacket.

“Are you cold?” A gentle voice asked me from behind.

I slightly recoiled out of shock of someone being there. When I turned around though, I couldn’t quite make out any distinguishable features. All I knew for sure was that this was certainly a man, and a tall one, too.

“Um, just a little.” I bashfully admitted, crossing my arms to hug myself and maintain some warmth. I hadn’t even thought about my dress’s plunging v-neck or the fact that I was practically squeezing my breasts together, accentuating them even further, but by the time, I realized, it was too late. He was already looking. But not at my chest. Somewhere far more invasive.

My eyes.

“Here, take my jacket.”

My small protests did nothing to stop him as he inevitably slipped the coat around my shoulders anyway. He’d come so close that I could finally see him and smell him. And let me tell you, if the sight of him wasn’t enough to break an overflowing dam of memories, then his smell certainly sent a flood that would.

“Oh my god,” I quietly gasped, my hand flying to my mouth to cover its un-ladylike gaping.

“Spencer Reid?”

I squinted my eyes and cocked my head even further to find evidence to support my assumption, and sure enough, I found exactly what I was looking for.

I was frozen in place as I deeply examined his face. My God! I mean, in many ways, he hadn’t changed a bit since the last time I saw him. Same dazzling hazel eyes. Same uniquely adorable nose. Same over-stimulated pink lips. I wonder if he still bit them as much as he did back then?

But at the same time, he was so different. Of course, I could still discern the same features I used to study endlessly back then, but his face had transformed into a man’s. He lost the glasses for one thing, but he also had a softer jawline, longer hair, and for lack of a better term, a beefier build.

He was all grown up now, and yet, I could still identify the same boyishly handsome charm that made me fall in love with him more than a decade ago.

“I knew it was you, (y/n).” He chuckled, sounding half proud of himself. My heart fluttered at the sound of my name on his tongue and the action that followed. With his eyes locked on mine, he tucked strands of my hair back behind my ears; it’s as if he were saying, “Let me get a good look at you.”

“How? It’s almost completely dark outside. You could barely even see me.” Certainly, you can understand why I was skeptical. Sounded too good to be true, if you ask me.

He shook his head lightly with a smile, seemingly questioning how I couldn’t possibly know the answer to that question. “No one else looks like you. Not even in the dark.”

His words spoke to a part of my soul specifically reserved for him. They were so genuine that I almost didn’t want to believe them because how could someone speak such lovely things and truly mean them? The world wasn’t that good a place. Certainly not good enough for Spencer Reid.

In that moment, I flew out of my own body and watched this entire scene unfold from up above. I could see the version of a girl I hadn’t seen in years, not since that last interaction with Spencer. She had these big lovesick eyes as she swooned over a man with just the same lovesick look.

The excessive upward tilt of my head and the way his neck craning down must’ve made it seem like we were about to kiss, but I knew better than to expect such a thing from Spencer Reid. And if anything, what we were doing right now was much more intimate than kissing.

“Wow, you ... you really grew up. You look great.” My own voice sounded unfamiliar to me after the words slipped from my mouth without even registering in my brain first.

“Are you kidding? Look at you! I mean, you are just ...” He paused for a moment to look me up and down, and I nearly shivered at the thought that he was practically undressing me with his eyes. “You’re absolutely beautiful. But you always were.”

I was almost completely in a daze when I heard a hideous squawk of a bird flying overhead. This wouldn’t make sense, but it nearly felt like a sign. Like the bird knew I wasn’t supposed to be there, reminding me of where I belonged - reality - not in this fantasy with Spencer.

“Um,” My head spun as I drew back from him. “I should probably get back. I’ll see you later.” I touched his upper arm gently as I passed by him, and it stunned me how warmth just radiated off of his body.

To my all too quick goodbye, he simply waved and watched me walk past him with a pursed-lip smile. And just before I got too far, I thought I heard him say, “I hope so.”

Though my feet were carrying me away from Spencer, my thoughts were only drifting closer to the memory of him, and we did have so many memories.

11 Years Ago ...

I was at the ripe age of 16 when I got my driver’s license. And to anyone else, this would seem like a given milestone, but to me - it was so much more. With the obtainment of my license, I also gained access to a whole new world. Opportunities poured at the seams. I could drive anyone and anywhere I wanted to and though it wasn’t true, it felt like I could do anything, too. But like all things good in my life, it fell apart in the face of responsibilities.

My newly obtained license was just another way for my parents to exploit me. Now, they didn’t have to drive Emilia and Saul since I could. Looking back, I have to wonder if the only reason they funded my driver’s ed classes were for the exact reason that if I took them, I’d sooner be able to take on yet another helping of duties they were too lazy to fulfill.

There’s one particular moment I can remember from this age and that same moment could also be regarded as the catalyst that would set off a series of events for the next 11 years to come.

It was the end of the school year and summer vacation was right around the corner. I was a sophomore at the time, and the prospect of being a junior the next year excited me.

To kick off the start of summer, Melody Hanes was throwing a pool party at her house. Everyone knew she was filthy rich because of a dead grandpa or some other, not to mention, she was also in student government so she had just as big of a role in school as her grandpa’s death did in making the Hanes family wealthy.

Though I never knew her personally, I did have third period chemistry with her for the entire year, and I sat right in front of her for pretty much the entirety of second semester. She must’ve only addressed me a handful of times, but she still invited me to her party anyway. Proximity, I had to admit, did play a part in that though because if I sat just a seat farther away, then I wouldn’t have been.

I came home that day, thrilled to tell my mother about my invitation. It would’ve been my first party that wasn’t a distant relative’s birthday celebration or a childish sleepover in elementary. It was my first real high school party, and for once, I thought - maybe I’d finally get the quintessential ‘high school experience.’

But of course, I never did.

As soon as I got home, I parked my car in the driveway, got the mail, and came inside the house to see my mother sitting on the couch watching TV, as per usual. While I was telling her about my invitation, she didn’t bother to lower the volume or even look away from the screen to give me her undivided attention, and when she did look away, it was only to take the mail from my hands.

“Your sister’s science fair is on that day, and you have to take her because I’ll be working from 1 to 7.” My mother never once looked up from the mail she was sorting through to address me. And her words, while incredibly monotone, were also spoken with such finality, like what she said was the last she ever wanted to speak on the topic. No room for discussion.

I’m not still losing sleep over it, but at the time, it felt like for once, I could actually just be a teenager and be young and reckless like everyone else, but that it was just taken from me. I never got the chance to be a kid again.

With the exception of Emilia’s science fair.

I knew my father wouldn’t be there, and obviously my mother wouldn’t, so I stayed to watch her presentation and to walk around the rest of the time. She deserved someone in her corner, and that someone was me. Even if no one was in mine.

As I serpentined through the cafeteria, a bittersweet feeling came upon me. From paper mâché volcanoes to potato batteries, I observed a childlike sense of wonder that I hadn’t felt for years.

Here, I was surrounded by children who got to be just children. They got to occupy themselves with trivial matters, like how gardens grow or if video games actually do rot your brain.

Their problems had solutions and their questions had answers, and it almost made me wish that I could revert back to a time where life was that easy, but I couldn’t because it never was … not for me.

So to sum it up, it was precious and heartbreaking all at the same time.

While browsing the fair, I stumbled upon a man that didn’t quite seem to fit in, and maybe it was my own unfitting appearance that made me recognize his. He could’ve very well been the brother of one of these children, but something about the way he was dressed and the way he carried himself made me highly doubt that.

He couldn’t have been a parent either, for he was not too far off from my own age, and if he was a parent of one of these eighth graders, that would have to mean that he had a kid when he was in kindergarten. So for all intents and purposes, he wasn’t someone’s brother or someone’s father. Who he actually was - I didn’t know, but I was determined to find out.

After that first observance, I spotted him a couple more times, but it wasn’t until we were looking at the same project that we actually spoke.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?”

The sudden sound of his voice alarmed me, but only because it seemingly came out of nowhere. Generally, before someone speaks to you, you notice signals that they’re about to, which helps you prepare for conversation. Whether it’s nervous twitches, a look in your direction, maybe even a small acknowledging smile, you’ll recognize they want to or plan to talk to you, but none of those signs were given to me. Even when I turned my head to give him my attention, he was still fixated on the project in front of us.

“Yeah, it really is,” I politely agreed. I awkwardly looked around the room as if I’d find an answer as to what to say next because I did want to keep talking to him, but the longer I stayed silent, the more I fear he’d begin to think I didn’t want to. With nothing else to ask but the question that had been bothering me since I first laid eyes on him, I simply went for it.

“So, who are you here for?”

For the first time, he turned his head to the side to look right at me. With a quizzical expression, he responded. “Oh, no one. I’m just a judge here.”

It was my turn to possess a quizzical expression. His statement wouldn’t have been weird, except for the part where any judge I’d seen or talked to were all well into their forties or fifties.

“Aren’t you kinda young to be a judge? You’re, like, what? Seventeen, eighteen?

“Nineteen actually. But I regularly come to judge the Summer Science Fairs here since I went to this middle school eleven years ago.”

Again, I would’ve taken his word for it, but the math didn’t make sense. “You were in middle school at eight years old?”

“Mhm. I ended up graduating high school at twelve.” He said it so nonchalantly, but for how big of a feat it was, I thought it would’ve deserved a more prideful tone, yet he still maintained such a cavalier one. Did he not think himself to be impressive?

“Jeez, you must be really smart.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets, which made me notice that he wasn’t carrying a clipboard like the other judges, which was probably another reason why I didn’t take him for one. How would he be able to remember the projects that he was considering for awards? He’d have to have some magical memory for that.

Before answering, he began to walk away, but nonetheless he continued addressing me, so I followed him where he went.

“Mmm not necessarily. My IQ isn’t high enough to suggest I’m a provable genius yet, but I do have an eidetic memory and I can currently read 16,000 words per minute, which definitely helps. I hope to be able to read 20,000 words per minute in the future.”

Despite answering my question, he only left me with many more.

“What is your IQ right now?”

“131.”

My eyes widened. Even I, with my limited knowledge on intelligence quotients knew that was high, especially for someone as young as he was.

“So what IQ score do you have to have in order to be considered a genius?”

I couldn’t help but notice how he barely took anytime to think before answering me. It’s like his brain just knew everything, right then and there.

“A score of over 140 is considered a genius or near genius.”

“Wow, so you’re almost a genius then?”

“Almost, but not quite. If I receive diverse stimulation at a consistent rate for the next few years, I predict that I’ll have an IQ of 180 or higher by the time I’m in my early twenties.”

You would think he would leave me speechless, but I still went on to ask him about what an eidetic memory was, and he explained to me that he could remember things exceedingly well, but that it was not the same thing as a photographic memory. He made that distinction very clear to me.

Our conversation droned on for the rest of the fair as we continued to circle the cafeteria. I can’t count how many times we lapped around the same projects, but we never seemed to run out of things to talk about. Once those first few seconds after meeting him, when I didn’t know what to say, passed, I never again felt a sense of not knowing. We could talk for hours and hours, and it wouldn’t matter. I would never get bored.

How could I? When I was with him, it felt like the rest of the world just faded away. Our discourse flowed so easily, no pressure, no awkward silence. It was just me and him, and if you ask me, that’s quite the opposite of boring.

That was the first and final time I ever truly felt like a kid. Just like the ones in the science fair. Not a care in the world except for my morbid curiosity of the marvel that was him.

Alas, all good things must come to an end, and I inevitably found myself being ripped out of my trance when I felt an aggressive tug on my sweater.

“We can go now.” Emilia interrupted.

I hadn’t even noticed that a majority of the poster boards were taken down and that an even larger majority of the people were long gone, too. I got so lost in the conversation that I didn’t realize we were one of the last people still there.

Emilia’s eagerness to leave was apparent as she pulled me away from my interesting conversationalist.

“I had a nice time talking to you!” I called out to him, walking backwards to lengthen the period of time I could keep looking at him.

“Likewise.”

I turned around fully just before I finally realized something. “Hey!” I yelled across the distance. “I never got your name!”

He bashfully smiled and looked down at his feet briefly. “It’s Spencer! Spencer Reid!”

I stood there for a moment, silently processing his name.

“What’s yours?” He yelled back.

I chuckled mischievously. “I guess you’ll have to find out next time.” My ambiguity puzzled him and intrigued him all at the same time.

“Next time?”

With the intentions of leaving him without a true answer, I simply turned on my heels and started walking away.

“Bye, Spencer!”

Even if he didn’t have an eidetic memory, I knew after that first day, he could never forget me.

- Present Time -

By the time I made it back to the truck, people were already lining up to order.

“Get over here!” Emilia squealed excitedly from the window, her hand rapidly waving me over as if it’d suddenly increase my speed. I ran back as fast as I could in a dress and heels and climbed into the truck, mirroring my sister’s zeal.

When I stepped in, Emilia took one glance at me and furrowed her brows. “Where’d you get the jacket?”

Had she not mentioned it, I would not have remembered the foreign fabric that wrapped around my shoulders.

“Oh, shoot!” I palmed my forehead after the realization dawned on me. I should’ve noticed sooner that I still had it on, but honestly, it didn’t feel unusual or out of place. It was comfortable and familiar, like it was meant to be there that entire time.

“I’m so sorry to do this to you, but do you think you can handle this alone for just a second? I have to return this to a friend.” I asked while slipping off the coat to ready myself to leave, even in the event that Emilia said she wouldn’t let me go. Luckily though, she understood it was urgent.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine. Just hurry back.”

I extended my head to look out just past the side of the truck to look for Spencer while still being concealed within the vehicle. Now that there were more people here, I wasn’t exactly sure I should be caught mingling with the attendees, so instead, I decided to search for him from the truck, rather than wandering around the party, giving the impression to the people that hired us that I wasn’t doing my job and was just here to socialize.

Luckily, there was something about my attachment to Spencer that was supernatural. I had this metaphysical ability to spot him even in a crowded place. I could find him anywhere. But whether that was a blessing or a curse was to be determined because right as my paranormal power kicked in, I found him. And there he was - standing next to another girl, a proximity much too close and a smile much too big to be anything less than flirtatious.

I paused to recall the image I had of myself earlier, when I floated up and out of my own body. I looked just like her - an oversized grin combined with lovesick eyes.

But that’s not the worst part.

The worst part was he was returning just the same look of attraction to her.

“Um, actually,” I re-entered the truck completely, tossing the jacket aside haphazardly. “I’ll just return it later.”

“You sure? You can go. I’ve got things covered right now.” She said between multitasking at a rate that even I, a very-much-not-pregnant-woman, could manage.

All I could mutter back without giving away the sharp ache in my heart was, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

_ _ _

After hours and hours of non-stop working, the night, at last, was coming to a close. The large crowd had sized down considerably, until I could no longer hear the sound of a thousand voices meshing. All the decorations were already coming down by the time Emilia and I finished packing up the truck. Without the hectic energy to cause adrenaline to course through my veins, it should’ve been peaceful, yet my heart was not at peace.

I couldn’t shake the gut-wrenching feeling of seeing Spencer with that girl, but that wasn’t really why I was upset. It was more about the fact that I’d actually believed for a second that I had any chance with him. I should’ve known he wasn’t single, and the fact that I let myself swoon over him again angered me all the more. If I ever had a chance with Spencer, the time to act on it was long gone.

Now, I had to live with that.

“You sure you wanna stay here alone? I’ll come with you if you want me to.”

Emilia’s question was referring to my proposal to stay in D.C for the night while she drove home. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, but I realized I couldn’t handle being in another suffocating car ride with Emilia. It had nothing to do with her - just that I needed alone time to process everything by myself. If I knew my sister as well as I thought I did, I knew she would’ve sensed something was wrong and tried to coax me into talking about it, which I was not in the mood to do. Plus, traveling for so long made me nauseous just thinking about it. Although, I didn’t have a plan, I knew that I just wanted to hail a cab and find a hotel somewhere here for the night.

“Yeah, I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about me. Call me when you get home.” I tapped on the back of the truck twice to let her know she was good to drive away, and I felt the car lurch forward per my request. When the truck finally did move, out from behind it appeared the tall figure of none other than Spencer.

I was surprised, but only for a second, when that surprise turned into pain once more. Playing it cool so my afflictions wouldn’t be suspected, I nonchalantly stated, “Here’s your jacket, by the way. Sorry, I forgot to give it back to you earlier.”

I extended my arm far enough so that we’d still have a great distance between us when he went to grab it, but sure enough, my actions were all for naught when he not only refused to remove his hands from his pockets to take it but also walked two steps closer to me than he needed to be. I looked like an idiot just standing there with my arm so outstretched, only for him to not grab it and to let it simply press against his stomach as a complete avoidance of getting it back.

“You were supposed to keep it. That’s why I didn’t ask for it back.” He curtly replied, finishing his statements with a cheeky grin. However, I wasn’t in the mood to return it. I simply stood there and shook the jacket in my hand to emphasize its presence.

“Take it. Please.” My voice was full of contradictions. I tried to be assertive with my command, and yet my plead only softened the order and showed a defeat I wasn’t even aware of until I heard how sad it sounded. “I don’t want it, Spencer.”

He no doubt saw the shift in my demeanor but still wouldn’t pacify me by taking the jacket. “What’s wrong? What did I do?” His voice got quieter, as if speaking any louder would shatter me in this fragile state of being.

“Nothing, I’m just tired and I want to go home.” This wasn’t a complete lie. I was exhausted from working for hours and hours on my feet with no breaks in between, but it wasn’t exactly the full truth either. He could tell.

“Just tell me what’s wrong.” He persisted. “Please.”

The only way I could describe what I happened next was like the vision of a boiling pot. Gradually, I was heating up until I finally got so overheated that I just boiled over and exploded.

“What don’t you get, Spencer? I don’t want your jacket!” Fury consumed my tone. “And I don’t think your girlfriend would want that either.”

“Girlfriend? What girlfriend? What are you talking about? I don’t have a girlfriend!” His words were flying out of his mouth at 100 mph as he desperately trying to mend what couldn’t be fixed.

“Don’t play dumb. I saw you with that blonde girl. How close you two were standing, the way you were looking at each other.” Just having to recount the interaction made the horrid memory come back vividly into the forefront of my thoughts, and it broke my heart all over again. I shut my eyes painfully as though it would turn off the image of them together, but this only allowed for Spencer to wrap his warm hands around my upper arms and pull me closer to him without my knowing. I flinched unconsciously at the sudden feeling of his touch, to which he instantly let go.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His hands shook with remorse for letting them touch my body in a way that elicited that reaction. They hovered in the space between us, not knowing where to go that would suddenly make things okay. “But she’s no one, okay? She’s just a coworker.”

I wanted to believe him. I quite possibly did believe him, but there was still a sharp pain in my chest. Call it intuition.

“No, she’s not,” I shook my head. “She’s not ‘no one’... you love her.”

Spencer came closer but still didn’t let himself touch me again out of fear that I might draw back even further.

“Listen to me - whatever feelings I used to have for her are long gone. She’s married, (y/n). She has a kid. And none of that even matters because the way that I used to love her is nothing compared to the way that I-”

“Don’t.” I held my hand up in protest. “Don’t say you love me.”

His eyebrows knit together with dismay. “Why? Why not? It’s true. I love you. I always have.”

With one big sigh, I finally resigned to my emotions. “Then why didn’t you ever do something about it?”

Judging by the deflation of his shoulders and the far off look he got in his eyes, he knew exactly the moment I was talking about.

Two days after Emilia’s science fair, I drove to the library to pick up books I needed for my summer homework. I was already on my way out when I just happened to glance to my side, noticing a lone figure sitting at the bus stop. I didn’t think anything of it, but when I looked back, I partially recognized him. I shaded my eyes from the sun and squinted harder to confirm my suspicions.

“Spencer?” I wondered out loud.

The figure’s head turned around, narrowed their eyes, and waved. He stood up from his seat and made his way over to me with a precious little jog-walk. Although we had only met once before, we still embraced each other like lifelong friends.

“Do I finally get to know your name now?” He jokingly inquired after pulling away.

It completely slipped my mind that I’d denied him the knowledge of my name, but for my own satisfaction, I wouldn’t let him get off that easily.

“Do you have any guesses of it could be?”

He pouted childishly. “Are you kidding? In a population of 350 million people, there would be about 4.4 million names. But if every country on Earth had the same nominative diversity we in the US have, that would suggest about 750 million unique names exist.”

I must admit it was fun watching him melt into a flustered mess of facts, but I was growing just as impatient as him. “Come on, just guess. You might be right.”

He rolled his eyes but indulged me willingly anyway. “Okay ... um ... Catherine.”

“Nope.”

“Nicole.”

“Nope.”

“Gertrude.”

“Seriously?” I raised my eyebrows. He shrugged. “Nope.”

“Olive.”

“Pretty,” I smiled, making his face light up, too. “But no.” His smile fell.

“This is nearly impossible.” He sighed.

“Nothing’s impossible.” My delivery wasn’t as cheesy as the line itself, so it touched us both in a way that made that silly phrase feel like it’d never been said before. With a visible passion reignited in him, he continued.

“Francis.”

“Okay, maybe this is impossible.”

My blunt joke brought us closer together, our heads almost knocking into one another’s as we clutched our stomachs and leaned forward to support our all-consuming laughter. When we finally calmed down, I finally confessed.

“Okay, okay - it’s (y/n).”

He stood there completely silent. There was no expression of his face that indicated he planned on speaking, so I elaborated. “It’s not as good as the name Spencer, I know I know -”

“I’ve never known anyone with that name before.” His hushed voice cut into mine so innocently.

My cheeks heated from the slight compliment. “Well, now you do. And don’t you forget it.” I teased. With nothing further to say, I brushed past him to start walking away, when unconsciously, I spun my keys around my index finger and heard the familiar jingle of the metal, reminding me of something.

“Hey, Spencer?” I turned on my heels. “Can I give you a ride home?”

And so began our routine for the entire summer. I would bring my summer homework to the library, and Spencer would help me understand it, or even complete it, and then I’d give him a ride home. We’d go to the park and read, or we’d go to the movies, or we’d hang out at a diner. And each time, I’d drop him off.

The more time we spent together, the more I learned about him and his life. He told me about his mom, his dad - everything. I did just the same. I told him about my mom, my dad, my siblings - everything.

Perhaps we enjoyed spending so much time together because it was a sweet escape from our houses that weren’t homes. But every time we did hang out, we just got closer and closer, and by the end of the summer, I knew my feelings perfectly clear.

I love Spencer.

If missing that pool party at Melody Hanes was what it took to find the absolute love of my life, then what a small price to pay it was. I wouldn’t have traded a million pool parties for that one chance encounter with Spencer at the science fair.

One day, we were pulling into his driveway after having a picnic at the country club, and I’d just let him out of the car, when unconsciously, I said, “Bye, Spence! Love you!”

He caught the words faster than I did. He looked like a deer in headlights, and it took me at least two seconds more to figure out why. That entire day I’d been thinking about saying it, but by the end, I decided it’d be better not to, and yet, it just came out anyway.

“You love me?”

There were two ways I could’ve answered. The first was to deny it and say that I only meant that I loved him like a friend. The second was to be brave and validate my unintentional confession.

In the heat of the moment, I chose the latter.

“Yes.” I nodded, smiling from my own courage. You only live once right?

In a cruel twist of fate, Spencer never tried to speak, and instead, ran to his front door.

“Spencer!” I yelled. “What are you-”

He gave me one last look over his shoulder before he opened the door and closed it right behind him. That was the last I ever saw him.

I learned, that day, that you do only live once.

But you can die over and over again.

From that point on, he’s lived in my mind as the one that never was.

Regret and shame manifested on Spencer’s face. “I never wanted to hurt you.” He dejectedly began. “But I was young and-and dumb and just ... so scared. God, I was so scared.” He finally looked up, if for no other reason than to gauge my reaction. “I liked you so much, but I, I just couldn’t open myself up to the possibility of being hurt by another person I loved.”

Much like my own life, Spencer’s was riddled with traumatic experiences. Except rather than being expected to take care of younger siblings, he had to take care of his mom. And having to be a parent to your own parent? That’s something I would never wish upon anyone else.

“I ... I get it.” It was a sweet surrender, my words. After years of pent-up aggression borne from humiliation, rejection, and deep sadness, I could finally understand. “But as selfish as it sounds, I wish your past hurt hadn’t gotten in the way of our potential happiness.”

He took each of my hands in his, encasing them with palms of warmth. “Then don’t let the same thing happen right now. Don’t let the stupid, broken teenager I was cloud your judgement of the man I am now. Let me prove to you that I’ve changed.”

I stood there silently, an eerie parallel to how Spencer reacted to my confession eleven years ago.

“When I saw you, it felt like a second chance. A second chance to do what I was too afraid to do back then. And I couldn’t let myself make the same mistake twice.” His eyes were piercing through my soul. Every word plucked at my heartstrings, until I could no longer keep up with the symphony they were playing.

There was the slightest hesitation behind it, but I did inch forward. And in no time at all, Spencer saw the movement and made his own.

His hands released mine and shot straight for my cheeks to cup them gently, while kissing me firmly. He wasn’t the same shy boy he was, and this kiss was only proof of that. The way his lips were moving so fervently made me weak at the knees. He was so desperate and needy, like even with our lips touching, he still wasn’t close enough to me. Unleashed upon me was years of yearning wrapped in prominent lust.

“I love you.” He blurted clumsily on my lips. I didn’t return the sentiment, but that wasn’t why he said it. He wanted to say it so I’d know, not so that I’d say it back.

“You should know,” I muttered between kisses. “I’m not leaving D.C. until tomorrow morning.”

The biggest smirk creeped onto his face. Bastard.

Once we’d exhausted all the things we could possibly do in public, we ran to the nearest cab we could find and exhausted all the things we could do in that, too.

It was already past midnight when we arrived at Spencer’s apartment, and though we should’ve been quiet so as not to disturb the neighbors, we were still breaking out into a fit of giggles like a bunch of teenagers sneaking around as we ran up the stairs. We hadn’t even made it past the doormat, before he seized my hips in his hands and spun me back towards him. Forcefully, he pressed me against the door while simultaneously unlocking it. That shut me up real good, lemme tell you.

As soon as we crossed the threshold, he gave me a reprieve when he held me closer so as to stop pinning me against the door. In an effort to do the impossible, we stumbled through his apartment in a frenzy trying to undress each other while maintaining our bodily contact. With one giant tug of the zipper on my back, my dress fell to the ground. To his atonement, he left me in just a thong. Whereas he was much too overdressed in my opinion.

No sooner did I gracelessly unbutton his shirt than we ran into a plant against the wall. Our smiles practically ruined the kiss at the sound of the crash, but it remained nonetheless. I knew I was in for something, when Spencer paused to wait for me to unbuckle his belt. That was the first time we ever really stopped in place, but just as I anticipated, I was in for it.

When I finally freed his waist of the garment, he just as quickly placed his hand on the back of my thigh, and in one swift motion, hoisted me into the air high enough to allow my legs to wrap around his waist. My arms were loose around his neck and the feeling of his warm hands touching my bare skin sent a chill down my spine.

Due to Spencer’s essential hand placement on my body, I had to be the one to fumble with his bedroom’s doorknob until it finally gave way. Once more, we staggered through his room before he let our lips break apart to lightly toss me onto the bed. I giggled at the squeak of the bed, driving him visibly crazy.

He hastily unzipped his own dress pants, while I propped myself up on my elbows. When he met me on the bed, he hovered over me to the point of having to lay back down again just to see him clearly. He felt too far away so I drew him nearer by lacing my hand through his soft curls. I twirled one around my finger, which must’ve been too merciful for him to handle.

He placed his hand on the back of mine and slid it down to his cheek. He held my hand there for a moment, leaning into the skin of my palm prior to placing a chaste kiss on it.

He didn’t need to say it again for me to know what he was thinking.

I love you.

The anticipation was killing me and in the most impatient manner, I pulled him down to my level, mimicking his similar habit of face-grabbing during a kiss. I knew his hands would’ve flown to my face the way they did just minutes ago, but one was too preoccupied keeping himself up and the other was busy toying with the band of my thong. I shivered at the sensation of him slipping one finger under the material and letting it glide over my tender skin right above my heat.

“Spencer,” I mumbled in a kiss to bring his attention back to me. Although I was certainly interested to know the hidden talents of Spencer Reid and his fingers, I was restless. I’d been waiting years for this moment, and unlike most people, I didn’t want to wait another second. “I need you now.”

He pulled his head back so he could get a full view of my face to examine my sincerity. He wanted to know if I was sure, and my eyes told him such. He nodded in acknowledgement with such speed that I was sure he was craving this as much as I was.

Rather than looking at where our bodies were about to meet, I had to close my eyes so I could fully feel everything without any other sense taking that away from me. In a painfully slow manner, he lined himself up at my entrance. At first, he only lightly pushed in, and it was this slacken movement that made me cry out and grip his shoulders for stability.

He pushed further in until he was fully sheathed inside of me. There was a slight moment of regret for not letting him engage in foreplay before, but that quickly went away when the pain turned to pleasure. He gained more confidence in himself with each stroke, and I could feel it. The more powerfully he thrust, the more I felt myself tightening around him. The over simulation was a stark contrast from the stimulation I denied and so the sensation I was feeling was only heightened by the absence of it before. For that very reason, I knew I was already close. And maybe he knew it, too and just as sweet revenge, he decided to send me over the edge by pulling my leg over his shoulder to thrust into me a new angle. As I’m sure he predicted, I threw my head back as tears began to prick the corners of my eyes. He rode the ever exquisite border between pain and pleasure, and my tears were a manifestation of that. Not even a minute passed, before I tried to moan but pathetically failed, not even being able finish the pitiful wail without the both of us finishing together.

Our heavy panting synchronized and reverberated back to us while he slowed down his pace and pulled out.

Perhaps in the heat of the moment, we lost all logic and reason, considering that even up till now, neither of us had realized that he didn’t use a condom.

But what would eventually happen in the future as a result of this action, or inaction, would surely make us remember.

Spencer lowered himself down to kiss me breathlessly; strands of his hair clung to his forehead as sweat glimmered on both of us. Not until we were ready did we make our way to the bathroom so he could help clean me up. Once we returned, I gathered my clothes, but he made sure to grab my panties before I could even notice.

“Have you seen -“ I cut myself off when I saw what was dangling in his hands.

“Looking for this?” He teased.

All my energy had been spent on him that I couldn’t be bothered to fight for them back.

“Keep ‘em.” I smirked, my hand reaching down to pick up his jacket off the floor and hold it up. “Consider it a fair trade.”

No arguments from him.

Needless to say, I did end up finding a place to stay the night. Where and with whom you might ask?

Well, you can probably figure that one out for yourself.

_ _ _

I wish I could tell you I got a good night’s rest, and I could - it just wouldn’t be the truth.

Spencer and I spent the rest of the night just talking. We filled each other in on nearly ever second of the past 11 years, and once again, I found myself reverting back to the teenager I was at the science fair. The entire world revolved around us as we spoke to each other effortlessly, like no time had passed. Even in the periods of silence, I felt comfortable.

Spencer and I were lying on our sides facing one another when I felt compelled to profess that “I can’t talk this way with anyone. It’s just you.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear with a small smile on his lips. He didn’t need to say that he felt the same way because I already knew. His hand never left my face but instead made its descent down my jawline and stopped at my chin. He raised his thumb to reach my lower lip, letting the pad of his finger graze over the soft skin of my lip.

It felt like he was tracing every detail of my body, running his eyes over every inch at least twice so as to fully commit everything to his memory.

At last, the tension broke when he positioned his hand comfortably at the back of my neck, bowing his head forward to kiss me. This one was quite different than our first, for it was gentler and warmer. We weren’t forcing ourselves to make up for lost time. In fact, this kiss was saying, “We’ve got plenty of time.”

Plenty of time indeed. Which we were happy to spend making love again.

And I will be the first to admit that if our first round of unprotected sex didn’t solidify our future predicament, this time certainly did.

Six Weeks Later ...

“Hello?” Clearly frustrated, Emilia waved her hand in front of my face to harness me back to earth. I hadn’t realized I zoned out until she scoffed at me. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

“No, sorry. Could you repeat it one more time?”

She set down the papers in front of her and sighed unhappily. “What’s going on with you? You’ve been so distant lately.”

It hurt to hear, even though it was the truth. I wasn’t intentionally being despondent, but it’s hard to be present when there’s so much occupying your mind, and there was one thing in particular that was keeping me up late at night recently.

My period has always been irregular. For as long as I’ve had it, I’ve always missed a few weeks, then it would become consistent, then it would be sporadic again. In fact, there was one year where I only had four periods total. So it didn’t strike me as odd when I realized three days ago that my last period was about seven weeks ago.

What did strike me as odd was the other symptoms I was experiencing. Menstruation cycles are known to closely mimic the symptoms of pregnancy, but with the knowledge that my period wasn’t coming, it was disconcerting to me that I was suffering the discomforts without the actual period itself.

To me, there was only one clear explanation for this anomaly.

I was pregnant.

Earlier in the day, I bought a pregnancy test and was late to work because of it. If Emilia hadn’t been suspicious of my behavior before, showing up late only made her suspicion greater.

I didn’t know when I’d take it, probably at home after work, but the anticipation was eating away at me. I would pace around the truck until Emilia finally told me to stop because the vehicle wouldn’t stop swaying with my every movement. I was biting my nails and chewing on each little piece that grew back just to bite it back down to the nub. My hands couldn’t stop shaking, my breathing wouldn’t slow down. I was a hysterical mess.

I didn’t tell Spencer any of my concerns, of course, but being as perceptive as he is, he noticed my strange mannerisms despite my best efforts to hide them.

“Your breathing just got faster. Are you feeling okay?” He paused the movie we were watching to check in on me one time. It should be known that the scene that caused my heavier breathing was a scene of a woman finding out she was pregnant and being absolutely devastated. I quickly brushed it off as just being too warm, to which he turned on his air conditioning. Luckily for me, he didn’t make the connection.

And it’s not that I didn’t want to tell Spencer - I really did - but why should I make a fuss about something if there ended up being nothing to worry about? That would just be extra stress, and the last thing a new, blossoming relationship needs is additional strain.

So without Spencer, I had to opt for the next best thing - my sister.

I’d reached my wits end, and I couldn’t keep up the act any longer. I was walking on eggshells with practically everyone I knew, and I’d sooner go crazy if I didn’t tell someone what I was really feeling. So in response to her question, I finally told the truth.

“I think I might be pregnant.”

You can imagine the shock on my sister’s face. Emilia’s jaw became one with the floor as her eyes widened so big I thought they would pop out of her head.

“You’re pregnant?” Already her eyes were welling up with tears of joy.

“I don’t know yet.” I put my arms around her to keep her calm and stable while the emotions began overpowering her. I wanted it to serve as a reminder to not get her hopes up, otherwise she’d get mine up, too.

“Well, have you taken a test?”

I reached for my purse behind her and rummaged through it until I finally retrieved the box. Holding it up, I reluctantly suggested, “I thought maybe you could be there for me when I did?”

She squealed with joyful elation, practically shattering the window pane with the high pitch of her voice. On top of that, she was jumping up and down with elegant grace that I had to wonder how her pregnant body could even manage to do such a thing.

“Of course, I will! Come, come, let’s go.”

We hopped off the truck and to the nearest restroom, which admittedly wasn’t the nicest of places, nor was the place I ever imagined as a child that I’d be finding out I was pregnant in, but it had to do for now.

When I first came out of the stall, I set the test face down on the sink, so that we wouldn’t see it until it was ready. Emilia set a timer for 10 minutes, but in the meantime, all we could do was wait. Neither of us could stay still; Emilia bounced up and down, rubbing her belly while facilitating some sort of breathing exercise. Meanwhile, I kept tapping my foot impatiently.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Emilia’s alarm scared the shit out of me, and we both were startled by the blaring sound. It was so jarring, but even that wouldn’t compare to the fear I felt when I realized it was finally time.

“Do you wanna look or should I?” She asked.

“You look.” I said at first. But when she lunged forward to take it, I did, too. “No wait, I should.” Then another moment of hesitation. “No, you do it. I can’t.”

I held my hands over my mouth while I watched her carefully lift the test off the sink, maneuvering it in such a way that only she would see the results. I watched her expression closely for any sign of a reaction, but she was stoic as can be. I couldn’t tell if she was disappointed, happy - nothing. Complete and total poker face.

“Come on, Emilia! What does it say?” I blurted anxiously.

“Well, first, what do you want it to say?”

That was a question I hadn’t considered. I was so busy worrying about what I didn’t know, to pause and think about what I wanted to find out. On the one hand, I’d be ecstatic if the test confirmed that I was pregnant. I’d jump for joy because that was what I always wanted, right? But on the other hand, if it said I wasn’t pregnant, then I’d be sort of sad because I got so close to that lifelong dream. But after that, I’d probably just be relieved to have dodged a bullet.

“I don’t know,” I confessed. “I don’t know-”

“Don’t think. Just tell me. What do you want it to say?”

Without missing a beat, I replied, “Positive.” My sister and I alike were stunned by my answer. “Yeah,” I nodded slowly. “Positive. I want it to say positive.” I repeated, to cement my earnest desire.

Emilia’s facade melted away as she began to shake her head. “I’m sorry, (y/n). There’s only one line.”

We both knew what that meant, even if she didn’t explicitly say it. I sighed dejectedly, which was a surprise to even myself. I didn’t expect to be this disappointed, and yet I was. The knot it my stomach worked itself free, and where that pit used to be was just emptiness. My heart sunk and steadied itself, and my breathing resumed its normal pace.

“Well,” I bit my lip. “I guess that’s that.”

Emilia instantly drew nearer to pull me in for a hug, one I was not ready to accept but welcomed anyway. “I’m sorry, (y/n). But I mean, sometimes tests just come out with false negatives.” With her face still buried in the crook of my neck in our hug, she mumbled, “Not this one, though. This one’s positive.”

Immediately, I retreated from our hug and pulled her in front of my view. The sneaky girl had a huge grin that took up 99% of her face.

“You’re pregnant!” She screamed at the top of her lungs, shaking my body violently. We embraced each other in another hug while simultaneously jumping up and down. “I just wanted to trick you so you would know how you really feel. Now you know!”

And I did know. I did know that I wanted this baby and that I was glad it even existed.

Not long after our mini-celebration did I start to come down from the high of my euphoria. A certain realization dawned on me like a cloud of gray hanging above my head to rain on my parade.

What about Spencer?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

PART 2 HERE!

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magicalshitposts · 3 years

Text

The boy finds home

(If you wanna read on AO3 and avoid Tumblr’s awful text formatting Click Here)

The small outlier sat in the corner of Kohga’s throne room, ignoring the commotion in the middle.

“Look newbie, I don’t know what you want to do with the brat but he’s not my problem.” Kohga declared to the foot-soldier who stood in front of his throne.

“But Master, he’s just a chi-“

“Not. My. Problem.” Kohga shooed the man away, and the solider had no choice but to comply, “Boy, come over here.”

The boy did not. In fact, he made no movement at all, acting as if Kohga was not in the room.

“Boy.” Nothing still, “At least tell me your name then.”

The boy spoke for the first time, “Why? If you’re just gonna chuck me out.”

The man on the throne sighed, “Well I am the great Master Kohga. Now you know my name, tell me yours.”

Again, the boy did not.

“Kid, I have better things to do in life then sit around and wait for you to talk.”

The child spoke again, “Then do them, ‘cause your gonna be waiting a long time.”

“Why you aggravating little- Kohga stopped himself, this was a child after all- Keep calm Kohga, keep calm”

He stood himself up from his throne, “Fine, have it your way.”

Kohga was just leaving the room as a spark of panic flooded through the child. He didn’t want to be alone, not again. “I don’t know.”

Kohga turned his head back, “You don’t know what?”

“My name. I don’t know it.”

“Well that’s sad.”

“Yeah – the kid looked towards the man, puzzled– I know.”

The boy had stayed there that night, and the next, and the next and then for a week. It had become clear to the Clan that this boy was staying, if only for a while.

“SOOGA! COME OVER HERE!” Master Kohga’s voice shrilled through the halls surrounding his bedroom late one night and his right-hand man appeared beside the man’s desk in a such small time it made Kohga jump.

“Master Kohga, How may I be of assistance.” Sooga asked looking down to Kohga.

“Firstly by easing up a little, sheesh.” Kogha gestured to another chair in the room and took off his mask, getting Sooga to do the same, “Sit down, your gonna be here a while.”

Sooga sat but by no means looked more comfortable.

“Right then, the boy.” Annoyance dripped in Kohga’s voice. He clearly did not want to be having this conversation, which was a surprise to Sooga. Normally if the Master didn’t want to have a conversation, he just wouldn’t. Why was this different?

“What about him?” Sooga pushed for Master Kohga to finish his thoughts.

“If he’s staying here, he’s going to have to be called something other than ‘the boy’.” Kohga leaned on the back on his seat, his legs too short to touch the ground.

“He does not have a name though, Master.” Sooga watched apprehensively as Kohga swung back and forth.

“Exactly, so what am I getting at?”

“I’m… not sure.”

“C’mon Muscles, dig down in that cavern of a brain.”

Sooga was bothered at this comment. Everyone knew that he was the brains of the operation. The entire clan would be dead if it weren’t for him, especially when Master Kohga got put in charge. Now, Sooga didn’t want to take credit away from Kohga, in fact that was the last thing he wanted, but Kohga knew that Sooga was far from an unintelligent man and he would appreciate the recognition.

Sooga caught on.

“Please tell me you aren’t suggesting we name the child, Master?”

“Bingo, Big guy!”

Sooga looked bewildered by the proposal.

“Sir, with all due respect are-“

“No respect needed lackey; this is what we’re going to do.”

“Sir. Listen to me.” Kohga glanced towards his right-hand man, “by naming this child we claim a sense of responsibility for him, whether we like that or not. Are we prepared to care for a child? Is the Clan prepared to care for a child?”

“Come off it Sooga, you’re making us sound like a married couple.” Kohga laughed completely ignoring the question.

“Master Kohga.”

Kohga sighed. “I don’t know, but the kid’s staying now so it’s a bit too late to be asking that question. And anyway, ‘we’ aren’t caring for anything, I’ll still be preparing to the Great Calamity’s revival and you’ll still be assisting me or whatever, we’ll leave the boy under the Clan’s care. I’m sure with the hundreds of them there are, they’ll cope with one measly kid.”

Not the answer Sooga wanted but he must settle for what he got.

“Now, names!”

The conversation carried on for a while, discussing the different names for the child. They first threw out a few random suggestions, none of which sat properly. Sooga suggested Hayle, Kohga suggested Sooga start thinking of good names before he’s kicked out.

The ideas were just a melting snowball before Sooga stated “He’s Sheikah, isn’t he?”

Kohga tapped his chair, “I mean, yes with that hair but it’s not like he knows. Why?”

“We could name him after the Sheikah naming conventions.” Sooga suggested.

“As a Yiga Master this goes against every one of my core values.” Sooga laughed lightly at the Master’s response to his suggestion. “And who would name their kid after fruit anyway, it’s ridiculous.”

“To us maybe, but this boy isn’t Yiga. We should respect his culture Master Kohga.”

Kohga rolled his eyes all too dramatically before giving in.

“Fine. We’ll call him Apple.”

“Master, Sheikah name’s derive from fruit, they aren’t directly named after it.”

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” Kohga jumped off his seat in his excitement, “We should name him after the mighty banana. He could be called like, Na…Bana… yeah, Bana?”

Sooga just stared towards his boss.

“Fine maybe not, but my fruit Knowledge is not too great y’know!”

Sooga looked around Master Kohga’s room, for any and all inspiration that may come his way. His eyes settled on a tiny, framed painting, one that the Master insisted he hated but had never put away. He felt like Master Kohga’s notion towards this painting may be similar to the one of the child.

“How about after strawberries?” Sooga suggested.

“Oh don’t tell me your looking at that horrible painting- Sooga smiled endiringly- What would we even call him, Strawman?”

Sooga thought about it.

“Robbie.”

“How’s that connected to Strawberries? Strawberry… straw-robbie… Oh! that’s actually nice.”

And it was decided.

The boy was no longer just ‘The boy’, but was Robbie.

He woke up early in the morning, as he normally did. It took him a minute remind himself he was safe… ish. He wasn’t in the forest preparing to go rummage in the trash for food, so it was a step up in his book. He had been told to sleep in the dungeon, in one of the cells. This didn’t make him feel all too comfortable, but the cell door stayed open so that’s nice. He walked around, with aim of going to the mess hall for food. But the Yiga Hideout was windy and treacherous for someone who didn’t know it, especially to the mind of a small boy. He got lost far too quickly for his liking, so looked for landmarks as he did in the wild. He recognised the frog statue that had a crack in its head, it was different than the rest. He was on the right track. He passed the hallway with the holes in the ground (he didn’t know what those were for, but they looked menacing) and then took a left and he was completely and utterly lost. Crap. It wasn’t his fault, all the rooms here looked the same, how was he supposed to know the difference. He was surprised that the people who lived here could tell the rooms apart. He sat down in the dark dingy hallway and waited. There were loads of people in this place, someone would pass him eventually.

While the boy waited for another person to see the light of day went to the closest room and examined. It’s what he did best. He decided to go over the room top to bottom. From the ceiling to the walls, he would know this room better than anyone who lived here by breakfast.

It was big. That felt like a good start. It was huge in fact. The boy knew it may just be his brain playing tricks on him as he was so small, but the hole in the middle of the room must have been the size of at least 20 moblins. A fact for you, the boy did not have the best idea of size.

The boy felt himself getting wrapped up in this room, wanting to know every secret it could ever hold. Why was there a hole in the middle? Why put a lantern over the hole, what if it fell in? How did they make the actual room round? Bricks are square! He had so many questions for this room, all of them he wanted to answer himself, through his own intuitiveness. But that opportunity was cut short by the huge man with kinda dumb hair.

“There you are boy. Come now, you’re needed.”

“Why?” The boy asked.

“Master Kohga needs you in his office.” The big man, who the boy remembered was called ‘Sooga’, put out his hand for the boy to take. He just looked at it.

“I can’t leave. I’m not done yet.”

“Done with what?” Sooga knelt to be on The boy’s level. Patronising.

The boy rolled his eyes at the fact Sooga didn’t know, it was pretty obvious to him what he was doing, “Examining the room. I still have questions to ask it.”

Sooga didn’t quite understand what the child meant but played along anyway. “Could you ask them after the Master talks to you?”

“No, I need to do this first. I’ll forget the questions otherwise.”

Sooga reflected. Normally people here would drop everything if Master Kohga needed to talk to them, but this boy wasn’t a Yiga. He didn’t know the importance of the Master.

“Well the Master needs to talk to you now,” The boy was about to protest before Sooga cut him off, “So how about we write down the questions you want to ask. Then you’ll remember them for after. I can help answer them too, if the Master allows it.”

The boy thought about it. He had never even considered writing his questions down, mainly due to the fact he didn’t know how to read or write, but if this Sooga guy could help him, maybe it wouldn’t be too bad.

“We need to write them down now though.”

“Of course.”

One wrong turn! He was one turn away from the mess hall! And sure, he was glad he made the wrong turn, otherwise he wouldn’t have found that cool room, but he was still annoyed at himself. Sooga had stopped in front of a big red door.

“Behave, okay.” He looked to the boy, who rolled his eye’s in response.

“It depends if he says something dumb or not.”

“Boy.” Sooga’s voice got stricter, “Behave.”

The boy shuffled where he stood, tears forming at the sides of his eyes. He didn’t like getting told off.

“Master, I’ve got him.” Sooga entered the room, ushering the boy to do the same.

“Boy! You’ve been a right pain in my side!” Kohga was sat at a heightened table, eating a banana. He pointed to the chair opposite. The boy made no sign to sit down so was guided to the chair.

Kohga raised an eyebrow, but the boy couldn’t see it behind the mask, “Where have you been?”

“In that cool circle room.” He answered, the thought of his questions came back to him, “Actually can this be quick, I still have questions to ask it.”

Sooga sighed and placed a hand on the child’s shoulder, prompting him to stop. The boy moved away from the touch.

“You hungry?” Kohga pointed to the bowl of bananas on the next table over. The boy shook his head, why were there so many tables if it was one guy’s room?

“Your loss, anyway. I got some news for you. After a week of you being here, I don’t think I’d be forgiven if I sent you back into Hyrule. So, welcome to your new home.”

The boy looked confused.

“What?” He said.

“What?” Was the only answer that Kohga gave back.

“What do you mean, ‘welcome to your new home’?”

“I mean, you can live here. With us and the clan,” He looked to Sooga who just shrugged in response.

“Why?” The boy asked another question.

“Well done kid, you know the 5 W’s.” Kohga paused, “What do you mean why?”

“You were talking about kicking me out only a week ago. What’s different now?”

“Kid, you only arrived a week ago. Of course I wasn’t keen on keeping you around then, but let’s say I’ve warmed to you. You aren’t half bad, and as long as your not a little… pest, you can stay.”

The boy paused. The thought of a home. In his brain he was jumping for joy, so this was home now. Home.

“Thanks.”

“Well that’s news one out of the way-“

The boy jumped in his seat, “There’s more?”

Kohga laughed a little, maybe childhood excitement was more contagious than he thought.

“Yeah, there’s more.”

The child waited in anticipation.

Kohga was really playing it up now, “So, I’m guessing your getting pretty sick of people calling you ‘the boy’”.

The child shrugged in response, “I guess I’m used to it now. It doesn’t really bother me.”

Ouch. Well if that didn’t tug on Kohga’s heart strings. “Well you definitely don’t like not having a name. I could see that from the day I met you. So, if it’s not too imposing or anything. Me and good ol’ Sooga here thought of one for you. Robbie.”

The boy and Sooga had the same look of surprise, but one was hidden by their mask. Sooga wasn’t expecting credit for the child’s name. If he didn’t feel a sense of duty before, he did now. Sooga was a loyal soul and vowed to himself right then and there to protect this child, Robbie, with his life.

robbe. robby. Robbiy. Robbie. A name all of his own. Given too him by the people who he now shares a home with. Holy Hylia. Robbie was now crying. Normally he was good at holding back emotions, tears would form but never stream down his face. He’d be over it before it mattered. This however was so entirely different. He was crying. Sobbing at the idea of having a home, of being Robbie. 7 years he’d just been ‘boy’ or ‘child’, maybe that affected him more than he once thought. Because having Sooga kneeling in front of him saying “It’s okay Robbie, you’re alright” put a band aid on his scared, damaged soul. And it would be one of many as he became a part of a family.

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

I really enjoyed writing this, It’s cute wholesome fun and I will definitely be writing more of this AU.

Also god bless This Post by 7spaceace7. I wouldn’t even know where to start about writing the hideout so this was such a help.

Anyway, have a nice day!

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years

Text

Paging Healer Malfoy // Chapter Three - How To Save A Life (D.M.)

A/N: CHAPTER THREE! This is a loaded chapter. We see a lot of Draco’s centre as a Healer through this; we see just how his job affects him. So there’s a lot in this. This, so far, is my favourite chapter and I know I say that about everything I write, but I am so ridiculously happy with how this has turned out. So please, if you read, like/reblog/comment - let me know what you think whether it’s just a keyboard smash or a whole essay, I eat that stuff for breakfast, dinner, tea.

Summary: A promise Draco made to himself when he first became a Healer is broken - smashed to pieces in front of him, and he doesn't think he can fix it.

Warnings: angst, death, grief, a large time skip - looking at months, arguments, feelings, crying.

Word count: 4.3k

Prologue// Chapter One// Chapter Two

January gets off to an interesting start. It always does when Draco works the New Year’s shift; drunk witches and wizards entering the emergency room with alcohol poisoning or injuries they have no recollection of getting. (Y/N) had covered Christmas Day so he could spend it with his family, as per demanded by Narcissa, but he had covered Boxing Day and New Year’s to repay for that favour. He doesn’t mind it either; he would rather be working than sitting in his empty flat with nothing but his insomnia to keep him company.

Draco has always liked January; the idea of new beginnings sits with him, offering him the opportunity to start again from scratch and build himself up.

His New Year’s Resolution for this year is for him to finally be honest with (Y/N) about his feelings.

-------

January always brings with it the coldest weather despite the knowledge that spring is just around the corner. It brings with it red noses, warm scarves, and dragon’s breath.

He stands with Vera at the admit desk; going through their latest stock intake and what they would need to order more of if the flu season should continue well into February.

“Is that my favourite Healer?” A feminine voice sings out from behind them.

Draco spins around; a smile already crossing his face, “Violet! What are you doing here? Is isn’t a dialysis day?”

She shakes her head; holding up the pager she has carried with her since she was nineteen years of age, “I was sitting down to breakfast and this went off.”

Draco’s eyes grow wide, “It went off?”

Violet nods rapidly, “It went off, so I pushed my breakfast away, grabbed my suitcase and rang Jonathan from the tube.”

Draco claps his hands together in delight, “That’s great news. Did they say you were to get prepped down here?”

She nods, “A Dean Thomas rang me as I was on my way here. Told me to get the initial tests done here and then he’ll come fetch me when the kidney has arrived.”

Draco makes his way around the desk; holding out a hand for her to shake, “I’m so happy for you, Violet.”

“Thank you, Draco.”

He leads Violet into an empty exam room; making sure that there would be no-one to bother her as she waits for the green light to be taken upstairs.

“How are you feeling?” Draco asks quietly; calculating Violet’s blood pressure.

Violet releases a long sigh of relief, “Happy. Scared. Relieved. Nervous.”

Draco laughs, “That’s a lot for one person to be feeling.”

She smiles; eyes shining with unshed tears, “We’ve just been waiting for so long.”

And she has. Draco had treated her all those years ago when she was rushed in by her then-boyfriend Jonathan. Violet had been feeling ill for over a month; it had started with shortness of breath, and then she started losing weight but retaining water in her ankles and feet leaving them swollen as well as complaining about blood in her urine.

Having had enough, Jonathan rushed her to St. Mungo’s where Draco saw her and diagnosed her with kidney failure. She hadn’t even known she had kidney disease; feeling well enough to continue her active lifestyle and her work as a teacher.

From there, Draco had placed her on the transplant list – desperate for a match for a nineteen year old who still had her whole life to live. She hadn’t been out of Hogwarts a year; still very much a Ravenclaw through and through. After that, Draco had her assigned to dialysis which was where he saw her so often that a friendship struck up between him, her and Jonathan.

Draco finishes his examination of Violet; sending off samples of her blood to the lab to be checked for anything he hadn’t picked up. He smiles down at her, “I think you’re getting a new kidney today.”

The smile that breaks out across Violet’s face is blinding; pure happiness personified as if the very sun was sitting in this very exam room.

“Have you told Jonathan?”

Violet nods; her curls bouncing with the movement of her head, “He’s on his way. I think he’s more excited than I am.”

Draco laughs, “I can believe it. Alright, I’ll let you get settled whilst I go ring surgery and see how long it’s going to take.”

Violet smiles, and Draco briefly wonders whether her cheeks already hurt from the happiness shown on her face. “I’ll be back to see you soon,” He says as goodbye; heading straight for the nearest phone to pester Dean Thomas.

(Y/N) joins him at the admit desk a short while after Draco has left Violet.

“Will Dean be coming down to get her himself?,” A pause, “Thank you, Shirley,” Draco answers, putting down the phone.

“I see Violet is finally getting her transplant.”

Draco smiles; eyes flashing towards Violet in exam room four, “She’s been on the waiting list for over three years.”

“You’re happy for her?”

“I was the one to diagnose the kidney failure. She has been through numerous false alarms; the false hope of getting a kidney to find out its been donated elsewhere. I have sat with her through her dialysis when her fiancée couldn’t make it because of work. Yes, you could say I am happy for her.”

“You seem to have struck up quite a friendship,” She comments lightly; reading over an old chart.

Draco rolls his eyes, “It’s hard not when I see her so often and I’m her primary physician.”

(Y/N) sighs; not missing the undercurrent of warning in Draco’s tone, “Well I wish her all the best.”

---------

Dean Thomas had trained with Draco, but rather than continuing in the emergency room, Dean had chosen to go into surgery. He had done well for himself; he had quickly risen through the ranks on the surgical floor, having a knack for putting people back together again.

Arriving in the emergency room, Dean greets Draco with a large smile and a handshake, “It’s been too long, Malfoy. When are you next coming out with the lads?”

Draco laughs, “When Weasley can admit he can’t handle his firewhisky.”

“So never then?”

Both men laugh. Thinking back to the same night where Ron had gotten so drunk on the stuff that he performed his and Hermione’s song outside their window at nearing three in the morning. Other than disturbing the nightlife of urban London, Ron had woken up a very sleep-deprived Hermione.

Dean shakes his head; still chuckling, “How’s our patient?”

Draco smiles, “Brilliant. The perfect candidate; all her tests came back with no signs of trouble.”

Dean rubs his hands together, “That’s what I like to hear. Where is she?”

“Exam room four. I’ll take you there now.”

In the time that Draco has made his phone calls and seen other patients, Violet’s fiancée, Jonathan has arrived with a bouquet of pale pink roses, it seems. He stands upon the entrance of Dean and Draco but does not let his hand leave Violet’s. He smiles at both of them, “Draco, Healer Thomas – this is it, huh?”

Dean nods; smiling, “This is it,” He looks towards Violet, “How are we feeling? Are you ready?”

Violet nods once; firm, decided, “I’m ready.”

-----

Dean helps the porters move Violet to the surgical floor; Jonathan following with his bouquet of pale pink roses, whispering words of luck quietly. It’s a touching sight to see; the love they feel for each other written so clearly over their faces.

Draco knows (Y/N) joins him to watch them take Violet up; it’s hard to ignore her presence, the usual scent of lilies and citrus wafting over him, sending his heart racing.

“She’ll be okay, Draco,” (Y/N) murmurs; her eyes on the couple waiting to get into the lift.

Draco nods; turning to face (Y/N), “I know she will.”

(Y/N) reaches out to poke his cheek, “Then look like you believe it.”

Draco catches her finger with his hand; holding onto it for a minute, “I do believe it.”

Something passes over (Y/N)’s face that Draco can’t define; he drops her finger, clearing his throat at the strange atmosphere that has settled over them. “How busy are you today?” He asks, in the hopes of dispelling the awkward fog between them.

(Y/N) shakes her head as if coming out of a trance, “Not overly. Four patients so far and a capable trainee not demanding my attention every minute. Why do you ask?”

Draco shrugs, “Wanted to see if you would be free for lunch in an hour or two.”

(Y/N) smiles, “I’ll make time for you, Draco.”

Draco places a hand on his heart, “Then I should be so grateful as to buy the lunch.”

(Y/N) grins wickedly, “If you’re paying then I’m definitely making time.”

Draco gasps and (Y/N) starts to laugh in earnest; covering her mouth as she snorts. She shakes her head, laughing fit subsiding, “Let me know when you’re free and we’ll grab some food.”

He smiles at her, “Sounds like a plan.”

(Y/N) touches his shoulder, her fingers lingering, before leaving; needing to see patients and catch up on charts as well as keeping an eye on her trainee. A simple touch and it sends Draco’s heart rate through the roof; such a gentle touch but one that felt like it held so much promise. It had lingered slightly, and Draco wondered whether that was how lovers touched each other when saying goodbye. Either way, he so desperately wanted to know. He thinks back to his New Year’s Resolution; beginning to think that just maybe it’s time to tell the truth.

Draco shakes his head at the plan starting to form in his head; of questions and answers, of dimly lit restaurants and kisses against front doors. With a yearning filled sigh, he goes in search of a trainee, needing a distraction from his wandering mind.

Jude Prewett had proved herself highly independent within her first week of working in the emergency room; having hailed from a long line of Healers, she understood the role she played, but also lived with a huge weight on her shoulders in trying to fill shoes that had been worn so many times before.

Draco finds her with a patient; gathering their history before asking any further questions for their visiting St. Mungo’s today.

She startles slightly at his presence in the room, but soon settles quickly. “What do we have, Healer Prewett?”

“Jonah Ashford, 67 years old. He complains of shortness of breath upon initial examination.”

Draco nods; happy so far, “What have you gathered from his history?”

Jude raises an eyebrow, but nevertheless, continues, “Mr. Ashford has a history of asthma along with brief spells of dizziness that come on suddenly. These spells tend to last fifteen minutes each time and come and go when they please.”

Draco leans against the wall; happy to let Jude continue, “What are you thinking first?”

“He isn’t having an asthma attack though he does need a refill of his medication which I will give him a prescription for. I am concerned about the dizziness and how often it comes on.”

Draco looks towards the patient, “When was your last dizzy spell, Mr. Ashford?”

Mr. Ashford frowns; thinking back, “Last night.”

Draco nods, “Are you getting enough to eat and drink?”

Mr. Ashford looks down, “I try, but I find it hard to remember. My wife, Lacey, used to cook and clean. I lost her last year, and it’s been hard to find a routine when everything reminds me of her.”

Both Draco and Jude nod understandingly; both sad at Mr. Ashford’s story though it’s something they see often. Widows who simply desire company; who can no longer sit in their empty houses and watch time tick by.

“Have you got this?” Draco asks Jude. She nods; eyebrows furrowed as if to say she had this before he interrupted.

“Excuse me, Mr. Ashford,” Draco hears Jude say, “I won’t be a moment.”

Draco pauses outside the exam room; letting Jude catch-up to him. “Healer Malfoy?” She asks.

“Yes, Jude?”

“Is it just me you’re checking in on?” Jude asks; concern lacing her voice.

Draco shakes his head with a smile, “I check in on everyone. I’m checking on Healer Shannon after this. Don’t worry, Jude. You’re doing well.”

Jude relaxes and smiles; relief now evident in her tone, “Alright. Thanks, Healer Malfoy.”

Draco laughs, “It’s fine, Jude. Go,” He nods towards Mr. Ashford, “Continue with your patient.”

Making his rounds of the floor, Draco is relieved to see that the trainees are more than content to work with supervision from their assigned attendings. No complaints from either parties which makes Draco’s life a little easier when it comes to the reviews in just a couple of weeks.

He starts to collect patients to keep his mind off ringing the surgical floor immediately. He rings once, and they update him – Violet has just gone in, it looks to be going to fine, and then he makes himself wait to ring again.

“Draco,” Her voice sings; pulling him from his daydreaming as he sits at the admit desk.

He checks his watch, then checks the clock hung on the wall, “Is it that time already?”

(Y/N) nods; a large smile on her face, “And I do believe you said you would pay.”

He pats his pocket, checking for his wallet, “I do believe I said that. Come on then, let’s go eat.”

She hooks her arm through his. Draco has to resist the urge to pull her in further; to kiss her senseless. “I’m fancying chips, what about you?” She asks; ripping him from his yearning.

He shrugs, “I’ll have to have a look when we get there.”

She frowns, “Are you still worried?”

Draco shakes his head, “No. I’m not,” Then he smiles, “But I am hungry, so hurry your butt up, will you?”

(Y/N) snorts but fastens her pace, nonetheless.

--------

After the third time, Draco rang the surgical floor, they refused to accept any calls from him. Instead, ghosting his calls in order to annoy him further. Draco hadn’t worried; not through lunch with (Y/N) and not as he continues to see patients.

Draco can’t help but continue to glance at the clock; it has been well over the allotted time to complete a kidney transplant. Worry now settles deep within Draco’s gut, but he tries to remain positive as he flits about the emergency room; taking on as many cases as possible in order to keep the worry at bay.

It’s when he sees Dean get off the lift that Draco has any idea what’s happened. Dean looks tired and beaten down; as if all the fight has left him through the last few hours. With a nod of his head, Dean gestures to an empty exam room for Draco to join him in.

Taking a deep breath, Draco steels himself for what he’s about to hear. He knew Dean’s tactics from training and from seeing him work on the surgical floor; he would never let anyone else deliver the news of a patient to friends and family.

From the expression on Dean’s face, it doesn’t look to be good news, “Draco, I’m sorry.”

Draco nods; sadness settling like a boulder in his gut, “What happened?”

Dean looks reluctant to say, but he sighs and replies, “Cardiac arrest two hours in. We tried for half an hour to bring her back.”

All his life, Draco had seen signs that witches and wizards were not immortal – he had survived a devastating war; he worked in a profession where death stalked the halls like a hunter finding its prey. And yet, he had hope for Violet. He had hope that the transplant would be a success and she would go on to live a long and healthier life with her fiancée.

In the span of a single surgery; the hope had been crushed by the skeletal hands of the reaper that wanders the halls of the hospital, collecting souls.

Dean claps Draco on the shoulder in what is supposed to be an offer of comfort, but it does little to quash the growing sense of loss Draco feels.

“If you need anything,” Dean starts in kindness before giving up and saying, “I knew you two had a friendship.”

Draco nods silently; watching Dean had for the stairs. Throughout his career, Draco had never let himself get close to a patient. Sure, there were those who he saw regularly. The frequent flyers, the pain potion seekers, Mrs Larkin – a widow who needed company more than she needed medical treatment. However, Violet came in so frequently for dialysis that it felt almost inevitable they would end up on friendly terms.

Draco rubs a hand down his face; feeling almost devastated at this loss of such a young life.

Needing to be alone – if only for a moment – Draco enters the break room, taking calming breaths. He feels ridiculous; letting a patient’s death affect him this much when he had been at the deathbed for so many – young, old, infant.

He’s so caught up in his emotions, he doesn’t hear the door open. Draco startles slightly at the sound of her voice calling his name.

“I heard what happened,” She murmurs comfortingly – her hand outstretched as if to offer support.

Draco clears his throat; dislodging the lump that has taken root there, “Yes. It’s a sad loss.”

“Are you okay though? I know that you two were close.”

Draco looks down to the chart in his hands; a patient still needing to be seen. He smiles humourlessly, “It’s always sad to lose a patient, no matter how long you’ve been doing this.”

(Y/N) frowns, “That isn’t what I meant, and you know it.”

Draco throws his arms wide; emotions bubbling to the surface, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

She throws her hands up in surrender. Her voice is laced with frustration as she answers, “Fine. Keep it bottled up.”

(Y/N) slams the door as she leaves the break room; making her anger known. Draco, for a brief moment, loses his temper, sending his fist into the door of his locker. It does a little to curb the wave of grief submerging him, but the wave doesn’t ebb. Draco rests his head against the cool, gunmetal grey door of his locker, taking in deep breaths.

He gives himself a minute.

One minute. That’s all he gets to feel it all; to let the loss consume him. To feel the guilt and the sadness.

The minute passes and Draco stands straight. He pushes his hair back from his face and straightens his lab coat.

Clearing his throat, Draco leaves the break room, needing to continue working.

-------

It’s hard to miss the pitying look from the nurses as Draco continues to work; as if the entire floor has decided to walk on eggshells around him.

He continues to work because he needs to; he has no grounds to leave work – it wasn’t a family member he had lost; it was a patient. That was how he was rationalising it in his head. It was just that Violet had been his patient for three years; seeing her so frequently.

Draco shakes his head; ridding himself of the dark thoughts that threaten to break through.

He continues to work because that’s who he is. Through Draco’s adolescence, he found himself being defined by what others thought of him and his family. He was bending to a self-fulfilling prophecy that he didn’t want thrust upon him.

Through his first week as a trainee Healer, Draco found himself redefining every aspect of himself. He did not have to present the hard, touch exterior that his family and fellow students expected of him at Hogwarts. Rather, Draco found himself to be someone who could be soft; who could laugh and joke with the best of them. He found himself to be someone who wanted to help people in their time of need; in their most vulnerable state when all they need is someone to trust and someone to listen.

As he takes on more and more patients, it’s because he needs to work. He has to work through this; he doesn’t often show how death affects him so, but on some level, he had known Violet. He just didn’t expect her death so soon.

Focusing intently on the charts in his hand, Draco blinks away the tears threatening to fall. With a deep breath and a fake smile, he enters exam room two, ready to meet another patient.

--------

Violet’s fiancée, Jonathan, approaches him a few hours after her death. His face is tear stained and puffy as he clears his throat to gain Draco’s attention from a conversation with Nurse Janice.

“Jonathan,” Draco greets, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Jonathan nods wordlessly; blinking fast to get ready of the already building tears. He clears his throat again, “I just,” He takes a deep breath, “I just came down to thank you.”

“For what?” Draco asks; confused.

Jonathan lets his tears fall, saying, “For sitting with her when the dialysis was draining her, and for helping her laugh. For keeping her company when I couldn’t be there because of work.”

A lump forms in Draco’s throat, “That isn’t something you have to thank me for.”

Jonathan shrugs, “Regardless, thank you.” He turns to walk away but he pauses at the last minute, “Would you come to the memorial? I know it’s a lot to ask, but I think it would mean to a lot to her family if they met you.”

Draco nods; not even second-guessing his answer, “Of course. Let me know the details and I’ll get it off work.”

Jonathan nods; his face puffier than before from the freshly fallen tears. He holds his hand up in a wave before leaving St. Mungo’s.

-----

How Draco makes his way home is beyond him. He works the rest of his shift in a stupor; the all too familiar heaviness of grief settling over him for which he feels foolish and ridiculous.

He doesn’t feel the rain that soaks him through to the bone. He doesn’t remember entering his flat; doesn’t remember shedding his coat, letting his bag fall to the floor. Sitting on the couch, Draco submits to the grief. He submits to overwhelming sense of loss battering his walls; demanding to be felt.

On the inside, Draco is a storm; raging, raging, raging.

On the outside, he’s as calm as anything, staring at the mantle piece as he lets himself finally feel.

---------

Draco’s building was one of the many converted mills in London; brown bricked and grand, it stood proudly on its street, wearing its history like a badge of honour. His flat is on the fifth floor; one of the largest in the building – a gift from his parents after completing his training with high honours. He had lived there ever since, and (Y/N) had visited often over the years of their friendship.

(Y/N) knocks three times, calling his name with each one before she tries the door.

Entering his flat, (Y/N) always takes a moment to admire the pictures that line the wall. Admiring the beauty of Draco’s mother, and almost flinching at the imposing figure his father presents.

This time, however, she marches straight past them, calling Draco’s name for him not to reply. She only knew to come over here when he hadn’t met her to catch the tube together like they usually did when their shifts coincided. The words she flung at him earlier, she hadn’t meant. They had settled in her bones with an uncomfortable feeling; leaving a sour taste in her mouth. Truthfully, she had been worried about Draco since the news of Violet’s death had made its way to her ears; the gossip chain of the emergency room never one to falter.

She finds Draco on his couch; still wearing the clothes he left work in. Dropping her bag and shrugging off her coat, (Y/N) takes a seat next to Draco on the couch. He barely registers her presence; barely even blinking at the change of weight. She tries not to let it hurt her, but it does. Seeing him like this… it was something she hadn’t ever seen before.

Draco always presented himself as collected. The most dishevelled he ever got was whenever he worked nights and for most of the week, he would sport stubble. However, that was always gone by the time he came back onto day.

This was something new, though. His grief wasn’t anything she had encountered, and though they spoke often and told each other they cared for one another, they had never truly spoken about the feelings between them.

She coaxes his head onto her shoulder, and it’s there that Draco lets the first of his tears fall and the first of his sobs escape his chest.

He has seen death. He’s courted it for years – through the war, through his job. He has had patients die om him and had mourned each of their deaths, but he had never felt loss this keenly before. He felt scrubbed raw from the inside out.

He doesn’t know how long he cries for; he doesn’t know how long she holds him for but somewhere in between in it all, he manages to choke out his thanks which she hurriedly hushes. Her response being to hold onto him tighter.

Time passes, and his sobs start to slow, but they do not let go of the other, needing their anchors more than anything in this moment. In the pain of it all, Draco finds solace in sleep.

**********

Paging Healer Malfoy taglist: @sycathorn-slush @obsessedwithrandomthings @kpopgirlbtssvt @kalimagik @brycelahelalover @fallinallinmendes @mischi3f-manag3d @remmysrecs @willowbleedsonpaper @nao-cchi @haphazardhufflepuff @soundsquid27 @mytreec @maydillydally @chaoticgirl04 @pregnant-piggy @rhyxn @acciotwinz @birdie-writes @reaganwonders @chanelwonders @izzytheninja @ravenclawbitch426 @ohissandhalasta @missmulti @nebulablakemurphy @pointlesscoconut @cherrylita @harpersmariano @slytherinlovesgryffindor

Draco Malfoy taglist: @the--queen-of-hell @obx-beach @obxmxybxnk @sycathorn-slush @dracomalfoyswifey @kashishwrites @justmesadgirl @detroitobsessed @reaganwonders @sophia-gwendolyn

***if your username is in bold, I was unable to tag you.

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paint-lady · 3 years

Note

hey, if you don't mind, i want your advice: i'm going to be running a chronicle set in chicago (i am using the chicago by night 5e book) for players who are new to vampire for the most part in a few days and i can't For The Life of Me to come up with an interesting chronicle hook (yeah i have read the hooks in the book). any ideas/suggestions/general advice?

Hiya! I could talk your ears off on how I write my chronicles- so hopefully I have taken all my processes and reduced it down to a lovely World of Darkness jam.

Here are two good hooks I just came up with- feel free to use them! The third is what I got for my first chronicle, and I just think its a narrative that works very well for new players.

>Option 1: Guilty Until Proven Innocent ”Chicago is a series of paradoxes and transitions, of ever changing paradigms and whimsy,” (CbN 47). Have your coterie be newbies to the city. Ask why they have come to Chicago. Power? A new start? Perhaps this is a political arrangement between the clan of one city with another. Whatever their reason, they have arrived right when a Primogen vanishes- and guess who is first on the suspect list? The fresh faces on the streets >:) The coterie, having barely settled, has to suddenly prove their innocence. And finding evidence lets them uncover something much more sinister....

This one is ideal for new players as it sets everyone on an equal footing. Even if they create a character that has been a vampire for 50+ years and has amassed several dots of influence, herd, status- whatever, they are still new to the city. And being new means you have to start all over again. (This may be frustrating to a player that invested all those points at character creation- but it is on you as the ST to make sure they have opportunities to use those dots and on them as a player to think cleverly.)

Starting the tale off with defending their innocence is actually a very engaging questline. It effectively sets the stage for the political powerhouses. It lets new players know there are rules- and those in power are watching. It also sets the consequences for failure. Understand that the Camarilla probably isnt going to outright kill the coterie if they fail- always make the punishment just harsh and grueling enough to make final death feel like a mercy. Failure isn’t the end of the story.

For new players- I would be lenient with the time it takes for them to find evidence. But within reason. Think like your Prince and Seneschal. Do you really want this coterie running around for a full week, unsupervised, making more messes? No. You don’t. (You might wanna send an npc with them to watch and keep em out of trouble. Your npc is also able to vouch for them.)

This story lends itself to be a Camarilla Chronicle very easily. You can go Anarch, but an Anarch leader suddenly vanishing and blaming the newbies is much more quickly going to end with blood spilled. Thank your local sweeper.

> Option 2: Containment Breach Blacksite 24 (Loresheet on page 264) was temporarily occupied by Operation Firstlight. It has now been transformed into a medical research facility. While most kindred of Chicago know of Blacksite 24, they have zero clue what happens inside other than bad news for them- the less they know the safer they are. The chronicle opens with a car crash. The captured soon-to-be coterie was in transit to this feared medical facility. The crash did kill the driver and the agent in charge of transporting them. The crash did not fully break their restraints, but it did enough damage that first responders are freaking out. They are all at hunger 3. The chronicle is a hunt. The coterie should have some knowledge of what had happened to them and how lucky they are to have escaped. Operatives are already on their way to recapture them. They must hide in this city- and do their best to survive and stay out of sight.

The point of this story is to invoke dread. I highly recommend one player either being a thin-blood (or an npc) with the Daydrinker merit, or a player to have a ghoul. If they decide to not have a daywatch, they increase their chance of being found.

This story also sets up a feeling of desperation. They would be willing to take shelter from anyone- anyone. Eventually the other kindred will catch on that these guys are on the run from something. Any sane kindred would toss them out to protect themselves. A compassionate kindred who takes them in will suffer the final death as a compassionate fool- or join them in captivity.

This story lends itself to be an Anarch Chronicle much more easily. This is the time the Camarilla will likely be a bit more paranoid and bloody. While they might not outright kill the coterie- they will send them somewhere that is a death trap. They wont dirty their hands with this. After all, you do not want any evidence to fall into the hands of the SI if you hired the hit.

This story is ideal for newbies without background merits. No allies, no influence, no herd. Let them take more mythic merits such as bloodhound and unbondable (Consider finding some from V20 too! There are some really awesome supernatural merits!). These powers would certainly be more fascinating for a medical team to study- not how many instagram followers they have. This kind of story also lets your players feel more powerful- but out of the loop. It lends itself to them forging alliances and getting caught in one-sided favors a lot more quickly.

The challenging aspect of this story is that is starts with a masquerade breach. New players may not know how to handle such a blatant breach and thats okay. I would let the crash slide- and the Camarilla in the background handles it. Breaches after the crash need to be handled with proper consequences.

> Option 3: New Blood This is what my storyteller did to me and my first time players (and its also very close to the plot of CoNY). We were shovelheads. Embraced to make a huge mess for the Camarilla and die quick deaths. We were all thin-bloods. The last thing the pcs remember is the sweet rush of ecstasy washing over them, before clawing out of the earth and driven mad by an insatiable hunger. The thrill of the hunt, and the sweet, warm blood on their tongue, nothing was going to be better. All three will awake next to each other, surrounded by the corpses they drank dry in their frenzy. What a way to play the name game! The players have three nights were they figure out their new condition or coverup their tracks (if they think to do it). They contend with their hunger and hatred of sunlight, wrestle with accidentally drinking their family member dry. After three nights, the Scourge comes knocking. Rather than outright killed, they are dragged to Elysium. For some reason, they are adopted by an upstanding member of the Camarilla- or the Prince orders a political rival care for them (hoping they fail). The players are the errand childer of this kindred, and slowly they figure out what they have been gathering through all these errands....

This one lets the characters all have the moments where they discover their disciplines and powers- and bestial tendencies. It naturally flows to allow players to slowly discover the rules and mechanics as well. All players must play fledglings for this tale.

This story is much more a personal tale than a political one. Eventually politics makes its way in...but it does not have to be a focus.

This story has less of a hook and more of a “Figure it Out” survival mode until the errands begin. The story is how the character’s react to their condition. It very quickly lends itself to a narrative of finding your own path in the night, rather than mindlessly obeying.

So here are a few questions that I ask myself when crafting a chronicle story:

1. What kind of story do you want to tell? Not asking for a plot hook, I’m asking for a general concept. Is it a tale of good triumphing over evil? (Not necessarily a wrong answer, but if you wanna play good guys...vampire is not the best game for that). Is this a chase? Is this a race against time?

2. How do you want your story to make your players feel? Do you want to tell a story that invokes as much dread as possible in your players? Do you want them to feel ultra powerful? Vampire is both a power fantasy and a dread inducing game- it can do both.

3. If you don’t know what kind of story you want to tell, switch gears to worldbuilding. CbN has so many NPCs with the rumors already written for you. Its your setting, perhaps switch two rumors around with prominent NPCs. Decide which ones are true in your setting- Maybe Primogen Annabell did kill her predecessor. Perhaps the Lasombra are attempting to infiltrate the Camarilla as everyone fears- but no one is able to prove it or stop it. Deciding what is true, false, and undetermined usually blossoms into hooks and stories worth investigating.

4. What is a historical event of the city that the Vampires would have endured/ scars would have remained? For example, in my chronicle set in Richmond, the tale of the Richmond Vampire is true. Depending on who you ask, it is the Camarilla’s best or sloppiest cover up. Have the chronicle coincide with the events and the coterie live through them. No one said this must take place in 2021- you can do 2015, 2008, -hell go back the 1990s. Its actually super fun if you set your chronicle in the 90s and your Malkavian is using phrases from 2020.

5. One of my things I do when writing scenes and moments is play Dread by myself. Dread is a role playing game played with jenga. There are no dice rolls, if you want to attempt something, you have to pull pieces from the tower. If the tower falls, you die. If there is a moment where I really really really dont want to pull from the tower, though the reward for succeeding is so so sweet- I keep the moment. If its really easy to shrug and go eh, I can live without performing that action- go back and rewrite it. If you have no incentive to pull from the tower, why would they?

6. Examine your player’s desires and ambitions- and do not neglect them in your chronicle. The plot wont magically allow all of them to achieve their ambitions. However, provide opportunities for them through the plot. Its on them to strive for what their character wants- its on you to make them struggle but have the path to get there. For example, if a player wants to become a Baron, provide a political opening. Perhaps then by announcing their power, they have made a bigger name for themselves and it has become harder to hide. Perhaps by doing this, the kindred they owe a favor is suddenly much more vocal about it.

Here are some suggestions for handling new players:

> You are going to have to handhold them through some things. New players to vtm won’t be able to see the cascading political web and how the consequences of their actions will ripple into waves. I like to use Wits+Insight and call it Common Sense. Common Sense was a merit in V20- and damn is it WONDERFUL. All they need is just 1 success (they can take half) to have you explain how whatever plan they just thought of is actually a TERRIBLE idea.

> Do your RPG consent list. Know what is safe to discuss and what is off the table. I highly recommend utilizing something my Storyteller used for my first chronicle, and subsequently I use for all my ttrpgs now: Invoking the Veil. The metaphor is that you are slowly lessening the intensity of a scene- as if raising the opacity or looking through layers of fabric. Eventually, there is too much fabric and you can no longer see the scene. If something is too intense, the ST or the player may announce they are invoking the veil. Reduce the scene by lowering music, speaking in third person, or avoiding heavy descriptors. You can reduce it further to just dice rolls. Role play stops, and the consequences of the scene are solely dictated by the dice. Or fade to black. If a player is repeatedly fading to black on something- ask to talk to them about it. Clearly something is too intense and they are not having as much fun as they can. Debriefing after a session is also a good idea. Do something silly! Share and check all the memes in the discord chat. Its important to make sure you and your players know that at the end of the night- its all just a game.

> I find the sabbat and new players don’t tend to mix well. You may absolutely still use the sabbat in your chronicle! But the dogma and philosophical ideals of the sabbat can be offputting and downright upsetting to a first time player. You may absolutely build to it- that’s what I did to my players. And in the moment of the truth, they chose to cling to humanity.

> The taking half mechanic is your friend! V5 says players may announce how many dice they are rolling- and if the dividend is greater than the DC- they auto succeed. This streamlines play. Of course, you as the Storyteller may say this is a roll they are not allowed to take half on. Usually these are contested rolls (combat).

> The three turns and out rule keeps combat intense but not too lengthy. It actually streamlines encounters super super well.

> My ST used a phrase, “The quickest way to kill Cthulhu is to give it a healthbar.” If Methuselahs and Elders are involved in your game- avoid giving them stat blocks. This cultivates a conflict that new players must find a way to overcome without brute force combat. It makes them think critically and defy these super old antagonists through narrative means. This also gets the notion out of your and their heads, “if they die, its over.” Its never that easy. Never.

#steph answers questions #thanks for asking!#vtm #vampire the masquerade #vamp tag #storyteller vibes #ghostravens

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tiramisiyu · 3 years

Text

【未定事件簿】 Tears of Themis: A Love Poem to Skadi - Manor of Hermes, Xia Yan Route

Translation Masterlist | Themis Event Masterlist

Routes: Xia Yan | Zuo Ran | Mo Yi | Lu Jinghe

The “Manor of Hermes” portion of this event requires you to search an abandoned mansion, rumoured to be haunted, to discover its various secrets with each of the male leads.

Please note that there are some subject matters discussed in the “Manor of Hermes” as the player progresses that may make some uncomfortable - please exercise discretion and know your limits. Feel free to ask me for details to check!

General Items (Not specific to any ML)

1st Floor - Front Foyer

Letter

MC: Xia Yan, look, there are a lot of envelopes here!

Xia Yan: Let me see… written on the front of the envelopes is…

Xia Yan: … “To Mr. Laste Modero”… was he the owner of this mansion?

MC: Maybe – I remember seeing this surname at the front door.

Xia Yan: Although looking at the style of the mansion, I’m afraid that, since it’s a hundred-year-old structure…

Xia Yan: It’s hard to make out the words on these envelopes because they’re from so long ago…

Xia Yan: We can’t get more useful information for now.

MC: No problem, we’ve only just started. With such a large mansion, there’ll definitely be a lot of things for us to notice.

Xia Yan: You’re right. Then let’s continue in.

Notebook on the Ground

Xia Yan: Eh, wait, there’s a book here.

MC: It’s “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland”… there’s even a signature on the title page.

Xia Yan: “Allie, the one daughter I had…”

MC: This must mean that Mr. Laste also had a daughter.

Xia Yan: Plus, this Miss Allie must have quite liked this book.

Xia Yan: Look – though it’s from so long ago, we can still clearly see the marks of the book being flipped through.

MC: Mm… some places look like they’ve been flipped through a lot of times.

Xia Yan: …

MC: What’s the matter?

Xia Yan: Nothing, I just remembered a statement that I’ve heard before.

MC: ???

Xia Yan: “Those who enjoy reading “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland” have no freedom, and instead desire to have freedom.”

MC: !!!

1st Floor - Maid’s Bedroom

Xia Yan: What’s this?

Xia Yan approached the items spread on the table.

Xia Yan: A notebook... the owner was Anville.

MC: The maid whose nametag we just saw on the door?

Xia Yan: Yep.

MC: Then what did she write?

Xia Yan: Let me see...

Xia Yan quickly flipped through the notebook. As he continued his movements, his expression gradually became... quite off...

MC: What’s the matter? Is there something weird written in the notebook?

Xia Yan: Nothing major - just some big family drama about ethics.

Xia Yan: If it were broadcasted on TV, they could probably make several tens of episodes...

[Get: Anville’s Notebook]

2nd Floor - Prep Room [enter after finishing Jolena’s requests]

MC: Eh? ... Why’s there a rope on the floor?

Xia Yan: Let me see.

Xia Yan crouched, picked up the rope on the ground, and looked it over carefully.

MC: Did you see anything about it? What was this rope used for?

Xia Yan: Remember how we saw some weird marks on Allie’s windowsill wall?

MC: Are you saying that those marks were left by this rope?

Xia Yan: It should be, based on the sizes of the wall marks and this rope’s shape and length.

MC: But that doesn’t explain what the rope was used for...

Xia Yan: Have you heard of the story of Rapunzel?

MC: Are you talking about the story where “the imprisoned Rapunzel used her hair to pull the prince into the tower”?

Xia Yan: Yep, but I’m afraid that what happened in this mansion was...

Xia Yan: “The prince pulled at a rope beside the window to help Rapunzel escape from the prison temporarily.”

[Get: Rope]

3nd Floor - Book Materials Room [enter after finishing Muller’s requests]

MC: ...

Xia Yan: What’s the matter?

MC: Xia Yan, look at the book with the black cover on the bookshelf.

MC: Isn’t it very weird?

Xia Yan: We’ll know after taking it out to see.

Xia Yan took out that weird book from the bookshelf and quickly flipped through it.

Xia Yan: ...

MC: What’s the matter? Why did your expression become so serious?

Xia Yan: This is a missionary book. It’s passed on by a heretical evil cult called “Cult of Rebirth”.

Xia Yan: As for the book’s contents... you’ll know after taking a look.

[Get: Missionary Book]

Xia Yan-specific Items

1st Floor – Dining Room

MC: There are some cracked wood chunks and panels here.

MC: Seeing how they look, they seem to be the same as the chairs in the house.

Xia Yan: But looking at the shapes of the cracks on the wood chunks, they received external force.

MC: External force… so someone smashed the chair?

Xia Yan: Or maybe someone fell on the chair and broke it into pieces.

Xia Yan: Plus, look at these wood chunks. These dark circles seem to be congealed blood.

MC: So an argument or fight broke out here?

Xia Yan: Probably.

Xia Yan: Hm?

MC: What’s the matter?

Xia Yan: There seems to be something else in this pile of wood chunks?

After he spoke, Xia Yan crouched down and started to search through the pile in front of him.

Xia Yan: Found it!

MC: What is it?

Xia Yan: Look.

MC: Yellow gem shards…

MC: They’re the shards from “Allie’s Winter”!

Xia Yan: That’s right!

[Get: Bloodied Wood Chunks & Yellow Gem Pieces]

1st Floor – Kitchen

Xia Yan: !!!

MC: What’s the matter? Why is your expression so strange?

Xia Yan: Look here – these residues seem to be charcoal.

MC: Charcoal? But isn’t that something that will be produced after wood is burned?

MC: Did someone set something on fire in the kitchen?

Xia Yan: I think so. Look at the cabinet on the side.

Xia Yan: Its placement isn’t consistent with the positions of year-round furniture placed on the ground.

Xia Yan: And these old marks surrounding the charcoal on the ground…

Xia Yan: I think that after the original cabinet placed here was burned down, someone brought over a new one.

Xia Yan: And it’s not just here. As we came in, I observed this place.

Xia Yan: Most of the walls on the first floor all have the black residues from after a fire.

Xia Yan: Several important forks in the path also show post-fire results.

MC: So this mansion…

Xia Yan: That’s right, a massive fire might’ve occurred at this mansion.

MC: … Then should we take another look to see if there are any other clues around here?

Xia Yan: Good idea.

Xia Yan shifted his gaze back at the residue on the ground, then reached out to brush some aside.

Suddenly, following his movements, a yellow object revealed itself from the ash.

MC: This is!

Xia Yan: Looking at its shape, it should be a gem piece from “Allie’s Winter”!

[Get: Ash Residue & Yellow Gem Pieces]

MC: Hung on the wall is… a frying pan?

Xia Yan: …

MC: I don’t know why, but I feel like it’s weird that the pan is hung here…

MC: Especially compared to the pans that have been knocked on the floor.

MC: Though they all look dirty and old…

Xia Yan: The frying pan on the wall is clearly somewhat newer. Plus, there are the marks of someone putting it in order.

Xia Yan: While the accumulated dust and dirt on the pots and pans on the floor are thicker than on the wall.

Xia Yan: They also bear clear marks of damage on them.

Xia Yan: They probably were never used ever since someone knocked them down.

MC: But they’re all in one kitchen, so why is there such a major difference?

Xia Yan: One fairly strong possibility is that the pans were knocked down because of some sort of unexpected event.

Xia Yan: And after the unexpected event, someone returned to the mansion again and settled down here.

Xia Yan: The pan hung on the wall should be the one he used.

Xia Yan: Although, these are only my guesses – we still need more proof.

After he finished speaking, Xia Yan extended his head out, looking over the things on the wall.

He carefully stuck out his hand, trying to take off the pan.

The same moment that the pan left the wall, something fell down from the gap.

Xia Yan: A yellow gem… it’s a piece from “Allie’s Winter”!

[Get: Pans that have been organized & Yellow Gem Pieces]

2nd Floor – Laste’s Book Room

MC: Why’s there a clean sheet of paper here?

Xia Yan: Paper?

Xia Yan stood beside me, carefully looking over that sheet of paper, then leaned close to it to give it a sniff.

Xia Yan: This isn’t a clean sheet of paper – there’s stuff written on it.

MC: ???

Xia Yan took the paper from my hands, then look a lighter from his pocket.

He pressed down on the lighter, simultaneously holding the sheet above the flame. A while later, words started to appear, one by one, on the sheet.

MC: !!!

Xia Yan: As expected… the words written on here were written with diluted acid.

Xia Yan: They’ve almost all appeared – want to see what it says?

MC: Mhmm.

I took the paper from Xia Yan, inspecting the contents on it.

MC: … “Commission received. In three days at 19:30, I will bring the police force to your place.”

MC: “Please relax. We will definitely capture your daughter, lost in her delusions, and the hoodlum Winter, who destroyed your house with fire, and bring them to justice.”

MC: “Police Director Chuck.”

MC: Xia Yan, this…

Xia Yan: …

Xia Yan: Let’s look around the surroundings again and see if there are other clues.

MC: Sure.

Xia Yan and I split up and got to work, going around and carefully examining the book table again.

But what was regretful was how, aside from this sheet of paper and the occasional gem pieces we noticed in the corner…

Xia Yan and I got nothing.

[Get: Police Director’s Return Letter & Yellow Gem Pieces]

Statue Password: 1930

MC: This is…

MC: Case files for a lot of people…

MC: (Were they collected by Mr. Laste?)

I flipped through the files I was holding, reading as I thought rapidly.

MC: (A portion of these people were doctors treating mental illnesses. The other portion is those who have already been cured from their mental illnesses.)

MC: (The parts on the case files that have to do with mental illnesses have all been circled.)

MC: (Looks like Mr. Laste paid a lot of attention to this bit.)

MC: Doctors… healed patients… could Mr. Laste have wanted to know about ways to treat mental illness?

MC: (But on the last case file here, there’s an annotation…)

MC: “All… useless”?!

[Get: Many Case Files]

3rd Floor – Storage Room (1)

There were lots of brightly-coloured toys in the wooden boxes beside the walls.

MC: Xia Yan, look, don’t they look like the woolen dolls we bought when we were little?

I pointed at a woolen rabbit as I spoke to Xia Yan.

Xia Yan: Haha, they do look a lot alike. Plus, did you notice how these toys are just like we were when we were little…

Xia Yan: Each one is paired up.

Xia Yan: Look through them – maybe a name is stitched on these toys.

MC: …

I took the woolen rabbit out of the box and carefully inspected it.

MC: Xia Yan, there really are some!

Xia Yan: Ah?!

MC: Names are stitched behind the ear of the rabbit. This one has “Allie” on it…

I scooped out the other rabbit.

MC: There’s “Winter” on this one!

Xia Yan: …

MC: Xia Yan, the relations between “Allie” and “Winter” must have been very good.

Xia Yan: Mhmm, I also feel that way – they must have been like us…

Xia Yan: They used these toys as testament to that.

Xia Yan: After all, all else aside, it’s not easy to collect the pairs in this box of toys.

MC: Why?

Xia Yan: Based on the time when this mansion was built, Skadi Island had been completely closed off from foreign economies at that time.

Xia Yan: Their commercial dealings with other nations were basically “zero”.

Xia Yan: Back then, woolen toys like this were all shipped goods – they needed to be imported from other countries.

Xia Yan: It was difficult enough to get one – getting two would be even harder than that.

Xia Yan: Based on this, they really did see each other as important.

MC: Is that so…

I looked at the toy box in front of me again. Suddenly, a fleeting sparkle deep in the box caught my attention.

MC: Seems like there’s something there?

I felt towards the sparkle.

MC: It’s one of the gem pieces we’re searching for!

[Get: Pair of Woolen Rabbits & Yellow Gem Pieces]

MC: Xia Yan, look – what is this?

I pointed at the objects in the corner.

Xia Yan: I think they’re buckets that contain some sort of liquid – I’ll take a careful look.

Xia Yan stepped up to the oil buckets.

He took out his carry-on collapsible dagger, nicking a tiny hole into the bottom of the bucket.

The moment the hole appeared, a dark, partly-solidified substance came out from the cylinder.

MC: This is?

Xia Yan: It’s the colloidal precipitate that formed after thermal oxidation was performed on gasoline.

Xia Yan inspected the stuff that had appeared in front of us and quietly responded to me.

Xia Yan: But… why are there gasoline buckets here? Plus, there’s no opening.

MC: They’re probably needed for some of the installations in the mansion, so they’re here as backup reserves.

Xia Yan: That can’t be. I specially took a look before – the fireplaces and the kitchen all use wood to light fires in the mansion.

Xia Yan: The lighting in the mansion is also mostly candles and fire lanterns – they basically have no need to buy gasoline.

Xia Yan: Exactly why did they buy these?

MC: Xia Yan, look here, there’s purchase information stuck on the bottom of the gasoline buckets.

I pointed out what I’d noticed for Xia Yan to see.

Xia Yan: Let me see… the purchaser was… Winter?

MC: Mhmm. Aside from that, some of the gem pieces we’re searching for are hidden in the crevice behind the gasoline buckets!

[Get: Gasoline Buckets & Yellow Gem Pieces]

B1 Level

MC: (We’ve already collected all the gems.)

MC: (Johnny said before that the four gems could open four main doors…)

MC: (The notch above this door’s lock is similar to the notch on the fire portion. How about I try putting in the collected yellow gems.)

MC: Xia Yan, look at the thing hung on the wall!

MC: A white coat and scattered long hair…

MC: And the ghost mask on the table… isn’t this like…

Xia Yan: That’s right, it looks the same as the “Lord of Evil Thoughts” that appears in the polar nights, according to legend.

Xia Yan: With the cleared-up pans that we noticed before in the first-floor kitchen…

Xia Yan: It’s very clear that someone settled down in the mansion and pretended to be the evil ghost.

MC: Who is that person? And why did he do this?

Xia Yan: I don’t know who it is, but as for why…

Xia Yan: Do you still remember what those people who encountered the “Lord of Evil Thoughts” did, right after encountering him?

MC: They fled, and never went back to the mansion…

MC: Could it be that the person who pretended to be the ghost did this to scare away adventure-seekers at the mansion?

Xia Yan: I feel like this is possible.

Xia Yan: Based on the marks in the kitchen and the rooms, this person clearly lived here for a very long time.

Xia Yan: To be able to guard this abandoned mansion for so long, not to mention thinking up of ways to scare off the people here…

Xia Yan: Could he be protecting something?

[Get: White clothes and fake hair]

MC: This mirror on the wall over here is shattered.

Xia Yan: Looking at the shatter marks, it probably received external damaging force.

MC: You mean… someone smashed the mirror?

MC: But why would he do this?

Xia Yan: Let me ask you, what’s a mirror typically used for?

MC: A reference for you to clean up your appearance?

Xia Yan: What else?

MC: We can use the mirror to see ourselves?

Xia Yan: Then, what if someone doesn’t want to look at themselves?

MC: So he smashed the mirror?

Xia Yan: That’s right. I’m guessing that the person who broke the mirror didn’t want to see himself for some reason, particularly not his own face.

Xia Yan: Plus, do you remember the bloodied wood chunks we noticed on the first floor?

MC: At that time, you speculated that maybe there were people who got into conflict there.

Xia Yan: Yes. If we link that to this mirror…

Xia Yan: Maybe this person injured their face in the conflict?

[Get: Shattered Mirror]

#tears of themis #weiding shijian bu #未定事件簿 #xia yan #tot translation #tot skadi

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malfoymanortings · 3 years

Text

lavender and velvet //part seven

SUMMARY: she had her fathers eyes, his aristocratic looks, her grandmothers spite, her mothers heart, but the one thing she didn't have was the love of her father that her god brother received. juliet black finally meets her father who has already decided who his child is.

PAIRINGS: to be decided.

hello all! hope you all are doing lovely and had a good thanksgiving. dont forget, im accepting requests for just about anything, and you can find the info on my masterlist post pinned to the top of my page. i would love to write stuff for yall! anyways, enjoy!

taglist: @person1839 @big-galaxy-chaos @spooderham @iamashlynmarie @acciosiriusblack @obsssedwithjustaboutanything @ivettt @msmarklee1213 @briargardens

as always, just let me know if you want to be tagged in the next part!

“Miss Black, wake up.”

Juliet was jolted from her sleep to the sound of her head of house’s voice, opening her eyes to see Snape looming over her menacingly. The sight caused her to jump to attention immediately, and she quickly sat up while eyeing him suspiciously.

“Professor Snape, why are you..” Juliet trailed off, very confused.

“Arthur Weasley has been injured,” Snape responded distastefully, motioning for her to get out of bed. “You are due in Dumbledore’s office with the rest of his children and Mr. Potter.”

“Is he alright?” adrenaline now waking her thoroughly, Juliet hurried off the bed, ignoring Snape’s grimace when he saw she was only wearing a shirt. She quickly tugged on shorts, grabbing her robe and her wand.

“I am unsure of his condition,” Snape was clearly annoyed now. “I had to get you quickly so that you could leave with the rest. Unless you want to be left behind, I suggest you come now.”

“What about my trunk, my owl?” Juliet questioned, following Snape out of the dormitory and down the steps. The castle floor was cold on her bare feet, and she cursed herself for not thinking of putting on her shoes.

“It will all find its way to you.” Snape responded dismissively, opening the door leading out to the common room.

The two walked swiftly to Dumbledore’s office in silence, Juliet’s heart pounding in her chest. How had Arthur been hurt? Was it something to do with the Order? It had to have been bad, for them to rouse the Weasley’s and her out of their sleep to leave the castle.

Snape entered Dumbledore’s office first, where Harry and the Weasley’s were gathered around the headmaster’s desk. Juliet followed suit, immediately drawing her eyes on George, who stood next to Fred with similar expressions of worry and fear on their faces.

“Oh Georgie, Freddie,” Juliet breathed out, gathering the tall boys in a group hug. They held back to her tightly for a moment, before they all pulled away from each other. “What’s happened?”

“Harry saw dad being attacked,” George answered, looking quite shaken. “We dunno if he’s going to be alright or not.”

“He will,” Juliet replied forcefully, taking George’s hand in her own. “He has to be.”

“You have all used a Portkey before?” asked Dumbledore, interrupting whatever George was going to say. Everyone looked at the old man, nodding as they reached out to touch some part of the blackened kettle on his desk. “Good. On the count of three then… one… two… three.”

Juliet felt a powerful jerk behind her navel, the ground vanished beneath her feet, her hand was glued to the kettle; she was banging into other others as all sped forward in a swirl of colors and a rush of wind, the kettle pulling them onward and then-

Her feet hit the ground so hard that her knees buckled, the kettle clattered to the ground and somewhere close at hand a voice said, “Back again, the blood traitor brats, is it true their fathers dying…?”

“OUT!” roared a second voice.

Juliet winced as she felt a pain in her feet; it seemed as though she had scraped them quite good after their harsh arrival into the gloomy basement kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. The only sources of light were the fire and one guttering candle, which illuminated the remains of a solitary supper. Kreacher’s loincloth swished around the corner leading out to the hall, and Sirius hurried over to them all, looking anxious. He was unshaved and still in his day clothes, and Juliet scrunched her nose as the scent of stale drink wafted towards them.

“What’s going on?” he said, stretching a hand to help Ginny up. “Phineas Nigellus said Arthur’s been badly injured-”

“Ask Harry,” said Fred.

“Yeah, I want to hear this for myself,” said George in a tight voice.

Without much thought, Juliet slipped her small hand into his large one, giving him a comforting squeeze. George held back tightly, his eyes trained on Harry with a hard look.

Everyone was staring at Harry, even Kreacher's footsteps on the stairs had paused. Harry looked overwhelmed for a moment, before he launched into his tale of seeing Arthur be bitten by a rather large snake. Juliet eyed him carefully, as she had noticed a look Ron had given him when he described the scene. What was the chosen one leaving out?

Fred and George immediately began demanding they head straight off to St. Mungos, which caused an argument with Sirius. He explained that Arthur had been hurt while on duty for the Order, and it was all too dangerous for them to have already got word before anyone else. It made sense to Juliet, but of course, Fred and George were forces to be reckoned with when it came to their family.

“We don’t care about the dumb Order!” shouted Fred, cutting Sirius off.

“It’s our dad dying we’re talking about!” yelled George.

“Your father knew what he was getting into, and he won’t thank you for messing things up for the Order!” Sirius said angrily in his turn. “This is how it is -this is why you aren’t in the order- you don’t understand- there are things worth dying for!”

“Easy for you to say, stuck here!” bellowed Fred. “I don’t see you risking your neck!”

“Enough,” Juliet stepped in, standing in between her father and the twins, who glared at her. “This is hard for everyone. Think of how Umbridge has been. Do you really think it would be wise for us to rush St Mungos when no one should know about your dad yet? Whose to say they wouldn’t assume he was working against the ministry, and they either make sure he dies, or fires him?”

Fred and George still looked mutinous, but Sirius shot her a grateful look. He glanced back at Fred, and for a moment it looked like he wanted to hit the ginger haired boy, but when he spoke, it was in a voice of determined calm.

“We just have to stay put, until we hear from your mother. Alright?”

Ginny was the first to sit down. Harry and Ron sat next, at the opposite side of the table. Juliet sat next to Ginny, wincing as pain flared up from her feet. The twins glared at Sirius once more, then George sat next to Juliet while Fred sat next to Ginny.

“That’s right,” said Sirius encouragingly. “Come on, let’s all…. Let’s all have a drink while we’re waiting. Accio butterbeer!”

He raised his wand as he spoke and a dozen bottles of butterbeer came flying onto the table from the pantry. They all drank, and for a while the only sounds were those of the crackling of the fire and the soft thud of their bottles on the table.

At some point, George’s hand had found Juliet’s once more. She ran her thumb consolingly over the back of his hand, resting her head on his shoulder. In turn, George wrapped his arm around her, keeping hold of her other hand. Juliet rested her other hand on his thigh, tracing circles over his pajama pants.

Harry seemed to be deep in thought, across the table from them, his brows furrowed and guilt written all over his face. Juliet frowned slightly. Had it not been for Harry, they would have had no idea that Arthur had even been injured. Harry shouldn’t feel guilty.

A flash of light appeared, and with it came a note from Molly, delivered by Fawkes. She told them all to stay put, and she was with Arthur now. It didn’t sound very hopeful, and that was clear to everyone in the room.

“Still alive..” George said slowly. “But that makes it sound…”

He did not need to finish the sentence. It sounded as though Arthur was hovering somewhere between live and death. Juliet held onto George’s hand tighter, and he laid his head on top of hers. Fred examined the letter himself, taking it out of George’s hand. Ron stared at the letter, as though he hoped it would bring him words of comfort.

At some point, Sirius suggested they all go to bed, but the murderous glares from the Weasley’s were enough to answer. They sat in silence around the table, watching the candle wick sink lower and lower into the liquid wax. They spoke only to check the time, wonder aloud what was happening, and reassure each other that if there was bad news , they would know straight away, as Molly was at St Mungo’s then.

Fred fell into a doze, his head sagging sideways on his shoulder. Ginny had curled up on her chair like a cat, but her eyes remained open. Ron had his head in his hands, and it was difficult to tell if he was awake or not. George kept his head rested on Juliet’s, the grip of their hands onto each other letting her know that he wasn’t asleep.

Finally, at ten past five in the morning, the door swung open and Molly entered the kitchen. Everyone half stood in their chairs, but Molly waved them back down, giving a wan smile. She informed them that he would be alright, he was sleeping, and Bill was sitting with him now.

They all let out shaky sighs and sounds of relief, and George, Ginny, and Juliet walked over to give Molly a hug. Sirius declared they had breakfast, and although he called for Kreacher, the house elf didn’t appear. He began breakfast himself, and Juliet slipped away to help him, Harry, of course, joined him.

Eventually, Molly came over, waving Harry and Juliet off, to begin breakfast. She told Sirius that they would probably be spending Christmas there with him, and he beamed brightly at the news.

Juliet felt the sudden urge to talk with her father, maybe vent about Umbridge, but before she could, Harry had taken him out of the room for a talk. Her face fell, and perhaps it was the mix of disappointment and lack of sleep, but she felt tears fill her eyes.

“Come on now darling, there’s no need for tears,” George appeared at her side, giving her a kind smile. “Let’s sit at the table while we wait for breakfast.” he reached a hand out, his thumb swiping at a tear that had escaped and rolled down her cheek.

Juliet swallowed hard, and followed George to the table with the rest of his siblings. Soon, breakfast was served and they all ate rather quickly, the nerves of the night having made them ravenous. Once they were done, and the table was cleared up, Molly ordered them all to bed. She told them that once they woke up, they would go back to visit Arthur.

The kids all trudged upstairs, Harry and Ron entering the same room they had spent the summer in. Juliet went to follow Ginny inside the room they had shared with Hermione, but George tugged on her arm.

“Would you mind..” George trailed off, suddenly looking shy. It was very unlike him. “Can you sleep in mine?”

“Oh,” Juliet paused, thoughts of Theo swarming her head. Well, he wouldn’t care anyways, would he? She and George always did this. Surely Theo wouldn’t mind, not that he would find out anyways. “Of course, Georgie.”

George smiled down at her, and she followed the twins into their room. Fred immediately fell into the bed, pulling the covers over his head, and it sounded as though he was asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

Juliet laid in the bed first, shrugging her robe off before she did so. She was aware of George’s eyes on her, but she ignored it. After all, he was just waiting for her to get in bed so he could lay down. He was surely worn out from waiting all night for news on his father. That was all.

George slid in next to her, turning on his side to face her. Juliet peered up at him, getting lost in the many freckles that dotted his nose. He reached out a hand, swiping her hair out of her face, resting his palm on her cheek. Juliet’s heart quickened, and she glanced at his lips before looking at his brown eyes, glistening with an emotion she couldn’t decipher.

“Jules,” George’s voice was soft, full of exhaustion, and his eyes fluttered shut as he pulled her into his chest. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Georgie..” Juliet swallowed hard, looking at the face of her best friend. That didn’t sound like something you said to your best friend.

George’s lips parted, and he let out a deep breath. His face relaxed, making him look much younger than his seventeen years. He was asleep, no doubt ragged from the exhaustion of the night's turn of events.

For a long moment, Juliet stared at his face. He was so handsome in a ruggedly, manly yet boyish way. His smile could brighten the darkest day and his laughter would make you laugh yourself, especially because it normally followed a joke. This close, his lips in such proximity to her, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like if she just inched further and pressed them to her own-

Merlin, what was she thinking? This was her best friend she was talking about. Besides that, he had Alicia Spinnet. And she had Theo, even though they hadn’t given each other a label yet.

Juliet screwed her eyes shut, and before long, she had fallen asleep in his embrace.

For the first time, Juliet woke up before George. It had felt like she had jolted awake, and she glanced around the room wondering what had caused it. Of course, the cause of it was Fred, who was tugging on a shirt with his trunk next to him.

“Afternoon, Jules,” Fred winked at her, looking at how she was wrapped in George’s arms. “Nice sleep?”

“Why’d you say it like that?” Juliet was immediately defensive, and despite not wanting to, she pulled out of George’s arms. She missed his warmth at once. “We always sleep together- not together, but in the same bed- oh for fucks sake, you know what I mean!”

Fred let out a roar of laughter at her words, grabbing his stomach as he fell onto his bed. He shook the frame, he was laughing so hard.

“Merlin, can you be any louder..” George sat up, his hair ruffled from his sleep. His eyes fell onto Juliet, who was an unflattering shade of maroon as she sat next to him. “What’s going on?”

“Freddie’s just being an arse,” Juliet grumbled, carefully climbing out of bed. “I see our trunks have come. I’ll have to get ready, I’m sure we’ll be leaving soon.”

“Alright, see you,” George gave her a half wave, sitting up and glaring at Fred. “Merlin's beard Fred, what is your problem?”

Juliet left the room before she could hear his response, nearly running into Ginny in the hallway. The redhead was brushing her wet hair, her dirty clothes bundled up in her arms.

“Good, you’re up,” Ginny nodded to her, walking into their room. “We’re leaving in about ten.”

Juliet dressed quickly, jeans and a hoodie, and walked downstairs. Molly was speaking to Sirius in hushed tones, and their conversation cut off rather quickly once she came down the steps.

“Hello, dear,” Molly smiled, looking out of place on her haggard face. “Good to see you.”

Nearly at once, everyone else came bounding down the steps. Within minutes, everyone except for Sirius was heading to St. Mungos. It was most unassuming, appearing to be an abandoned muggle shop, but it was the entrance to the Wizarding hospital.

Moody and Tonks had arrived with them, but they stayed out in the hallway while the others entered the room. Arthur was doing well, sitting up and reading a book, and he thanked Harry for saving him. Soon enough, Molly was herding the kids out of the room so they could speak privately with Moody and Tonks.

It was a pleasant visit, but Fred and George had the great idea of using their Extendable ears to listen in on their discussion. Juliet was huddled around with them, as they all fought to listen in on the conversation.

“The boy’s seeing things from inside You-Know-Who’s snake… Obviously, Potter doesn’t realize what that means, but if You-Know-Who’s possessing him, then there’s no telling what can happen. Dumbledore has to take whatever precautions he can.”

Juliet pulled away from the Extendable Ear, glancing over at Harry who was now white as a sheet. The others were looking at him too, giving him a fearful once over.

Was it possible Harry was being possessed?

They left back for Grimmauld Place shortly after. The mood was subdued, mainly due to the information they heard through their eavesdropping. Molly didn’t seem to notice much, and began prattling on about their Christmas plans and how they were going to be going to Diagon Alley the following day for the kids to do their Christmas shopping.

After they arrived back, Harry went up to take a nap, claiming he didn’t feel well. Juliet could assume it probably had more to do with what they had overheard. Fred and George headed upstairs to work on more ideas for their shop. She, Ginny, and Ron went into the living room, and began playing Exploding Snap.

“So, Jules,” Ginny nudged her knee with her own, a grin on her face. “Theodore Nott? Are things getting serious?”

Juliet blushed, suddenly wishing this conversation hadn't come up. “I wouldn’t say that, no. We haven't really given ourselves a label. Just kind of going with the flow.”

“You guys snog all the time. Seriously, I feel like he’s always touching you in some way. Plus, he carries your books for you. Literally. I didn’t even know guys did that.”

“Well, we haven’t really discussed if we were dating or not.” Juliet was starting to get very uncomfortable with the way the conversation was going now.

“What’s this I hear?” Sirius suddenly appeared in the doorway, his arms crossed and a smile on his face. “Have you and George started dating, Juliet?”

“No!” sputtered Juliet, her face heating up as she threw out her arms in protest. “Absolutely not! We’re just friends.”

Sirius cocked a brow, his eyes narrowing. “I’ve never looked at my friends the way that boy looks at you. If you aren’t talking about George, then who are you talking about?”

Ginny began to speak, but Juliet cut her off. “No one. No one, just drop it.”

She really didn’t want her father to know she was kinda but not really dating Theodore Nott. His father was a Death Eater, she was pretty certain, and her father would certainly blow a fuse if he knew she was even friends with him.

“Alright, alright, I have other ways of finding out. Perhaps I should go have a talk with the twins…” with that, Sirius left the room.

Juliet groaned, falling backwards on the floor. She grabbed a pillow off the couch, and shoved it in her face, letting out a frustrated scream. Ginny laughed from beside her.

“Blimey, girls are difficult.” Ron muttered.

Juliet could only hope for the best.

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softbiker · 4 years

Text

Bucky Barnes Oneshot

Warnings: 18+ only - smut (oral, f/r), cursing, unsanitary kitchen conditions

Word count: 3.2k

A/N: This is my Valentine’s Day gift to all of you! You’re welcome ;) Apparently I’m in a writing rut and the only thing that can get me out is writing smut...I’m not going to question it. As always, feedback is appreciated! <3

Post-mission, post-debrief, post-shower.

Pre-dinner, pre-Netflix binge, pre-dessert.

Bucky swipes at the fogged mirror with a towel, leaving streaks that slightly reveal his own damp skin and dripping hair. A harsh breath blows past his lips as he examines the planes of his own skin, leaning forward into the mirror. His whiskers have grown out over the last few days, unable to shave due to forgetting his razor, and he refused to share with Natasha’s legs, in spite of her insistence that she wouldn’t mind. There’s a nice shiner blooming under his right eye, bright purple-red on his cheekbone - lucky swing of some thug’s fist. Didn’t land a second hit, though.

Towel around his waist, not yet dressed, the drops from the tips of his hair drip down his shoulders as he continues to frown at his reflection, fingers rubbing absently at the scratchy new growth on his cheeks. Should he shave? Eyelids already growing a little heavy, breath slow - he doesn’t want to. He wants to slip on his pajamas and go find her in the kitchen; he knows she’s there, he can smell the pressed garlic and hear the light pad of her toes as she shuffles around, swaying to her music. The corner of his mouth twitches just a little, and he reaches down, digging in the second drawer for his shaving cream. He’ll go ahead. She’ll like it.

The cold lather on his skin and the scrape of the razor wakes him up just a little; the fog on the mirror slowly fading and his hair drying in soft waves that he curls behind his ears. Lips pursed as he turns, examining his profile, whistling a soft tune - something jazzy and familiar, more muscle memory than anything. The back of his mind buzzes with swing music and cigarettes, another lifetime, another man. A man he sees reflected back in the glass, right before his eyes, as he pats down his now-smooth cheeks with a towel, soft skin flushed a little with the cold water and the friction of cotton. He gives himself a slow nod in the mirror, rolling his shoulders, and takes a slow breath.

Rubbing his hands together, his whistling turned to a low hum in his throat, he shuffles out to the chest of drawers for his boxers and pajama pants; her music comes drifting through the doorway, something poppy with a good beat, the singer’s smooth voice weaving up and down through the lyrics. Beneath the music, he can hear his girl humming along, a word or two passing her lips as she mouths along to the melody. Bucky smiles to himself. Time to go see about a girl.

**********

Another pinch of salt…maybe two pinches. She dips her pinkie into the spoon and takes a small taste of the sauce, tongue smacking as she examine the flavor. Definitely more garlic. She reaches for the pressed cloves on the cutting board, sprinkling them into the pan. The sauce sizzles and bubbles as she stirs, nearly ready to add the tortellini. She turns the burner down low and whirls around to the island, where the standing mixer has done most of the work on her brownies. A moment’s deliberation, and then she adds in the caramel bits she was saving, debating whether or not to toss them in the batter. She pops one of the morsels into her mouth, thinking “why not?”.

Her phone is propped up next to her bluetooth speaker, shuffling a fun new pop album, and she shimmies her hips as she steps back to the stove, reaching for the tortellini. The shower had shut off several minutes ago - surely Bucky would be ready to eat soon. Poor thing, he was always ravenous after missions, surviving on protein bars and takeout; his pitiful texts bemoaning his hunger and how much he missed her cooking always ensured a piping hot home cooked meal on his arrival. Tonight’s menu? Pasta and chocolate, a $7 wine chilling in the fridge; he always liked rich food, the heavy flavors so unlike the boiled and bland taste of his childhood. In the 21st century, he had abandoned the bare bones nutrition of his Depression kitchen in favor of a wide array of modern culinary miracles. She enables him a little, all too happy to see his eager, excited puppy eyes at the prospect of a new recipe; all too weak to his boyish pout at the grocery store when something brightly colored and full of sugar catches his eye.

“I need this, babydoll - it’s got Steve’s picture on the front! I could win a chance to meet Captain America!”

“You see him every day!”

“Yeah, but the sweepstakes includes a cash prize, too! C’mon, honey, please?”

Yep. Total enabler.

The song changes from a slower track to a faster one, the album’s title song and catchy as all hell, she bobs her head along and dances back and forth in front of her pasta, now finished, just waiting for-

On cue, a pair of hands slide around to grip her hips mid-sway, a firm chest pressing up against her back.

“What’s cookin’, hot stuff?” His lips grinning against her ear, pressing a little kiss to the skin just beneath. Strong fingers give her hips an affectionate squeeze as he sways them a little in time with her music.

“Tortellini. With that homemade sauce you liked last time.” Tipping her head over her shoulder, she shares a light kiss with him, lips lifting in a sweet smile - the best ‘welcome home’ a man could ask for. When she tries to pull away he leans in, presses firmer, holding onto the kiss for just a few seconds longer.

“Well, ain’t you sweet,” he whispers, nudging her nose with his own. She hums.

“Not as sweet as the brownies I’m whipping up.” Her eyebrow tilts up in challenge; those brownies are his weakness - well, that and every other form that chocolate can come in. His sweet tooth is something else she consistently indulges, since he insists on pushing his super soldier metabolism to its absolute limit.

At the mention of brownies, his eyes perk up and he stands up straight, looking around at the kitchen counters for the promised treats. Their feet shuffle awkwardly as he turns without loosening his grip, dragging her with him and flicking drops of the coveted sauce across the floor and countertops from the spoon still in her hand.

“Buck! Hey! You’re making a mess,” she protests, reaching for a paper towel and trying to wiggle out of his grip. He catches sight of the brownie batter on the island and gasps, a little victorious “yes” escaping his lips as he reaches for it, finally releasing his hold on her. Freed for the moment, she takes the opportunity to wipe up the drips of sauce on the floor and tosses the paper towel in the trash.

When she turns back she catches him - lips smacking around the spoon in shameless approval, dimples appearing in his cheeks, eyes dancing with mischief as he meets her eyes over the spoon.

“Bucky!” she huffs. “I wasn’t done with that yet, they still have to go in the oven!”

He raises an eyebrow, a challenge, a dare, and inches the now-contaminated spoon back towards the batter.

“Oh, that’s okay, babe - I can just eat it with a spoon,” he smirks, seeing her fists tighten before she lunges for the bowl, grabbing with both hands and tucking it to her chest to save further batter from being stolen.

“That is not the proper way to eat brownies and you know it.” He’s taking her speech very seriously, if the grin on his face is anything to go by. “You could get salmonella.”

“Worth it.”

She rolls her eyes and turns back to the kitchen counter, where her pan is already waiting, already greased with Crisco - with a glance over her shoulder to find him still watching, leaning against the island with his arms crossed, she plucks a whisk from the jar of utensils and pours out the batter, scraping the sides and letting it all drizzle its way into the pan. It slides into the oven lightning quick, before he can make another attempt at it.

Whisk and bowl now on their way to the sink, and with a satisfied hum she glides a finger down the cage of the whisk and sticks it in her mouth. Releasing it with a pop, she smiles at him across the island.

“Mmm.” An exaggerated groan, and she can see the flush starting high on his cheekbones. “You’re right - it is good enough to eat with a spoon.”

His steps are slow, measured, stalking, as he rounds the island, his tongue tracing his lower lip. Caught in his stare, she can’t bring herself to move - her heart starts picking up its pace, a rabbit’s excited thumpthumpthump against her ribs, and she grips the counter behind her. Without leaving his eyes, she draws her hand up, deliberately slow, and scoops another helping of the batter onto her fingers. Biting her lip, secret smile pressed into her cheeks, her fingers creep back towards her mouth, when he suddenly intercepts. A strong metal grip wraps around her wrist and brings her hand back to his face, slipping her fingers into his own mouth and sucking them clean. Her stomach swoops at the feel of his tongue tracing her fingers, swirling over them in long, firm strokes.

She opens her mouth to say something, a pun, a flirty innuendo, but all that comes out is a muted gasp when his hips press her own further back against the kitchen counter. Wolfish, hungry, he’s smirking at her as he pulls her fingers from his mouth. Cool metal fingers grip the back of her neck and he hauls her into a filthy open-mouthed kiss, his tongue licking deep into her mouth, as if he could get a taste of the chocolate that remained there. He groans when she responds in kind, sucking lightly on his tongue and rolling her hips against his in a slow grind.

Keeping his metal grip in her hair, his other hand slides down her side, squeezing the soft flesh at her hips and tracing the skin just under the hem of her shirt, before fingering the button of her jeans. He hears her breath stutter when he squeezes her through her jeans, the firm pressure of his fingers and the rough seam of the denim sending a brief jolt down her legs at the friction. He smiles against her lips, still ravishing her mouth, tracing the line of her teeth with his tongue. Nimble fingers undo the button and zipper, before slipping his hand inside to rub her through her panties.

“Oh, honey,” he clicks his tongue. “You’re so wet already - I ain’t even touched you yet.”

“Believe me, I know.” Her voice is never as firm as she wants it to be, her usual sass melting into breathy whines every time he touches her this way. A particularly firm press of his fingers over her clothed core has her hissing through her teeth, just the frustrated side of pathetic. “Buck - please.”

His metal hand scratches the back of her skull, affectionate and comforting, as he nuzzles his nose against her cheek.

“You gonna let me lick the bowl, honey?” he asks, low and husky, and for some reason she’s still thinking about the brownies when she nods emphatically, totally willing to barter sweets for everything his voice is promising. He grins against her skin, licking across her jaw and down to her neck…then removes his hand from her jeans to the tune of an offended whine. Her small, cold fingers grip his wrist, trying to keep him there as she pouts.

“Bucky,” and she’s not even trying to control the way it sounds now, needy and breathless. Warm tongue tracing the shell of her ear, he huffs a little laugh and squeezes her hips.

“Don’t worry, baby, I gotcha.” He withdraws an inch or two, rearranges their embrace to get a better grip around her hips. “But you said I could have a lick, so-” With no further warning, his palms each grasp a handful of her ass and hoist her up into his arms, her legs winding around his waist on instinct. Nails dig into his shoulders, leaving little red crescent shapes in the soft, freckled skin. His teeth nip at her neck between sweeps of his tongue, and she moans as he pays particular attention to her pulse point.

With a turn and a few steps, he’s back at the island, gently depositing her on the edge, his hands stroking up and down her sides. A few insistent tugs at the hem of her shirt, and she lifts her arms to let him peel the offending fabric away, tossed somewhere behind him. His hand is firm on her spine as he lays her back against the marble, the cool surface making her arch up against him. Soft lips press a final firm kiss against her collarbone as he pulls himself back, looking down at her - adoring eyes, wet lips - his hands making their way down to remove her jeans. A dark flush spreads across his chest as he pulls them down, his eyes finding the wet spot on her panties, and she feels her entire body heat up as his lust-blown eyes drink her in.

His metal hand grasps one of her ankles, lifting her leg to press a kiss there and working his way up, dragging his tongue against the sweet-smelling skin and taking his time on his way to the real prize. A little bite at her inner thigh, and a scratch of his fingernails, has her giggling and moaning at once. He leaves a kiss over her panties and moves to the other side, still savoring, still teasing, tracing his lips over the ticklish skin on the inside of her knee just to make her squirm. Sliding his hands along her legs, he massages her calves gently, knowing how sore she gets from being on her feet all day - he makes a mental note to give her a full-body massage soon. That never fails to get them both going.

He licks up the arch of her foot and holds back a laugh when she huffs and tries to kick at him.

“Are you going to get back up here anytime soon?” she pouts, fingers tugging at his hair, just the way he likes. Just the way that makes him a little bit wild. Teeth sink into his lower lip as he looks at her under his lashes, his eyes dark and hungry.

“Oh just you wait, babydoll,” he promises with a low growl. “Gonna taste you till you’re screaming.”

Before she can respond, his fingers curl in the waistband of her panties and yank them down her legs, flinging them over his shoulder impatiently. Hands beneath her ass, he lifts her hips up, licks his lips, and dives in with a broad lick up her slit.

Shameless and eager and starving for his girl, Bucky buries his whole face between her thighs, his nose nudging her clit as he laves at her entrance, the tip of his tongue slipping inside to draw out more of her juices. From there he traces a path upwards, sucking on her lips and drawing warm, wet circles over her clit.

“Oh, god…Bucky,” she arches into him, the words trailing off into a moan when he wraps his lips around her bud and sucks.

With a final harsh squeeze of her ass, his hands curl up from under her hips, one tracing up to grasp her breast, the other twining his fingers with her own. She squeezes his hand and gasps, holding on for dear life as he plucks and tweaks her nipples in time to the strokes of his tongue against her heat.

He’s too good at this - he always has been, not that she’d ever tell him and let his ego inflate that much larger. But Bucky Barnes eats pussy like he’s on a fucking mission; he’s groaning as he devours her cunt with his entire mouth, tracing his tongue up and down, side to side, nipping delicately at her folds with his teeth. She can barely keep her eyes open, but she can see the slick shining across his freshly-shaven cheeks, even on the tip of his nose, when he pauses to take a breath and fucking winks at her before going back for more.

Her toes curl against his back, thighs tense and trembling with every swirl and suck of his wicked tongue; she feels his hand leave her breasts and moans in protest, before the digits reappear at her entrance, gathering wetness for a moment before slipping inside.

A whispered “fuck” is all she can get out when his fingers scissor inside her, twisting back and forth, before curling upward and stroking firmly against her upper wall with the pad of his fingers. Never letting up with his tongue, the pattern against her clit constantly changing, she feels the heat pooling in her belly, hot and insistent and so, so close.

“Buck, I’m - fuck, I’m so close,” she whines, and he smiles and nods against her, pulling another sweet moan from her lips. The tip of his tongue draws lines and swoops over her bud, a strange pattern almost like, like -

B-

Jesus Christ, he’s -

U-

He’s writing his fucking name -

She shudders at the letters “C” and “K” when he presses firmer with the flat of his tongue, cheeky bastard. By the time he’s started on his last name, her whole body is starting to shake, the room is impossibly hotter, her head feeling dizzy and light. Her nails dig into his scalp as she cries out his name again.

“Go ahead, go on, come for me, honey,” he coaxes, before giving her clit a harsh suck while pressing that secret spot inside her. It tumbles her over the edge, her hips rolling into his mouth and her back arching up from the counters, her pants and moans falling breathless and sweet in his ears. He works her through it, continuing to lick and stroke her folds, pulling away every so often to leave kisses on her thighs and nuzzle her hip. When she starts to push his head away he pulls out his fingers, watching the gush of wetness that follows.

He drapes himself back over her body, a hand on either side of her head, as she comes back to herself and opens her eyes. Blinking a few times, she smiles at him, sharing breathless little kisses as he smooths her hair back from her face.

“You’re a menace, Bucky Barnes,” she laughs, eyes and limbs feeling heavy and soft.

“Yeah but you already knew that, sweetheart.” He kisses the tip of her nose, her closed eyelids, her cheek. “And besides -,” without warning, he scoops her up in his arms and heads towards the bedroom, leaving their mess - and dinner - behind.

“You know I like to have my dessert first.”

#bucky x reader #bucky x reader smut #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fic #bucky barnes smut

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preciseprose · 3 years

Text

Kiki (2/2)

Prompt: Hanging Out (Companuary: February 2nd, 2021)

Fandom: The Owl House

Relationship: Belos and Kikimora (platonic)

Synopsis: Kikimora talks about her life and Belos opens up slightly.

Author’s note: This is a continuation of the drabble I posted two days ago. It isn’t necessary to read that one first though.

- - -

“Where should I start?” Kikimora offered, accepting the glass of blood wine Belos had poured for her.

“Hmmm,” Belos hummed, drawing his fingertips into a bridge. “Why not start from the beginning?”

They had moved to the back of the tent, which he had decorated with a pair of modest armchairs, a small coffee table, and a stone-lined pit. A cold fire of red flame burned quietly within the confines of the pit. The chairs fit Belos comfortably, but effectively dwarfed Kikimora. He found the effect quite humorous.

“That’s quite vague, you know,” quipped Kikimora, before taking a sip from her glass. “But I suppose I can start with my parents.”

Belos waited silently.

“I grew up in Aster’s Copse, the village you found me in when you first started your campaign.”

“Yes, I am familiar with it.”

“My parents ran a general store there. It was nothing exceptional, but it provided us with greater means than most. My father was a smart man but had little ambition. He wasn’t a particularly warm parent, but he cared about me. Sent me letters when I was away at school.”

She drew her hands up to clarify. “My parents weren’t blessed with magic so they couldn’t communicate without the post. Apparently, my gift came from my mother’s grandmother. The village elders said she was quite the hellion.”

“A wild witch?”

She nodded, then took another sip. “Oh yes, wild at heart from what I heard. I never met her through, so I can’t be certain.”

“Curious. Was she also the origin of your musical talent?” Belos asked. On the field, he had seen Kikimora employ a lyre as the focus for her spells.

Kikimora’s ears perked up at the question. “My musical talent?” She laughed. “I wouldn’t consider myself particularly talented. I’m competent at best. Now my mother,” she conjured in the air before him an image of a demon similar looking to her but older, with slightly darker skin and aquamarine ‘hair’. “She was talented.”

Belos examined the image more closely. The woman was playing a lyre and appeared to be in the middle of some rousing number in a run-down bar.

“She was a minstrel before she married my father,” Kikimora explained.

“And after?”

“A devoted wife. Then a devoted mother.” She sighed into her glass, dismissing the image with a swirl of her finger. “She’s the one that taught me to play.”

Kikimora opened the palm of her left hand. A nine-stringed lyre materialized in her hand in a flash of red light. She held it up for him to see.

Belos wordlessly conjured two light orbs to better examine the instrument. She had carved the soundbox from a solid block of dark redwood and joined it seamlessly with arms built from olive wood. The left arm was unique. A winding trench had been cut into the arm within which lay a fanged, redwood serpent. Its head, which spiraled off the cross bar, glistened in the light.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you, my liege. I carved it after my mother died, to help me remember her.” She pulled the instrument back towards herself, examined it, then dismissed it with a swirl of her right hand.

Belos dismissed the orbs above, then brought his hands to his stomach.

“I envy you,” he said after some time. “I have little artistic talent.”

“Can you sing?”

He half-laughed. “Like a tortured animal.”

“That’s a shame, sire.” She responded, chucking to herself. “I used to play in a band. We could have performed duets.”

“You’re joking,” he said in disbelief. He tried to imagine her in the same scene she had shown of her mother. It looked off somehow.

“I am not. We were quite popular too.” She paused suddenly, then glared skeptically at him with her eye. “You didn’t think I was a boring recluse before I agreed to travel with you, did you sire?” She took another drink without breaking eye contact.

“No, that’s not it,” he said, waving is left hand in a circle. “I just thought… You project a certain image, you know. I thought you may have stuck to hymnals.”

“Oh!” She laughed, almost spilling her wine. “Yes, yes, I know plenty of those from my time at St. Epiderm. But they are dreadfully boring to play.”

“St. Epiderm,” he said, pondering. “Isn’t that a school in Bonesborough? Did you attend there?”

“Yes, it is my alma mater,” she declared proudly. “I graduated as top student.”

“But how did you manage to attend? You said that you grew up in Aster’s Copse. That’s a week’s travel from Bonesborough by foot.”

“Well, I didn’t walk, my lord. Not with these stubby things.” She gestured to her legs. “I was flown there, by my first teacher.”

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms loosely. “Another demon?”

“No, a witchling actually. Our town’s local representative for the Bard coven. Mr. Crowley.” She looked away from him and into the fire. “He was a kind man, nothing like the current coven establishment, my lord.”

She took another drink, leaving little in the glass. “If it wasn’t for him, I would have rotted away in that town. It was a sad day when he passed.”

Belos let a moment pass, then replied. “What did he teach you?”

“Oh, small things at first. What every fledgling is taught. The five basic spells, spell circle theory, runes, basic potions.” Her expression sharpened. “Then he taught me the basics of elocution, the weaving of magic and words to persuade and influence. That’s what set me free. My final test as his apprentice was to use magic to convince my father to let me take the entry exam for St. Epiderm.”

“Obviously, you succeeded.”

Kikimora finished her glass and set it on the table. “Yes. I did.”

Belos snapped his fingers. The glass disappeared.

“Did that test not cross a line for you?” He asked.

“At the time, yes. I think it did.”

“But in hindsight?”

She grinned. “In hindsight? I think was good for me, my lord.”

“Is that so,” replied Belos, interested to hear her explanation.

She turned to face him, pressing her talons together. “It hardened me a little.” She tilted her talons forward. “Forced me to think about how magic could be used for my own personal gain, rather than the benefit of others.”

“You weren’t raised with that mentality? That your skills should be used to further yourself before others?”

She shook her head. “No, I wasn’t, my lord. I was raised to be kind, and considerate. Maybe docile is the right word. Like a little doll.”

“Ridiculous.”

“Utterly so,” she agreed, settling back into her chair. “Regardless, I can’t help but feel some guilt about abandoning my mother.”

“Why do you say that you abandoned her?”

She smiled dimly. “I think it really hurt her that I left. And that she was probably lonely without me, alone with my father.” As she spoke, her eye drifted to the fire.

“And because I left, I didn’t get the chance to get to know her as an adult. She caught the bone flu during that outbreak eight years ago and passed within the week. By the time I could return home, she was almost gone.”

A silence emerged. He didn’t turn to face her. Instead, he looked into the fire and thought of his own mother.

“Kiki.” He said, after a long moment of consideration.

“Yes, sire?”

“My own mother. She, …died under similar circumstances.”

He saw her turn to face him out of the corner of his vision.

“She was killed suddenly, while I was away. And I didn’t know until I arrived back home months later. She was already buried by then.”

She moved to speak but he held up his left hand to stop her.

“She, like your mother, didn’t want me to leave either. But I did because I had to.”

He leaned forward in his chair and continued. “I have no basis for this belief beyond the fact that I was a decent son, but I believe she understood why I had to leave. And that she didn’t hold it against me.”

“I see,” Kikimora stated, drawing her hands into a ball. “Thank you, my lord.”

He remained silent, having turned back to the fire. A few minutes passed.

“It’s getting late, my lord,” she said, pushing herself out of her seat.

“Yes, I suppose it is,” he said, moving to stand.

She walked over to entrance of the tent, then looked back.

“Thank you for the conversation, my lord.”

He smiled beneath his mask. “Goodnight, Kiki.”

“Goodnight, my lord.”

#the owl house #toh #emperor belos #toh kikimora #my fic #companuary

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lawrenceop · 3 years

Text

HOMILY for the 4th Sunday per annum (B)

Deut 18:15-20; Ps 94; 1 Cor 7:32-35; Mark 1:21-28

There are two reactions to Jesus Christ and his actions in today’s Gospel. The first reaction is astonishment and amazement. We’re not told if Jesus’s teaching and Jesus’s work of exorcism had any effect on the lives of the crowds of on-lookers, but they enjoyed the spectacle, they marvelled at what was said and done, they admired him, and they talked about Jesus so that he became famous throughout the region of Galilee. But Jesus didn’t seem to have any impact on them personally – he didn’t change their lives because we’re not told that anyone followed him. So, the first reaction is superficial entertainment, and there is the danger in our own time too that we can hear the Gospel; we can read about Jesus and maybe know some theology; and we might see Christian art about Christ and the Saints or view beautiful liturgy in church or online, but all these will only move us superficially. That is to say, we’re amazed, astonished even, or its therapeutic, but we remain spectators, unmotivated to change our ways, to “repent and believe” as Jesus declared at the start of St Mark’s Gospel.

The second reaction is the other extreme: the unclean spirit that is cast out of the man knows full well who Jesus is, and so he believes and is forced to obey, but he will not repent because he fears that to repent, and so to willingly change his ways and to follow Jesus would destroy him. So there are also some people today who are afraid to think about the demands of the Gospel, who fear examining their conscience and having to changing their lives in order to follow Jesus with integrity. Why? Because to do so would ‘destroy’ our lives as we know it! For we would have to abandon our sins; do away with bad habits that have become so used to that we can’t imagine ourselves without them; we would have to repent and change. And this just seems like too much effort, too risky, too frightening. And so, the Gospel and Christ himself is seen as a threat to our current lifestyle, and so, like the demon, we can think that Jesus has come to “destroy us” and make us religious ‘extremists’.

The retired Archbishop of Lancaster, Bishop Patrick O’Donohue, who had been auxiliary bishop in our diocese of Westminster died in this past week, and I am reminded of the comment made in 2008 by the chairman of a parliamentary cross-party who did not like Bishop O’Donohue’s guidelines for Catholic education. He was told that “faith education works all right as long as people are not that serious about their faith”. In other words, because our contemporary society, like the demon, fears the serious changes and repentance of heart demanded by Christ, so the best thing that can be done is to neutralise the Gospel and render it ineffectual, by not taking it too seriously, so that we should all effectively behave like the crowds and just look on in astonishment and gossipy admiration.

But there is a third reaction. As the psalm response today says: “O that today you would listen to his voice! ‘Harden not your hearts.’” If we allow the Word of God to penetrate our hearts today – every day, in fact – and so to soften it with the grace of the Holy Spirit, what will happen? The example of countless Christians and saints down the ages, beginning with the apostles themselves, and coming down to our present time shows us the extent to which the Holy Spirit can work in our lives, to give rise to self-giving lives of charity.

In the reading today from St Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians we find the origin of the ancient Christian practice of celibacy, a powerful sign of the total gift of oneself to Christ and to following him totally. St Paul himself, following the example of our Lord Jesus Christ, was unmarried so that he could devote his life to preaching the Gospel. This, then, is another reaction to the coming of Christ into our lives: there is a total consecration, a total gift of oneself, in heart, mind, soul, and body, to following Jesus. As Pope St Paul VI wrote, drawing on the teaching of the Second Vatican Council, the celibate life is a “new way, in which the human creature adheres wholly and directly to the Lord, and is concerned only with Him and with His affairs; thus, he manifests in a clearer and more complete way the profoundly transforming reality of the New Testament… it signifies a love without reservations; it stimulates [persons] to [embrace] a charity which is open to all.” So, the third reaction, a genuine response to the teaching and work of Christ, transforms our realities. Christ, who is God’s living Word made flesh, changes our lives, and elevates how we see and relate to the reality of life as it is now, a life that St Paul VI says would be “wholly dedicated to pondering and seeking the new and delightful realities of God's kingdom.”

The grace of celibacy, of course, is a very particular way of responding to the Gospel’s call to listen to Christ’s voice, to harden not our hearts, and to follow him. And many people run away from this call, and the world completely misunderstands it or finds it impossible. And some people have failed spectacularly in living up to this vocation. And yet, none of this should be an excuse for us today to harden our hearts to Christ or to allow our fear to paralyse us.

Hence Pope Benedict XVI says: “Are we not perhaps all afraid in some way? If we let Christ enter fully into our lives, if we open ourselves totally to him, are we not afraid that He might take something away from us? Are we not perhaps afraid to give up something significant, something unique, something that makes life so beautiful? Do we not then risk ending up diminished and deprived of our freedom?…

No! If we let Christ into our lives, we lose nothing, nothing, absolutely nothing of what makes life free, beautiful and great. No! Only in this friendship are the doors of life opened wide. Only in this friendship is the great potential of human existence truly revealed. Only in this friendship do we experience beauty and liberation. And so, today, with great strength and great conviction, on the basis of long personal experience of life, I say to you… : Do not be afraid of Christ! He takes nothing away, and he gives you everything. When we give ourselves to him, we receive a hundredfold in return. Yes, open, open wide the doors to Christ – and you will find true life. Amen”.

So, today, if you should hear his voice, listen, and harden not your hearts. All of us as Christians, whether called to celibacy or not, are called to give ourselves, our lives to him; called to deep friendship with him; called to enter, without fear, into the deep joy of knowing and loving God. For this is the reason Christ has become Man, and dwelt among us: God has given himself to us so that we can open wide the doors of our hearts and our lives to him; so that we’re no longer just spectators of God’s glory but participants and partakers of divine life.

#celibacy #consecrated life #Gospel #discipleship #follow Jesus #grace

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nervous-ninja · 4 years

Text

Part 2 of untitled

If you want to read the first part, such as it is. You can find it here: Part 1

It was nearly the rainy season now and even the night felt thick and cloying with heat and humidity as Mew rushed out of the air-conditioned building and into the parking lot. His car stood illuminated by one of the few functioning streetlights revealing Gulf asleep in the passenger seat, slumped against the half lowered window. Mew watched his breath rising and falling in the light. Briefly, Mew considered waking him but quickly changed his mind as he admired the way sleep eased the man’s handsome features into a peaceful expression.

Before climbing into the drivers seat, Mew slipped his sweater off and gingerly laid over Gulf’s sleeping form, worried about the cold air from the car AC. The other man stirred as he did so, hair falling over his eyes and across the bridge of his nose. Without a second thought Mew reached out and brushed the strands back into place, letting his fingertips linger on the warm skin of Gulf’s temple. The young man seemed to relax at his touch, burrowing into the warmth of the makeshift blanket, remaining quite oblivious and unbothered otherwise. For a moment Mew felt himself relax as well, a private smile on his lips, before the events of the past day reasserted themselves. The bone deep ache that came from missing him when he was this close came rushing back. He felt very tired all of a sudden and with a heavy sigh started the engine.

The drive was not long at this time of night, the traffic having mostly subsided. Within 30 minutes Mew was pulling into the driveway of his home with Gulf still quietly slumbering in the next seat.

The Jongcheveevatt house was dark. Mew’s parents and sister, even Chopper, were away for an annual family trip south. The filming schedule kept Mew away this year but he hoped to join them for the final leg of their trip in a few days.

“Nong.” Mew called softly, trying to wake Gulf without startling him. The other man stirred but showed no signs of waking. Out of habit Mew began to reach for Gulf’s ear -- a reliable method he used to gently wake his co-star when he slept on set -- but stopped short recalling how Gulf had recoiled from his touch earlier that day. He opted for gently shaking his shoulder instead.

“We’re here.” Mew said as Gulf finally began to stir and opened his eyes. He couldn’t see Gulf’s expression in the dark but he could feel the nervous energy of the younger man as he made no move to exist the vehicle. He waited for what felt like an eternity in the silence, discomfort practically radiating from the man next to him.

“I can take you home if you want” Mew finally offered tentatively, fighting to keep the hurt from his voice. When no reply came he made to get out of the car, frustration and irritation building. “While you make up your mind...” he began to say and started as Gulf’s hand closed over his own. Mew stared from their hands to Gulf’s face, but the other man would not look at him.

“So you’re staying then?” Mew asked, too cautious to let any hope resolve his worry just yet.

“Yes.” Gulf said quietly, squeezing Mew’s hand as he spoke, “If that’s still alright with you.” he added, taking back his hand.

“Fine. I’ll see you inside then” Mew said getting out of the car. He heard the door open and close followed by the sound of Gulf’s steps trailing behind him. They went through the motions of unlocking the front door, entering the security code and taking off their shoes in silence.

“You can wait here.” Mew said without looking back as he headed towards the kitchen. “I’ll see if there’s something we can eat.”

He didn’t bother turning on the lights in the kitchen as he opened the fridge and surveyed their food options. He was considering some three day old take out noodles when Gulf was suddenly behind him, his arms around Mew’s waist. Mew tried to turn to face the younger man but Gulf responded by tightening his grip and pressing himself firmer against Mew’s back giving him no room to maneuver.

“Everything...ok?” Mew asked, trying to processes this new development. Not that Gulf never initiated a hug before, but it was rare and certainly unusual after the day they’ve had.

“No”. Gulf mumbled against his shoulder, his breath warm against Mew’s neck.

"Ready to talk then?" Mew asked gently as he placed the likely inedible noodles back in the fridge shutting the door, and casting them both back into darkness. Resigned, Mew folded his arms over Gulf’s, his thumbs running gentle circles over Gulf’s knuckles and tried very hard not to think about the cartwheeling in his stomach, or whether Gulf could hear the way his pulse quickened at the press of their bodies.

“No” Gulf said.

Well, this was better than no talking at all. Mew thought.

“You aren’t mad at me anymore?”

"I never was." Gulf’s response came muffled as he pressed his face into Mew’s back. “I’m sorry I made you think I was.” He added, his voice sounding so repentant and sad Mew flinched with the effort to turn around again.

“Can you let me go so I can look at you.” Mew pleaded.

"No. I need to ask you something and I don't want you to look at me when I do." Gulf said.

"Ok. I promise I won't turn around. You don’t have to squeeze so hard though. I’m not going anywhere.” Mew tried to make his voice sound as gentle and reassuring as he could.

The hold eased slightly and Mew let out a breath.

“Khun Phi, do you think that I rely too much on you?” Gulf stammered out.

Mew was so caught off guard by the question he wasn’t sure he heard correctly. “I don’t understand.” The question seemed preposterous to Mew. He had spent the last three days thinking he was the offending party, that he somehow pushed too hard or did too much. He was always the one hugging Gulf, reaching for his hand, pulling him into his lap. Where in the world would Gulf have gotten the idea that it was he who might be a problem.

He felt Gulf take a deep breath before continuing. “Do you think I’m too clingy? Too needy?”

“You mean beside the present situation” Mew said, as he gently rubbed Gulf’s forearms still firmly around his waist.

“Yes. Besides now.” Gulf groaned with irritation. “I know I rely a lot on you to take care of me a lot. Sometimes even when I don’t need to.” Gulf’s voice came out rushed and nervous, as if he was afraid of losing his nerve before he could get all the words out. I think sometimes I let myself seem more in need than I am just so you would. I like when you look after me.” He finished, his voice trailing off.

“So you have been pushing me away and ignoring me for days because you thought I was what, sick of you?” Mew was beginning to grow frustrated with the situation. He badly wanted to look at Gulf, to reassure him, but every time he made even the slighted move Gulf stiffened and tightened his grip.“Why would you suddenly think that way? Have I ever done or said anything to make you feel like you were a chore or a burden?” Mew tried to hide the surge of panic in his voice.

“No. Never. It’s just that….” Gulf’s voice cracked “You told the whole world your heart was available.” he stammered out. “I tried to dismiss it, I know it’s just an interview. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It just sort of hit me, the inevitability of losing you one day.” As he spoke his voice grew calmer, sadder, resigned. “ I realised how much of my happiness is wrapped up with you, how much I really need you. Maybe my needing you as much as I do gets in the way of...” His voice trailed off. He pulled his arms back, letting Mew go then and took a step back, taking the warmth with him.

Mew spun on him, fighting the urge to grab him and shake him. “In the way of what?”

Gulf sighed and looked down. “Someone you should be taking care of like this. Someone who can be for you what I...what we...” he shook his head and seemed to give up trying to find the right word. He met Mew’s eyes, the soft brown of them pleading for understanding before he dropped his gaze again and took another step back. “I’m sorry.” He said finally. “I never meant to make you worry.”

Mew’s heart felt ready to break. How could he have misread the signs so badly? How could he have looked into those eyes all day and not seen the fear or the hurt.

Mew took a step towards Gulf, and took hold of one hand pulling him a closer. He gently grabbed the young man’s chin with his free hand and guided his face to look up and meet his eyes.

“Listen to me, Tuaeng.” Mew said, cupping his cheek, smiling at the way his Nong’s face seemed to light up at the sound of his pet name. "I like taking care of you." He smiled at him in kind. "I'm so grateful that you trust me to do so. Its the only way I know to give you something back for everything you've given me." He ran his thumb across the other man’s soft cheek. He was so happy to be looking into those soft brown eyes again. "But more than that, I like taking care of you because you are one of the most important people in my life.” he said with a gentle smile. “You are not, nor have you ever been, in the way of anything. Do you understand?” Gulf nodded, a shy smile touching the corner of his mouth.

In hindsight, Mew should have seen it coming. He did see it coming. He sensed it in his own blood, felt it in the way his heart beat like a hummingbird in his chest, the way thoughts began to sound like white noise in his head the moment he pulled Gulf closer and touched his face. These were only the early warning signs. He also saw Gulf’s gaze linger on his mouth a little too long, felt his breath quicken. Knew he was holding him too long. He knew it was coming and he should have stopped it.

He didn’t.

It was Gulf who moved first, closing the space between them, crashing into him, pushing his back against the fridge. Gulf brushed his mouth against Mew’s in a tentative, feather light kiss that ended abruptly, leaving vicious hunger in its wake. He pulled back examining Mew’s face, searching his eyes for approval. “Tuaeng..st” Mew began, the word coming out in a hoarse wanton whisper, sounding very much like encouragement. The second word caught in his throat, he simply couldn’t remember it now and then it was too late.

Accepting the invitation in Mew’s voice, Gulf claimed his mouth again. As if making up for the chasteness of the first kiss, there was no restraint this time, his movements hungry and urgent. Before Mew could even processes what happened the young man abandoned his protesting lips to plant staccato kisses against his jaw and neckline, one after another, multiplying like fractals until Mew lost count. Gulf moved too quickly from one spot to the next, mapping a reckless trail of want in his wake. Forcing Mew to stifle a frustrated groan. He found spot to tease with kisses only to move on just before Mew could properly sink into the pleasure of the feeling. His movements were clumsy and inexperienced, driven by instinct, without a hint of self-consciousness. Mew found it insanely endearing and intoxicating. Gulf made his head spin.

No longer able to stand the teasing, Mew took Gulf’s face in his hands and guided him back to his mouth. He forced Gulf’s pace to slow much as he had done in workshops, his knees nearly buckling as the younger man moaned against his mouth. Mew began to lose track of Gulfs roaming hands as they ran through his hair, griped his muscled shoulders, tugged at his shirt collar to get at more of him, echoing the random, frenzied movement of his lips a moment earlier. It was the sudden touch of cool fingertips on hot skin struggling with the button of Mew’s jeans that finally, painfully, snapped him back his senses.

He grabbed Gulf’s hand, halting its dangerous progress.

“Stop” Mew croaked out, barely above a whisper, finally remembering how to speak as he broke the kiss with a sharp intake of breath. For a moment Gulf struggled against Mew's grip, his other hand taking over, attempting to continue the southward trajectory of it’s partner. Mew grabbed the other wrist “I said stop.” He said with more force than he intended. “We can’t do this.” Mew said, their eyes locked, breath coming in rapid and ragged. He hated himself for the crestfallen and confused look that replaced the flush of desire on Gulf’s face. “I’m sorry.” He started to say when Gulf suddenly pushed him away, wrenched both wrists out of Mew’s grip, and practically ran out of the room.

To be continued.....

#fanfiction #mewgulf fanfic

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castillo-adrian · 3 years

Text

A Rainy Day in Paris | Part 2

December 23rd. Morning.

An escape wasn’t really a possibility. These weren’t some gang of street fighters who got lucky, these were professionals who had been responsible for sustaining the national security by neutralising their enemies in the most proficient way possible. Adrian would know, they’d done it together. The method with which he’d been chained to the chair had been straight out of the GIGN handbook, too – if you tried to break free and pull at your hands, the rope on your throat would choke you to death before you could break away. In some morbid, prideful moment, Adrian felt relieved he’d be going out this way – by the hands of men he once called his brothers and sisters in arms, not random mobster muscles. As far as dying went, this would be as good as he could get.

Adrian did wonder why they were taking their time. They weren’t the type to make a spectacle out of a murder. Then, as if they’d heard his thoughts, Philippe provided an explanation, not before his fist clashing with Adrian’s abdomen, leaving him unable to breathe for a few seconds.

“Drink,” Philippe held a bottle of water near his face, “I need you to last until 26th. You’ll be our Christmas present for Laure and Varden. He’s been through enough shit, we’re going to let him have Christmas in peace. Laure, too. So she can spend it with her kids, instead of having to be reminded of you,” Philippe said with resentment, “Aren’t you a godfather to Olivier, by the way? Fucking shame. At least he’s alive, unlike Varden’s son.”

The assassin’s jaw clenched. Not out of anger at anyone in particular, rather the tragedy of the situation. Adrian didn’t carry much guilt, but not being able to prevent Gabriel’s death hadn’t be easy to write off.

He stayed silent.

Samir, who’d been hanging in the back for the most part, rammed a plank of wood into Adrian with so much force, it wouldn’t take a medical examination to guess he’d cracked a rib or two.

It wasn’t the pain that was too much to handle, it’s the fact that he couldn’t fight back.

On the flipside, it was his silence that make his former friends snap.

Minute after minute had passed, maybe hours, even. Adrian had lost count how long the absolute frenzy of violence had lasted. After all, they’d been taking out six years worth of frustration.

December 23rd. Noon.

They’d been taking shifts. Agnès had been the first. He knew it was because she still hoped to hear the answers. An attempt had been made, a genuine one on his part, to give her some clarity, for the first and the last time. All the reasons leading to leaving the St. Clair Organisation – losing his father early and having to support his family, hating furthering the agenda of the mob that had the city he loved wrapped into its tentacles, losing purpose and sense of belonging, and finally, not being able to kill a man in front of his child. All the reasons he stayed with the Rutherfords – newfound purpose, a chance to teach, a chance to lead, new friends.

As expected, it hadn’t been enough for Agnès. Not that Adrian could fault her – after all, their experiences in life couldn’t have been more different. She, simply couldn’t relate, couldn’t empathise. Nevertheless, he’d hoped it brought her some semblance of closure.

December 24th. A few minutes past midnight.

A metallic sound of chair being dragged across the floor woke him up. When Adrian raised his head and looked up, Agnès was gone, and sat in front of him was Cédric.

“Believed it not, none of us are enjoying this. Not really,” the Frenchman rubbed his face and let out a sigh. “We were no Laure or Julien, or Évelyne, but Agnès and Philippe, and me, we considered you a friend. Samir, he looked up to you. When he thought you died, he cried, and I’ve never seen him shed a tear. Ever,” Cédric crossed his arms against his chest. For a moment his mind drifted off somewhere else. Adrian wondered if he was thinking about Évelyne.

“You haven’t told Év, have you?” Adrian asked. “It’s fine. I’m sure she won’t be upset with you. At this point, she may want me dead, too.” The last conversation they had got heated. It was better not to dwell on what happened when he last talked to Évelyne.

“No,” Cédric didn’t elaborate. “Do you remember that mission in Lybia?”

“Sure. Harmattan?”

“You saved my life.” Cédric’s words carried a myriad of emotions – nostalgia, hesitation, regret, compassion. “I told you back then that I owed you one.”

“And I told you that you didn’t. It was my job to have your back.”

“No, you’re not understanding what I’m trying to say,” Cédric pulled out a combat knife.

Adrian gave him a puzzled look.

“I owe you one,” the Frenchman repeated as he got up from his chair and walked behind Adrian. “But now we’re even.”

When the assassin felt the rope around his neck loosen, he realised what was happening.

“Are you sure?” Adrian rubbed at his wrists, trying to get back the normal blood flow after hours upon hours of being tied up.

“I pay my debts. Always.” Cédric tossed the rope on the floor. “But if we meet again, there will be no mercy.”

Adrian nodded. There was still honour among thieves, turned out.

“Wait. Before you go, I need you to stab me,” Cédric handed him his knife. “I need to make it look like you stole the knife off of me and got away. You might be comfortable with being branded a traitor, but I’m not.”

He obliged.

December 24th. Half an hour later.

The 24-hour pawn shop was still at the same address where Adrian remembered. He woke up the owner with a ‘ding’ of the counter bell and flashed a Rolex original in the man’s face. A gift from Andrew Rutherford and one of the most valuable possessions Adrian owned, but if he were to get out of country before his former friends caught up to him, he needed money and the watch was the only thing Adrian had on him.

“This is a real Rolex,” the man declared after examining the item for a few minutes, “I just made deposit at the bank today. Don’t have that much cash right now. You should come back tomorrow.”

“Wait,” Adrian pushed the watch back towards the pawn shop owner, “How much do you have?”

“500 Euroes,” the man said suspiciously.

“I’ll take it,” Adrian tried to wrap up the world’s worst bargain as soon as possible.

Well, five hundred Euroes had been just enough to buy a burner phone to call Johnathan and get a cab driver to drop him off at the nearest city close to the Swiss border.

Escaping via the Channel wouldn’t have been smart, he thought. That’s where they’d expect him, not all the way to Switzerland, where by some kind of miracle was exactly he’d been expected.

The driver dropped him off in Dijon.

Hours disappeared into on another, he sat in the highway café, hoping one of the passing trucks would take him to Swizerland.

Finally, his luck started to turn. The man who agreed to let him tag along was a rather loud Corsican with a terrible sense of humour.

“I promise I’m not a murderer,” the Corsican burst into a headache inducing laughter as he put the truck into ignition.

“Good to know,” Adrian leaned into his seat. Five more hours and he’d be in Zermatt.

#Selfpara

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montagnarde1793 · 4 years

Text

Ribbons of Scarlet: A predictably terrible novel on the French Revolution (part 4)

Parts 1, 2, 3 and 5.

Inaccuracies: the minor, the inconsistent, the fuck no and the unintentionally hilarious

I have no intention of detailing every historical inaccuracy in this book. I’d say we’d be here all day, but we’ve already been here all day, so maybe all week?

The book is riddled with minor errors, oversimplifications and dubious interpretations — some of which could be chalked up in theory to writing from a limited POV, but this is not a book that allows for that kind of complexity. Opinions may be those of the characters, but explanations for events and who belongs to what group and so on tend to be those of the authors regardless of which character is speaking.

Given the level of detail of this book, I would count things like Condorcet’s being made a member of the Constituent Assembly or the Revolutionary Tribunal being founded by September 1792 minor errors. They might even have been deliberate (combining the Constituent and the Legislative Assemblies or the Tribunal of 27 August and the Revolutionary Tribunal, for “simplicity”’s sake).

“Les Enragés” is also an official group and that’s their official self-designation in the world of this novel. Um. Ok.

Also things like the complete lack of self-awareness revealed by the assumption that because 21st century Americans consider omelettes a breakfast food this must be a universal constant.

Anyway, I find that kind of thing irritating but pretty inevitable. Errare humanum est and all that.

Other minor errors are forgivable in and of themselves, I suppose, but indicative of a larger lack of understanding, similar to some of the implausible scenarios the authors set up (cf. Manon Roland’s random trip to Caen).

There’s a moment, for example, when one of the figures on trial for “conspiracy” in the red shirt affair appeals to the crowd by saying “I am suspected merely because I am an émigré.” (p. 490) which is hilarious when you realize the fact of being an émigré and returning to France after the cut-off date was already punishable by execution — a law pushed among others by our friends the reasonable, moderate “Girondins.” And I say this not to condemn them (on this point, at least) — there were actual, serious arguments in support of such a law — but to highlight a trend. The authors have decided that certain figures are reasonable, so they give them what they consider to be reasonable opinions, whether or not those opinions line up with those they actually held and, as we’ll see, they’ve decided others are dangerous extremists, so likewise they only get to do things the authors consider extreme, or at best hypocritical.

Usually there’s at least some consistency to the errors — too much in fact, as noted. But the fanciful claim that the guillotine was painted red and that everyone who was executed was dressed in red to hide the blood is repeated more than once, before being replaced with the accurate assertion that dressing the condemned in red was reserved for assassins (also arsonists and poisoners, in accordance with the penal code of 1791).

More serious are the “errors” that serve a certain narrative, like the repeated assertion that Louis XVI abolished torture and notably execution by breaking on the wheel. Er… no he didn’t. I’m going to charitably assume that the authors just confused torture for the purposes of obtaining a confession with torture as a punishment. Louis XVI abolished the former, not the latter. That may seem like a nitpick, but they make a very big fuss about it.

People were still being broken on the wheel until the implementation of the Constituent Assembly’s penal code which provided that all executions should be equal and as quick and painless as possible — ultimately leading to the adoption of the guillotine. The first execution by guillotine is apparently such a crucial event that we have to implausibly have Louis XVI’s sister sneak out and witness it, but we’ll just ignore the fact that the “hero” La Fayette’s cousin bloodily repressed the mutiny of Swiss soldiers in Nancy resulting in a number of hangings and one man being broken on the wheel — repression that La Fayette applauded — in 1790, because 1790 is a year in which nothing happened.

Besides, as is well known, La Fayette never did anything wrong (Sophie de Grouchy forgives him for firing on her when she was petitioning for a republic in 1791 (p. 509-510) so you should too, I guess. Though while we’re here, her signing the Champ de Mars petition is a pretty unlikely scenario, actually, given that only the Cordeliers petition remained after the Assembly’s 15 July decree and that even before that Condorcet didn’t dare to sign his articles in favor of a much less democratic republic than the Cordeliers were advocating for Le Républicain (which prudently stopped publication after 15 July).)

The abolition of torture thing is merely one of a number of errors or exaggeratedly charitable interpretations of Louis XVI’s actions to fit the myth of the fundamentally well-meaning, soft-hearted reformer who was just in over his head. Mme Élisabeth’s violence, while I commend it for its accuracy, serves to highlight her brother’s pacifism. We’re meant to believe that of course it was nothing but revolutionary slander/conspiracy theories to think he was actually intending to use foreign troops to restore himself to absolute power, despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary. Mme Élisabeth asserts that she would like that to happen but her brother would never and Manon Roland confirms it from her point of view too.

On a similar note, Condorcet gets his usual “consensual figure” treatment. We’re unsurprisingly fed the myth of Condorcet as the paragon of democracy and feminism, with nary a touch of ambiguity. Even Pauline Léon can only reproach him with being ineffectual. That’s par for the course, as is framing the people’s fears of grain speculation as a conspiracy theory at least from Sophie de Grouchy’s point of view, though nothing in the text contradicts her at any point (p. 61), but framing Condorcet’s pre-revolutionary math lectures at the Lycée as him and his wife opening a school for popular education and Sophie de Grouchy personally teaching Reine Audu to read at her husband’s invitation… That’s pretty disingenuous.

On the other hand, nothing is too awful to be believed without question of the “radical” revolutionaries, whether it comes from dubious sources (as regards the myths about Lamballe being stripped naked and/or raped before or — depending on the “source” — after being massacred, or about Charlotte Corday’s head being slapped by the executioner and her body examined for evidence of virginity, or Robespierre’s lusting over Émilie de Sainte-Amaranthe and personally participating in Catherine Théot’s rituals) or is just made up. Surely the September Massacres were bad enough without imagining that random bystanders — including children — were being raped and massacred in the streets? Since calling for the execution of adult royals based on their actual actions doesn’t sound sinister enough, let’s have Pauline Léon demand the massacre of Louis XVI’s underage children too!

On that note, I have to wonder whether part of the problem is that we’re so used to hearing about atrocities on a scale that dwarfs anything that happened in the 1790s that what the sources suggest — which could still be pretty ugly, don’t get me wrong — doesn’t live up to the hype. The French Revolution is built up in reactionary propaganda like it’s one of the periods of the worst violence in history. I suspect that it’s like with a scary movie: your imagination will conjure up something far scarier than what they could show you on screen. So, expecting to find horrors, you readily believe whichever sources (or “sources”) have the most of them and fill in the blanks when the sources don’t match up to your image of what terror, chaos and violence look like.

It’s basically just deductive reasoning: they say there was horrific violence, so I’m going to depict what must have happened according to my mental image of horrific violence. It’s no different really from deciding a character is reasonable and therefore giving them the opinions you find reasonable. But not only is this poor methodology (which perhaps you don’t care about, as a novelist), it sucks out everything that’s nuanced or complicated or surprising about history for the sake of flattering your own prejudices. And that’s a shame.

Anyway, as for the red shirt affair, it’s generally believed by historians to be a cynical maneuver on the part of the Committee of General Security* to make Robespierre look like a tyrant by executing a large group of supposed co-conspirators with would-be assassins Ladmirat/Ladmiral and Cécile Renault but needless to say — and following G. Lenotre’s lead — that’s not at all how it’s portrayed here. Robespierre is of course personally involved for his own (necessarily hypocritical) reasons. He wants Émilie de Sainte-Amaranthe but in this telling she and her family have reason to believe he’s cozying up to royalists like them for personal political gain too. Oh, also, Saint-Just and Fouquier-Tinville are lusting over Émilie de Sainte-Amaranthe too, because why the fuck not?

*To use the misleading standard translation (sûreté ≠ sécurité)

Particularly ludicrous is the insinuation that not only did the Convention abolish slavery entirely as an expedient — which, to be fair, some historians argue, though there’s ample evidence that proves there was more to it than that — but that they had to because otherwise the British and Spanish would come to the slaves’ aid first. As if the plantation owners were not doing their level best to deliver their colonies over to the British precisely to preserve slavery. That bit was just insulting.

But you know, why let a little thing like reality interfere with dividing the world into reasonable people and hypocritical demagogues and the mobs that they incite, am I right?

And it’s often the absence of certain realities that poses the greatest problem. Like, counterrevolutionaries aren’t a real threat, that’s all a figment of the revolutionaries’ imagination... but as usual this idea coexists uncomfortably with the existence of actual counterrevolutionaries in the narrative.

The war, which dominated everyone’s reality from 1792 onward, is barely mentioned. Manon Roland is made to treat the idea that the Prussians were well positioned to march on Paris after the surrender of Verdun as an absurd rumor (p. 268-269) and we’re meant to agree. (This was very much not an imaginary threat, if you didn’t know.)

Also! Get ready because I’m going to cite Serna favorably for once:

Il est frappant de noter combien l’historiographie s’est de suite intéressée aux massacres de Paris et aux prisonniers d’Orléans, sans vraiment porter son intérêt sur les morts civils sur le front et la mise à sac des villes et villages à la frontière, deux poids deux mesures qui ne peuvent qu’interroger.

– Pierre Serna, « « La France est république » : Comment est né le Nouveau Régime dans le Patriote français de Brissot » dans Michel Biard, Philippe Bourdin, Hervé Leuwers et Pierre Serna, dir., 1792. Entrer en République, Paris, A. Colin, 2013, NP, note 37.

(Translation: “It’s striking to note how the historiography took an immediate interest in the massacres in Paris and the prisoners of Orléans, without really getting interested in the civilian deaths at the front and the sacking of cities and towns along the border, a double standard that we can’t help but question.”)

I mean, we know why: military violence, up to and including every kind of war crime, is normal and expected as long as it’s a proper war conducted between two foreign powers (though the various foyers of civil war also don’t really come up in this book). But yeah, that is a pretty big fucking hypocritical double standard, isn’t it? And one that this particular novel reflects rather than invents (as is also true of many of its other flaws, to be entirely fair).

It’s also particularly ironic, for a book that touts itself as feminist, that the real gains made by women regarding inheritance, marriage redefined as a contract between equal partners dissolvable by divorce, the rights of single mothers and illegitimate children and so on — even if the periods of Reaction that followed reversed them — are nowhere to be seen. Nor do we see women voting on the constitution of 1793 or fighting in the army or any of a number of things real women did. I concede that no one novel can be expected to show everything, but given the things they bent over backward to include, would it have been so difficult to include things that are thematically relevant?

This wouldn’t even piss me off so much except for the way Pauline Léon’s storyline ends. Her arc consists of her being convinced of the folly of those of her beliefs that the author doesn’t approve of so that she can be used as a mouthpiece for the moral the author wants us to take from all this and then being forced into marriage because she gets pregnant. And I cite (p. 433):

They would silence us all.

One woman at a time.

First the Angel of Assassination. Then Widow Capet, who had once been queen. Olympe de Gouges five days ago. Now proud Manon Roland.

A professed Girondin, Manon was still against tyranny and had been an advocate for the republic since the dawn of the Terror. Once, I wouldn’t have been able to admit that, but I could admit it now. Now that it’s too late.

And, when she tells Théophile Leclerc he got her pregnant, he replies (p. 435):

“‘We must marry. You’ve no other choice,’” he continued when I didn’t respond. […]

We had wanted liberty in France. But what freedom was there now? I had none. Théo would possess me utterly. I knew it, because the look her gave me had me wanting to crumble to the ground. All the choices I’d fought years for had been stripped away.

And now, I was nothing.

If there’s one point in history before the last 50 years or so that that’s not true it’s in 1793, when this scene is set. Will she be more comfortably off if she marries? Yes, and that would unfortunately be true pregnant or not. But there’s nothing forcing her to marry him if she doesn’t want to and even if she does he doesn’t own or control her under revolutionary marriage law. Were things perfect for women in 1793? Of course not, but given that they were a lot worse both before and especially after, I’m more than a little sick of 1793 being portrayed as the most misogynist of all the misogynist eras.

Ironically though, they omit Amar’s report and the closing of women’s political societies* which is a far more relevant and accurate point if you’re trying to make the case for revolutionary misogyny. Not to mention, it’s kind of baffling to leave it out of Pauline Léon’s storyline as it was targeted against the society she led in particular. (Her section ends instead with Manon Roland’s execution.) But I guess that would require introducing Amar and we can’t have people believing that Robespierre, Danton and Marat weren’t the only Montagnards; they might get confused otherwise. Maybe at this point I should just be glad they didn’t give Robespierre Amar’s speech in the name of consolidation of characters?

*NB, mixed societies were never closed (until the Thermidorian Reaction shut down all political clubs), so the result is a bit more ambiguous than is often claimed.

Anyway. We’ll finally conclude this mess in the next part…

#en anglais #French Revolution #Révolution française

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katherinewilliams221b · 4 years

Text

For A Greater Good 2/18

Gif not mine just the text

Summary: Kate Williams, young healer and member of the Order, joins Durmstrang's staff at Dumbledore's request. Her mission? Find a Death Eater and survive long enough to tell the story. Set in 1996.

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x ofc

Masterlist

[Part 1]

Dear Charlie, 7 Jan ‘96

I arrived yesterday in one piece. I wanted to write just as soon as I got here, but you can’t owl anytime you want. They have a strict and very controlled system, and they are very protective of their owls. You can use the owlery as many times as you want during Sundays.

The headmistress considered giving me a little more freedom in that regard, but I don’t want to tempt luck and make people ask why I have privileges.

I will stick to their rules and only send letters on Sundays, and with their owls. Please do NOT send Whiskey here, and warn your family not to use Errol either, I don’t think they could survive the weather here and Durmstrang won’t like my using foreign owls.

She assured me that the letters arrive within the day, so that’s good. They have a training program for the owls, but I saw them, and they are bigger than usual. Maybe a cross-species with a magical creature?

I am trying to convince the headmaster to let me use her fireplace from time to time to talk to you. I was told that this school uses spells to keep the place warm and protected from the snow, and they don’t use the fireplaces. Ever. I will have to be very careful, and I’m still trying to figure out how to be discreet.

They obliviate you when you arrive. They say it’s because they don’t want the school to be found, so I expect to be obliviated after my return.

They gave me a language potion! I can’t wrap my mind around the fact that I will be able to talk to anyone. Can you imagine that? The possibilities? I would investigate how that magic works right now if I had time. Can you do me a favour? In the tower next to our house, where I work, I have a small blackboard with some notes. Can you write something in the lines of “translator charms” or similar? Just so I remember.

Tomorrow I will start as a healer. You wouldn’t believe how big is the hospital wing! The headmistress, professor Rhode, told me it is common that students experiment by themselves and they have this room fully equipped for patients. Not even St Mungo’s have this quality. I wish I wasn’t in these circumstances, so I could explore the place with more detail.

I know what I have to do if you know what I mean, but I still have to put everything in order and figure out how exactly I’m going to face the task. I have no idea where to start, and I will be anchored in the hospital wing, so I won’t have much freedom.

Oh! I have a bedroom to myself on the top floor of the castle, and the views are breath-taking. You would love this place: the grounds, the mountains, the forest, and the lakes! I can see a ship from here, the one you told me they used to get to the Three Wizard Tournament last year, I believe.

Things are going to be calm for now, classes start again in less than a week so there’s not going to be not much to tell the next days.

I’m going to have lunch now and then get a map of the castle to be able to move around here.

Love,

With a kiss to the envelope, she handed the letter to the owl that hopped in circles in front of her. He chirped with excitement at his new quest and accepted the message before lifting into the air.

Kate leaned on the rail at the top of the owlery and admired the mountains. Her uniform was suited to the cold weather and let her enjoy the views.

The owl flapped its wings and disappeared through the low clouds that painted the horizon. She remembered Hogwarts and its owlery; how she used to spend many afternoons watching the sunset while the owls were still asleep. Even the not so pleasant smell of it had become something so familiar that she missed it when it wasn’t there. Kate’s smile vanished at the thought. There were too many things she wished that were there, but weren’t.

The whistling of an eagle caught her attention. She tried to focus on the bird, but it was flying in circles above the forest. She turned around and looked for an owl that wasn’t sleeping; she didn’t want to scare the poor thing.

She chose a horned owl that seemed curious about her movements and placed her hand in front of its beak to let it recognise her.

“Thank you, Professor McGonagall,” She drew her wand out and murmured “Strigiforma.”

A pair of opera glasses appeared in the owl’s place and she hurried to catch them before returning to the rail.

It wasn’t an eagle; it was a hawk. Kate didn’t know much about birds or their behaviour, but flying in circles above a certain spot didn’t seem very usual. Perhaps there was a prey in the forest, for it seemed riveted by the trees.

On its way back towards the owlery, the hawk seemed to advert Kate’s presence in the tower.

Faster than her eyes could register, the bird flew straight into Kate’s direction, only to change its course in the last second, passing over the roof.

Still confused with the events, Kate set the glasses on a nest nearby and turned them into its original form.

The owl scoffed indignantly and turned around to avoid her.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t hurt you, did I?” She rounded the nest and offered her hand as a peace offer. The owl looked at it and then away, keeping its head as high as possible.

“I will bring you some treats as compensation, I promise.”

Durmstrang Castle looked no smaller than Hogwarts from the inside. Kate managed to get to the library with great difficulty and had to suffer the taunts of some students when she asked for directions.

The library was a circular room, one of the towers, and was probably four stories high. Long tables occupied the centre of the room and each floor, visible from below, had small study areas.

Elegant chandeliers illuminated the place, but judging by the size of the windows, it would not receive much natural light throughout the day. This did not seem to bother the few people who were there. Perhaps they were used to the shadows, Kate thought.

Her attention was drawn to the golden, well-kept staircase upholstered with a red carpet that went up to the different floors with it. Just behind it, partially hidden behind black curtains, an empty table held the weight of more books than it should. It looks like my desk; she thought with a half a smile.

As she approached, she read the plaque propped up on one tower of books.

“If that book is not your thing, try to give the bell a ring.”

She scanned the place until she found a tiny bell hanging from the edge of the desk. With her index finger and thumb, she caught the string and hit it against the metal. Not hearing any noise, she tried again.

From the top of the tower, a bat hanging from one of the giant chandeliers broke loose from its resting place and plummeted to where Kate was standing. Flapping a couple more times, it flew over her head, causing her to jump. As it reached the desk, the bat changed shape, and a man dressed in an elegant black robe appeared.

“I heard you the first time.” He said with smiling eyes. “You don’t look like a student.”

“I am a new healer. Maybe you can help me, I’m looking for a map of the castle.” Kate looked at his face and could not help but feel a little envious; his skin seemed to glow, he had not a single wrinkle and his features were refined, almost translucent, as if made of glass. At first glance, it seemed that he was much older than Kate, but on closer examination of his features, it might have not been the case.

“Of course, I can help you. It’s my job.” A cloud of black dust appeared before her, and again the bat shot up. Kate followed its path up the first floor until it was out of sight.

After a minute, in which Kate shifted in her place several times, the sound of chains alerted her. She turned to the desk to find the librarian looking at her again. Her surprise must have been palpable, because the man snorted with amusement.

“Castles are particularly good at hiding secrets. Here, that’s for you.”

With a bow, he extended his arm and offered her a scroll. Kate went to accept it but held back before doing so.

“Am I allowed to borrow material?”

“I trust you will return it.” Kate nodded and accepted the scroll.

“I will. And thank you...”

“Corentin. At your service.” He said in a French accent before he turned into a bat one last time and flew to the lamp.

Kate went around every corner, every corridor and every room she could. She was able to recognise many of the places Astrid Rhode had shown her, and she discovered many more.

After a while, she entered what appeared to be a trophy room. Multiple shelves of medals and cups adorned the walls. Quidditch, duelling, and arts. It was clear that Durmstrang had taught many powerful and skilled wizards and witches.

At the end of the hall, a gigantic painting that occupied practically the entire wall showed a portrait of a woman. It stood still, unlike many of the paintings that decorated the corridors. Still, Kate felt as if her eyes followed every movement.

“Nerida Vulchanova.” She read on the plaque “Architect and founder of the Durmstrang Institute.”

“Remarkable woman, Vulchanova,” said a voice behind her back.

A woman with a complexion as dark as her robes and a shaved head observed her from an armchair in the shadows. When she stood up, Kate recognised her from the documents Astrid Rhode had given her.

“Mer Yankelevich. You may call me Mer.” She reached out her hand and Kate accepted it, trying her best to pretend she didn’t know her. “I teach charms. Haven’t seen you around here before...”

“Kate. I’m a new healer.”

She didn’t seem to care what Kate could say to her. She immediately turned her gaze to Nerida’s painting.

“Did you know that this castle could not stand without magic?” She made a dramatic pause that Kate found extremely unnecessary. She focused on the teacher’s mind and found arrogance and a strong feeling of superiority. She was gloating over her knowledge.

“The castle was built in the 13th century, and you can tell by its style and the size of its walls However, it has a peculiarity that no other building has. It can be seen right here in this room. Can you guess what it is?”

Kate watched as the long earrings Yankelevich was wearing seemed to wriggle with the question and a strange feeling invaded her body. She turned around, inspecting the room more closely.

Before she could make any comment, the teacher decided to speed up the conversation.

“Sometimes the things we are looking for are right in front of our eyes.” She went to the large windows behind Kate and leaned against the sill.

“When a wall is thick and low, it’s harder to knock down than a tall, thin one. Durmstrang Castle is only four stories high, and the walls are extremely thick, as you may have noticed. Their task is to support the castle.”

She touched the glass a couple of times with her razor-sharp long nails and smirked at Kate’s expression at the sound.

“It looks like it’s made of water.”

“That’s because none of the castle windows are made of glass. Nerida Vulchanova knew perfectly well that you can’t put windows in walls that support the entire weight of the vaults.”

Kate’s stomach jumped at the words. While she knew that her brother’s memories will always accompany her until the day she died, sometimes a word or a person could trigger the darkest parts of her mind. She had learnt to control it, and slowly but surely those memories hurt less than the day before.

Yankelevich reached for the handle and opened the window, letting in the cold wind of January.

“If these windows were made of glass and not magic, all the walls and ceilings would fall down. Fascinating, isn’t it? They are also soundproof.”

“Incredible, yes. Are you interested in architecture?”

“More than teaching, perhaps. I’m passionate about finding hidden places.”

“I’m sure Durmstrang is full of them.”

“What are you doing here, anyway?” The teacher walked to Kate again, her back to the portrait. “I mean, here, in the trophy room.”

Kate raised the map and was about to explain how she explored the castle afternoon, when sounds of a fight alerted them. They looked at each other and hurried to the door.

“Say that again! Say that again!” a boy, probably in his third or fourth year, shouted while he pushed another student backwards.

“Your Dad deserved it! You are just a bunch of blood traitors! You and your stupid family!”

Everything happened so fast, it looked like someone had pressed a switch and from one second to another, both students were on the floor trying to punch and kick each other.

Kate’s eyes widened at the sentence. She was left frozen in place, unable to react fast enough to the situation.

She saw how they managed to get up, but they were still fighting. Some other students came to enjoy the show and the corridor rapidly filled itself with deafening screams of encouragement.

Kate stumbled as she was being pushed further away from the wrestling.

The map slipped from her hand in the commotion and she struggled to get on her knees to find it. From the corner of her eye, she saw how something fled from somewhere among the crowd. A book?

“What the...” Kate murmured when huge black clouds covered the ceiling of the hallway.

Sounds of a storm right above their heads made everyone stay motionless in their spots.

“What, in Vulchanov’s name, is happening here?” Headmaster Rhode’s voice sounded as if she was holding a megaphone. However, her hands were raised, controlling the rumble and lightning of the storm.

With a wave, the clouds dissipated as well as the students that opened a path for her to walk.

Kate noticed the blood in one of the boys’ nose and tried to reach them, pushing aside the curious souls that didn’t want to miss Astrid Rhode’s fury.

“What do you think you are doing? Fighting like a pair of water demons instead of duelling like civilised young wizards. I’ll throw you myself in the lake if that’s what you want?”

A pair of ‘No, professor.’ bounced against the walls and echoed in the tense stillness of the place.

“Let me see the nose,” Kate ordered. After a quick examination, she drew her wand out before saying “Episkey”

The cracking noise made more than one student hiss.

“Now everyone out of here. I don’t want to see you. Prepare everything for the new term that’s starting in a few days. Go.”

The corridor cleared, and Kate noticed the book that rested on the floor. Before she could grab it, Mer Yankelevich bent down and took hold of it.

“Advanced guide for curse-breaking.” she read “Someone’s been inquisitive these holidays. I’m going to return this to Corentin, now.” she added, laughing.

Astrid nodded first at the teacher and then at Kate, adding a hidden meaning unknown for Yankelevich.

She couldn’t identify what Rhode was trying to tell her until the headmaster’s gaze shifted almost imperceptibly towards Mer Yankelevich’s back. Kate inhaled and crouched, pretending to tie more securely the shoelaces of her boots.

When the charms teacher rounded the corner, Kate darted after her, trying to jog, avoiding touching the heel to the ground.

She pressed her back against the wall, turned her head slightly to spy to the other side and observed how Yankelevich opened a door to another corridor instead of heading to the library’s direction.

Kate spent the rest of the afternoon considering Mer Yankelevich a procrastinator or a liar, inclining herself for the latter.

[Part 3]

#charlie weasley #charlie weasley x mc #charlie weasley x ofc #durmstrang #hphm #kate williams #order of the phoenix #i dont know if i will be able to keep up with 1 chapter/week #it's going to be a surprise for all of us lol

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