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liw-the-melancholic-apple · 4 years

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How it may have gone - Humble Beginnings

A fic taking place in the marauders era. While the political climate seems to head to a conflict, James, Sirius, Remus and Peter are still just teenagers. Dealing with typical teenage problems.But this year their little group grows. Who would have known that more prefects would be a good thing?

Masterlist

Ten: Detention II

In comparison to Saturday the Sunday was pretty bland. After breakfast the boys shuffled off to deal with James and make plans for the full moon that was coming up which gave us girls some time to ourselves. Snuggled up in blankets around the fire place we chatted about Milla’s date while I was working through my mountain of homework from the last week. I was looking forward to not having to do these enormous study-sessions anymore. It was good to be back with my friends.

At dinner I had told Professor Sprout that I would like to serve my first detention before dinner and handed her a copy of my schedule for the day. She wanted to get back to me.

By the first lesson of Monday morning she hadn’t yet. But after we spent some more time with the flitterbrick-nodules for two hours and were covered in some blackish goo, the rest of the class was dismissed to get cleaned up and hurry for potions, while I got called to Sprouts desk.

“Jette, I expect you to enter the greenhouse after your last class. Charms if I’m not mistaking?”

“You aren’t.”

“Professor Flitwick assures me that he’ll be ending the lesson by four o’clock sharp. You’ll have enough time to get changed into some old clothes that can get dirty and an apron and grab your gloves, work through your list and make it to dinner at a reasonable time. I understand you have a prefect meeting at half eight?”

“I do, Professor.”

“If you concentrate during detention it shouldn’t be a problem to get there in fresh clothing. Any questions?”

“The to do list will be there?”

“Yes, I’ll put in on the first desk.”

“And then I wondered, whether the other professors know that I’m supposed to be in Greenhosue 4, madam.”

“Well, yes they do. But I got this, nonetheless.” She handed me a parchment with her signature allowing me to enter the bespoke greenhouse during the next two weeks.

“Thank you, Professor.”

“You’re welcome. Now, hurry to clean up. Professor Slughorn knows that you’ll be running a little late, no need to worry about that.”

“Thank you, Professor”, I said again, weakly smiled at her and left Greenhouse 3.

Cleaning up the goo took longer than I had expected and I arrived in the dungeons with a solid twenty minute delay. I knocked and entered. Professor Slughorn smiled and pointed at an empty chair next to Black without saying anything.

Single lessons in Potions were usually fairly boring. We discussed the characteristics of brews and ingredients or went through complicated recipes. Today, as I could tell from the notes on the blackboard, we busied ourselves with potions that were used in other potions. Three were written out on the board. I’d have to ask Blair for notes after class and copy them.

“Now, when we talk about using the properties of one potion in another one of the best examples is the wound-healing-potion. One of the ingredients in that brew is essence of murtlap”, he pointed at the middle recipe on the board “which itself is brewed. While the recipe is very straight forward – boiling water, murtlap tentacles and nettle leaves – it’s the curing time that makes this one a little annoying.” I scanned the board. The curing time for essence of murtlap was three months. The potion was to be heated up once every twenty-eight days and otherwise just remained in the cauldron. After the trhee months (eighty-four days to be exact) the potion was to be strained twice and was ready to use.

“As you can see one cannot whip up any potion that calls for essence of murtlap out of the blue. Just throwing the ingredients in the healing potion will make it purple water, not an effective liquid. This means one needs to always be stocked on essence of murtlap in the ingredient cabinet or one needs to know when the healing potion is needed to buy the essence.

This combination of potions is also a nice example of two brews strengthening each other. Essence of murtlap on its own is very soothing to fresh and old wounds but it doesn’t speed up the healing process. Healing potion without essence of murtlap is basically a variation on Skele Gro which is used to regrow bones. The variation is not as strong as the original recipe for Skele Gro but can be used to regrow bones. Put both of these brews together and you have yourself a strong healing potion that can heal anything from a cut in your skin to a third degree flesh wound.

A lot of potion recipes use other potions to strengthen or alter the effects. Page 258 in your book. Please read the first two paragraphs now. We will discuss them in two minutes.”

For a theoretical potions lesson this one was really interesting. I had not been aware of the possibility of combining potions to create completely new ones. And the examples Slughorn had given were extremely useful as well. Nevertheless I was glad when I got to head to lunch.

Mondays were always full of theoretical lessons. After lunch we went over our essays about weaknesses and strengths in Defence against the Dark Arts, had a physics module in Mugglestudies and we revised the wand motions and incantations for the Banishing, Levitation, Mending, Fire Making and Cheering Charms. Before letting us go, Flitwick threatened to have us revise the Summoning, Tickling, Shrinking, Locking and Un-locking charms next Monday. Hooray.

Quickly waving at the other girls I rushed downstairs to change into a pair of ripped jeans, I usually reserved for days I wasn’t feeling like putting on joggers, and the oldest jumper I could find. I grabbed my herbology apron and dragon skin gloves, checked for the key around my neck, packed some parchment and viles in my back pack, put on my coat and left for the greenhouses.

In the courtyard I found my friends smoking. Remus looked bad. The full moon was only two nights away. One smoke couldn’t hurt, I decided and joined them for a couple of minutes that were spent asking Milla and Remus when they’d stop being awkward around each other. I didn’t hear their answer, but judging by my experience with Magnus and Chloe it would take them at least a month to be fully comfortable with their new situation. We would have a lot to laugh and giggle.

James didn’t act any different than usual, I realised as I stomped through the icy snow covered grass to end my school day where it had started. He either was a brilliant actor or the other boys had calmed him down sufficiently. His exiting the prefects’ lounge – however tame it was in comparison to how Sirius would have no doubt done it – was completely out of character. James usually didn’t get mad or storm off. He got annoyed and displayed his superiority. For him to basically admit defeat and flee was just weird. That had probably fuelled our concern for him. But this morning at breakfast and now he’d been his cheery, slightly arrogant self.

Chloe hadn’t been with the others. Usually, she went with us to meet the boys and opties to hang with Mag in the common room. But then again, she had spent all of Sunday with us and maybe she just needed some alone-time with him. I smiled to myself. Merlin, was I glad that the whole Crick-thing hadn’t left a lasting impression on their relationship.

I looked up. In front of me I found Greenhouse 1, used for teaching the first, second and third years. I knew that Greenhouse 2 was to its right and reserved for the seventh years and Greenhouse 3 lay right behind it. I’d been there this morning. Greenhouses 5 and 6 were mainly storage units that housed the plants not currently used in any of the lessons and were located behind the seventh year glass box. Had I ever actually seen Greenhouse 4?

I walked up to number three, hoping I’d find my destination behind it, but was disappointed. The herbology section was furthest away from the castle because of all the different sunlight requirements of the plants. Any closer to the castle and its various shadows would have killed half of the study material. I always thought that the sixth greenhouse was backed up right against the grey stone wall that framed the east side of the grounds but now that I walked around here, I found that it wasn’t. Between the building and the wall was a small path that looked like lead to a grove of trees I’d seen before. The oaks stood in the middle of the herbology section and provided shadow to those plants who needed it. Fairly frustrated I was about to walk back to the main path to carry on looking for my detention location when I spotted a pretty battered sign saying “Greenhouse 4” with an arrow that pointed to the oaks. Worth a try.

I squeezed myself between the wall and building – which just worked and had me wonder how Professor Sprout and her impressive circumference ever managed to do it – and ended up in the oak grove. I did two 360 degree pirouettes in looking for a greenhouse but couldn’t find it. Next I checked the walls of greenhouses 1, 2, 3, 5 and 6 for more weathered signs and actually found one nailed to the trunk of the biggest oak. The arrow on it pointed upwards. What?

I rolled back my head and scanned the canopies. A lot of leaves, a lot of branches, some probably freezing doves but nothing… a shimmer. Halfway between the top of the smallest and the tallest tree I saw something reflect the last bit of sunlight. Head still in my neck I changed my position several times until I was absolutely sure that the reflection was glass. Walking a little further around the oaks I could make out a right angle in the sparkles. Glass walls in the trees.

Since I’d started at Hogwarts four and a half years ago I’d been fascinated and flabbergasted by a couple of architectural aspects of the school: the medieval aesthetic, the charmed ceiling of the Great Hall, the moving staircases, the singing suits of armour. But this definitely took the cake. A barely visible treehouse. Literally, a house in the tree that was probably also used to grow trees. I loved magic. The question was how I would get in. The key I’d been given was obviously for a door and I couldn’t reach the house. I wondered whether I simply needed to fly up there by broom or whether there was a nifty hidden entrance in one of the trees. I tried a Revelio charm on the trunk of the big oak but nothing happened. I threw the charm in all directions just in case and the smallest tree made a noise. A very subtle ‘click’ that I would not have heard in the summer, when the birds chirped like there was no tomorrow. But with only the cold doves around the sound was clearly audible. A door had become visible in the trunk, only a few centimetres taller than me. No lock. I tried pushing it to no avail and then went for my wand again. “Alohomora.”

The bark completely disappeared and gave way to a spiral staircase carved out of wood. While I climbed them I wondered how in the name of Merlin’s left saggy ball anybody ever heard about Greenhouse 4. The rumour that students weren’t allowed in it was probably as old as the school itself but if it had always looked like this, hidden away in the trees, nobody would have ever known that it existed. Sure the numbering gave it away, but that was just stupidity on the teacher’s part. Call the other buildings one, two, three, four and five, make this one six and nobody would ever even think about thinking about number four. But maybe it was just like the prank with the pigs being let lose. Paint the numbers one, two and four on three pigs let them lose at a farm and enjoy everybody looking for number three. Knowing the antics of current and previous Hogwarts headmasters, that was definitely an option.

The staircase was lit by floating glass orbs that contained fire and followed me up, encasing me and my surroundings in an angelic glow. Contrary to every other staircase I had ever seen at Hogwarts there were no paintings, decorations, inscriptions or carvings to be found around it. It was just wood. All of it.

It took me forever to reach the end of the stairs, that had started swaying the higher I got, but when I did, I stood opposite a fairly gigantic ebony black door with golden bolts and a golden lock. I pulled out the key from underneath my jumper – my coat had been in the backpack since step number 32 – and put it in the lock. Perfect fit.

Opening the door I was met with the sweet scent of a flower field in June and a lot of chirping and splashing and rustling. What I saw took my breath away. Greenhouse 4 was not a greenhouse. It was an oasis for flora and fauna alike and looked like a clearing in a fantastical forest. The floor was mainly covered in dark green moss on which four desks were placed. These desks looked like they had grown out of the moss. Less like carved and glued furniture, more like shrubs that organically grew into the practical shape of a worktable.

the desks were right off to the left side underneath one of the enormous windows, that seemed to be held up by nothing. No frames, no bolts, no handles, no metal, no wood. Nothing. I suspected that each wall was one giant sheet of glass that was magically attached to the sheets that made up the floor, other walls and ceiling, as well as the tree. During the day – or the summer – the light here at the desks would be blindingly bright, so you could perfectly work without having to deal with the shadows of the plants. Now, however, as the last sunlight in which I had spotted the treehouse was long gone, a slightly dimmed, small sun had emerged in the centre of the workstations to illuminate them. The rest of the greenhouse was lit by light yellow light, the origin of which I couldn’t make out. It was a stark contrast to the dusk outside though.

At each of the walls there were flower beds and the likes housing an uncountable amount of plants, from the far right corner of the huge structure flowed a stream of crystal clear water to the left corner by the door. Some of the splashing I’d heard upon entering came from there. What looked to me like miniature koi fish swam in it and jumped out occasionally. At the back wall trees and shrubs hat grown into an impressive grove of their own and I assumed all the birdy chirping came from the nests hidden away there.

It took me some time to adjust to my new – and warm! – surroundings, but once I shook my state of awe I walked over to the nearest desk and found a folded parchment with my name on it.

To Do – Day 1

Behind the bumblebush by the desks you’ll find a door. It houses the supplies and tools. It’s not locked, grab whatever you need.

One table over is a stack of books that tells you what you need to know about the various plants and animals.

Feed the Abtu in the river

Check elderly mandrakes for signs of life (or death)

Cut Gillyweed and seal in jar

Provide bucket of maggots to Snidgets

Wear gloves !!! and collect Streeler slime.

Abtu are small fish that give off rays of light, looking like soft sunlight. The school has a school of them because their scales can be used in gloves and clothes worn by miners or the goblins deep within the Gringotts vaults.

The scales of an Abtu do never seize to shine.

After reaching maturity the cry of a mandrake gets less and less deadly. Mandrake root and Leaves are vital ingredients of various potions and creams. Most require young Mandrakes, but some require dead ones. Should you find dead Mandrakes, please place them on the third desk in their pots. We are in the process or persuading Professor Slughorn to brew a badge of Chameleon solution and the dried leaves of dead Mandrake are essential to that.

Gillyweed can be used to breath under water when kept in freshwater and without exposure to air. Cut it off and pull the jar under the water, then close it.

Snidgets are a very rare species of birds. The school’s been providing a safe habitat for them for the past 62 years. They just need to eat.

Streeler slime is used in the making of Veritaserum and various poisons and healing potions. In its purest and freshest form it can put a person in a coma within 1.3 seconds. It’s never been deadly on its own.

Check off every task you have performed and leave the list on the desk. Have fun and good luck.

P. Sprout

I read the list two times. Why would she give me snippets of information but not tell me everything I needed to know. What did Abtu eat? Cool fact about the glow-in-the-dark scales but how was that important to the task of feeding them?

Why tell me what mandrakes are used for or what potions she wanted Slughorn to brew, instead of telling me how to distinguish an old sleeping mandrake from a dead one? Why did she include the sections on Gillyweed and Snidgets at all? Did that say bucket of maggots? Why did it not say if they were alive or dead?

Why did she have me collect coma-slime?

While wondering about these things I went over to the next table and rummaged through the books. To my delight they were more old-timey workbooks or magazines and not the thousand page encyclopaedias I knew from the library. The one on Abtus was basically a four page guide to keeping the little fish and nothing more. I scanned the brochure and discovered that Abtu mainly fed on tadpoles and scarabs. Per fish one feeding should be one scarab or three tadpoles. All right. I went over to the bustling bumblebush that was covered in neon blue cherries and found a modest door, like the parchment had suggested.

The room behind it was lit by more fire orbs and looked like any old garden shed, only way bigger. One of the cabinets said FEED on it and as I opened it I saw a well organised and labelled system of drawers. Scarabs and tadpoles were right beside each other and because I didn’t like the thought of killing little baby frogs I took out the scarab drawer. The beetles were clearly alive – they moved their eyes and heads – but had just as clearly been hit with a leg locking curse. I assumed the curse also worked on wings.

Armed with the drawer of the undead insects I strolled over the moss to the river and estimated the amount of tiny koi in the river. I tossed three hands of scarabs in and watched fully fascinated as the tiny tame looking fish exposed razor sharp teeth with which they cracked the beetles’ exterior hard shelled skeleton. Creepy little things.

Back at the cabinet I put away the scarabs and screeched when I opened the drawer labelled “Maggots”. Instead of a neat little drawer this was basically a washing machine filled with loads of yellow-ish moving rice. Yuck! I put on my gloves, found a copper bucket and a big ladle and started scooping the disgusting little things. The thin book on Snidgets – that were apparently the original golden snitches from Quidditch, who’d have known – only ate once every three and a half weeks but were like a bottomless whole then. So, I filled the bucket to the brim and walked over to the little assortment of trees and shrubs, where I put it down. As soon as my hands had left the handle about fifteen feathery golden balls of fluff dove down from the tree tops and attacked the buckt. With delighted chirping they hacked away at the squiggling mass and I went back into the shed to look for knives and mason jars.

I found both in a cupboard with the sign WATERDWELLING on it, neatly placed under yet another label that read “Gillyweed”. Cutting and preserving the algea-esque plant was fairly boring.

Before I went about my last task for the day I opened the last book again: Snakes and Slugs in Soothing Somethings by Clara Abernathy. The chapter on Streelers was very long but it had a detailed description of how to collect the slime. Abernathy advised me to never try and get the slime off the pig-sized slug directly. Thank Morgana, I was not going to pet a disgusting slug that could easily reach my waist. Instead, I was instructed to conjure black light and look for fluorescent traces on the ground, trees and walls. Those were the slime I could collect. Just like Professor Sprout, she made a point of the necessity of wearing gloves and suggested old jam glasses as containers.

With my gloves back on my hands I went into the shed. At the very back of it were some shelves with labels in a different handwriting. As I got closer I realised that this was Professor Slughorns section. The shelves had vials and glasses and every other sort of container, filled with weird looking substances and empty. I grabbed a couple and went for my wand.

My spell to kill all the lights worked only partially. While the little sun by the desks experienced its own solar eclipse without a moon, the rest of the room stayed just as bright as before. It took me a moment to realise that the light came from the sharp toothed Abtu in the river and that they would not stop.

Mildly irritated I threw some black light around the room and found a decent amount of bluish white glowing slime traces. To my surprise the slime wasn’t sticky at all and I could easily scoop it up with a cake-server I had found earlier.

Abernathy had mentioned in her soothing book that the slime was to be kept in the darkest place possible – the back wall of the shed – and so I labelled the seven jars myself and put them back on the shelf they had come from.

Every mandrake I checked was still very much alive – if not kicking – and so I checked off the list, cleaned off my apron and gloves in the little sink in the shed, dried them with the spell I usually used on my hair, put on my coat, took in the view of the greenhouse and the grounds one more time, left, locked the door and began my descend into the normal world again.

#marauders fanfiction #marauders era #james & peter & remus & sirius #james potter #sirius black #remus lupin #peter pettigrew #harry potter #original character

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ladygloucester · 7 years

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Redheaded Scots and Red Velvet Dresses

Hi!

I’ve been kinda stuck with my main work, so I thought of untucking a bit with some good old fashion smut. Hope you enjoy it!!

“I already told you, I’m not going to that stupid party, Geillis. I’m on call tomorrow and have zero interest in going to the hospital with two hours of sleep in my back.”

Claire dropped on the couch crossing her arms and staring blankly at the tv. Her blonde roommate looked at her with a crooked smile and arching an eyebrow.

“You’re telling me you rather binge watch that silly medieval tv show for the thousandth time than coming to a party? Seriously?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. And it’s not medieval. It’s XVIII century.”

“Whatever.”

A tense silence settled between them, Geillis’ deep green eyes piercing Claire’s. Then, her stance changed and smiled again.

Then I’m calling cave on you,” she sentenced mimicking her posture.

Her roommate’s eyes darted to hers, in complete and utter astonishment.

“Really? You’re calling cave for me to go to a party?“ Geillis nodded and Claire dropped her arms, defeated. The first time they had met, Claire had been doing speleology in a marine cave. She had broken her leg and unable to call for help or swim the distance between the cave and the shore, she had given up and waited for someone, anyone, to have the same silly idea she had had, emerge from the water and find her. Two days and almost completely dehydrated, Geillis had found her on the sand, helped her to the shore and taken to the hospital. Since that day, besides becoming best friends, Geillis had used the cave whenever she wanted to get her way. She knew how and when to call it: that trip to Paris she didn’t want to do alone, not after Dougal had dumped her for the thousandth time; that time she went skydiving and realized she was to scared to go by herself; and the best time, that Saturday she made Claire go with her to an illegal body painting contest in Edinburgh that almost got them both in jail. Fun times.

“You’re incredible. Fine. I’ll go. But don’t think for a second I’m having any fun or staying a minute over 1 am.”

She stood up and lightly pushed Geillis on her way to her bedroom. Since she had begun her internship at the hospital, clothes had become a frivolous concept she had no time to pay attention to. Not that she didn’t appreciate a nice Balenciaga. But spending days in a row with her blue scrubs played down the importance of going to work with a pretty outfit…. that would most certainly covered in blood, puke or any other disgustingly non washable substance that had already ruined two pairs of designer heels and at least three painfully beautiful jeans. So sneakers, cheap jeans and a t-shirt was almost her daily uniform, so finding something to wear to a party started to prove itself a dull task.

While she was going through her drawers, Geillis appeared carrying two black dress bags with a name she didn’t recognize.

“Louis de la Tour? I don’t think I…”

“This is what you’re wearing tonight. I haven’t told you because I wanted you to come because you liked my company. But since you hate me guts and care naught for me, I’m telling you already. It’s a costume party.” And before Claire could protest, she kept talking. “A XVIII century costume party.”

A smile spread on Claire’s face as she took one of the bag and opened it. Inside there was a stunning red dress with a more than generous neckline and an amazing volume skirt. She stared at the fabric, caressing it, and looked back at Geillis.

“In the other bag there’s the rest of the things you’ll need for the dress. A corset, undergarments… You know better than I do.“

“Geillis, I…”

“Just shut up and try not to look to pretty. Dougal’s coming too and I don’t want him staring like a fool at your lovely bosom.”

Claire grimaced and shook her head, reassuring her.

“I’ll have a turtleneck close by for emergencies.”

The cab driver that picked them up was flabbergasted when they got in and tried to fit with their dresses into the back of the car. In a chaos of silk, petticoats and lace, Claire and Geillis managed to seat without wrinkling the skirts too much, and arrived at their destination fifteen minutes later.

As they traveled, Claire stared at the city, disappearing progressively, skyscrapers and office buildings leaving room for wide grass fields, sparkling under the red sunset. She had no idea where they were going, but her doubts came clear when they finally parked in the front garden of a, of course, XVIII century manor.

As they stepped out of the taxi, she soaked in the beauty of the large, slender, white marble pillars flanking the marvellous entrance hall. The stairs leading io it were covered by a deep red velvet carpet, and several guests were already making good use of it. It really felt like a journey through time, and the feeling became more powerful when both women entered the mansion. Men wearing powdered wigs, dress coats in the most assorted colors and pants that ended on the knee, only to give way to sleek white stockings held in place by colorful garters.

Being raised by an archaeologist, Claire was especially fond of every single thing that estimated her historical instincts. Intently, she noticed every detail of the hall while Geillis pulled her arm trying to make her move faster. The moulding that dressed the upper walls, the heavy curtains covering the wide French windows, the fluffiness of the Persian carpets under her feet.

Geillis clicked her tongue and pulled from her harder, almost making her trip and letting lose a few curls of Claire’s precarious bun.

“Jesus H. Roosevel Christ, Geillis!” She hissed recomposing herself and catching up with her pace. “You almost dislocate my shoulder, why are you in such a hurry?”

“I’m not in a hurry. I just don’t want to be seen staring at the walls as if I just left the village on a stagecoach.”

The sun was already setting when they entered what it appeared to be the ballroom, and the chandeliers had been lit, dozens of candles illuminating the richness of the chamber and playfully creating whimsical shadows on the walls. The floors were covered in mahogany wood, making her heels tap with a joyful sound. Geilis left her impatiently and wandered around the room, a moment Claire took advantage of to appreciate the exuberance of her outfit. Matching her eyes, her friend had chosen a emerald green low-cut dress, lavishly ornate with lace and totally flattering. The contrast with her creamy skin made the perfect combination, and Claire knew then why she had put so much effort in looking that stunning.

Her walkabout came to its end when a tall, older man emerged from the crowd. His hair was extremely short, but you could tell by the strands of grey that showed here and there that he had seen easily over four decades. Geillis was, just as Claire, in her early twenties, and even though she had always understood the appeal of an attractive forty-something, there was something in Dougal that made Claire distrustful. Probably was the way he looked at her whenever they met, as if he was about to jump her and forget about his actual date.

Not a compelling quality in a boyfriend, for sure.

With that in mind, Claire decided to distance herself from the couple before he insisted in greeting her. Slowly, that was the only way she could move in that amazing but consistently uncomfortable dress, she took two steps backwards and began to turn around, when suddenly a solid whirlwind of tartan, red curls and white linen crashed against her, making her lose her balance. But before she could regain it, two strong hands grabbed her waist and steadied her.

When their eyes met, the man who had collided with her froze his hands in place, even though their service was no longer required. Two piercing blue eyes, the same color as a summery sky reflected on a stream, stared into hers. A few coppery curls had fallen over them and she felt, for a second, a stinging need to weave them away. Claire stood there, trapped in time as if clocks had all dropped their hands and seconds ceased to exist. But they really hadn’t.

“But… what are you doing there? Come!” A high-pitched, almost annoying feminine voice came from a few feet away, tearing them both out from the enchantment. His hands painfully left her back and a slight blush covered his cheeks, as he passed his fingers through his curls to set them back again.

“Sorry, mistress. Didna mean to…” A deep, rich voice reached her even in the growing racket that had begun as guests entered the ballroom.

“Don’t worry, I was… Just walking backwards, actually. Probably not the best way to walk in a crowd.”

He smiled politely and nodded, before lingering just a second more than necessary and going in his way to the origin of the disturbance. Claire nodded back, flushed and feeling her heart pounding against her corset. Over six feet tall, the owner of those flashing red curls was wearing what she interpreted as a traditional Scot outfit. Kilt and everything. The tartan fell all the way to his knees, reached by two sturdy but apparently well-made leather boots. A white linen shirt, crossed by the plaid fabric that covered his shoulder kept in place by a silver brooch, completed the look. She strained her eyes to try and decipher the pattern of his kilt as he was leaving, the exact same moment he chose to look over his shoulder and catch her redhanded. She quickly took her gaze away, but not before she could sense the shadow of a smile in his full lips.

Nice. Caught squinting at a guy’s ass. Way to go, Beauchamp, clearly this can only get better.

Trying to calm down and enjoy the party, she turned the opposite way and visited the bar, that consisted of a splendid cedar table with a server on the other side of it.

“Whisky. Neat, please.”

She gulped the first glass and got herself served with another before roaming the room. Geillis and Dougal had already disappeared.

At least someone is having a party.

Without her roommate around, she realized she knew no one at that place. But it didn’t actually matter. The lushness of her low V-cut dress and the brightness of the red fabric began to catch the eye of several men and in no time, she found herself surrounded by smiles, knowing winks and a lot of flattering words. Fortunately she had brought a fan, dazzlingly decorated, to cover in part her charms and shoo away the nuisances.

Even though it was a XVIII century costume party, clearly the DJ had nothing in common with Mozart or Bach. Rock began to reverberate in the design speakers that were camouflaged around the place, and the guests had no trouble dancing around in their best galas. It was awkward to feel like you had traveled over two hundred years back in time with that soundtrack. But after many requests, Claire finally gave up, left her empty glass —how many times have they refilled it?—and threw herself into the music.

It didn’t take much for her to lose track of time. Dancing became very welcomed distraction she hadn’t had since she began her surgery internship at the hospital. Lots of concentration, late hours and even longer ones studying were pretty much what her days were made of. She didn’t realize how right was Geillis, and how much she needed to go out and remember what it was to have a night like that. The heat, the music, the people… it was exhilarating, and she yielded to all of it.

But then, the crowd opened slightly and her eyes traveled through the corridor amongst them. Leaned against one of the tables, with a glass of whisky in one hand and his legs crossed at the ankles, two exquisitely blue eyes under a mass of red curls stared at her, completely fixated. Claire felt her chest and cheeks flushing while she looked back at him still dancing. He took a sip of the glass, and quickly, almost inadvertently, he licked his lips, as if to rescue a castaway drop of liquor.

Claire had an internal debate. Why didn’t he come along? Why was he looking at her like that, as if this was some kind of private show? Because if that Scot was able to do something, was to make her feel as if they were alone in a room full of people. She was arguing against herself when her own curls, tucked up in a bun, began to fall over her shoulders. Absentmindedly, she took the hair slide that had kept them (as best as it could) in place and let them spread around her face and neck.

Ok, so he has a thing for curly girls…

She couldn’t help a flirty smile when his eyes grew wider, or as wide as those two feline eyes could, and his lips slightly parted at the sight of Claire’s hair running wild. Apparently that was all he was waiting, because a second later he was crossing the room in confident strides until he was standing in front of her, in a turbulent sea of people dancing. Even though she wasn’t small, he towered over her at a close distance.

“Where did you leave your date?” Claire couldn’t help to tease. He answered with a crooked smile.

“Ye mean Laoghaire? It wad’a been a date if I had any interest in her. My sister set me up, she has very… clear ideas. Not that I share most of thaim”.

“So you left the poor girl, is it?”

“Poor…” He repeated astonishedly. “If ye kent Laooghaire ye wouldna call her poor. Trust me.“

Claire chuckled and realized he was standing still.

“You don’t dance?”

“Not really my strong suit…“

“Then you shouldn’t be in the middle of the dance floor…” She teased again, looking at him from under her eyelashes. He arched an eyebrow and began to move, slowly and in a very contained manner that, probably without him knowing, made him even sexier.

“If that’s what it takes to speak to ye…”

The conversation was severely reduced, and the heat pulsating throughout the room made his curls stuck with sweat to his forehead and temples. The distance between them was merely inches, even though they weren’t touching. Whenever he spoke to her, he would come closer to her ear. The proximity of his body began to raise her temperature, and the feeling of his hot breath against the skin of her neck, brushing his hair against her cheek, was starting to drive her mind into more than friendly thoughts of dancing companionship. Unable to break eye contact from those charged pools of turmaline, she felt like the prey hypnotized by the predator.

And yet, instead of doing any obvious advances, he would make her laugh until her ribs hurt and she had tears in the corner of her eyes, while shielding her from other people pushing her and careless elbows. Without touching her, his arms would create a safety bubble inhabited only by the two of them.

“Care for another drink?“ She nodded smiling and he parted ways in the search of a nice scotch whisky.

While Claire was waiting for his return, Geillis approached her with Dougal on her arm. She could instantly feel his eyes on her breasts, slightly bright because of the sweat. Geillis elbowed him on the side and he diverted his gaze with a grunt.

“Dougal, always a pleasure,” she snorted and arched an eyebrow.

“Don’t mind him. You having fun?” Geillis asked as she started to dance to the rhythm of a new song.

“Sure. Better than I expected, I confessed.” Claire smiled and directed her eyes to the large Scot ordering drinks at the end of the ballroom. Geillis followed her gaze and let out a astound chuckle.

“Really? Do you know him?”

“Yeah…” She answered puzzled. “Do you?”

“Actually…”

“Good evening…” An unexpected low voice came across to her. Claire turned around and was met by a two dark eyes, squinting because of a polite smile. Dressed as a English military of the XVIII century, this man was clearly older than her. Something in his gaze made her instantly uncomfortable, even though his demeanor couldn’t be more respectful. She made a graceful bow and smiled back.

“Good evening indeed.”

He closed the distance between them, narrowing the space between their bodies and his mouth and her ear. She shivered, but not the same way she had before.

“I see you have a particular good eye for Scots. But, here’s the thing. That great, redheaded one you’ve been talking to… Let’s say he’s not free to roam around the likes of you. He has… other tastes, if you know what I mean.”

As well-mannered as he was, Claire felt disgusted by the way he was talking to her. He didn’t even shout, near as he was. He faced her again, slowly, deliberately, and slightly drop his eyelids staring at her chest. He made a disapproving noise with his mouth and shook his head, crooking a smile.

“Too cheap, I’m afraid. Easy as a…”

Claire didn’t see it coming and certainly neither did the English man. The fist that collided brutally against his jaw tore him away a few steps, but he didn’t fall to the ground; instead, he clashed into the crowd and the people around supported him, caught by surprise. She followed the fist to the arm, then to the shoulder, only to discover the owner was said great, redheaded Scot. He had let his hand fall to his side and was shaking it. But what Claire didn’t expect was the utter look of disgust and hatred he was directing at the mant.

When he managed to regain balance, he touched his chin, checking it was still in place, and smile viciously at the Scot. Then he looked back at Claire.

“I told you. His tastes are different.“

Dougal, who had been staring at the whole scene without batting an eyelash, jumped to get ahold of the angrier and angrier redheaded man, who was already trying to get free to, probably, launch another punch into that odious face.

“Dinna, lash, juist let it go,“ Dougal hissed. He grabbed him until the man in the redcoat left the ballroom, and then he released him.

The younger man shook his head, his curls flying around, and snorted before turning away and disappearing into the crowd. Claire looked at Dougal, raising an eyebrow in a questioning way, and he shrugged.

“He’s my sister’s son.”

Claire blinked twice, completely caught off guard and looked at Geillis, who was already tidying up Dougal’s costume. She shook her head slightly, not knowing what else to say, and Claire took off the same way the nephew had. That hand was probably broken and if not, it was going to be painful as hell either way. Following his steps, a large door opened before her, leading to the back garden. The air was chilly, and goosebumps flooded her exposed skin. She took advantage of the height of the stairs to locate him. Not that he could pass unnoticed. Tall and bright as he was, it took her just a few seconds to find him pacing in a secluded part of the garden.

Training overtook her and she walked determined towards him. He acknowledge her looking at her sideways, but didn’t stop. He was muttering something she couldn’t understand, until she realized it was gaelic. Claire grabbed his arm and tried to stop him, but he got loose and kept pacing.

“I can’t understand a single word you say, but if that hand…”

“What did he tell ye?” He asked dryly. Claire’s brow furrowed and shook her head.

“Nonsense, he just…”

“What.”

“Ok, ok… Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, what’s the fuss? He just told me you…” She realized she didn’t know how to put it with words. She sighed, looking at his large height and prayed he didn’t have any more punches in him. “He just told me you’re gay… But that’s ok! Don’t feel bad about it or anything…“

Blood left his face and Claire felt the night had become even colder.

“So that’s what he’s speeting noo, is it?”

“I don’t understand…”

“He’s the one that chased after me. He… I rejected him and he… since that day… He tells every woman he sees me with ‘I have other tastes’. That’s what he tald ye, aye?” Claire nodded intimidated by the situation. “I kent. Bastard… One day there’ll be no one close eneugh to save his sorry arse,“ he hissed under his breath, shaking his hand.

Claire saw the bloodied knuckles and grabbed both his arms, forcing him to face her and stop toting.

“Let me check that hand, it’s…”

“It’s ok, I’ve seen warse.“

“I don’t doubt it,” she tried to light it up a notch. “But I’m a doctor. Well, a doctor in training, at least. Let me see it.”

He stared at her for a second, sighed deeply and sat on a nearby pedestal missing its statue. He gave up and allowed her to examine his hand. Only palpating it and by the way he was clenching his jaw, probably he had at least two knuckles broken. For a second Claire tried to imagine the strength he had applied to that punch, and realized the other side of the fight was probably on his way to the ER with a broken jaw.

“Two knuckles are broken, probably more. You shouldn’t have given him the satisfaction.” She added while taking out a white handkerchief of one of the hidden pockets of her dress, making him smile while she tucked it around his hand.

“That dress is full of… surprises,“ he mustered. For the first time in the whole night, his willpower faltered him and Claire caught him staring at her breasts, ample and pulsating with every gasp of air. It was only a second, but she noticed and when he looked back in her eyes, he was blushing like a teenager. “i… I’m… I just… It’s… I mean, it’s distracting, you ken… Blessed Michael defend us! Ye have no idea the effort I’ve put tonight to keep my eyes above your neck,” he defended himself.

Claire erupted in laughter and he looked at her slightly offended.

“You shouldna wear things like that, they’re… Well, it’s hard to think nearby,” he kept trying to build his case.

She couldn’t stop laughing, so she didn’t noticed him standing up only an inch from her body. When she realized the proximity, she tried to take a step backwards, but his hand on the small of her back stopped her from succeeding. She didn’t pull away again, just staring into each others eyes, in the silence of the night as her laughter faded. His other hand traveled from his lap to her temple, pushing a way a rebellious curl behind her ear. He then lowered his fingertips, soft and light as a dove’s wing, on the side of her neck, painfully slowly.

Claire felt her pulse racing and she closed her eyes, panting. There was something extremely erotic in the way he had been treating her all night. That distance between them, almost non existent but always enough for her to reject him had she wanted to. The brush of his hair on her cheek when he talked to her ear, making her tremble under the heat of his breath. Each movement was deliberate and calculated and yet, seemed completely effortless.

His fingertips slowed down when they reached her shoulder, passed over her collarbone and set course to souther terrains. They slowed enough for her to retreat. The pressure of his hand on her back was almost formal, and she knew she could release herself from that embrace any time she wanted to. But damn if she did. Then, that same hand pulled her closer, erasing the distance between them. His fingers landed on one breast, caressing it so delicately she couldn’t help a moan escaping her lips. She rested her forehead against his chin, feeling the golden stubble against her skin, but apparently, all the willpower he had used to keep his eyes away from her charms had finally run out. Grabbing her hair, he pulled her face up to his and his mouth crashed against hers.

His lips were demanding. Having been restrained for so long, when they found hers they devour them without mercy. His teeth sank into the softness of her lower lip, making her closed eyes roll backwards in pleasure. His tongue followed through, first caressing it then exploring her mouth, playing inside of her, making her knees tremble. He turned around with her and lifted her by the waist in a swift movement, almost completely effortless, to settle her on top of the pedestal he had been sitting on a few seconds earlier.

Her hands began to unbutton the shirt to gain access to his chest, and conquered every bit of skin and soft fuzz on it. Without leaving his mouth, his own hands traveled up to the front of her dress and untied the laces that held it in place, uncovering the white corset underneath it and cursing under his breath when confronted with more obstacles.

“A Dhia…”

Claire couldn’t help a smile as he looked disturbed by the amount of effort it was going to take to finally uncover her breasts, but that Scot was nothing if not thorough, and when he finally untied his new archenemy, she shivered as the cold wind hardened her nipples. He took a second to admire her roundness and perfection, before lowering his mouth and paying them the attention they deserved.

Her head fall backwards in pleasure as his lips captured one nipple, playing with his tongue against the sensitive flesh. Her hands grabbed his curls and pressed him closer to her. First one, then the other, the redheaded man suckled and teased her breasts, licking their curves and giving her goosebumps in every inch of skin attended.

His mouth set course upwards, kissing his way up to her neck and back to her mouth. Claire finally separated her legs, allowing him into that closer place where each part of their bodies were in contact with the other. Even under the folds of wrinkled fabric, she could feel his desire, at least, matching hers, intoxicatingly brushing against her inner core.

Finally surrendering to being unable to think cohesively, she abandoned herself to her instincts, to the soft firmness of his mouth ravishing hers, to the urge of his hands discovering every piece of exposed skin and claiming it for his own. The roughness of his linen shirt against her bosom made her feel as she would combust herself if she didn’t find release soon. So in a bolder move that she expected, Claire surrounded his hips with her thighs, pushing him unimaginably closer to her. He moaned into her mouth and she moaned back in return, unable to wait any longer for the contact to be full and ultimate.

She lifted her skirt and went on to do the same with his kilt, without any opposition, while his hands lowered her dressed from her shoulders, baring new territory for him to enthrall with his kisses and the teasing of his teeth. Her hands finally found him as he gasped for air, settling his forehead on her shoulder. His length filled her hand, pulsating, while she directed it straight inside of her. The same surprise she had gotten when she found no underwear under his tartan was equal to his when he realized she was following the XVIII customs in full detail.

He accepted the invitation extended by her adventurous hand and teased her entrance before thrusting in one move and stopping inside of her to allow her to adjust to him. Claire could feel his hands around her waist, and his breath panting against the skin of her neck. Slowly, he set a pace guided by the rhythm her hands began to mark on his hips, but unable to stay under such restrain any longer, he pulled her hips closer to his, eliciting a cry from her and covering her mouth with his own to keep her silent.

His thrusts pounded against her flesh, making it swollen and so sensitive she felt every nerve of her body concentrated in that tiny amount of space. His cock filled her emptiness as no one ever had, pulsating inside of her and reaching further and further along. The grip of his hands on her hips nailed her to the stone she was sitting upon, angling them perfectly for him to tease her most receptive spot whenever he pushed inside of her. But when one of his hands released her grasp and found its way to that sweet place between her legs, Claire knew release was about to wash all over her.

Their eyes met, as if somehow their bodies were in outright synchronization, as if they knew what their masters didn’t, and he increased the pace while caressing her to oblivion. The orgasm came like a wave in a sunny beach day, warm, full, unexpectedly enticing. He followed through seconds later, feeling her clutching around him and driving him into utter pleasure in her arms.

For a minute, they stayed embraced, panting into each other’s skin. Her head resting on his chest, his chin on top of it. When they finally parted, their anatomies already missing what was being stolen from them, they looked at each other with different eyes. He helped her with the laces, trying to recompose her dress as best as they could, then she helped him tucking his shirt inside of his kilt and placing the plaid fabric over his shoulders.

In them most gentlemanly way, he offered his hand to help her off the stone base and she gracefully accepted it with a smile. Then, as if hit by realization at the same time, the looks on their faces switched content and satisfaction to shyness and sudden regret.

“I can’t believe…“

“I should hae asked…“ They spoke at the same time, went silent and laughed more relaxed. He arched an eyebrow with a crooked smile, took a step backwards and bowed.

She asked to her movement with a balletic bow of her own, and this time she was the first to offer her hand out.

“Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp.“

“James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser. Your servant, madame.”

#outlander #outlander fic #jamie x claire #jamie fraser #costume party #modern au #outlander in the xxi century #ladygoutlanderfic

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mysidewriting · 6 years

Text

Through the Storm

Through the Storm Page "Soundtrack" From the Start--Previous Chapter

Chapter Twenty Seven

We barely made it back to the house, the winds of the somehow stronger storm nearly toppling the plane out of the sky at least five times. The landing was rough again, an outer piece of the plane having cracked off once we struck the ground, yet the crazy old man didn't seem to care. Trees had toppled over in the woods surrounding the cabin and one of the windows on the second floor had shattered inwards. I rushed into the house to let them know about the hazard, just in case they hadn't noticed it and was met with a wall of noise. Frantic shouts echoed loudly though the halls, tons of voices mixing and warping to make this mess of sound that made my head hurt. Red, Gold, Krys, Cynthia, Hau, and Lillie were all nestled in one room, no one seemed to notice Gladion and I walking in. Too busy bickering about something. I was just about to say something when...

"Moon! Holy shit!" I looked up just in time for Gold to ram me into a crushing hug, knocking me back into a wall in the process. "You got mewtwo right? We need to get back to that beast in the ocean now!"

I pushed him off of me, pulling the ball holding the aforementioned pokemon out of my pocket and holding it up for everyone to see. "Yes, we got mewtwo. What happened while we were gone?"

Cynthia spoke up, "There's three of those machines spread all across the island. One of them is near kyogre and is half of the reason the storm is as bad as it is." She shook her head.

"Aqua took Green." Red said flatly, the only sign of his concern for this being in the line of his brow... for those who knew him that was more than enough. He was wrecked about it.

So we had our work cut out for us then, three machines, a crazed legendary, a friend held hostage by some idiots, and... "What about that woman?" I asked after nodding sympathetically to the distraught Red. "Did you find her, Cynthia?"

She nodded, "I saw her, but she had a chimecho teleport her away before I could even talk to her." Great, that would make things even more complicated then. We'd have to get rid of the chimecho before we could even think about catching her. I imagine mewtwo would be able to help with that as well, if it could move quick enough to catch such a tiny Pokémon.

Gladion stepped backwards towards the door of the room. "So, why are we all still here then? Shouldn't we go to kyogre?" He said with this contemptuous look on his face before heading out. He's really anxious to get moving...

"Absolutely." Cynthia said and her words encouraged everyone else to get moving as well. Red, Gold, and Krys rushed to the front door, Gold trying to get me to follow with them but I held back a moment.

Hau and Lillie were still seated in the room, they were in charge of holding base and not technically supposed to leave. I didn't like the idea of them being here alone though, sure nothing would happen here... but they'd be out of the loop. If something serious happened it would be hard to contact them about it. A terrible thought appeared in my head of days going by with them sitting here alone... all of us... I shook myself.

Lillie smiled to me when she saw me hesitating right in the doorway. "It’s okay, Moon, we don't mind staying back." She said, like she could read my mind. "We'd be more hindrance than help." She stood and brushed her hands against her pants.

"No!" Hau said, looking flabbergasted. "We can fight too! We can help!"

She shook her head, smiling sadly to him. "We'd just be another two people for them to watch over. It'd make it more dangerous."

I frowned, she was right, and judging by the defeated look on Hau's face - he realized it as well. She stepped over and gave me a tight hug, "Be safe, please."

I hugged her back just as tightly, "I'll try my best. We'll be back as soon as we possibly can." Hopefully it's quick and easy.

"Moon?" Gladion's voice preceded him popping back into the room, his momentum stopping as he saw Lillie and Hau. That worried confusion vanished from his face and a smirk replaced it.

"You too!" Lillie snapped, hugging him as well. "Stay safe, and keep Moon safe too! I need you two back here!"

His head bobbed, as he pat her back. "We'll be fine, Lillie. Promise."

Hau shouted, "I expect some killer stories about kicking all those evil guy's butts into space!" He grinned widely.

Why does this goodbye feel so bittersweet? I don't like it. It doesn't feel right. Gladion wrapped an arm around my shoulders, I looked up into his eyes that blazed determination and certainty. "Ready?" He asked.

I sucked in a long breath and let it go slowly. "Yeah."

Kyogre was a huge monstrosity of a Pokémon, each time it moved it sent waves crashing to the ocean shores. Each roar made my ears ring and swirled the clouds into an angry cylinder above it. It was like a living, breathing hurricane... and it wanted all of us dead. I didn't even want to think about what it was capable of doing if we got any closer than the cliff we stood by. So fighting it head on was not an option at all. I refused to send either my or Gladion's silvally towards the thing... there was no good angle of attack anyway, no land for them to stand on. So destroying the machine was our best option.

Cynthia lead the way into a cave dug into the side of a cliff, the only way there being to shimmy down a narrow pathway... much smaller than the one in that cave had been. She showed us exactly where to step, taking it slow so no one fell... it was death if we did.... and I had never clung to a dirt wall so hard in my life. With the wind whipping around like crazy and the torrential down pour, it felt almost impossible to get into the dugout. But somehow we all managed and I was so glad to stand on solid ground again.

The cave was pretty deep, like a mini base of operations for Aqua and that woman. At least that was how Cynthia put it. I had my silvally stand at the entrance and hold an invisible psychic barrier up over the hole. Gold and Krys stayed back with her, promising to shout if they noticed anyone coming or any significant change in the terrifying beast below. Red and Cynthia followed Gladion and I deeper into the cave, all of us sticking close to the shadowed walls. Voices were audible from deep within and I definitely recognized that low, rumbling laugh as Archie's. I thought we were done with Aqua, had completely put that whole mess behind me and mostly blocked it from my memory... but I guess they needed a bit more of a shock to get them to disband. My memory flashed a few snapshots from those days - of Lillie crying, of my friends behind bars, of Gladion being electrocuted and punched. The thoughts had my blood boiling by the time we saw the first person. I halted our little parade and waved to Gladion to release his pokemon, the silvally popping up next to me a moment later and trying to nuzzle me and lick my face. Gladion grabbed a fistful of its feathered neck and pulled it away, grumbling about being quiet and careful before sliding the ice memory into the compartment.

As the guard walked by I instructed the Pokémon to ice the walkway just enough to send the guy crashing to the ground. Then I rushed forward and put a foot on the guy’s chest, Gladion's silvally taking the hint and barring over the man with a growl and frosted teeth. "You have two choices, help us, or freeze." I said as everyone stood behind me.

The guard helped, terrified of the Pokémon that was always just a step behind as he lead us towards where Green was being kept. A tiny cage at the end of a short hall. Silvally froze the lock and busted it open to free our friend and Red rushed him with a hug.

"Hey, you didn't die." He said with a smirk when he noticed me.

My eyes rolled, "Sorry to disappoint you" was my sarcastic response... which apparently warranted a playful shove from Gladion.

"That woman is here." Green said, looking to Cynthia.

I think everyone got a bit freaked out and excited by that fact. Cynthia span to face the guard we held captive and ordered him to direct us to where the woman in charge was hiding. He didn't know exactly where she was at the moment, or that she was even here to begin with... but he did know where that damn machine was located and it wasn't hard to assume she would be nearby. Same with Archie and everyone else who needed a face full of punching. A few more minutes of lurking through that dank cave and I heard it. That unmistakable humming sound I'd heard at the Pokémon nursery the other night. I grabbed for the ball that held mewtwo, my jaw clenching and my teeth grinding in muted anticipation. This was it.

The area the noise was coming from laid behind a metal door, the guard stopped before walking in - telling us this was the place. Red and Green agreed to stay back and watch the man so he didn't run off and tell all the other guards to attack us. We needed this element of quiet surprise even with silvally and mewtwo to help us. Cynthia cracked open the door quietly and peered inside before waving for us to enter. We kept quiet as we slid in, the room was no different from the rest of the cave aside from the huge metal contraption in the center. All rods and wires and flashing lights. Archie stood next the machine, his back to us. The woman was there, blond hair swooped up into a sloppy bun like destroying the world was a casual effort on her part. For some reason that annoyed me even more.

I released mewtwo, whispering for it to stay quiet as it appeared and looked curiously around the room. 'So that's the machine. I can feel its power.'

"There's three of them." I said, my voice barely audible even to myself. "This is the one closest to kyogre though."

Mewtwo nodded and raised a strange hand, pink waves of wobbling energy appeared above the machine, completely unnoticed by the enemies. Gladion pulled on my arm and held me against him protectively. "What about Archie and the woman?" He asked.

"Can silvally freeze them to the ground?"

"Maybe..." He ordered his pokemon to prepare, knowing it was better to launch the attack at the same time.

I waited for the perfect moment, right when those idiots stopped talking. The woman started to turn around, her gaze hit us in the back corner - eyes going wide. "Now!" I yelled and Mewtwo slammed its hand down, the energy crashing into the machine and breaking it to pieces in an earth shatteringly loud bang. A jet of ice shot from silvally's mouth and blasted the two standing next to the disaster as shards of metal and burning wire skidded across the ground. Cynthia rushed forward to grab the woman's hand before she could even pull out the ball. Archie squirmed as his feet were covered in at least an inch of ice.

"You!" He boomed as he saw Gladion and me approaching the mess. "How?!"

"We are working with champion's, Archie. You can't expect everything to go smoothly." The woman said in an eerily calm voice, still being held back by Cynthia.

Archie's face contorted in anger and shock and he reached to his belt for his pokemon, silvally blasted his hand with ice without any order, stopping his attempts. Horror crossed the man's face and I struggled to hide my grin.

"How can you say you're working with us." Cynthia snapped, "All you're doing is attempting murder and world domination."

She only smiled in response, "Oh, pardon me, I meant the champion's pokemon." Her gaze slid to me, looking way to satisfied that I was here. Then she looked to mewtwo and a crazy gleam appeared in her eyes. "Oh, that one would be lovely have as well."

Mewtwo growled and rose its hand again, 'Let me kill her, that will end all of this.'

"No." I said sternly to the Pokémon. "There are better ways."

"Oh, Jeremey." The woman called in a chimming voice. The name dropped from her tongue like acid and seared straight through my nerves, the laugh that came afterwards only making it worse. No... "Why don't you come out here, I really want this pokemon your daughter has."

"Daughter?!" Surprisingly it was Archie who seemed the most confused and disgusted by that statement. His gaze looked to me, wide eyed. "That guy is your dad?"

"What?!" Cynthia shouted.

Gladion's face went pale as he looked to me, mouthing my name.

He walked in from a back room I hadn't even noticed, holding some strange needle looking thing in his hands. A blank look on his bearded face, like he didn't even realize it was me standing here, shaking. He still looked exactly the same. Still balding, still had that thick beard and mustache, still had those wrinkled hands. Nothing was different and that was the worst part. I was paralyzed in shock. It is him...

"Oh that is sick on so many levels." Archie said.

Mewtwo swung its hand around and slapped my father with that strange energy, sending the needle flying across the room. It clattered against the wall as my father pulled another one from his pocket. Mewtwo rose its hand again, the energy appearing over my father this time and I screamed, "No!" Successfully halting the legendary.

Cynthia had been so stunned by the appearance of my father that she lost her grip on the woman. She shoved her and grabbed for a pokeball, that arcanine she'd used at the nursery appearing. I noticed then that the hairs around its snout were gray and my heart shattered. No way, not Brutus.

He shot a plume of flames at all the ice that had trapped our foes, freeing them. The woman rushed at me before I could even process what was happening. Gladion pulled me out of the way just in time and I saw the glint of a knife as the woman lunged at me. I backpedaled and Gladion stumbled, sending both of us crashing to the floor pathetically. She stood over us with a grin, raising the knife. Mewtwo caught the woman's armed hand in its psychic grip just before she struck us, Gladion switching into gear at the same instant and jumping to his feet - scooping my shocked body into his arms in the same motion and backing away. Cynthia attempted to catch Archie but he shoved her off and lunged towards us. I threw my hands up in defense as Gladion's back hit the wall, but the man crashed into the woman instead.

Though I was shocked, mewtwo thankfully wasn't. It released its grip on the woman and managed to catch my father's hand instead, right before he managed to stab the Pokémon with that needle object... I recognized it, the thing all those charizard had been wearing. The mind control collars.

Archie boomed, "Cadence! You do not destroy family bonds for your own pleasure! You told me you were over this bullshit!"

What?!

The woman - Cadence, apparently, swore and quickly recalled the arcanine right before silvally landed a blow on it. That chimecho appeared immediately afterwards.

"Fuck you, Archie." She sneered and the tiny psychic pokemon let out a cheerful cry. Both her and my crazed father vanished, popping out of the air and sending Archie crashing to the floor.

"F-fuck." Gladion stammered in a shaking voice, sliding to the ground. I finally gained control over my limbs again, forcing my heaving breaths to steady as he leaned his head against mine. He struggled to breathe as well, a string of swears escaping his mouth.

Archie stood back up, brushing dust and dirt from his arms. He shook his head, "I knew she was crazy... but not that damn crazy."

The door opened and Red and Green walked in, followed by Gold, Krys, and Steven. Everyone was shocked and baffled, wanting to know what the hell happened. Gold nearly punched Archie, screaming at him but Cynthia caught the punch. He didn't seem dangerous in that moment, he wasn't finishing us off - he had the perfect opportunity too considering how lost and shocked we all were. Something was different with him, clearly.

Cynthia gave the group a breakdown of what had happened, Archie pitching in his half of it. I forced myself back onto my shaking legs and helped Gladion up as well. The Pokémon approached, silvally whimpering and its head hanging low in disappointment. Mewtwo took a step by my side, sneering and shaking its head in anger.

'That woman should be dead, why did you tell me otherwise?!' It snapped.

My numb and frazzled mind agreed with what it was saying. I wanted her dead too, but I still knew better. I wasn't a monster. Even if she was and deserved the worst. My response to the Pokémon came in a cracked voice. "You didn't have to listen to me."

It snorted and looked away, crossing its arms.

Gladion was looking at me worriedly, I knew he wanted to say something about my dad... was trying to think of a way to phrase whatever it was... but I didn't want to hear it. I didn't know what to think after seeing that. I didn't want to believe it but I had too, he was dangerous right now. I was hopeful we'd be able to save him, that he'd been brainwashed or under some drug while helping her... but I was doubting it. I grabbed Gladion's hand, shaking my head. "Please, don't." I whispered.

He frowned but nodded anyway, pressing a lingering kiss to my forehead before pulling me towards the rest of the group.

Steven had went to that factory Gladion had found, a place where the people following Cadence had been manufacturing the machines and the collars. Apparently they were all fueled by a regional legendary called latias, its feathers were like a hallucinogen and my father had found a way to use that in the machines. So our pokemon were seeing hallucinations of a threat while they were manipulated by those devices. Steven had freed latias, meaning no more of those things could be created, and destroyed the machine in place there.

So only one more of the mind control devices remained. Once we destroyed that and caught Cadence, we'd be home free.

Archie had known her since they were children apparently. She'd been off when she was young, obsessive with strange things and people all through her adolescent life. She'd only gotten stranger as she got older and when she came to him with these ideas of raising a sleeping legendary, he'd found it hard to say no. He had liked the idea of raising the sea level but after calling on kyogre he realized how destructive it would be. Gladion gave him shit for that, calling him a 'moronic, power-hungry ass' for ever thinking it was a good idea in the first place. Archie had been offended by the statement, but admitted to the delinquency as well. He'd become less and less supportive of her plans as time went on, not realizing how extensive and insane her ideas were. Hearing that she was using my father had been enough to deter him from working with her any longer.

Apparently, according to him, they had all worked together ages ago and this Cadence woman had always been weirdly obsessive with my dad. The thought made me feel sick and lead me to believe she had something against my whole family rather than just me for being a champion. I still couldn't understand my dad's side of it and I wasn't sure how much I trusted this guy that had put me and my friend through hell in the past... but the rest of the group seemed to believe him so I went along with it.

"So where the hell did they go then?!" Gold snapped.

"Couldn't tell ya, kid. She never told me where all those damn machines are located." Archie replied, looking thoughtful for a moment before snapping his fingers. "Ah, a shred of good news for ya, though. Your Pokémon shouldn't be all crazed out now, least 'round here."

Steven was the first to test it, tossing out his skarmory again. We all took a step away, hesitant for its actions... but it didn't do anything, only looked to us and coo'ed confusedly. Everyone relaxed a bit then and I sighed of relief. They would be able to fight kyogre now, if we could stop the storm that would be phenomenal progress towards ending everything.

"She's got the red and blue orbs too." Archie said, almost as if he were reading my mind. "I recommend bustin' those things open the minute you get 'em. That'll put an end to kyogre's rampage real quick."

"Good to know." Steven said.

'Wonderful, you're pokemon can be slaves again.' Mewtwo growled at me. 'Don't lose direction now, that woman is still on the loose.'

"Where is she then?" I asked, "Do you have any ideas?" I would think a psychic pokemon would have some way of finding people in such a drastic time.

It smirked, 'Mount Pyre.'

The group was staring at me, they probably thought I was crazy - talking to a Pokémon like that. I skipped the explanation and instead asked, "where and what is mount pyre?"

Steven answered, "It's an island mountain on the eastern side of the region, a grave yard for passed away pokemon."

Oh, great.

#gladion x moon #gladion #gladion fanfic #lonashipping #mahinashipping #pokemon #romance #adventure #Hau x Lillie #through the storm #through the storm chapter twenty seven

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