#love is stored in the french professor | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kats-fic-recs · 1 year

Text

The Best Haikyuu fics I read in 2022

Iwaoi

Lost in Translation

Because misfortune come in threes, Iwaizumi Hajime starts his Thursday having a screaming fight with Shittykawa, spends his lunch break listening to the UCI women's volleyball team gossiping about how Ushijima Wakatoshi had gone public about his longtime love affair with Oikawa Tooru, and closes out the day by drunkenly dropping his phone into a sewer grate.

just hear me out

To stimulate Japan's low birthrates and take most of the guesswork out of dating, a beeper system was biologically developed in people's wrists, an audible confirmation to show romantic compatibility.

Iwaizumi's beeper has been going off for Oikawa since they've been kids. Oikawa's has only ever been silent.

In Defense of Reptiles (and Other Gross Things)

In their seventh year, Oikawa is chosen to be the Hogwarts champion in the Triwizard Tournament, and Iwaizumi suffers.

to be first, to be best

Hajime is apparently something of a masochist, and as he stares down at the tie-dyed AREA51 T-shirt in his hands, he thinks “I’m totally in love with this asshole, aren't I?”

evergreen

It’s exhausting to realize that he still knows Oikawa. He has no idea what stores Oikawa shops at anymore, which bands he’s been listening to lately, whether he still keeps plants in his apartment and whether they’re dying without Iwaizumi around to remind him to water them. But he knows how rain tastes on Oikawa’s lips in the summer and the drumbeat baseline of Oikawa’s heart under his palm, and there are some people you never really grow out of no matter how many other things change.

“When you left,” Iwaizumi says, swallowing against a scratchy throat, “I tried hard, for a long time, not to need you. You can’t blame me for being angry that it was easier for you to leave than it was for me to let you go.”

Ten years after he rejected Iwaizumi's marriage proposal, Oikawa is back in Sendai.

no love like your love

It happens when Daniel is rushing from the food court to the CS building, juggling his phone and a water bottle and a Panda Express takeout container. His lunch date with the cute girl from French class had gone longer than it should have, and he’s too worried about being late to pay any mind to the incoming call that flashes across his screen. Beyond noting that the number is international, he thinks nothing of it, declines, and moves on.

The person calls again, though, in the middle of the lecture, and he has to scramble to silence his phone before his professor can single him out.

By the time the period is over, he has five more missed calls and a text.

From: +81-XXX-XXX-XXXX

is this daniel? iwa-chan’s roommate? call me back when you’re available!!

Sometimes a love is so bright that those outside it can't help but bear witness.

Or: Iwaizumi and Oikawa from 5 + 1 points of view through the years.

heaven is a place in my head

For Iwaizumi, it’s a relief to be able to linger in the cocoon of this intermediate summer, blanketed from the buffeting winds of adulthood and responsibility and real decisionmaking. He would love nothing more than for it to stretch out and out and out, like a bubblegum bubble that spreads itself thin around the air trapped inside it until it pops.

But Oikawa has never liked having nothing to do. He gets restless if he’s bored for too long, starts feeling like he’s running out of time or something dumb like that. So Iwaizumi is almost expecting it when Oikawa barges into his room the afternoon of a heavy summer shower, overgrown bangs dripping rainwater into his eyes, a waterlogged piece of paper crumpled in his fist and a familiar hopeful gleam in his eyes.

When Oikawa convinces Iwaizumi to spend their last summer in Japan as camp counselors, Iwaizumi is prepared for bug bites, sunburns, and rowdy children.

He’s not prepared to spend two weeks kissing his best friend in what might just be the worst thought-out summer fling in existence.

— with melting wax and loosened strings

"If Oikawa is Hajime’s home — is Japan — then this room is his shrine. And Oikawa stands in the centre of it, eyes wide and mouth agape."

Hajime is a visual artist. He's been in love with Oikawa for such a long time that his hands know every curve and bend to Oikawa's figure. But now, with thousands of kilometres and hours between them, Iwaizumi is starting to forget Oikawa's features. It's enough to send him spiralling.

Or, 'Devotion, (2020, colourised)'.

Look For Him

She laughs gently. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so heartbroken before, Hajime.”

Iwaizumi sighs and prods at the mackerel with a chopstick. “Sorry. I can’t help it. It’s just different, you know? Like Oikawa pissed me off so much that now he’s not here I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“But you weren’t always annoyed with him, were you?” his grandmother smiles serenely and takes a sip of her tea. “My, my, Hajime, old women see everything. I saw you out there with my finches, when you were kissing Tooru’s nose. Your mother and father used to do the very same thing, you know, when they were younger. And look how long they’ve lasted. I hope you and Tooru last, Hajime. He’s very good for you.”

Oikawa has kissed Iwaizumi more times than either of them can count; it’s a constant thing, their lips never really leaving the other’s skin. There are, however, times when they’ve kissed that are burned into their memories. Eight of them, to be precise.

Cup of sugar

After about a month of his time in Irvine, the first package arrives. It’s standing there, on the table, big and heavy and exuding a familiarity that nearly brings tears to Hajime’s eyes.

“That’s really sweet,” Kevin says, eyeing Hajime’s valiant attempts to cut into the cardboard with a knife, “from your family?”

“My boyfriend,” Hajime clarifies, eyes not even straying to the return address. “That idiot’s the only one who would send me something after one month of being apart.”

Tooru and Hajime go long-distance, and Hajime contemplates whether he's accidentally become a sugar baby.

iwaizumi hajime has a ring

Iwaizumi Hajime has a ring on his finger.

A simple gold band with modest silver trimming resting snuggly on the fourth finger of his left hand.

Hajime is only 23 years old, is only in the midst of the second year of his post-graduate degree, and to Charlie’s apparently outdated knowledge, has been single at the very least since his move to America a little over a year ago.

Imagine his surprise when the dude came waltzing back after a month-long break, with a wedding ring on his finger, legally wed, and not speaking a word about it.

In which Hajime gets married and his friends in California have no idea who the lucky woman is.

KuroKen

And if you leave, will you promise you'll find your way back to me?

“Then it’s settled,” Kuroo says. “I’m going to call you every day, until you get sick of me.”

I could never get sick of you, Kenma thinks but doesn’t say. I think it’s going to be the other way around.

Or: the one where Kuroo goes to university and Kenma tries to deal with missing him, perhaps more than one should miss their best friend.

Show A Little Faith

“Why are you sending me a singing Valentine telegram?" Kenma asks, mouth flattened. "It’s six months until Valentine’s Day.”

“I bought a dwarf over the summer to use as cupid.” Kuroo says. “I figured he could use some practice.”

Presenting Kenma as the Boy-Who-Lived, whose living becomes a lot more interesting when Ravenclaw Prince Kuroo Tetsurou starts sending him singing telegrams about defeating the Dark Lord.

you're the brake lines failing (as my car swerves off the freeway)

Kenma thinks that Kuroo looks ugly with his head bent against the arm of the couch like that. Then Kenma thinks that he wants to marry him, and is promptly thrown into the 5 stages of grief.

the book of love is long and boring

“Since when did you become the all-knowing authority on love,” Kuroo teases as he rests his chin on Kenma’s bed, and Kenma bristles before a frown mars his face.

Because it’s not like Kuroo’s wrong.

Kenma's never really thought much about love, until an assignment from class forces him to. And then suddenly, it's the only thing that's on his mind.

teach me the way home

Don’t go far off, not even for a day, because —

because — I don’t know how to say it: a day is long

and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station

when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.

Kuroo and Kenma grow up in transit.

My Nameless World (I’ll Let You In)

It’s a modest two-bedroom in the western suburbs, far enough from the bustling crowds to be affordable but still counting, technically, as Tokyo. They’re noisy before they sleep but quiet when they rise, shuffling mutedly out of the door for joint morning runs before bursting back into the apartment for joint morning showers. Shouyou cooks breakfast while Kageyama packs their lunch and gym bags, and they never share a goodbye kiss because they always leave together.

It’s warm and cozy and disgustingly domestic, and it’s probably everything Shouyou’s ever dreamed of.

Except, Kenma thinks irately, Kageyama doesn’t actually live here.

===

Shouyou moves in with Kenma when he ends up in Tokyo for college. Kenma subsequently realizes that half the things in Shouyou’s boxes are actually Kageyama’s because he should have fucking known.

Kagehina

well, maybe i'm a crook

The thing is-- Hinata is in love with Kageyama and everyone knows it, including Kageyama.

by this time next year

"I got offers from two universities," Kageyama announces, pointing at his chest with his thumb. "I'm going to play volleyball at Keio this spring."

"You still have to pass an exam, even if it's an easy one," Takeda-sensei hurries to add, although he is beaming and bursting with pride at his fluffy little crow chick taking off to play volleyball at a university level.

"I'll pass," Kageyama says with the same kind of confidence he uses when he tells Hinata he'll get the toss to him. He looks straight at Hinata, and Hinata jerks and turns red, wondering if maybe Kageyama knew he was daydreaming about something as stupid as the way Kageyama talks to him during a game. But then Kageyama just points at him and says, "You'd better get in, too."

Hinata, stupid, naive, idiot that he is, grins wide and nods and says, "Yeah!"

He doesn't know what he's in for.

Bokuaka

daisy rings and frivolous things (i am deliriously in love with you)

Akaashi Keiji is in love. Bokuto Koutarou is a star. Everyone on Fukurodani has a gambling problem.

paper rings

Akaashi Keiji knows his relationship with Bokuto Koutarou has an expiration date. It was inevitable. Even the best things must end. Especially with Bokuto's dreams of volleyball stardom on the line, they don't have any other choice. Akaashi has made his peace with that.

Bokuto has other ideas.

surfacing

Keiji’s boyfriend has been cheating on him. During their public confrontation, he ends up walking out with the other man - Bokuto Koutarou. They strike up an unlikely friendship born from the bond of heartbreak, and, eventually, help one another to heal parts of themselves they perhaps hadn't even known were broken.

Alternatively: Bokuto tries to set Akaashi up with a rebound to make up for being “the other man.” It both does and does not go according to plan.

notice me kouhai

This was definitely, somehow, Bokuto's fault.

the strange music of your heart

"Hey," Konoha says, tone hushed, one day after practice when he and Bokuto end up staying behind together. "Akaashi likes you, you know?"

Bokuto is in the process of putting on a clean shirt. "Of course he does," he says, voice too close to his ears under the fabric. "We're friends!" He pulls the shirt down, freeing his head. "What," he says, suddenly self-conscious, "does someone not like me?"

in which akaashi falls for bokuto first.

Miscellaneous

Experimental Probability

Atsumu stares blankly back at him. "So, let me get this straight. Ya want me to kiss ya so you can tell whether or not yer in love with my brother?"

Rin winces at his word choice. "Not exactly how I would have phrased it, but yeah, pretty much."

Or: Suna Rintarou is not in love with his best friend. Scientific evidence would suggest otherwise.

Close to the Chest

It takes Yahaba thirteen years to realize he's different from the other kids, one to figure out how to hide it, and two more to learn to be happy just the way he is. Yahaba's journey ft. an extremely annoyed Kyoutani, best friend in the world Watari, and loads and loads of good senpai Oikawa.

seam-ripper

Asahi’s life is prone to falling apart at the very seams, something he has been aware of since his unfortunate birth approximately sixteen long, hard years ago. Due to the infallible accuracy of this fact, Asahi begins his second year of high school by getting involved in his very first physical altercation; he is subsequently subjected to what might be considered the most embarrassing social situation of the decade. And to top it all off with the perfect catastrophe cherry on the disaster sundae that is Asahi’s miserable existence, Suga is laughing at him.

Or, the story of Asahi and Nishinoya’s near-disastrous get-together.

hair smell

“Actually,” Takahiro starts, uncharacteristically serious. “You… Your hair smells nice.”

“My hair?” Issei blinks.

Takahiro nods. “Yeah.” He reaches a hand up, but doesn’t run his fingers through the curls—instead, he pushes them in at his scalp and scratches. He’s clearly very careful not to ruin the frizzy tangles on Issei’s head that are only achievable by means of product, air drying, and then sleeping-but-not-really on rough cotton pillowcases. The gesture is personal; it worms its way into Issei’s heart and takes root there, squeezing tight, pulsing in time with each of his heartbeats.

“I don’t know what it is,” Takahiro confesses. His face is still serious, but the line of his brow is definitely easing. “Your product? Conditioner?”

Issei shrugs. He didn’t even know about his hair smell until just now.

“But, anyway,” Takahiro continues, and he maintains steady eye contact, although his voice is suddenly small. “Sometimes I’ll smell it on someone else, and it makes me think of you.”

“Oh,” Issei says.

the inherent romance of classical conditioning (or, the fine art of emotional recognition)

It's stupid. Atsumu isn't a romantic, no matter how many times he's imagined laying Sakusa out and finally really touching him.

So there's no explanation for why Atsumu is constantly stuck thinking about brushing his fingertips against the meat of Sakusa's palms or the prominent tendons in his freaky wrists.

There's no explanation for why doing dishes sets off a warm burn in his ribcage, or why when he smells disinfectant he inhales like he's walking past a bakery.

Yer doin' this to me, he thinks furiously, as Sakusa derails his thoughts with kisses that come more and more frequently now. Yer conditionin' me, and I can't stop it.

Tending to a Wounded Heart

“Now, Iwaizumi-san, while I am flattered by your interest and must admit you’re very attractive, I must inform you my heart belongs to another, and I’m not sure your dear captain Oikaw-“ Satori wasn’t even able to finish his jest, as a fuming Iwaizumi interrupted him. A blush blooming from his hairline down to his neck.

“I’M NOT HITTING ON YOU, DUMBASS!”

...

After being discovered in the midst of breakdown in the bathroom of Seijoh, Tendou Satori strikes up an unusual friendship with Iwaizumi who seems keen on helping Tendou navigate his own unrequited feelings, despite ignoring his own.

All the while Tendou's teammates are becoming more and more concerned with their blocker's new behavior and mysterious texting buddy.

No more time to waste

Tsukishima Kei has a theory: crushes were originally conceived as a cosmic torture device. Now, he doesn’t exactly have a broad sample size to study, being completely unwilling to engage with either Hinata or Kuroo’s pining for their resolutely-stoic best friends, but it’s true from his experience. He has it worse than them, at any rate. His best friend is the furthest thing imaginable from stoic.

Tsukishima suffers through training camp in a heatwave. His infuriatingly attractive best friend does absolutely nothing to help.

my heart beats for contract law

"You had an emotional breakdown in a McDonalds drive-through."

"Mmm."

"And proposed to me."

"Shhh."

"In a McDonalds drive-through, Hiro."

Takahiro huffs out a nervous laugh, keeping his eyes closed. "You love it," he repeats, nuzzling closer.

Mint and Pine

Yahaba yanks at Kyoutani’s uniform in the club room and ties his tie so tight after morning practice that sometimes Kyoutani thinks he’s trying to fucking strangle him.

don't bother checking my work (i've never cared for math anyway)

It isn’t until Shirabu’s back at LOCCENT that it really sinks in. Forty-eight wins? An impressive number, true, and a definite sign of Ushijima’s strength, especially compared to Tendou. But in anyone else, an unbalanced score like that would indicate a depressingly low chance of drift compatibility.

Drifting with Ushijima was simple statistically, but potentially deadly realistically. And drifting with Tendou? A veritable nightmare. If not for Washijou’s insistence, Shirabu would have dropped him long ago.

Still, something is calling to him. Something beyond numbers and data projections.

Because Ushijima may have knocked Tendou down forty-eight times. But that means there were forty-nine times he got back up.

Overflow

He laid his palm flat over Asahi’s jaw, almost shivering when the sparks fluttered up his arm and settled in his chest. His thumb came to rest in the little dip below Asahi’s lower lip, the skin there quivering with the tremble of Asahi’s mouth.

Glancing away from where he’d been intently watching the path of his fingers, Yuu found Asahi’s eyes wide open, with terror or awe it was hard to tell. And it hit him then what he’d just been doing.

Well, not really hit him. It sank into him, slow and staticky and warm and anxious—the realization that he’d never touched anybody like this before.

391 notes · View notes

cygninae · 24 days

Text

I was just stalking through all of my old WIPs, and so here's a comprehensive list (that no one asked for) of all the ASOUE fanfictions I scrapped:

A character study on Quigley Quagmire, focusing on his upbringing, him being a 'problem child', him being diagnosed with ADHD and depression, etc.

A character study on Quigley experimenting with gender roles: a sort of 5 + 1 thing of them coming to terms with gender non-conformity

A Quiglet oneshot of Violet doing Quigley's makeup.

A character study/Quigley-centric fic that focused on his insomnia and how he'd already discovered the tunnel system under their house from his late-nights wandering the mansion

A dunklaus fic where Duncan was covering a story about Klaus, a reclusive artist who gifted his art rather than selling it. Duncan gets a little too involved.

A dunklaus AU fic where Duncan took a job as the Baudelaire's gardener

A dunklaus + Quiglet + Beamony AU set in WW2

A Viodora fic that was just a collection of Isadora's poetry written across the time she got to know Violet

A dunklaus au where they were both university professors

Dunklaus fake-dating AU where they pretend to date to get Violet off Klaus' back about getting over Fiona and finding love again

A Quiglet one-shot character study from Quigley's POV, him moving on from Violet

A Dunklaus AU taking inspiration from Anne of Green Gables (1800s setting, academic rivals, accidentally starting VFD)

A dumb modern Quiglet AU where they meet at a concert, Violet realises Sunny has run off, and her and Quigley have to find her. They bicker a lot because they disagree on which album is their favourite artist's best one

A Dunklaus post-canon fic where Klaus becomes a famous author under a nom de plume and Duncan stumbles across one of his books that is about him

Quiglet post-canon fic where the Baudelaires find Quigley after he failed to save his siblings

(Actually finished, just never posted it because it's rubbish) Dunklaus sorta reincarnation oneshot where Duncan works in a museum and Klaus is an immortal being who consistently is his muse in every lifetime. One of Duncan's favourite marble statues in the gallery was actually created by him, for Klaus, hundreds of years before but he doesn't remember until he sees Klaus again

Dunklaus oneshot where the whole group attended an actual boarding school. No olaf or anything. Just a wintery plot-less thing

(Also finished, also too shit to post) Modern Dunklaus one shot where Duncan runs a record store with his siblings and Klaus comes in one day. Literally just everyone teasing the two for 6k words straight. (favourite excerpt: '“So, why didn’t you ask him out?” Isadora asked, probably aiming for casual, except the way she was leaning on the wall like she was posing for an 80s boy band poster, and the way her voice was just a bit too high pitched, meant she wasn’t being very convincing.

Duncan gave her a flat look. “I have had two conversations with him,” he said, turning back to the receipt he was marking and ignoring the look she was giving him, which solidly said stop being purposefully obtuse.'

Post-canon Violet-centric Quiglet one shot. Just Violet reminiscing and moving on

Dunklaus AU where the Baudelaires are exchange students from France to Prufrock Prep. Extremely angsty and absolutely nothing happy happens. Just wanted to exercise the French Baudelaires headcanon

(Alot of this one was already written) Dunklaus AU where they're partnered up for a VFD mission

Quiglet magical AU where Quigley is a magical creature that lives in the woodland behind Monty's house where Violet and Klaus move after they're orphaned

Dunklaus and Quiglet (but not the main focus) - AU where the Baudelaires leave with Lemony after the fire at Hotel Denouement and become increasingly morally grey. When they reunite with the Quagmires a year later, they're practically unrecognisable from what fighting both against and with VFD has done to them

Violet and Klaus character study on how they deal with their grief; there was a little bit of Viodora and Duncan and some funny antics. The only WIP on this list entirely in French. Never posted it because there would be no interest and it didn't have a plot particularly

I'm pretty sure there are more that I just can't find or deleted but yeah...God there's a lot. These span over several years of being obsessed with asoue and ships in the fandom that I fell in love with that had (and still have) a painful lack of attention online, so I made my own content

#asoue #lemony snicket #a series of unfortunate events #unfortunate gen #ao3 fanfic #vfd #writer stuff #works that will never see the light of day

9 notes · View notes

mrsmiagreer · 9 months

Text

I like all my kisses french

Warnings: A little cussing, kissing (Duhh😋), a little suggestive

Characters: Teen!Bestie (GN) × Teen!Blake

————————————————————————-

“Okay we can try again”

The giggles echoed in the room, two teens sitting on a bed. Bestie’s mom stepped out for just a little while, said she was heading up the street, back to the store, because she forgot an ingredient for the dinner she was making. Gave Bestie and their very trusted best friend Blake alone time in the former’s bedroom.

They’ve known eachother since 3rd grade, and have been inseparable since. Now, having just ended their junior year, they’re continuing to be inseparable. Just, in a more creative way.

Blake nodded and waited for Bestie to make the call on when they try again. For him, everything was at their pace, he had a lot of patience. He wasn’t fully paying attention by the time they were ready, he was too busy staring at their features.

“Everything about them is perfect” He thought

They soon gave him a small smile and wrapped their arms around his neck, knocking him out of his trance.

“Okay remember. Don’t fully lick, just press your tongue against mine. Got it?”

He nodded again before letting them come to him, placing his hand on their cheek as their lips enveloped each other. The kiss was slow at first, but quickly picked up the pace as Bestie opened their mouth a little wider, causing Blake to open his wider. Now it was less of a kiss and more of a make out session.

Blake so badly wanted to show Bestie that he was desperate and craving their touch all the time, but now wasn’t the moment. He had to be sure that they were sure. And he knew that day would come in a near future, so he wouldn’t rush it.

He followed their direction and gently poked his tongue out at their lip, hinting that he was ready for more. They obliged, and slipped their tongue into his mouth.

Their tongues moved gracefully against eachother. Blake’s hand moved from their cheek to their waist, pulling them a little closer to him, eliciting a moan from them. Their hand that was previously loosely draped around his neck moved up to his nape, holding the back of his head to press their lips closer together. The two were lightly moaning and cursing into each other’s mouths and gripping onto anything they could touch, seconds away from ripping one another’s clothes off and going all the way.

They were so deep into this kiss that they didn’t hear Bestie’s mom come back home. And they didn’t notice she was back home until they heard the click clack of her heels coming up the stairs.

“Oh fuck she’s back” Bestie whispered as they turned towards the closed door. They swung their legs out of Blake’s lap and threw their arms off of his neck, repositioning themselves to an appropriate pose. Blake brushed his half raised shirt down and quickly grabbed a pillow that Bestie kept around to cover his slowly growing bulge. They both pulled out their phones and pretended to do something on them before she came in.

“Hey you two, Dinner’s almost ready! Whatcha in here up to?”

“Oh nothing mom just playing a game”

“Not much really just texting my friends back”

The responses confused the mom a bit from trying to hear two people speak at once, but she smiled and turned around. Leaving the door open. Like any mom would.

“Shit that was close” They both thought, before laughing.

“Sooo…..How’d I do this time professor?” Blake asked, flirty and cocky smile on his face and leaning closer to them.

“Hmm…I’d give you a C- this time. Could’ve been better.”

“What?!”

“Looks like you’ll have to come back to retake your test huh?” Bestie teased

Blake blushed a little, understanding their message, and sitting up straight and looking them in their eyes.

“Bet”

————————————————————————-

A/N: Heyyy! Niyah again. So, nobody asked for this one but I’m literally in love with Blake, so i decided to write a little about him. Btw: I have no idea how well proofread this is, so i’m sorry if there’s any mistakes.

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redactedverse #redacted headcanons #redacted blake #redacted bestie #redacted balance #mia makes a statement

40 notes · View notes

luucypevensie · 25 days

Text

In honor of the Easter holiday (and @ginger-grimm posting AMAZING edits of them), here are my new Glee children!!

First, we have Kathani “Kate” Arya (fc Ambika Mod)

Kate was born in London to a professor father and reporter mother, so she grew up always being vocal about her beliefs and views. Before she turned sixteen, her father received a job offer for an English professor opening at Ohio State and the family moved to Lima while leaving Kate’s beloved paternal grandfather behind in London. Upon arriving at McKinley, everyone was at first interested in the new student from London. But as soon as Kate began to open her mouth and express her opinions, it solidified her status towards the bottom of the food chain. However, it did bring her to her newfound best friend (and eventual love interest): Tina Cohen-Chang.

Besides Tina, Kate somehow manages to have a “fling” with Quinn that ends their senior year.

Kate is the asexual representation that Glee needs but does not deserve, she is the queen of the dark academia aesthetic (loves thrift stores, museums, used copies of books etc), an EXCELLENT debater, and fluent in French, Hindu, and English.

And now we have Tracey Alexander (fc Jaicy Elliot)

Tracey has lived her entire life in Lima, and as a child, she never could understand why there weren’t more people that looked like her in magazines. Then, when her mother handed her a needle and thread and taught her how to sew, she immediately knew that she wanted to become a fashion designer that celebrates plus sized fashion because all bodies are beautiful.

Mercedes has been her best friend for as long as she could remember (she’s going to be her designer once they become big). Tracey is a proud bisexual woman: she was the one who helped Brittany realize she was bi when the two of them shared a kiss back in the day, and ever since middle school she’s had a bit of a crush on Finn when they were lab partners in science class (Finn too had a crush on her because he was in awe of how bold and brilliant she was).

She wants to go to Paris for fashion school (her dream place), she has a little sister who is an amazing cello player, and there’s a running joke that her mom and Brittany’s mom were twins separated from birth but none of them can see it

Special thanks to Alexandra @dancingsunflowers-ocs for helping me flush out Kate and Tracey

Tagging the usual suspects: @ginger-grimm and @daughter-of-melpomene

#oc: kate arya #oc: tracey alexander #tv: glee #oc posts #shut up grace #pls love my new children #i love them so

6 notes · View notes

mad-world-of-meyrin · 4 months

Text

My savior, my blackmailer...

Notes : This writing comes from my Hogwarts Legacy story We had it all available on Wattpad in English and French (Nous avions tout). Enjoy !

_________________________________________

Synopsis of the story : ' All my life I've been heading for hell, but never had I thought I'd drag you down as well ' - Sebastian Sallow

' They sold their hearts for diamonds and gold. I refuse to go down the same path as them. You and I have everything. ' -Omnis Gaunt

❗Warning : Hogwarts Legacy game spoilers❗

Y/n is a young witch who entered Hogwarts in the 5th year, and who found her place among the Slytherins. Between her many outings to explore the surroundings of the castle, or her fights against poachers, giant spiders or even trolls, her year was eventful.

Ranrok now defeated, and Hogwarts saved from a disastrous fate, y/n must face new dilemmas : the death of her beloved professor Eleazar Fig; and her budding feelings for two of her closest friends, Omis Gaunt and Sebastian Sallow. Two handsome boys with tortured souls. They are the opposite of each other, but have one thing in common : their love for y/n.

The OWLs are fast approaching and the year is coming to an end. Y/n hopes somehow that her 6th year will go well. But between her mixed feelings, the responsibilities that will be entrusted to her at Hogwarts and the new threats that will hang over her and her friends, can she hope to one day find a peaceful and safe life ?

_________________________________________

After almost a fifteen minute walk, we finally arrive at our destination. We can already hear the music and smell the smells of food and sweets that characterize this place.

Garreth takes me by the arm and leads me down a crowded street. An orchestra is playing on the side, several passers-by come out of restaurants or bars, and I can see from the perfectly arranged hairstyles of some ladies that they are coming out of the hairdressing salon of Madam Snelling.

' Hogsmeade, my second home ! ' Said my friend while jumping like a child.

' What do you want us to start with ? Honeydukes ? Gladrags ? I'll also have to go to J. Pippin's Potions and Spintwitches. '

' Um...better do what you want first. I think that of the two of us, you will be the one who will take the longest. ' I said, laughing tenderly.

' As you wish miss L/n. So, let's go to J. Pippin's Potions, it's the closest. '

Garreth and I run around the streets like two excited kids, but we don't care, it makes us feel good. We laugh out loud for no particular reason, and inadvertently bump into a few passers-by.

Once we reach our goal, Weasley immediately buys everything his wallet allows. In total, it comes out with a dozen articles.

' What are you going to do with all this ? A new secret potion ? '

My friend nods with a smile on his lips.

' I want to know what it's going to be ! Something that will help us make whoever we want disappear ? Or being able to read other people's minds ? ' I said pulling his arm towards me to annoy him.

' Be more inventive Y/n ! Well, all I can tell you is that it will benefit a lot of people, mainly you. '

The smile on his face fades as he says those words, and his gaze is lost in space.

It's weird, but it's Garreth...I'm going to act like this conversation never happened, he'll tell me more when he feels like it.

' W - well ! Let's go to Spintwitches ? ' I said trying to change the subject subtly.

We head to the sports needs store. I know that before the cancellation of the Quidditch year, Garreth was on the Gryffindor team. I imagine he wants to buy some new gear in case Black decides to rehabilitate this practice next year.

When we walk into the store, Albie Weekes greets us with a beaming smile.

' Good evening ! What a pleasure to receive the visit of two of my favorite customers ! '

My friend walks up to the shopkeeper and shakes his hand as a sign of politeness.

' I need a new broom. Mine has had a few...issues lately. ' He replies, approaching the selection of flight equipment.

We spend a good quarter of an hour with Mr. Weekes, Garreth familiarizing himself with the brooms he likes the most.

After paying for the goods, we leave the store.

' I didn't know you had trouble with your broom. ' I told him looking at him, curious.

' It broke recently. I was flying in a too risky area where air currents are usual, and my broom swerved. Not only did I land in a frozen swamp, but my equipment also collided with a massive rock. ' He said mimicking each action.

' Wait... So that's why a week ago you came to potions class all soaked and you smelled like dugbog ?! '

Garreth laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck.

' Yes exactly. Sharp really didn't like it. And...how do you know what the dugbogs smell like ? '

' I was forced to face a whole bunch of them...against my will, believe me. ' I said, shaking my head from side to side as the memories flooded into my mind.

We continue to share with each other all the rather funny misadventures that we have experienced during the year, when we arrive in Gladrags.

' So, I buy the uniform, and then we go to The Three Broomsticks ? ' I ask, to be sure we're on the same page.

My friend nods his head smiling fondly at me.

I always feel confident by his side. I know he will never hurt me and that I can be myself with him without worrying.

We enter the store. While I look for a new uniform with the help of one of the shopkeepers, Garreth takes a look at the shirts.

After a little while trying on different outfits, I finally found the one that suits me.

The skirt is a bit darker than the basic uniform, the shirt is white, and beautiful silver roses are embroidered on the left side. The wizard robe is black and green, and a large snake, also silver, is embroidered on the back of the garment.

' It's a temporary collection, so the items in it are quite expensive. But since it's for you, Miss L/n, I'll lower the price. ' The Head manager told me.

And indeed, I was entitled to a great reduction. I only paid a quarter of the original price !

Garreth and I exit the store. I'm as happy as a niffler when he gets galleons.

My friend puts his arm around my shoulders, and points to the light emanating from The Three Broomsticks.

' Are we going to drink this butterbeer ? I'm starting to get thirsty ! ' He said grabbing my arm.

I sigh, laughing, and we find ourselves running like two fools again.

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

Sitting at one of the tables on the upper floor of the establishment, me and the young Gryffindor quietly await our drinks.

He grabs my hands and holds them firmly in his.

' Y/n seriously. Tell me why you were alone at the Boathouse earlier. I'm sure getting some fresh air wasn't the first thing on your mind when you went there. '

' Well... if you want to know everything, while Ominis and I were in the reception room, he started talking about a sensitive subject and...I preferred to leave. Usually I would have had to face it, but at the time I didn't have the strength. ' I say, squeezing one of his hands.

' Sallow, again ? ' My friend asks.

I respond by simply nodding my head. I must admit that he and Sebastian are not the best friends in the world. Yet they rarely spoke to each other. But they have harbored a powerful hatred for each other for a long time, from what Ominis had told me.

' I'm going to be honest with you Y/n. This boy is a real poison. Whether it's for you, for his friends or even for all the other students of Hogwarts. He is toxic and knows it very well, but as he manages to get everything he wants one way or another, it's not a problem for him. Tell me, how many times in the year did he make you cry ? Has he ever apologized for treating you so miserably ? ' Garreth said, a dark glint in his eyes.

' He...he's not a monster, you know ? He just doesn't think about what he does or what he says. He's spontaneous, that's all. But it's not necessarily his fault… ' I said, my voice getting weaker and weaker.

' You see, that's exactly the problem ! You are always looking for excuses for him, so obviously in your subconscious he never does anything wrong ! I know what happened Y/n. I know he killed his uncle. '

When the information reaches my brain, I can no longer move. How is it possible ?! No one else besides Ominis and Anne knows about this !

' How's that... '

I try to articulate a few words, but Garreth immediately stops me by putting his finger to his lips to tell me to be quiet. Sirona Ryan arrives at our table and places two mugs of butterbeer on it.

' These are for you ! Have a nice evening ! ' She said smiling at us.

I stare at the liquid in front of me, horrified by the revelation the young Gryffindor has just made to me. Then I raise my head in his direction.

The latter smiles as if nothing had happened, it's almost terrifying, and raises his mug to the ceiling to toast.

' To that siren attack ! We wouldn't be here if it hadn't happened. '

#hogwarts legacy #harry potter #wizard #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #garreth weasley #x reader #fanfic #sebastian sallow x reader #ominis gaunt x reader #natsai onai #amit thakkar #poppy sweeting #ominis gaunt x mc #sebastian sallow x mc #romance #wattpad

15 notes · View notes

olive-gardens-breadstick · 2 years

Text

random dc headcanons go!

most of them are batfam sorry lol

every time beast boy changes form he has to active stay alert as not to completely adopt its nature and stay focused on the fight not the rapid change of chemicals flowing through him

pink kryptonite makes jon aroace

martha wayne was native french and did the one parent one language thing so when bruce thinks about his mom a hint of french slips into his voice

following the last one, bruce learned two different types of english (american and british) so his natural speaking voice is a bit of an abomination (his fathers new jersey accent and alfred’s british + the french it’s a nightmare)

and frequently switches between american and british spelling bc alfred helped with his homework after thomas and martha died

billy still has some enhanced elements to him when he’s not shazam ie; he’s a lil too strong, is randomly a lil bit more insightful than usual etc., not enough for anyone he knows or even himself to notice but it catches adult strangers of guard when a random 12 yo gives really relationship advice that they just have to take bc they know he’s right

before bruce was born martha and thomas had 3 cats they named snap crackle and pop (they were orange (ginger snap) black (with a distinct white pattern that looked like lightning) and white (pop corn))

the cats died when bruce was in highschool (they were close in age and went one right after the other) and he took it just as hard as his parents death bc he lost one of the last things he had left of them

when bruce learned how much jason loved to read he took him to a) the five story barns & noble and b) the book store in oregon that is legitimately a block and just let him lose resulting in the manners library

kara doesn’t like the chunks of garlic in food so she makes her own sauce and uses garlic powder

conner may have clark’s hair and eye brows but is smooth literally everywhere else, not even peach fuzz on his face, no leg or arm hair, everyone he meets in civilian form thinks he gets waxed

barry can find his way anywhere if you give him street names (he’s on callahan going towards cherry) but cannot tell the difference between his left and rights (he turned right! *heavy sigh* your other right,man)

martian man hunter can’t read bruce’s mind, not bc of some moral standpoint he just… can’t. it stresses him out

knowing this bruce will give him a smile when he know j’onn is trying to get in his head it always chills his bones

after they got married selina “found” a few pictures of bruce with the cats ( baby to teen) and cried for a good 2 hrs about it and when bruce say her crying and asked her what was wrong she just said he looked so sweet in every picture

tim and bruce did (and still do just not as often) escape rooms every weekend when bruce made tim robin he said it was to sharpen his skills but really he just liked seeing how excited tim got when he solved one of the puzzles

tim’s comfort games are ace attorney and professor layton (bruce got him the first games of both and a ds one christmas and he instantly fell in love with them) he’s also played dangonrompa (which bruce got him a ps vita for)

after he found out tim had a ds jason gets him a stupidly easy and shallow shovel ware game as a gag gift for his stocking

oliver and bruce were super close before oliver’s cruise ship crashed and they both still have eachother as their emergency contacts

83 notes · View notes

fishedeyelenz · 11 months

Note

I'm gonna be so upfront with you, DILF Billy is still a new concept for me personally but I'm already obsessed with it. BEGGING for some tasty random headcanons abt him, anything and everything I can get my grubby little baby hands on so I can open my head up and pop em right in my brain 🤲

ok let me see what comes to mind first

Has chronic back pain problems that developed from a lifetime of sleeping in places he shouldn't have slept in. It's mostly his lower back, but honestly his whole back needs a good massage

Works as a cinema projectionist (this au takes place 90s, 20 years later after the movie) it's a job that doesn't require that much interaction with other people, so his anti social ass isn't so overwhelmed

Almost everything he owns is bought from flee markets or thrift stores, his whole house is pretty mismatched and a bit cluttered

Everything is also covered in cat hair from his six cats

Bad and naughty kitties get put into the sock of shame for time out

Dresses eighter in a sloppy white T and sweatpants or like Guillermo What we do in the Shadows. On special occasions he dresses like a laid back college English professor but that's only for formal events

Bitch is blind as a bat

Can cook!!! Omg they though him how to cook in psych ward and he's decently good at it let's go!!!!!

Favorite things to make are french toast, pesto pasta, some sort of home cooked stew of his own making and Mac and cheese

Unsocial but loves playing board games lol things like monopoly, ludo, various card games etc.

Number one Garfield fan, cuts out every strip out of various newspapers and magazines he collects, and keeps the in a special drawer (different from his other special drawer wink wink, nudge nudge)

Also owns a Garfield plush he broke out of a claw machine

Has an extensive VHS collection of movies of various genres, from the most acclaimed movies to low budget art films to porn. Most of the tapes were stole though

Doesn't understand kids these days

God, there's more from where that came from, if anybody has anymore questions about him feel free to ask

#Dilf Billy Lenz #Asks

12 notes · View notes

the-al-chemist · 1 year

Text

Artemis Hexley and the Return to the Riddles

Chapter 14: A Circle Redrawn

A/N: Artemis’ precious cargo is returned to the castle, and a plan is hatched. Warnings: terrible attempt at French poetry.

It was late by the time Charlie and Artemis arrived back at Hogwarts. They made their way through the darkened grounds and hallways of the castle in complete silence, hoping that they wouldn’t encounter any of the teachers, Mr Filch the caretaker, or his cat, Mrs Norris. Luckily, their path to the basement was unobstructed. Artemis hurriedly knocked on the barrels that formed the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room and pushed Charlie inside, breathing a small sigh of relief as the circular wooden door shut behind them.

“Come on,” she said, already on the move again. “The girls’ dormitories are this way.”

Charlie’s cheeks flushed between his freckles. “Er, I’m not sure I-”

“Hurry up, Charlie!”

Artemis led Charlie down the tunnel-like corridor to the dormitory, ignoring his obvious discomfort, which only seemed to increase as she opened the door of the dormitory to reveal Penny, Tonks, and Chiara all dressed in their nightclothes. At the sight of him, Penny grabbed a blanket from her bed and held it in front of her bare legs.

“Oh, no. Boys aren’t allowed in here,” she said indignantly, and Artemis rolled her eyes.

“It’s only Charlie,” she reasoned. “He doesn’t count.”

“Great. Thanks for that.”

“Wotcher, Charlie boy,” said Tonks, jumping off her bed as Penny put down her blanket. “What brings you here on this fine evening?

Charlie glanced sideways at Artemis before removing the prophecy record from his satchel, and holding it on his outstretched palm. The girls all gathered around to look at it closely, peering at the milky substance within the orb.

“What is that?” Penny asked. “A tiny crystal ball?”

“Sort of. It’s a prophecy record.”

Chiara’s eerily pale eyes widened and her lips parted to form a perfect “O” shape.

“I’ve heard about these,” she breathed. “I looked into them for my Divination homework. Oraclers record and store the original prophecies after they’ve been made. May I?” she held out her hands and Charlie passed her the prophecy record, which she slowly and carefully began to tilt. “Yes, see here? The label has the details of the prophecy, who made it and when. This white stuff inside, that’s the memory of the person who recorded the original prophecy. Memories can only be stored in pure crystal or Pensieve dishes, otherwise, once they are removed, they just fade away.”

“How do you know all that?”

“My mum is an Obliviator. She removes and modifies memories for a living,” said Chiara. “As for the prophecies, well, I’ve just always loved Divination. There’s something reassuring about knowing that there’s a plan in place for all of us.”

“I dunno,” Artemis frowned. “I’d rather be able to make up my own mind and do what I want, not what the universe or someone else says I should.”

“Ah,” Tonks put a blanket over her head, snatched the orb from Chiara, and screwed up her face, changing her features into those of Professor Trelawney, the Divination teacher. “But the great tides of fate move us all in mysterious ways, my children…”

“Tonks, be careful with that.”

“What? I’m just holding it. Charlie and Chiara were allowed to hold it, why can’t I?”

The other girls exchanged looks, all three of them all too aware of Tonks’ clumsiness. Tonks rolled her eyes dramatically and pretended to almost drop the prophecy record, cackling to herself as the others gasped.

“Maybe no one should hold the crystal ball,” Charlie said diplomatically. Tonks pulled a face, but put the blanket and prophecy orb down on her nightstand before flopping back down onto her bed. “Chiara, what else do you know about all this stuff?”

“Not much, I’m afraid. After all, the world’s largest store of prophecy records is said to be held in the Department of Mysteries, and it’s not like anyone is allowed to…” Chiara’s lyrical voice faded away, and she frowned deeply. “Hang on. Where did you two say that you got that orb?”

Artemis grimaced and Charlie shrugged.

“We didn’t.”

“Right,” said Chiara, and her lips twitched slightly before she started to frown again. “You know, they say that if a record is made of a prophecy, only the person who it refers to can retrieve the record. So, which of you is this prophecy about?”

Her eyes drifted to the prophecy record, its label still just about visible, and then back to Artemis, who nodded.

“Yeah,” she said. “It says Hexley on it, and I picked it up off the shelf. So, it’s about me, we think.”

“And what does it say?”

“This is the problem. We don’t know what it says, because it’s all in French. That’s why we brought it back here, because you speak French, don’t you, Penny?”

“Oh, well,” Penny’s cheeks turned a little pink. “I know a little. Enough to get around, you know?”

“So, can you translate the prophecy or not?”

“Maybe. I can definitely give it a try, at least.”

“That’ll have to do,” said Artemis. “Tonks, pass it here. And for the love of Merlin, try not to-”

SMASH.

Tonks swore loudly, and Artemis’ stomach lurched as the little orb slipped from Tonks’ fingers and landed heavily on the wooden floorboards, the crystal cracking and shattering into a hundred shards, the wispy white smoke floating upwards out of the detritus, swirling in mid-air to form a cloudy figure of a witch dressed in old-fashioned robes. The smoke-witch opened her mouth, and her voice echoed out across the dormitory.

“Une saison se termine et une autre commence,

Et ce faisant, elle apporte une nouvelle naissance.

Les Voûtes de la Vérité seront ouvertes et ainsi il y aura la connaissance

de ce qui se trouve à l'intérieur; de la plus grande puissance.

Mais cela nécessitera un sacrifice

Et pour les voûtes, une vie est le prix.

La dette doit être payée par l’un plus cher

Pour trouver et se laisser guider par la lumière.

À travers l'obscurité profonde,

L'héritier dirigera la Ronde,

Ainsi en sera-t-il de leur héritage, et de la fin de la guerre.”

With that, the white fog dissipated, aided by the batting paws of Fergus the cat as he tried to catch the wispy smoke. All eyes turned to Penny.

“Who… What was that?” she asked, her blue eyes wide.

“Never mind who it was, what did she say?”

“Um, I’m not sure,” Penny shook her head. “It was all over so quickly, I didn’t manage to catch it all. Can you get her to say it again, a little slower?”

Chiara shook her head. “The memory has gone.”

“What bits could you understand, Penny?”

“Um, well,” Penny bit her lip, “there was something about the seasons and a birth. Something about truth, knowledge, power... and vaults…” She sighed heavily. “Really, Artemis? The Cursed Vaults again? Why can’t you just leave them alone?”

“Because apparently it’s my destiny not to,” Artemis half-snapped, and Penny pursed her lips tightly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to... What else did it say?”

“That there was a sacrifice and a price to pay. An expensive one. A life. Then it said about going through the darkness and finding a light, and leading, um…”

“Leading what?”

“Well, ‘la Ronde’. That means round.”

“So, leading around somewhere?” Artemis asked, her nose wrinkling. Penny shook her head again.

“No, as in literally round, like a circular movement.”

“Oh,” Artemis frowned. “Did it say anything about… a cabal? Or R? Anything about leading those?”

“No. Just the ‘Ronde’.”

“I mean,” said Tonks, her pink eyebrows raised, “that does begin with the letter ‘R’. We never found out what ‘R’ stood for did we?”

“No, I guess not.”

“Well, maybe it stands for ‘Ronde’.”

“Oh, like the Knights of the Round!” Penny gasped, clapping her hands together. “My mum used to read the stories about Merlin and Morgana and Arthur’s knights to me when I was little.”

Artemis considered it for a moment. If the Cabal wanted Jacob to be their leader because of this prophecy, and the prophecy said that the person to open the Cursed Vaults would lead the Ronde…

“It makes sense, I guess,” she nodded. “Especially with all the stuff about the sacrifice. That’s exactly what Rakepick said when she attacked us in the Buried Vault back in fifth year, and Duncan did say that’s why he died, because of R thinking the Vaults needing a life. Rakepick just thought that his was the wrong life, but that’s not true. It’s because it was the wrong people trying to open the Vaults. It should have been Jacob and R, according to this.”

“Should it?” Chiara asked, looking down the shattered orb. “Because Jacob wasn’t the one to pick up the prophecy. You were.”

Her voice was soft, but her words seemed to fill the air ominously, and Artemis felt suddenly as if she had the eyes of everyone not only in the room, but in the whole world, on her.

“No,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “No, I don’t want to.”

“It looks like you might not have a choice.”

“I do have a choice,” said Artemis. “These are the people who killed Rowan. I’m not going to lead them. I’m not going to have anything to do with them.” She glared at the prophecy, and added, “Anyway, the prophecy is smashed. That means it can’t come true.”

Chiara said nothing, but the look in her pale eyes made her thoughts on the matter clear. Artemis avoided looking at her, or any of the others. The dormitory was quieter than it had been in a long time.

“Maybe it could still come true, just not in the way you’d expect,” said Tonks, her voice cutting through the tense atmosphere. “Maybe you just need to think outside the box. Or the crystal ball, in this case.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Tonks turned to Penny, “didn’t you say that ‘ronde’ meant ‘circular’? Like, as in a circle?”

As Penny nodded her head and Tonks raised her eyebrows pointedly, Artemis finally realised what she meant. Tonks was right, maybe she did have a choice.

After all, she already had a perfectly good circle of her own.

The first day of the Easter holidays marked a year since the Circle of Khanna’s first meeting. It seemed only fitting to reform the group on the anniversary, and so Artemis had invited all of the members to join her in the Hog’s Head that morning.

Thankfully, they had all agreed - though Andre had expressed reservations about the choice of venue - and most were already present when she arrived with Tonks and Penny in tow. She ordered a round of drinks for herself and her dorm-mates, before taking a seat at the three tables the others had pushed together in order to all sit together. By the time Andre, Badeea, and Tulip arrived, they made up such a large group that they almost had the bar to themselves.

“I think that’s pretty much everyone,” Penny whispered, her face still lined with scepticism. Until the night Artemis had found the prophecy record in the Ministry of Magic, she had been so against her even mentioning the Cabal or the Cursed Vaults that Artemis half-suspected that she had only agreed to come to the meeting out of fear of missing out on a social occasion. “Of course, Alanza is back in Brazil, Bill will be away with Gringotts, and Chiara will get here once she’s done at the Hospital Wing, but otherwise…”

Artemis nodded before clearing her throat, and fourteen pairs of eyes came to rest on her. She stood up, not really sure why she felt the need to do so.

“Um, right,” she said, suddenly regretting not having planned out what she was going to say in advance. “Hello, everyone. Thanks for coming. So, I’m guessing that you’ve probably all realised that everyone here was in the Circle of Khanna last year…”

“Oh, yes,” said Barnaby Lee, a look of realisation passing across his face. “That’s a coincidence.”

“Yeah, sort of. Well, not really. No,” Artemis sighed. “Look, there’s a reason I asked you all to come here today. I know it’s been a year since we first started all this, and…”

Her voice tailed off as a familiar flash of white-blonde head of hair appeared in her peripheral vision, and Chiara Lobosca approached from the other side of the bar, an apologetic smile on her face.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“That’s fine, Chiara. Take a seat.”

“Here, you can have mine,” Jae said, rising from his own chair with so much enthusiasm that it toppled backwards and he fumbled to pick it back up. Beside him, Charlie placed his head into his hands.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” Artemis continued, before she could start to laugh and ruin the mood entirely, “I asked you to come here today because I wanted to ask you something. Something else, not to come here, I mean.”

“Artemis, darling,” said Andre, still staring at his untouched Butterbeer bottle with a look of mild disgust, “I don’t want to be funny, but can you just spit it out? I feel like the longer I’m sitting here, the harder I’m going to need to work to get the smell of goats out of my clothes. And this jumper is hand-wash only.”

“Sorry, yeah. Okay, the thing is… I want to reform the Circle of Khanna and break the curses again.”

There was a quiet murmur through the group. Eventually, Ben spoke up.

“But we already broke the Statue Curse,” he said. “We sealed the Sunken Vault, remember?”

“Exactly,” Artemis nodded. “We sealed it. We didn’t open it. That means that the Sunken Vault, all of the Cursed Vaults, they’re still there. They aren’t doing anything, but they still could.”

“Like dormant volcanoes,” whispered Ismelda. “Just waiting for the opportunity to erupt, to kill and destroy everything in their wake.”

“Sort of like that, yeah.”

Liz Tuttle slowly raised her hand before asking: “Um, I’m sorry, but… but if we go b-back and start messing with the C-Cursed Vaults again… Won’t that just release the Curses?”

“That’s exactly what I thought,” said Penny. “Artemis, I know that this prophecy-”

“Prophecy?”

“What prophecy?”

“I was about to get to that,” Artemis told her friends, many of whom were now frowning in confusion. “A few weeks ago, the Aurors who have been investigating R, they caught someone working for them. Tulip and Merula know about this because they were there, so they can tell you that it’s true. Anyway, he said that R were wanting to open the Vaults again, they were just waiting for their leader to join them, because of this prophecy.”

“So, you want us to form a rival group and get there first?”

“Um, not quite.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Charlie and I broke into the Department of Mysteries and stole the prophecy record-”

“How did you do that? I thought that only the people in the prophecies could take a record,” said Badeea.

“Wait,” Merula looked up at Artemis with a look of mingled mistrust and anger in her violet eyes. “Does that mean you’rethe one that R wants to lead them?”

There was no point in tiptoeing around the question, so Artemis nodded her head. The others fell so quiet that she would have been able to hear a fairy’s wings flutter.

“This is the thing, I don’t want to lead them,” she said, desperately wanting to fill the silence. “Why would I? These people have caused so much pain, they had Rakepick working for them, who tried to kill me and did kill Rowan. I can’t join them, let alone lead them.”

Badeea’s neat eyebrows furrowed beneath the hem of her headscarf. “If it’s in a prophecy, what choice do you have?”

“There’s always a choice,” said Artemis.

“But-”

“The prophecy didn’t specify R. Well, it did, but it called them Ronde. It means circle.”

“Like the Circle of Khanna,” said Barnaby, nodding his head sagely.

“Exactly,” Artemis looked directly at Badeea. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t have a choice but to go back and open these Vaults. But I refuse to believe that I don’t have a choice in who helps me. And if that choice is between the Cabal and all of you, I’m going to choose you.”

On the other side of the table, Merula clapped her hands together slowly, just three times. Artemis sighed before turning to glower at her.

“What, Merula?”

“Well, that’s hardly saying much, is it? You just said all the awful stuff they’ve done.”

“Fine, yes. But even if I didn’t know all of that, I’d still pick you. All of you. You’re my friends, and you’ve all been there for me in the past when I’ve needed you.”

“So, this is you emotionally blackmailing us to get involved in your crap again?” Merula asked, raising her eyebrows so high they disappeared under her orange fringe. Artemis shook her head.

“No. I mean, obviously I would like you all to help me, but if you don’t want to, I understand why. I know it’s a lot to ask, so I won’t judge you or resent you if you say no.”

“Hexley might not,” said Merula, her eyebrows still raised as she looked around at the others. “I will, though.”

Artemis frowned. “Wait, what?”

“Think about it, dogface. The whole reason we formed the Circle of Khanna in the first place was to open the Cursed Vaults and to stop R from getting to them. That was how we wanted to honour Rowan, by making sure no one else ever got hurt like she did because of this. And now we have a chance to do that, so are any of going to chicken out? No, because that would be pathetic.”

“Merula…”

“She’s right, Artemis,” Ben said, and Merula gave him a barely perceptible nod of recognition. “Trust me, if anyone knows about chickening out of things, it’s me.” He gave a wry smile that made a few quiet chuckles echo around the table. “I’m serious. This is our chance to do what we always wanted to do. For Rowan, and for all of us. Right?”

Charlie shrugged his shoulders, and beside him Tonks raised her Butterbeer so fast that it spilt over her hand. Around the table, the other members of the Circle of Khanna were nodding their heads and saying words of agreement.

“Right.”

“Well said, Ben.”

“I’m in.”

“Me too.”

“And me,” said a quiet voice from beside Artemis, and she turned to see Penny staring at her hands, her eyes wide, sincere, and dewy.

“You really don’t have to, Penny,” Artemis whispered back to her, but Penny shook her head.

“I do. What if we don’t try and the Vaults are opened again another time? More people might end up like Bea, or worse, like Rowan.” She blinked back her tears and reached out to take Artemis’ hand under the table. “We have to try, don’t we?”

“Yeah, we do.” Her hand squeezing Penny’s, Artemis turned back to the others. “Okay, it looks like everyone’s in.”

“So, where do we start?”

“At the beginning, of course.” Artemis nodded at Charlie, who pulled a scroll of parchment from his satchel and unrolled it on the table in front of him. “There are five Cursed Vaults in total, and we’ve opened four of them before.” Charlie used a quill to draw a large cross in the centre of the parchment and quarter the page as Artemis continued, “The Ice Vault on the fifth floor, the Boggart Vault in the library, the Forest Vault, and the Buried Vault with all the portraits. The only one that no one has ever opened before is the Sunken Vault, the one under the lake.”

“So, that’s the one we need to focus on?”

“Not yet. Because we sealed the final Vault, we have to start over.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Merula said with an air of boredom, “Hexley’s brother told us that the Vaults can only be opened sequentially.”

“You have to do them in the right order-”

“Yes, Hexley, that’s exactly what I just said.”

“- so we will have to start with the Vault of Ice and work our way from there,” Artemis explained. “Each Vault is different, they all have enchantments and things protecting them. Some of them are easier than others, like the Boggarts in the library, but others… Well, we don’t need to worry about the dragon in the Buried Vault anymore, but there’s still an Acromantula guarding the Forest Vault.

“The other thing with the Vaults is that once they’re tampered with, they start to release their curses. So, once we open the first one, we need to get to all the others as quickly as possible, before anyone can get hurt. Especially with the Sleepwalking Curse, because we don’t want any students sleepwalking into an Acromantula den.”

“Definitely not,” said Charlie, shaking his head. The four quarters of the parchment in front of him now were labelled with the words: ice, library, forest, and portraits. “Alright. So, my thinking was that if we want to prepare ourselves for the four different Vaults as quickly as possible, the best thing we can do is split into four teams. It’s like Quidditch, we all have different strengths, and this way we can all play to them and concentrate on getting to the final Vault as quickly as possible. Anyone got any preferences?”

Badeea, with her love of art, and Penny, whose younger sister had been a victim of the portrait curse, quickly volunteered to help open the Buried Vault. Nature-lovers Charlie, Barnaby, and Liz all put their names down for the Forest Vault, as did Talbott and Chiara, who knew the Forbidden Forest well. Tulip and Tonks were both keen to return to the Vault of Fear.

“Do you reckon Madam Pince will fall for the Mandrake trick twice? Or should I try something different this time?”

“Personally, I always think that originality is the key to success,” said Tulip, and Artemis could almost see her plotting behind her almond-shaped eyes. “Maybe you could try-”

“Why don’t you both just focus on practising your Boggart banishing spells?” Artemis suggested. “We can come up with something for Pince later. Right, that leaves the Vault of Ice, which is the first one. Any volunteers for that one?”

Ben’s hand was the first to rise.

“I want to see what’s there,” he explained, as Charlie wrote his name down on the parchment. “That’s how I lost my memories, getting trapped in the ice.”

“I got trapped in ice, too,” said Andre. “Sign me up for the Ice Vault.” He turned to Badeea and placed his hand down on her forearm as he asked her, “Wasn’t I saying just yesterday that I didn’t get as much wear out of my new padded jacket as I wanted to this winter?”

“Andre, you do realise that this a Curse-Breaking expedition, not a fashion show, right?”

“Of course I do, Charlie, but it’s always better to be over-dressed than under-dressed. You never know who you might run into.”

“I mean, we kind of do,” Artemis told him. “There’s an Ice Knight guarding the Vault. We’re going to have to duel him to-”

“I’m actually a pretty good duellist myself,” said Diego, and Artemis rolled her eyes as she turned to look at him sceptically. “I’m just saying that I’d be happy to help you out, show you how it’s done.”

“I don’t need you to-”

“What a cracking idea,” Tonks grinned and winked at Artemis, who scowled at her in return. Beside her, Penny was stifling giggles, using her hand to cover her mouth. Artemis opened her own mouth to protest, but Tonks immediately interrupted her. “Chiara, don’t you think that this is a great idea?”

Chiara’s smile was serene, but there was a wicked look in her pale eyes as she nodded her head and said: “Oh, yes. That is very chivalrous of you, Diego.”

She lowered her gaze under Artemis’ fierce glare. Behind her, Jae frowned before nodding and throwing his hand into the air.

“I’ll take on an Ice Knight,” he blurted out. Seeming to realise that everyone was now looking at him, he sniffed and cleared his throat. “I’ve heard people say that I can be quite chivalrous, too.”

“What people?”

“Just people, y’know…”

“Sure they do,” Merula muttered, and Ismelda scoffed at her side.

“Alright, you two. I haven’t seen either of you offer to help out with any Vaults yet.”

Both girls scowled at Jae, before Ismelda redirected her gaze to Charlie, and told him:

“I choose fear.”

“Right you are,” said Charlie, his eyes widening slightly as he added Ismelda’s name to the parchment. “Er, Merula? We don’t have many people going to the Buried Vault, did you want to-”

“No,” Merula interrupted Charlie mid-sentence. “No, I don’t want to go to that one.”

The atmosphere turned tense with the coldness of Merula’s tone. Artemis knew why Merula didn’t want to return to the Buried Vault; that was where Rakepick had first betrayed them, and had tortured Merula mercilessly in her attempt to open the Vault for R’s sake. Charlie clearly realised his error, because he grimaced slightly, his cheeks turning pink between his freckles.

“Sorry, I-”

“Don’t apologise, Weasley. It’s just that I’ve been to that one already. It’s boring.”

It was obvious that Merula was lying, but Artemis nodded her head.

“Fine,” she said. “Which one do you want to go to?”

Merula seemed to consider it for a moment before plumping for: “Ice. If I’m going to have to work with Hexley, I’d like to get it out of the way as quickly as possible.”

Artemis rolled her eyes, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she cast her eyes across to the list of names on the parchment, which with the addition of Merula, was now complete. She swallowed hard.

“Okay, then. Let’s do this.”

#artemis hexley #hogwarts mystery #hphm fic #hphm #the hexley saga #charlie weasley #penny haywood #nymphadora tonks #chiara lobosca #ben copper #merula snyde #jae kim #ismelda murk #barnaby lee #liz tuttle #tulip kasaru #andre egwu #badeea ali #diego caplan

20 notes · View notes

atotc-weekly · 10 months

Text

Book the Second—The Golden Thread

[X] Chapter X. Two Promises

More months, to the number of twelve, had come and gone, and Mr. Charles Darnay was established in England as a higher teacher of the French language who was conversant with French literature. In this age, he would have been a Professor; in that age, he was a Tutor. He read with young men who could find any leisure and interest for the study of a living tongue spoken all over the world, and he cultivated a taste for its stores of knowledge and fancy. He could write of them, besides, in sound English, and render them into sound English. Such masters were not at that time easily found; Princes that had been, and Kings that were to be, were not yet of the Teacher class, and no ruined nobility had dropped out of Tellson’s ledgers, to turn cooks and carpenters. As a tutor, whose attainments made the student’s way unusually pleasant and profitable, and as an elegant translator who brought something to his work besides mere dictionary knowledge, young Mr. Darnay soon became known and encouraged. He was well acquainted, more-over, with the circumstances of his country, and those were of ever-growing interest. So, with great perseverance and untiring industry, he prospered.

In London, he had expected neither to walk on pavements of gold, nor to lie on beds of roses; if he had had any such exalted expectation, he would not have prospered. He had expected labour, and he found it, and did it and made the best of it. In this, his prosperity consisted.

A certain portion of his time was passed at Cambridge, where he read with undergraduates as a sort of tolerated smuggler who drove a contraband trade in European languages, instead of conveying Greek and Latin through the Custom-house. The rest of his time he passed in London.

Now, from the days when it was always summer in Eden, to these days when it is mostly winter in fallen latitudes, the world of a man has invariably gone one way—Charles Darnay’s way—the way of the love of a woman.

He had loved Lucie Manette from the hour of his danger. He had never heard a sound so sweet and dear as the sound of her compassionate voice; he had never seen a face so tenderly beautiful, as hers when it was confronted with his own on the edge of the grave that had been dug for him. But, he had not yet spoken to her on the subject; the assassination at the deserted chateau far away beyond the heaving water and the long, long, dusty roads—the solid stone chateau which had itself become the mere mist of a dream—had been done a year, and he had never yet, by so much as a single spoken word, disclosed to her the state of his heart.

That he had his reasons for this, he knew full well. It was again a summer day when, lately arrived in London from his college occupation, he turned into the quiet corner in Soho, bent on seeking an opportunity of opening his mind to Doctor Manette. It was the close of the summer day, and he knew Lucie to be out with Miss Pross.

He found the Doctor reading in his arm-chair at a window. The energy which had at once supported him under his old sufferings and aggravated their sharpness, had been gradually restored to him. He was now a very energetic man indeed, with great firmness of purpose, strength of resolution, and vigour of action. In his recovered energy he was sometimes a little fitful and sudden, as he had at first been in the exercise of his other recovered faculties; but, this had never been frequently observable, and had grown more and more rare.

He studied much, slept little, sustained a great deal of fatigue with ease, and was equably cheerful. To him, now entered Charles Darnay, at sight of whom he laid aside his book and held out his hand.

“Charles Darnay! I rejoice to see you. We have been counting on your return these three or four days past. Mr. Stryver and Sydney Carton were both here yesterday, and both made you out to be more than due.”

“I am obliged to them for their interest in the matter,” he answered, a little coldly as to them, though very warmly as to the Doctor. “Miss Manette—”

“Is well,” said the Doctor, as he stopped short, “and your return will delight us all. She has gone out on some household matters, but will soon be home.”

“Doctor Manette, I knew she was from home. I took the opportunity of her being from home, to beg to speak to you.”

There was a blank silence.

“Yes?” said the Doctor, with evident constraint. “Bring your chair here, and speak on.”

He complied as to the chair, but appeared to find the speaking on less easy.

“I have had the happiness, Doctor Manette, of being so intimate here,” so he at length began, “for some year and a half, that I hope the topic on which I am about to touch may not—”

He was stayed by the Doctor’s putting out his hand to stop him. When he had kept it so a little while, he said, drawing it back:

“Is Lucie the topic?”

“She is.”

“It is hard for me to speak of her at any time. It is very hard for me to hear her spoken of in that tone of yours, Charles Darnay.”

“It is a tone of fervent admiration, true homage, and deep love, Doctor Manette!” he said deferentially.

There was another blank silence before her father rejoined:

“I believe it. I do you justice; I believe it.”

His constraint was so manifest, and it was so manifest, too, that it originated in an unwillingness to approach the subject, that Charles Darnay hesitated.

“Shall I go on, sir?”

Another blank.

“Yes, go on.”

“You anticipate what I would say, though you cannot know how earnestly I say it, how earnestly I feel it, without knowing my secret heart, and the hopes and fears and anxieties with which it has long been laden. Dear Doctor Manette, I love your daughter fondly, dearly, disinterestedly, devotedly. If ever there were love in the world, I love her. You have loved yourself; let your old love speak for me!”

The Doctor sat with his face turned away, and his eyes bent on the ground. At the last words, he stretched out his hand again, hurriedly, and cried:

“Not that, sir! Let that be! I adjure you, do not recall that!”

His cry was so like a cry of actual pain, that it rang in Charles Darnay’s ears long after he had ceased. He motioned with the hand he had extended, and it seemed to be an appeal to Darnay to pause. The latter so received it, and remained silent.

“I ask your pardon,” said the Doctor, in a subdued tone, after some moments. “I do not doubt your loving Lucie; you may be satisfied of it.”

He turned towards him in his chair, but did not look at him, or raise his eyes. His chin dropped upon his hand, and his white hair overshadowed his face:

“Have you spoken to Lucie?”

“No.”

“Nor written?”

“Never.”

“It would be ungenerous to affect not to know that your self-denial is to be referred to your consideration for her father. Her father thanks you.”

He offered his hand; but his eyes did not go with it.

“I know,” said Darnay, respectfully, “how can I fail to know, Doctor Manette, I who have seen you together from day to day, that between you and Miss Manette there is an affection so unusual, so touching, so belonging to the circumstances in which it has been nurtured, that it can have few parallels, even in the tenderness between a father and child. I know, Doctor Manette—how can I fail to know—that, mingled with the affection and duty of a daughter who has become a woman, there is, in her heart, towards you, all the love and reliance of infancy itself. I know that, as in her childhood she had no parent, so she is now devoted to you with all the constancy and fervour of her present years and character, united to the trustfulness and attachment of the early days in which you were lost to her. I know perfectly well that if you had been restored to her from the world beyond this life, you could hardly be invested, in her sight, with a more sacred character than that in which you are always with her. I know that when she is clinging to you, the hands of baby, girl, and woman, all in one, are round your neck. I know that in loving you she sees and loves her mother at her own age, sees and loves you at my age, loves her mother broken-hearted, loves you through your dreadful trial and in your blessed restoration. I have known this, night and day, since I have known you in your home.”

Her father sat silent, with his face bent down. His breathing was a little quickened; but he repressed all other signs of agitation.

“Dear Doctor Manette, always knowing this, always seeing her and you with this hallowed light about you, I have forborne, and forborne, as long as it was in the nature of man to do it. I have felt, and do even now feel, that to bring my love—even mine—between you, is to touch your history with something not quite so good as itself. But I love her. Heaven is my witness that I love her!”

“I believe it,” answered her father, mournfully. “I have thought so before now. I believe it.”

“But, do not believe,” said Darnay, upon whose ear the mournful voice struck with a reproachful sound, “that if my fortune were so cast as that, being one day so happy as to make her my wife, I must at any time put any separation between her and you, I could or would breathe a word of what I now say. Besides that I should know it to be hopeless, I should know it to be a baseness. If I had any such possibility, even at a remote distance of years, harboured in my thoughts, and hidden in my heart—if it ever had been there—if it ever could be there—I could not now touch this honoured hand.”

He laid his own upon it as he spoke.

“No, dear Doctor Manette. Like you, a voluntary exile from France; like you, driven from it by its distractions, oppressions, and miseries; like you, striving to live away from it by my own exertions, and trusting in a happier future; I look only to sharing your fortunes, sharing your life and home, and being faithful to you to the death. Not to divide with Lucie her privilege as your child, companion, and friend; but to come in aid of it, and bind her closer to you, if such a thing can be.”

His touch still lingered on her father’s hand. Answering the touch for a moment, but not coldly, her father rested his hands upon the arms of his chair, and looked up for the first time since the beginning of the conference. A struggle was evidently in his face; a struggle with that occasional look which had a tendency in it to dark doubt and dread.

“You speak so feelingly and so manfully, Charles Darnay, that I thank you with all my heart, and will open all my heart—or nearly so. Have you any reason to believe that Lucie loves you?”

“None. As yet, none.”

“Is it the immediate object of this confidence, that you may at once ascertain that, with my knowledge?”

“Not even so. I might not have the hopefulness to do it for weeks; I might (mistaken or not mistaken) have that hopefulness to-morrow.”

“Do you seek any guidance from me?”

“I ask none, sir. But I have thought it possible that you might have it in your power, if you should deem it right, to give me some.”

“Do you seek any promise from me?”

“I do seek that.”

“What is it?”

“I well understand that, without you, I could have no hope. I well understand that, even if Miss Manette held me at this moment in her innocent heart—do not think I have the presumption to assume so much—I could retain no place in it against her love for her father.”

“If that be so, do you see what, on the other hand, is involved in it?”

“I understand equally well, that a word from her father in any suitor’s favour, would outweigh herself and all the world. For which reason, Doctor Manette,” said Darnay, modestly but firmly, “I would not ask that word, to save my life.”

“I am sure of it. Charles Darnay, mysteries arise out of close love, as well as out of wide division; in the former case, they are subtle and delicate, and difficult to penetrate. My daughter Lucie is, in this one respect, such a mystery to me; I can make no guess at the state of her heart.”

“May I ask, sir, if you think she is—” As he hesitated, her father supplied the rest.

“Is sought by any other suitor?”

“It is what I meant to say.”

Her father considered a little before he answered:

“You have seen Mr. Carton here, yourself. Mr. Stryver is here too, occasionally. If it be at all, it can only be by one of these.”

“Or both,” said Darnay.

“I had not thought of both; I should not think either, likely. You want a promise from me. Tell me what it is.”

“It is, that if Miss Manette should bring to you at any time, on her own part, such a confidence as I have ventured to lay before you, you will bear testimony to what I have said, and to your belief in it. I hope you may be able to think so well of me, as to urge no influence against me. I say nothing more of my stake in this; this is what I ask. The condition on which I ask it, and which you have an undoubted right to require, I will observe immediately.”

“I give the promise,” said the Doctor, “without any condition. I believe your object to be, purely and truthfully, as you have stated it. I believe your intention is to perpetuate, and not to weaken, the ties between me and my other and far dearer self. If she should ever tell me that you are essential to her perfect happiness, I will give her to you. If there were—Charles Darnay, if there were—”

The young man had taken his hand gratefully; their hands were joined as the Doctor spoke:

“—any fancies, any reasons, any apprehensions, anything whatsoever, new or old, against the man she really loved—the direct responsibility thereof not lying on his head—they should all be obliterated for her sake. She is everything to me; more to me than suffering, more to me than wrong, more to me—Well! This is idle talk.”

So strange was the way in which he faded into silence, and so strange his fixed look when he had ceased to speak, that Darnay felt his own hand turn cold in the hand that slowly released and dropped it.

“You said something to me,” said Doctor Manette, breaking into a smile. “What was it you said to me?”

He was at a loss how to answer, until he remembered having spoken of a condition. Relieved as his mind reverted to that, he answered:

“Your confidence in me ought to be returned with full confidence on my part. My present name, though but slightly changed from my mother’s, is not, as you will remember, my own. I wish to tell you what that is, and why I am in England.”

“Stop!” said the Doctor of Beauvais.

“I wish it, that I may the better deserve your confidence, and have no secret from you.”

“Stop!”

For an instant, the Doctor even had his two hands at his ears; for another instant, even had his two hands laid on Darnay’s lips.

“Tell me when I ask you, not now. If your suit should prosper, if Lucie should love you, you shall tell me on your marriage morning. Do you promise?”

“Willingly.

“Give me your hand. She will be home directly, and it is better she should not see us together to-night. Go! God bless you!”

It was dark when Charles Darnay left him, and it was an hour later and darker when Lucie came home; she hurried into the room alone—for Miss Pross had gone straight up-stairs—and was surprised to find his reading-chair empty.

“My father!” she called to him. “Father dear!”

Nothing was said in answer, but she heard a low hammering sound in his bedroom. Passing lightly across the intermediate room, she looked in at his door and came running back frightened, crying to herself, with her blood all chilled, “What shall I do! What shall I do!”

Her uncertainty lasted but a moment; she hurried back, and tapped at his door, and softly called to him. The noise ceased at the sound of her voice, and he presently came out to her, and they walked up and down together for a long time.

She came down from her bed, to look at him in his sleep that night. He slept heavily, and his tray of shoemaking tools, and his old unfinished work, were all as usual.

#a tale of two cities #atotc weekly #charles dickens #july 9 #the golden thread

4 notes · View notes

ariadnew · 1 year

Photo

CTJL 2021, ROUND 7: PARIS

Archie had lived in Paris once, when he was eighteen. He and three of his closest mates, newly graduated, living out of a predictably small, predictably bohemian apartment in Montmartre while they spent the summer making pocket money teaching English to French kids and exploring their newfound adult freedom to the fullest extent they dared.

All of this is, naturally, entirely new information to Dot.

Much to her delight, he continues on the Metro. One of his best friends, he tells her, got a job peeling vegetables and washing dishes at a restaurant governed by an Escoffier-trained chef, just to line his pockets. He fell wickedly and firmly in love with the world of the kitchen that summer. They barely saw him. He’s a sous-chef at one of London’s swankiest hotels now. And they still barely see him. Another spent those months honing his already prodigious talent for the social. Their apartment, he relates with a smile that is half-nostalgic, half-bashful, was frequently stuffed to the brim with strangers and friends alike; people found in clubs, markets, parks, cafes, galleries, streets; artists, actors, dancers, dreamers, and anything in between. On particularly notable occasions, their guests included a thalassophobic carcinologist, a Viennese piano technician, a professor of film studies, a diplomat’s (alleged) former mistress, and a fascinatingly cheerful mortician. Mostly, however, he recalls women. Lyndsay had a new girl on his arm every time they saw him, it seemed. Sometimes two. Sometimes two on each arm. Two on each arm, and a few in tow for his single friends. He was- by his own testimony- “unerringly generous” in that regard.

– But those, Archie says, as abrupt as the gentle appearance of colour in his cheeks, are stories for another time. His tone and his haste to depart the Metro tell her that another time is likely code for never.

* It is to Montmartre he is taking them that morning, to a small cafe tucked between a fromagerie and a shop crammed as ambitiously as it precariously with ceramics. It’s a street of vibrancy, filled with colour and quirkiness and life. Awnings flutter bright against the grey Parisian sky; the numbing autumn air is tinted with the warm, wheaten smell of a busy bakery. They pass a record store painted red and a glacier in shades of orange and ice; beneath signs announcing costumières in flamboyant strokes and bric-à-brac with scraps of rusted metal. Tables and chairs are arranged dutifully outside eateries and are occupied by equally dutiful locals taking their morning coffee and smoking in the drizzle. The gutter underfoot trickles and glistens with overnight rain, crumpled with sodden copper leaves and cigarette butts. A middle-aged man looks away in a display of feigned ignorance while the Bull Terrier at the end of his lead hunches over the pavement. A woman in a long skirt flies by on a bicycle hurling words Dot doesn’t understand but cannot possibly be complimentary. A leaf flutters to the pavement; a distant horn blares. Weak morning light gleams in the wet of the cobbled road.

Agatha has agreed to join them for breakfast, though it is not because she has any real desire for their company.

She has taken the seat to Dot’s right, where she currently sits tall and aloof and dabbing a stray rain drop from her cheek with her sleeve, eyeing the eclectic decor and commenting on the oddly tart-sweet smell of baked, borderline-burned apricots. Clad in stiletto boots and an elegant designer coat that’d cover Dot’s rent for the next five months, she does not look like a woman who frequented colourful cafes squashed within a city’s most offbeat streets and ate crooked, bleeding pastries for breakfast. She looks like a woman who’d be more at home dining in the Four Seasons’ breakfast room, or at one of those famed Belle Epoque brasseries Dot read about in a tourist guide, one of green glasswork and gold and all things art nouveau, with prices as impossible as its waiting list. She imagines her briefly, the heroine of some Jazz Age novel, svelte and sparkling in an evening gown and elbow-length gloves with a cigarette holder perched in a languid, elegant hand; smoking Turkish cigarettes and listening to jazz while men in sharp suits and dapper haircuts line up to bring her expensive champagne and beget her elusive attention. It is not an altogether difficult image to conjure. But Agatha is not at the Four Seasons, nor at one of the most coveted tables among the city’s brasseries (nor, indeed, in another time period). Agatha is here, looking as out of place as a Vermeer hanging in a kindergarten classroom—

And she is here, it turns out, because this is not her first time in Paris.

Parisians, she has found, are frequently afflicted with sudden and violent bouts of amnesia where the English language is concerned. Manners, too. Thus, a companion fluent in the language whilst in the capital is an incomparable advantage. How convenient it is, then, that Archie– as he has frequently reminded them over the course of their stay– is able to speak the language fluently! It also happens that he is in possession of an unnatural amount of patience, and- even more convenient!- is already on her payroll. Why wouldn’t she take advantage of that? Agatha isn’t in the mood to handle Parisian attitude. True, she isn’t really in the mood to handle English attitude, either, but the devil you know and all that. He might as well work for his wage. Make himself useful. Be worth the trouble. For once.

It is for this reason alone she has deigned to keep Archie around, even if the cost is having to endure a morning of him flaunting his irritatingly good French, being irritatingly nonchalant about how irritatingly good it is, and being around Archie in general.

Dot knows this, because Agatha has just finished telling her.

Archie must also know this, because she has not waited for him to leave after handing him a fistful of euros and telling him to order for her. Now. Please. (It makes him go away faster, she’d explained) (again, right in front of him)

Archie looks at Dot, the picture of sangfroid, and holds up Agatha’s euros.

‘Care to join me, Dottie?’ His tone is cool and smooth as the inside of a luxury car; his eyes spark with hidden humour. ‘Order what you like; Agatha’s just offered us our breakfast today. Awfully generous of her.’ ‘I put up w-’ ‘Awfully generous indeed.’ Agatha lowers her phone and looks Dot square in the eye. Having been in her employ longer and more closely than most, one would think she’d have grown accustomed to the unnerving, burning darkness of her mistress’ eyes.

She has not. (... If anything, it’d only gotten scarier)

‘Go with him, Dot.’ Agatha turns her eyes back to her phone, her voice low and bored. ‘And make sure you take your time.’

If Archie is similarly unnerved, he doesn’t show it. He meets Dot’s eye, flashes her a smile, and gestures with a sweep of his arm toward the register, as unconcerned and cheerful as ever.

* Part II of angry breakfast tomorrow. 👉 😎 👉

12 notes · View notes

letsbenditlikebennett · 9 months

Text

TIMING: A few-ish weeks ago before Alex was simpin' LOCATION: Mesphito’s Repository PARTIES: @sofiedupont & @letsbenditlikebennett SUMMARY: After Alex's tinder date doesn't show, she finds herself in Mesphito's Repository perusing the stock. Both her and Sofie are drawn to a pair of matching necklaces. CONTENT: Parental death mentions

The first red flag of the evening should have been that her date asked to meet at the coffee shop in Nightfall Grove. Alex liked the coffee at Masque of the Red Eye well enough, but she could read between the lines that it was a vampire haunt. Or most likely was, anyhow. But the entire date had been like something out of a shitty indie rom-com which was not at all her vibe. Needless to say, there would not be a second date which had her feeling a bit sullen as she walked through the dark streets to make her way back home. Something about a dark sky in the middle of the afternoon sans rain clouds mirrored the mood nicely at least. It wasn’t like she was going back to an empty home, but sometimes she wished she was better at making friends with people her own age, not that a girlfriend would magically fix that.

As Alex rounded the corner, her eyes fell upon a shop that she normally would have looked over. Given everything in her house was probably technically an antique, she didn’t go actively seeking them out. Still, pocketing something for herself after another first and only date sounded fun. She walked into the dimly lit store and found herself immediately looking over some of the bones and taxidermy. The professor for her Intro to Archaeology class would love them, but she wasn’t about to drop money on bones and none looked small enough to easily steal without being caught. Instead, she lazily wandered over towards some cool looking necklaces. A lot of them were too gaudy for her tastes, but her eyes fell on a necklace with a small, dangling green stone that looked a lot like peridot. Her fingers brushed over the golden chain and lifted it in her finger. Almost immediately, she found she didn’t want to put it back down. “Hm,” she pondered, accidentally bumping elbows with the woman next to her, “Merde, sorry. Didn’t mean to elbow you.” She noticed the woman was looking at an identical necklace. “What do you know, great minds or something,” she joked.

_____________________________

The first thing Sofie had made certain not to do when she returned to Mephisto’s Repository was to ask for Chuck Jones. There had been something incredibly unnerving about the smile that had hung on his face. Like he knew every little thought in her head. When she’d walked in this time, she’d waved cordially as the staff greeted her, and then quietly walked back to the necklace that had caught her attention previously. There was something enchanting about it. Perhaps that should have been a concerning place in a store like this one, but surely not everything he had obtained was cursed.

She was pulled from her inspection of the necklace when someone jostled her elbow. Sofie’s eyes slid over to the woman who cursed in French, a pleased smile sliding across her face. “Ça va bien.” She said politely. She blinked a moment, unsure what the woman was talking about, before she noticed the matching necklace. “Well would you look at that, it has a twin!” Perhaps that was why it was in this place. The two pieces were hardly distinguishable from each other. “I saw it the other day and decided to come back for it

_________

The stranger’s use of French made Alex feel slightly less out of place in the antique shop. Only very slightly. One glance around and she would remember she didn’t know what half of these items were and maybe she didn’t care on a normal day, but the underlying desire to be liked by everyone she came across, especially adults, never seemed to fully fade away. “Merci,” she smiled brightly, “Parlez-vois Francais?” ‘Thanks, you speak French?’

Maybe there had been a reason Alex had ended up in this particular shop, conversing in French over a twin necklace with someone she likely wouldn’t have met otherwise. The woman was older than her, so she wasn’t deluded into thinking this was some sort of cinematic meet-cute situation, but the longer she lived in town, the more she found coincidences were a rare thing.

“They must have been a pair at some point,” Alex mused, turning over the chain in her fingers yet again, refraining from visibly scoffing at the price tag, “I think I’d come back for it too. So simple and yet–” She held it up to shimmer under the light. “Elegant… I think.” She lowered it, but didn’t put it back on the shelf. She had no intention of paying for the item, but this stranger with similar taste probably didn’t need to know that. “You shop here a lot?”

_________

“I do,” She grinned at the young woman. “I lived there for a time.” It was always nice, Sofie had found, to have little reminders of what had been. A friendly voice in a familiar tongue was one of those things that settled in her chest with a sort of melancholy peace.

Her focus returned to the identical necklaces. Maybe they had belonged to twins in their past lives. Or friends. There were any one of a number of stories the sparkling pieces could have had before they’d wound up sitting in a display case in an antiques shop.

Sofie laughed softly, shaking her head. “No, not frequently. It is only my second time in, and I didn’t purchase anything the last time I was in. I have quite a few antiques, I was just pawning them off on the owner, to see if he could have more success in selling them off than I have had. What about you? Do you come in here frequently?”

_______

“That’s cool,” Alex responded easily, “I’ve only visited, but my parents were from France so had a lot of family there.” Technically, she still did, but that family reunion wasn’t likely to be joyous. From what she could understand, her aunt wanted her dead the moment her lycanthropy became known. That’s why she and Andy had fended for themselves on the road rather than staying with their aunt and cousins after they’d lost their parents.

Something about the necklace kept drawing her eye back to it. Alex flipped it over in her hand and grimaced at the price tag, not that she’d actually pay for anything in this store. Antique shops were essentially just overpriced thrift stores anyway.

“I guess I theoretically have a lot of antiques,” Alex mused, though that was probably because her landlord was a vampire and some of their furniture had to be at least a century old, “First time for me. Tinder date stood me up and I happened to pass by. Think I might get this necklace though… unless you were trying to buy the pair of them.”

_______

“Ah! Oh that’s lovely. Where in France is your family from?” She asked. Curiosity always won out with Sofie, especially when anyplace she’d called home was involved. “I used to live in the Loire Valley. I miss it sometimes… it was lovely.”

The necklace caught her focus again, the light catching on the green stone. There was something enchanting about it. Which shouldn’t have surprised her, given the store she was in. But something so pretty didn’t seem to belong. Maybe it was just because the necklaces were identical.

She frowned. “I’m sorry… I can’t say I’ve ever tried online dating, but from everything I’ve heard, it sounds like a nightmare. Whoever they were, they weren’t worth your time.” She said with the authority of someone who had more experience than she looked like she should. “Oh no, I was just looking at the one- I don’t need two of the same piece.”

——

The idea of lying dawned on Alex, if only for a moment. What were the odds this woman had heard of her family? If she had, that would make her a hunter herself or a pack her family had… Alex couldn’t bring herself to think of that. They killed monsters, just because she now happened to be one didn’t change anything. If this woman was a ranger, there was no hiding anyway. “Lyon,” she answered truthfully despite her worries. Loire Valley was far enough that there hopefully wasn’t much overlap. “Never made it out to Loire Valley,” she mused, “Heard good things about it though.”

The last part was a bit of a white lie. Alex hadn’t really heard much of anything about Loire Valley which was probably a good thing. The only reason her family would have mentioned it is if there had been a large werewolf population that they had known about. “What brought you to the States,” she asked, curiously. And Wicked’s Rest of all places seemed a choice, but she supposed it had its appeal even for those who weren’t part of its darker shadows.

A small laugh escaped her lips. Online dating… was something else. Alex wasn’t sure why she bothered. Well, she was sure— her own company wasn’t something she enjoyed. It was nice to pretend, even for a few hours, that she wasn’t a monster. “Consider yourself lucky,” she joked, “And don’t bother with it.” Sofie seemed beautiful and well put together enough that Alex doubted she had any trouble in the dating department.

There was a loud clamor coming from the back that drew Sofie’s gaze away from her. Alex glanced down at the necklace that sparkled in her palm and the odd affinity she felt for it… and the price tag. Fuck. More ruckus ensued and there seemed to be some sort of argument about to break out on the store floor. This was her chance.

While Sofie was still turned away, Alex ducked out the shop’s front door quietly with the necklace tucked away in her pocket. It felt warm there, but it felt like it belonged properly around her neck, so she picked up her pace and jogged far enough away to don her new jewelry without raising any suspicions.

——

“Lyon!” It had been ages since she’d visited. The eighteen-eighties, perhaps? “A lovely place. And you’ll have to visit the valley one day. Lovely old châteaux… you’d love it.” The vampire insisted, if only because she had loved it. The wistfulness in her smile faltered a touch at the question. What had brought her here had also left her here alone… not by choice, obviously. But she couldn’t help but wonder if none of it would have ever happened if they’d simply stayed put in Europe. “My brother- I call him that but he was more of an old friend. He wanted to move overseas. So I came with him.”

Sofie snorted out a soft laugh. Thankfully she didn’t have much need for online dating. The number of undead-frequented hot spots on that particular side of town had done a perfectly good job of dropping a centuries old history teacher with a penchant for poetry into her lap. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Some loud noise jerked the vampire’s attention away. Sofie peered through the rows to see someone had tripped over a rather large trunk. How on earth had they missed that? Perhaps it was cursed to jump out and trip anyone who passed. And they seemed like they were fine, the man already picking themselves up off the floor and dusting themself off. She turned to go back to talking to her young friend to find the spot next to her was now empty. And the second necklace had gone with her.

She blinked. She didn’t think she’d looked away for that long. But perhaps this shop of cursed antiques played tricks with time. She picked up the necklace and headed to the front of the store, hoping desperately to get one of the regular employees, and not the owner with the shark’s smile. The necklace was simply too pretty for anything to be that wrong with it.

#wr sofie #parental death tw #threads; with sofie; stolen gems #wickedswriting #(never been a natural all i do is try try try) ;; writing #(the moonlight's blinding) ;; season 1 writing

5 notes · View notes