#remember when Catherine burned down the school

[gildengirl]

"What is a Gallagher Girl?" Liz asked one final time. "She's a genius, a scientist, a heroine, a spy. And now we are at the end of our time at school, and the one thing I know for certain is this; A Gallagher Girl is whatever she wants to be." Liz smiled and wiped her eyes. She leaned close to the microphone. "And, most of all, she is my sister."

- Ally Carter, United We Spy

#Gallagher Girls #Gallagher Girls Series #Gallagher Girls Books #Ally Carter #United We Spy #UWS #Cameron Morgan #Cammie Morgan #Zach Goode #Zammie #Liz Sutton #Bex Baxter #Macey McHenry #Joe Solomon #Rachel Morgan #Catherine Goode #remember when Catherine burned down the school #still kinda mad about that ngl

[darklydeliciousdesires]

London Will Burn - Chapter Five.

Thank you for your continued interest, my darlings, and happy Friday! :)

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four

Tag list - In the comments, please DM to be added/removed

Words - 3,537

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Minors DNI.

“Catherine, you are fucking mental. Put it down.” 

“No, we’re playing William Tell. Put the apple on your head, Sean.” 

He staggered, snorting with laughter, moving quickly around the gigantic kitchen island, lifting the bottle to his lips as he raised a middle finger at her. “Fucking put it down, young lady.” 

“Nope,” she chirped, “shan’t do it! Trust me, I’m a mean shot.” Once again, the arrow was aimed.  

“You’re also half pissed and squinting,” he tried to reason as he walked backwards into the corridor, holding out his hands. “Seriously, put it down.”  

He might have been laughing, but a tiny piece of him was steeped in trepidation, being stalked by a slightly drunken young woman holding a bow, loaded with a very real, very sharp arrow. One miss and he’d go the same way as King Harold II at the Battle of Hastings. “Rin, stop. Look, I’m standing in front of priceless artwork. You can’t, or you’ll hit the Bellini!”  

“How did you even know that was Bellini?” 

“Because I attended a fucking good school and paid attention. Now seriously, put that down!” 

He breathed a sigh of relief when finally, the bow was lowered, Rin placing it as well as the arrow onto the table beside her, snorting with laughter. “Your face was a fucking picture, I swear!”  

What was meant to be a simple viewing of her father’s collection of antique weaponry had descended into full blown, drunken shenanigans, Sean finding himself and the bottle of vodka he grasped chased through the house, around the kitchen a couple of times, an apple thrown in his direction along with the suggestion of playing William Tell.  

There was no way he’d have placed it upon his head. Not with what he’d seen her drink so far that evening. Still though, it had been an adrenaline pump, he supposed. In Sean’s world, he rarely made room for fun. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been drunk, probably at some point with his dad and brother, although goodness knows when that actually was.  

He’d spent the years since his wild time at university making work his number one priority; but there within the walls of Mulford Hall, it felt good to take a weekend off from life, let off a little steam. In more ways than one. 

To put it bluntly, he’d never had so much sex in such a short space of time in all of his life. He’d been there for twenty-five hours, slept for seven of them and the rest? Pretty much exclusively sexual between long bouts of talking. Very long, very detailed bouts of talking, about a life that truly, only the other really understood. 

“It isn’t normal, it really fucking isn’t,” she began, sitting beside him on one of the very large, very plush outdoor sofas, fingers idly stroking his inner forearm as she reached for her vodka and grapefruit juice. Sean was drinking his over ice, after stating he’d rather eat nettles than have anything relating to grapefruit near his mouth. “I mean, people can throw out the threat of ‘I’ll fucking kill you’ if angered enough, but they don’t mean it. We say it, and we bloody mean it.” 

“We do,” he agreed, resting his head back, reaching to place a hand upon her bare knee. “Truthfully, we wouldn’t even need to go that far. We can simply have somebody else do it for us.”  

“No, no but really, really,” she stated emphatically, grasping his arm and shaking it with wide eyes.  

He returned the gesture. “What? What?” 

“Piss taker!” 

He snorted softly. “Sarcastic piss taker, I’ll have you know.” 

“That too!” She smiled, shaking her head, her fingers going back to touring his inner arm, tracing lines from freckle to freckle. “Oh blimey. I’ve forgotten what I was going to say.” They both began to laugh softly. “That’s your fault, you knob.” 

“Guilty as charged,” he spoke, placing his drink back down.  

She remained thoughtful for a few moments before her synapses fired, her eyes widening again. “Yes, I’ve remembered! It’s like, this girl in my year at sixth form threatened to beat me up because I’d made the alleged mistake of giving my number to this lad who she was after, because fancying someone equals they’re yours already in her eyes, apparently. Apart from it all being so fucking childish, I just thought to myself, “I could stab you and have your body thrown in a vat of acid, and nobody would ever know.” And I really, really could! It’s half the reason dad bought that chemical plant over by Walthamstow. If you fuck with him, that’s where you end up.” 

That particular revelation sent a shiver right through Sean, a remembrance of Kevin’s favourite method of dispatch. He’d even heard that sometimes, his adversaries had still been alive when they’d taken their acid bath. Pulling his thoughts back, he focused again on her, Rin continuing. 

“No one would ever know, as I say, and that’s not normal, is it? And the others around me all the way through school, they’ve never even known just how close they’ve been to the kind of danger that’s just fucking regular life for us! For us, it’s entirely normal! Sorry, I know I’m rambling on.” 

His hand squeezed upon her knee, Sean crunching an ice cube between his back teeth with a loud crack. “No, no. You’re fine. I remember looking at other students in my class and thinking how they didn’t have the slightest clue either, how far removed their existences were from mine. They all led these safe, mundane little lives, and often I’d find myself wondering what mine would be like if it had matched theirs. Would it even fit, though, I sometimes pondered.” 

Her nails left his arm momentarily to comb through her hair, returning after she’d pushed it away from her face. “It would be like attempting to wear shoes upon the wrong feet. Not a good fit, because they weren’t made and moulded for them.” 

His eyebrows raised a fraction. “That’s a damned accurate analogy, Rin.”  

“It’s how I’ve always felt at even considering walking into any other life than the one I was born into. You hear about it, don’t you, all these people saying criminals such as us have a choice, but we don’t. I wouldn’t know how to act outside of the life I’ve always lived, even though I suppose that’s somewhat of a cop out, my age considered. I can’t say though, for example, if somebody irritated me enough that I wouldn’t hurt them egregiously for it, if I did walk away from the life. That isn’t really walking away though, to take that kind of mindset along.” 

He reached for her, thumb skimming her cupid’s bow. “No, because it’s the only one you know.” The wicked world they lived in, Sean got it. He knew it, breathed it, was bred for it. Just like her. The only person she’d ever been involved with in the past who’d understood was Kel, her first boyfriend, the son of a mutual associate of her father and Sean’s, their relationship lasting for just over a year before she’d moved on. Sean had been correct when he’d branded him a prick. He was. 

“It’ll only become greater too, the further we both rise. One day, we shall both sit at the head of two powerful criminal families, and then life will change exponentially even more. I sometimes wonder already who the hell I am at times, and I’ll wonder even more then. Do your thoughts ever wander there?”  

She watched him, seeming to coil into himself a little more, crossing one arm over his chest to rest it on his shoulder, eyes flitting uncomfortably. Being vulnerable with someone did not come easily to him. “What, how I will be moulded into an image even further removed just to survive a life that seats me upon a throne made of heavy artillery and blocks of heroin? All the time.” 

He laughed quietly at the comic face of trepidation she pulled in response to his statement, leaning to rest his head on her shoulder. “I’ve never met anyone who gets it like you do.”  

“Yeah,” she confirmed, turning to stroke his face. “Same.”  

As they fell into kisses, his head swimming a little from the five very large drinks he’d already had (not being much of a vodka fan, but that was all Rin had) his brain began to scream at him once again. “Delete the fucking video. Find another source to wash the cash through. It doesn’t have to be that building, and it doesn’t have to be her who gets hurt.” 

But if it wasn’t, his father would be enraged. He would lose the approval he felt he was finally beginning to earn from him. Before it could gnaw at him too much, he recovered himself, hardening again as he sat up. He truly couldn’t deviate, and he supposed he really should think about leaving... 

Reaching for his vodka glass, the reason why he couldn’t was brought to his lips and sunk in its entirety. He was about four times over the legal limit at that point and very much stuck exactly where he was.  

“It scares me too, you know.” Reaching for him, she rested her hand to his shoulder, squeezing the muscle softly. “Our father’s shadows offer the kind of safe shade we will be stripped of one day.”  

He shrugged her hand away lightly. “I’m not scared of a single fucking thing.” Damn her and the accuracy of her analogies, how astute she was, how such a wise head sat upon her shoulders. She was only eighteen, and already so much more emotionally steady than he. Also, Rin seemed to accept her eventuality in life much more willingly than he did. She was ready, poised for it. Him? He still felt like he had to prove himself within the proverbial shark tank his father was dangling him over. 

“Liar.”  

He turned with a frown, but Rin could see it was as fake as the very statement he’d made about not being afraid. He opened his mouth, hesitating for a second, studying her. She saw right through him, saw right into him. It was unnerving. At last, though. He’d found someone who did. “You were right, you know. You are a gobby little twat.”  

Merely grinning, she picked up their glasses as she stood. “Time for a refill.” Sauntering back across the patio area, she heard him follow. While slicing the pink grapefruit that accompanied her drink, she felt his arms slide around her, the sublimity of his mouth meeting her neck a second later. 

“I haven’t been balls deep in your for at least three or more hours,” he began, teeth nipping at her earlobe as she refilled the glasses before her. “I feel this should be rectified.”  

She was a little cock sore from the unfettered railing she’d received already that day from him, as well as what had been enjoyed the evening before, but as Rin placed the knife down on the large chopping board to her side, she could not resist the promise of having Sean inside her again.  

Rather than agreeing right away, though, she kept him waiting, letting him burn while scooping up the bits of grapefruit rind and carrying them to the bin, Sean melding himself to her. She was hampered by him, giggling at his refusal to cease, but didn’t give in while wiping the counter down and moving the drinks across the island out of the way, rinsing her hands in the nearby sink as his delved into her pants.  

“Don’t leave me waiting on this, darling,” he groaned, fingers sinking into her folds, his other hand emerging to grasp one of her tits. “I want to feel you around me, watch you dripping all over my dick, hear those beautiful little moans as I’m fucking you.”  

His words shook her, any tentative resolve crumbling, his desire acting like quick erosion upon her as she turned, meeting his mouth with heat and need. He lifted her to the island, slotting himself between her thighs while removing the huge t shirt she’d been wearing, hands kneading her bare breasts, descending hungrily. 

“Are you particularly fond of these undies?” he panted, grasping the pink lace in a tight grip. 

“Not especially.” They were only a Victoria’s Secret multipack pair; if he tore them from her, they wouldn’t especially be missed. What he did, though. God. She wasn’t expecting him to pick up the knife to her side, push the blade beneath the waistband and literally cut them from her, stabbing the knife back down onto the chopping board before plunging two fingers into her slick.  

White heat streaked through her, yearning for him, yanking his t shirt over his head as he kicked off his jeans. The heat of his cock radiated against her inner thigh, fingers burrowed in her deep. As usual, even mere kisses had left her soaking, Sean moaning against her tongue as he grasped his cock and stroked it through her glistening folds. 

The gasp that fell from her mouth as he rucked into her hard made his skin prickle, his heart skipping on a beat as he stared at her with intense focus, his hand coming to cup her cheek. Her eyes pulled him into a vortex of emotions he didn’t truly know how to deal with, stirring, yanking him under. It would feel uncomfortable if it didn’t feel so right, but that was a notion that didn’t sit well with him either, closing his eyes and pressing his mouth to the junction of her neck. 

Burying himself in the hot clutch of her cunt again and again, it was urgency unmatched, fast, hot and wild as they clutched and grasped at each other. The heat of it burned beneath her skin, the grind of his body tight against her clit making pleasure fall through her like a shooting star, holding his face in her hands and kissing him, all honey and sin, her nails then once again adding to the brandings of lust already present on his back.   

He felt immense, so heavy within her tender walls, cock scraping sparks through her, spearing her hard, watching her face contort with the ecstasy from taking the storm that was his fuck inside her. His arm tightened around the narrow of her waist, lifting her from the island, her thighs squeezing around him as she held on around his neck, a shocked exclamation filling the air when he used his free hand to begin spanking her arse with hard, unrelenting slaps.  

“I could bounce you on my fucking dick all day long and you’d still crave more, wouldn’t you? Mmm, yes. Such a fuck hungry, dirty girl.”  

“Mmm,” she purred, running her tongue up his cheek. “Guilty as charged, and you wouldn’t have me any other way, would you?” 

His hand pounded her bum again before turning, shunting her straight into the massive, brushed steel fridge door. “Absolutely fucking not. You are complete sexual perfection.” 

Complete sexual perfection was exactly what he gave her, fucking her so hard every single bottle within the fridge door rattled as her body pounded against it, crying out as she felt his cock throb and swell within her. Little strikes of light illuminated her walls, fluttering around him madly as he came, her tide crashing against his shore as she came with a feral shriek.  

“Oh god,” she panted, still clutching his shoulders for dear life. “You are such a fucking beast!” 

“Mm.” 

She frowned curiously, lifting his chin. “Are you alright?” 

He smiled, laughing softly through his nose. “Cunt drunk.” 

Her giggles filled the kitchen, drowning out his deep, blissed-out hum. “Well, you did say you wouldn’t settle for anything less than delirium.” 

“Mm.” 

Oh, how hard his orgasm had crashed through him, unable to speak, his heart still hammering strongly while he enjoyed the little slick flutters of her walls around his cock. God, she was truly incredible. He eventually regained the power of speech, his brain engaging again, placing her down onto wobbly legs.  

“Steady there, darling.” 

“Fuck, you’ve wrecked me,” she exclaimed, picking up her underwear off the floor with snort, placing them into the bin. “I need food and a lie down, in that order.” Forty minutes later, and with a plethora of Chinese delights laid out on trays between them, they sat in the large cinema room on the top level of the house, watching Rin’s Goodfellas, favourite film. It happened to be one of his, too.  

“Would you?” she began, dunking a spring roll into a pot of sweet chili sauce while pointing at the screen.  

“Would I what, grass on my associates to secure more leniency for my own punishment?” She nodded, Sean taking a few moments to consider the question while chewing through a mouthful of salt and pepper squid. “It would depend on how much I liked the associates.” 

“What if you were sworn not to, like the mafioso guys?” 

He shrugged, reaching for the bowl of rice. “I’m very much a fan of self-preservation, but equally I do not relish in the idea of being known as a grass. How about you?” 

“Simple,” she began, licking sauce from the corner of her mouth, “I wouldn’t get caught in the first place.”  

Her statement was either incredibly arrogant, or very naive, he couldn’t help but think. Before he could take it too seriously, she began to laugh softly, nudging him with a soft elbow. “In truth, I don’t think I’d know, you know, until I was in that situation. If it meant fucking over someone I was fond of, then I doubt I’d do it. I know what it means to be loyal.” 

An uncomfortable sting stabbed his insides, knowing what still existed on his phone, realising that he was still on course to do that very thing. In just a day, he’d become fond of her, a girl he was ultimately going to fuck over. Or at least threaten with such.  

Was this really the price he’d pay to gain the funds, as well as his father’s approval? Wielding power over those directly involved in business by nefarious means was one thing, but involving someone only on the fringes of it truly was another. She’d spoken about the absence of choice to him before, and in this instance, he did have one. He either had to hurt her or himself in whatever he chose.  

After they’d finished eating, there was still plenty of the long film yet to view, Rin grabbing one of the blankets from the back of the large sofa they were sitting on, swathing herself in it. He followed suit.  

“Does it always get so cold up here?” he asked, fully bundled in buttery soft fleece.  

She shuddered right on cue. “It does, yeah. There’s someone coming out to look at the heating as it isn’t pushing through from the boiler properly, meaning the top floor is like a fucking fridge, even now it’s getting a little warmer.” He perished to think just what the heating bill was in winter, heating a house so vast.  

He watched her continue to dither, opening the blanket he was wrapped in. “Come on. Get in.” She moved to curl against him, both warming quickly for one another’s body heat beneath the nest of blankets, continuing to watch the film.  

On any other Saturday, he’d either be home with his family, or out with his father, Ed and Alex, whether socially or for business. Not sitting in one of the most exclusive restaurants in London and instead, doing something low key away from the polarised world of either his family or work, it was very different for him. Maybe, different could be good. Probably, when he thought on the reality of it, it wouldn’t be.  

After the film had ended, they stayed up there talking, bundled in the blankets as they shared much about themselves. Sean found himself talking of events and opinions he didn’t even tell those closest to him, like his brother or Alex. With Rin, he felt something that so seldom happened for him. He felt heard. She understood him on a level few others did, and what’s more, did not judge him for it, or make expectations. She just listened. 

It was a valuable commodity in a person. 

“Ugh, I have that terrible internal juxtapose,” she spoke as they climbed down a floor at just gone midnight. “I’m both sleepy and horny.”  

She tried to stifle the large yawn, Sean laughing softly. “If you want to sleep then don’t worry, I’m sure your horny shan’t be gone in the morning, and neither will I.”  

After washing and brushing her teeth, Rin left the bathroom for him to use, feeling his weight dip the mattress behind her a few minutes after. He remained on the left of the bed for a while, but shortly before sleep pulled her into its embrace, so did he.  

They remained entwined all night long.  

#sean wallace fanfiction #gangs of london fanfiction #sean wallace smut #sean wallace fanfic #sean wallace x ofc #sean wallace fic #joe cole #gangs of london fanfic #gangs of london fic #gangs of london

[nandsmi]

MY SILLY BRAIN (me) NEEDED TO WRITE ABOUT STEVE HARRINGTON GAINING A FATHER FIGURE BECAUSE *WELL* HIS SUCKS (mine too). So Hopper was the chosen one! My english is horrible, but my intentions are good.

★⭑✩ ⭑ ★ ⭑ ☆ ⭑★⭑☆⭑★⭑☆⭑★⭑☆⭑★

Hopper's parents divorced shortly before the end of high school, when he was sixteen. It was dramatic and involved a lot of screaming, like everything his parents did, but it brought a relief that Hopper did not even know he needed. So he didn't complain about crossing Hawkins every weekend to meet his mother and her new husband for a family dinner or about his new step-sister, Catherine, who was almost as horrible and snobbish as her fiance, Richard "Dick" Harrington.

They were the perfect couple, Hopper thought. One more arrogant and pompous than the other.

He did not think much about Cathy after his mother's death, months after he returned from Vietnam. He attended the wake side by side with his stepfather and, after crying like a child in the safety of his apartment, he burned the letter Catherine had sent from Paris, burned her condolences and excuses — she signed it as Catherine Harrington then. He burned it and fled. He ran away from Hawkins. From his ol' man, from his friends and from the pain he felt. He eventually found a career and new friends and started a family, all without thinking or remembering the existence of his step-sister, if he could still consider her as such.

And then he lost Sarah. Diane. Returning to Hawkins was a safe choice, poetic even. Let the remains of his new life rot along with those of his old one. Still, the Harringtons were just one of many families Hopper had to answer to as the Chief and he thought no more of them than he thought of anyone else, except the occasional curse when he driving through Loch Nora.

Like everyone else does.

So yeah, Catherine is the last person Hopper expects at his door on a Thursday afternoon. But there she is, standing on his porch. Dressed as if she were the First Lady while carrying in one hand a backpack that does not match with her heels while the other holds a boy next to her.

"James" She greets. Her expression says shes disgusted to be there. Hopper is not happy either. "This' Steve. Steven, this is your uncle, James"

"Hopper" he corrects involuntarily.

A lightly push. Steve, who looks no older than twelve, stumbles foward, mopping. He mutters a greeting, calls Hopper "sir" with just the right amount of annoyance that still sounds polite. Sighing, Catherine throws the backpack at Hoppers feet.

"I need a favor, James."

These words along with Steve' unhappy expression send a shiver down his spine.

"What?" He is confused. They haven't spoke to in a decade and even before that, Cathy barely thougth of him as a person. As someone from whom she would ask anything? Haha. "Wha- Catherine!"

"James. Jim" She sound displeased as if she can go to him demanding favors and Hopper has to jus accept. "Richard got a great opportunity! We need to attend this dinner in Chicago with some partners and shareholders, just for one night. Would take Steven with us, but..."

She makes a gesture. As fend off a fly. Does not complete her sentence either. Hopper would be impressed if he wasn't so furious.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?"

He doesn't wait for an answer. Grabs and drags Catherine to her fancy car, far enough from Steve, so the boy would not listen them. God, he looks tiny from certain distance, the way all children look. As Sara looked. Hopper needs another beer, needs them to leave.

"What the fuck?! It does... Shit, Cat! Its been years. YE-ARS! The last time, the last thing I heard from you and Harrington, God, I can not even remember and now... And now you, what? Want me to take of your son? A boy I've never seen? Hell! I did not know the kid existed until I got back to Hawkins!"

Hopper took a deep breath. Calmer, he says:

"I do not even know if I can still consider you my sister. What makes you think I would be a good "uncle"? Caring of any child?"

"You had one, did not you?"

Hopper is choked up.

"Did you know about Sara?"

Catherine grimaced as she rolled her eyes.

"Of course I knew about your daugther, my... I am so sorry for your loss. I can not imagine how horrible it must be. I-I wanted to go to the funeral, but I did not know if I would be welcome. I sent flowers."

Diane took care of it. Hopper couldn't bear to look at all the flowers, dishes and condolences gifts sent to their home. Catherine touched his hand.

"Listen Jim, I would not ask you this if I wasn't desperate. Richard thinks a 'sitter is a waste of money and I need to be with him. You are literally the only person I can count on in this town, James."

Fuck her. Fuck, fuck, fuck...

"You will pick him up tomorrow, right?"

★⭑✩ ⭑ ★ ⭑ ☆ ⭑★⭑☆⭑★⭑☆⭑★⭑☆⭑★

"You know she is not coming to pick me up tomorrow, don't you?"

The boy frightens Hopper. Since his mother left him more than an hour ago he has been silent. He sat on the couch and watched the news with the same enthusiasm as any other boy his age: none.

Hopper patted the kid, trying to give some comfort.

"I'm sure she will come, kiddo."

Steve laughed.

"Sure, sir, if you say."

#steve harrington #stranger things #jim hopper #hopper as steve's uncle #my english is bad but my intentions are good #steve harrington has bad parents #Mrs. Harrington is hopper's step sister

[expectodragons]

Bitter Water || Chapter 5

✦ Summary: Guided only by a thin paper trail and a promising job offer, Catherine Hart returns to the school of her youth. Taking on the mantle of Beasts professor, the young witch must find a balance between her lessons and her continued search of the Highlands. Especially when under the watchful eye of the Potion Master. ✦ Pairing: Aesop Sharp x Female MC ✦ Word Count: 10,300 ✦ Rating: Mature, 18+ only - minors do not interact. ✦ Tags / Warnings: Age difference, alcohol consumption, colleagues-to friends-to-lovers, Pagan sabbat (Yule), Sebastian Sallow being a flirt, slow burn. ✦ Story Playlist: Listen here ✦ Read on: AO3 || Tumblr (continue below)

Snow came to the valley in the early morning hours on the twelfth of December with a soft winter’s embrace – dusting the castle like a gingerbread house with its powdered sugar-like flakes.

Some creatures welcomed the change in weather better than others. The Fire Crabs’ enclosure was merely a puddle of thawed snow at this point, while the Mooncalves happily trotted and leaped through the drifts within their paddock.

It was the second to last week before Winter Break and the spirit of the season was felt throughout the castle.

Caroling ghosts positioned themselves in the large halls, surrounded by floating cream-colored candles. Sweet-smelling spruce garland wrapped the stair railings and beautifully decorated Pines could be found throughout the castle. Students and professors alike were in happier spirits as the promise of a short reprieve from studies was just within reach.

Catherine enjoyed her time outside almost as much as she did inside the castle – were it not for the bitter cold nipping at her cheeks and fingertips.

The creatures in her classroom had been rotated out at the beginning of November, making way for a new range of studies for her students. As her boots scrunch through the slush of snow and frozen mud that made up the paths between the enclosures, she keeps a watchful eye on her fifth years.

“Remember, Mr. Clearwater, unicorns are naturally distrusting of men. You need to back away and give them the chance to approach you, not pester them until they feel the need to flee.”

With a sigh, she jumps over the wooden fence and grabs hold of the brush from Ruth McKinnon.

“Now, if I were to brush your hair like this –” she demonstrates a hard yanking motion, “Would you feel particularly good about it?”

“No, Ma’am,” the girl replies with a down-turned look.

Reluctantly, she hands the brush back, “They may be creatures, but they do feel pain and discomfort as any one of you do. Please remember that, especially with these lovely beasts.”

With a clap of her hands, she addresses the class as a whole, “Now, I want any loose hairs collected in your labeled jars by the end of our lesson. We have about ten minutes now, so kindly go about your tasks.”

Effortlessly, she hops over the paddock’s fence once again and moves further away from the enclosure to keep watch over the three different groups of students. The first selection was returning the feed bags to the storage hut, the second was finishing up their hair collections, and the final group was getting around to mucking out the unicorn’s pen with varying looks of disgust.

As the bells in the tower begin to chime the hour, she drops the wards near the pavilion and wishes the students a wonderful rest of their afternoon before she goes around to inspect their handiwork before her final class of the day appears.

After her fourth years finish up their work with the Fire crabs, Catherine does a final check of the classroom before she secures the wards and heads back to the castle. She tugs her leather bag close to her body as she trudges down the worn path in the snow – littered with footprints of varying sizes.

Above, the sky is clouded with the violet hues of early sunset. In only an hour, the valley would be shrouded in near darkness with the lull of winter.

Her toes curl into the limited comfort of her socks as she makes her way across the courtyard – her boots did little to bade the cold away and she was looking more and more forward to the radiant warmth the castle would bring.

Through the Bell Tower, down the tapestry hall, and up the spiral stairs. She can finally feel her body begin to thaw as she vigorously rubs her hands together, begging the red tips of her fingers to return to their normal coloring.

After spending the past four months working together with Sharp, she was well aware of his schedule. And today, Monday, was one of the few days that they shared a similar free hour with their lack of sixth-period classes.

Giving a courtesy knock on the open classroom door, she steps inside only after casting a quick drying spell on her boots.

“Sharp? Are you in?”

She hears the familiar grunt of affirmation further inside the classroom. Crossing the flagstones, she finally spots him in a far alcove bent over a table with several bottled potions laid upon it.

Out of familiarity, she sheds her coat and scarf, laying it upon a barren counter.

“How are they fairing today?”

He beckons her over with a silent wave.

Catherine appears along his left side – about a head shorter than her companion, she realizes – and examines the range of shimmering brews. The Potion Master lifts one at a time, holding the glass bottle to the light, and giving it a gentle swirl before he places it back in line – writing a note on a piece of parchment to his right.

She lifts one up that holds a dull pea soup-colored liquid inside, “Well, this certainly doesn’t look right.”

Sharp gives it a glance and snorts, “No, it does not.”

“What were they supposed to brew exactly?”

He gives her a quick assessing look, “Surely you can ascertain that on your own.”

“Alright,” she gives him a challenging nod.

Studying the other bottles – whose liquid was at least a common shade of yellow or gold – she’s able to limit it down to a few dozen potions. Walking away from Sharp and the table, Catherine studies the room itself. While he had managed to erase the chalkboard of the day’s lesson already, certain things stood out.

1. There was a gap on the ingredients shelf. 2. There was a noticeable pungent scent lingering in the air. 3. As she dragged her hand across one of the counters, her index finger was pricked. Upon closer inspection, she discovered the source to be that of a nettle.

Staring at the shelf, which Sharp had alphabetized and divided up by most commonly used ingredients to least, as well as the most volatile to docile, she’s able to discern which item was most likely missing. As for the smell…?

Ah, yes. That likely made sense then.

She always hated the smell of puffer-fish eyeballs, it was almost as bad as the sound they made when they were crushed.

Bat spleens, nettles, and puffer-fish eyes. Only one thing could be made from those particular ingredients.

Tucking her hands behind her back, she strolls over to Sharp once again with a smug smile on her face.

“By chance, was it a swelling solution?”

He gives her a pleased nod.

“Were I able to, I would award points to Gryffindor.”

She laughs, “Please do. They’re utterly falling behind this year and it worries me as an alumnus.”

With a shake of his head, he returns to grading and assessing his second years’ attempts at brewing. Giving him a bit of space, she goes to collect her bag and begins pulling out the two thin containers of unicorn hair.

He strides over to her before she even has the chance to turn around. Plucking the vials from her hand, he holds them up to the light and examines the items with a critical eye. She merely folds her arms across her chest and stares.

“Yes, these will do nicely,” he lowers the containers and his gaze to meet her eye. “Thank you.”

“All thanks to the efforts of my fifth-years,” she replies smoothly.

He hums, walking over to a neighboring shelf to place the vials upon.

“With no thanks to their esteemed professor, I’m sure,” he says over his shoulder, offering her a playful smirk.

“None at all,” Catherine laughs.

Collecting her coat, scarf, and bag, she smiles at her colleague.

“Have a nice rest of your day, Sharp. If you’ll excuse me, I want nothing more than to remove these sodden clothes.”

“Of course,” he nods, a small chuckle in his throat as she turns around and heads out of the classroom.

Dinner was a cheerful affair in the Great Hall now, as the room was beautifully decorated for the season – perhaps the most gorgeous display in the entire castle. The students were of a more rowdy disposition than usual, unfortunately, as the build-up to the holiday break neared its crescendo.

“Mr. Parkin, if I need to repeat myself, you and your companions will find yourselves scrubbing trophies for the next two weeks. Do I make myself clear?”

Catherine hides her amusement behind her hand as Matilda scolds the unruly fourth-year who’s headed for the Grand Staircase.

“Yes, Professor!” He grins, offering her an ingenuous salute.

With a tired shake of her head, she bids the others goodnight and follows behind the group of Gryffindors.

“Shall we?”

Mirabel appears at her side, a warm smile on her soft features.

“If we must,” Catherine sighs with mock exhaustion.

The herbology professor loops her arm through the younger witch’s as they head out to the stone courtyard. Her floral green robes billow in the frozen air as Catherine tugs her own blue cloak closer to her body.

“I feel as though I never see you anymore.”

She glances over at the redhead, “Well, you know where you can typically find me. I’m afraid my department requires a little more attention than others once the school period has finished for the day.”

“Of course, of course,” Mirabel replies good-naturedly. “We should have tea one of these days before the break begins.”

“Or during, once the majority heads back to London,” she teases.

Mirabel grips her arm tighter as they pass over the Viaduct bridge, her smile widening.

“Yes, perhaps then I could track you down at last! Oh – look at that poor thing.”

Catherine’s eyes follow the herbology professor’s gaze, far across the lake, to a blot of gray streaking across the sky. Caught in an updraft, the owl soars to the side, flapping its great wings, before it barrels down toward them.

“Merlin!”

They duck down just as the bird nearly takes them out. She watches, wide-eyed, as the poor owl barely stops itself from slamming into the side of the castle, somehow landing on the ground. It ruffles its feathers with indignation before it scuttles over to her feet.

“Hello there,” she murmurs, bending down to pull the soaking-wet envelope from its beak.

Before she even has the chance to offer it food or shelter, the bird lifts up into the air and circles around Central Hall – likely headed for the owlery.

“Now what could that be?” Mirabel asks, wandering back over to her side.

Flipping the parcel over, she spots the familiar scratch of a self-writing quill.

A slow smile grows on her frozen lips.

“A letter from Ominis, I suspect,” she tucks it away into her pocket. “We have plans to meet over Christmas.”

“How lovely,” the other witch smiles in earnest. “I had wondered how some of your fellow classmates were faring. I only hear from a handful of them anymore and even then, those letters come few and far between these days.”

With a grin, Catherine pushes open the heavy doors of the Hall, descending the stone steps beside the herbology professor.

“Well, Poppy is far too busy handling her sanctuaries to do much more than send an occasional note. Natty is engaged to be married, as I’m sure Mudiwa has told you all. And last I heard, she was working on a relatively large case in her department.”

Down another flight of stairs, they go.

“You probably see Garreth every now and then in Hogsmeade, yes?”

Mirabel nods, “He’s the reason I’ve had to confiscate so many Zonkos products from my students. He’s far too good a salesman.”

Catherine chortles, “That he is. He’s also got a small brood of Weasleys of his own now. Let’s see –” Using her right hand, she counts them off, “There’s Edwin, and… Ronald. Gilbert and… oh, what’s the babe’s name? Starts with a B. Ben, Benjy, Barty… oh! Bertie. Four little Garreth lookalikes.”

The redhead offers her a conspiratorial look, “Perhaps by the time they’re due to arrive, I will find myself at another posting.”

“I certainly couldn’t blame you or anyone else for that.”

The gurgling fountain comes into view, oddly illuminated by the soft glow of the lit candles upon the decorated Christmas trees that surrounded the Hall.

“Maybe you’ll even join us then. I’m not sure I would have the strength to tolerate having another Weasley wandering around a group of beasts.”

Her expression drops slightly, perhaps not enough for Mirabel to notice, but she glances away anyway.

That kept coming up lately. In her thoughts, in conversations with her fellow professors. About her posting here at the school. How nice it was to have a permanent replacement for Howin. How excited they were to see what creatures she would introduce next year.

But what she herself didn’t know was if she would be here at all come next September.

There was no reason for her to be if all went according to plan.

She was expecting another note from Miriam, or Natty, or even Augustine in the coming days. Hoping for one, really.

After her ambush on the poachers in Crosskirk, no further leads arrived. And while Natty had been eternally grateful to her, as it had been a rather large nuisance for the Department, she had nothing more to offer Catherine – besides a chastising note that proclaimed that the young professor had nearly given the Auror a heart attack when her patronus came bursting into the office after hours.

And the Ministry itself seemed to be reluctant to admit there was a serious poaching and smuggling problem along its borders. Well, to be fair, they had been reluctant to admit a massive Goblin rebellion was overtaking the Highlands too, over a decade ago. So, it wasn’t truly surprising at all.

But she hoped. Waited and hoped that the smallest scrap of information would arrive and send her down the right path. But for now…

Now she had this.

A position she honestly would have never chosen for herself. Even though it seemed everyone around her – staff and students included – believed she was a perfect fit for the job.

“Catherine?”

She blinks, offering a sheepish look.

“Sorry, lost in my thoughts. So, did you want to take this side again or the Defense Tower?”

They split up the patrol duties of another mindless Friday evening. With a curious look on her face, Mirabel offers her a final nod before she turns and heads toward her greenhouses.

Biting her cheek, Catherine tugs her cloak closer to her chest and braves the cool night air of the Transfiguration courtyard. Hurrying across the path as fast as her boots can trek through the heavy snow before she finds relief in the neighboring tower.

Pulling her wand from her holster, she casts a soft Lumos and takes to the stairs.

She’s diligent in her duty, searching every hallway and corridor. But a simple Homenum Revelio shows that aside from Satyavati in her classroom, there isn’t another soul around.

On the third-floor balcony, she finds a bench to sit on and carefully pulls the soft envelope from her pocket. Using her thumb, she slides it under the seal and manages to pry the parcel open without a single tear.

Catherine,

I certainly hope you were joking when you said that about Sebastian. I personally will never be able to remove the thought from my mind, so thank you for that added trauma.

As for the holiday, I will find myself in Paris around the 19th. I sent word to the King of Dunces himself, though I have not received his reply. For now, assume he will grace us with his presence far later than he should.

If you would feel so inclined, I would be quite happy to see you again. Surely, it hasn’t been two years already? Perhaps you can stow those beasts of yours away in that hidden room you thought no one knew of at school. And if not, I suppose I could understand.

However, given the circumstances, surely you would not wish to bear me with the further hardship of trying to contain Sebastian Sallow while in the streets of Paris. If you agree, I will be indebted to you for life. I can also provide accommodations and any other frivolous things you would require.

Also, I hope that stubborn bird hasn’t given you too much trouble. He was as vain as they come. Did I ever mention that before I gave him to you?

As always, your humble friend, Ominis Gaunt.

Everyone was now counting down the days to the end of term. Four more to go and soon the castle would be emptied of the majority of the populace – off to spend the holiday with their families, no doubt.

“Oh, Professor Hart. Might I have a moment of your time?”

Catherine glances up from her seated position in the staff lounge, having found herself before the crackling fire during her free period. She closes her book – an Austen classic – and smiles up at the Deputy Headmistress, welcoming her over with a wave of her hand.

“Of course, Matilda. What can I do for you?”

The kindly witch takes a seat opposite her, resting her hands in her lap.

“Do you have plans for the holiday, Catherine?”

She gives a little grin, recalling her last two letters from Ominis, “I do actually. I’ll be heading to Paris before Christmas.”

“Oh, I see,” Matilda’s lips turn to a frown. Her soft brown eyes meet her gaze, “May I ask when you’re leaving?”

“Likely sometime Monday evening – before the Floo gets too overwhelmed with travelers.”

The older witch claps her hands together, a smile returning to her face, “Wonderful! Oh, simply wonderful. You see, there will be a number of students wishing to remain at the castle this year and I’m looking for another set of hands to assist with the Hogsmeade visit this Saturday.”

Catherine’s eyes bulge slightly, “Oh. Well, yes then.”

“Thank you, dear. I had hoped Mirabel would remain for the break, as she so often does, but she just informed me this morning that she has a prior engagement.”

The young witch stands up, offering a smile, “It’s no trouble at all. Surely it can’t be any worse than when we have the whole five years to look after.”

“No, certainly not! I’m sure you and Aesop will manage just fine.”

She blinks, “Oh… yes. I’m sure we will.”

With a parting smile, Catherine watches as the Transfiguration professor heads back toward her classroom with quick little steps. She glances back into the dancing flames of the fireplace and shakes her head.

The bitter wind makes the pace up to the village an arduous affair. The brisk breeze drawn across the valley sends its icy tendrils along their spines – freezing every appendage until all they can feel is the chattering of their teeth.

While the other students had loaded onto the snowy-white horse-drawn carriages to the station south of the village just an hour earlier, Catherine was leading the small party up for a final weekend in Hogsmeade. Sharp had informed her that he would meet them there – likely taking the Floo to avoid the long journey in the frozen snow.

And though the Beasts professor had been kind enough to cast warming charms on her younger students, her own spellwork was leaving little to be thankful for as the chill wind still found a way to bypass the charm. Digging her bare fingers into the lining of her cloak, she tugs the garment close and forces her feet to keep trudging forward.

“Professor?” A young Gryffindor moves alongside her, the girl’s breath billows up like dragon’s smoke in the cold air.

“Yes, Olive?”

“Have you ever stayed at the castle over break before?”

Catherine peers down at the third-year, her hands buried in a fur muff and her eyes just barely peeking out past her crimson and gold scarf. Something about the girl’s tone grabs her attention and she feels her features soften.

“I have. Every year I was a student. I suppose this is your first time then?”

The girl nods, kicking the soft fluff of recently fallen snow from her boot.

“My father wrote and said they couldn’t manage the funds to come to London this year, maybe for Easter break though.”

She gives a soft hum of understanding.

“What’s… what’s it like? Here, for the holiday I mean.”

“Well,” she breathes out, trying to recall her own memories of Christmas Break during her time as a student. “You’ll find the professors to be quite lenient during this time – now, don’t abuse that,” she offers a teasing grin down the girl, whose eyes brighten with a hidden smile.

“On Christmas Day, everyone sits together at one big table in the Great Hall. One of the finest feasts of the year, if you ask me. In the morning, you’ll find presents and treats in your common room. Find solace in the quiet moments of the castle –“ She looks down at the girl once again. “The house elves are usually eager to find something to do during this time – you’ll find random mugs of cocoa and biscuits appearing at all odd hours.”

With the young girl’s spirit seemingly lifted, she nods her thanks and hurries on ahead to a fair-haired Slytherin up the path.

The village, much like the castle, was decorated for the season in gorgeous abundance. Garlands and trees lined the streets and shops. It looked like a Christmas card – an idyllic little village in the Scottish Highlands.

Catherine watches as the small group of fifty or so students disperses; some heading off for nearby shops, others heading to the Three Broomsticks. She’s stood near Spintwitches, finding herself staring at the newest Comet model in the window. Though she hears the crackle of the Floo near the storefront, she can’t find it in herself to look away from the tempting price tag dangling from the handle of the broom.

“Window shopping?” comes Sharp’s gruff voice.

She looks to her left, offering a small smile, “Just browsing. I believe I’m still content with my current model.”

“Ah,” he hums. “I have heard tales of our resident Beasts professor flying alongside a herd of hippogriffs.”

“All hogwash, really,” she grins.

Together, they leave the broom supplier and begin the short trek up the hill to High Street. While the bitter chill is softened by the spread of houses and shops, her fingers still ache from the wind and she finds herself gathering her hands together to blow warm air upon them with her pursed lips.

Beside her, Sharp is surprisingly able-bodied as they make it up the incline. His coat is that of a woven gray with a dark fur collar and cuffs. Catherine tugs her own cloak closer in envy. He peers down at her.

Near the Square, wrought-iron white tables and chairs have been laid out near the empty fountain. As Sharp beelines for one, she’s inclined to follow – taking the seat opposite his, turning it out slightly so she can still keep an eye on the street.

Three sixth-years dressed in heavy cloaks emerge from Honeydukes, laughing as they link arms, hurrying down the cobblestone path. Two young third-years dip out of the Post office, rushing to their next stop to avoid the frigid air.

When she returns her attention to her companion, she finds that he is already watching her with those calculating dark eyes of his.

Digging her hands into the warmth of her armpits, Catherine nudges her chin down into the collar of her cloak – trying to stave off the breeze that nips at her ears. Sharp raises an amused brow in her direction, his smile hidden when he turns his head away – fingers lightly drumming on the ornate iron tabletop.

“Do you often stay during the break?” she asks after a long stretch of silence.

Sharp returns his attention to her.

“Yes. I find the castle to be a pleasant refuge after the last train leaves.”

A snort escapes her as she shakes her head, “I think you just enjoy being able to have the entire wing to yourself.”

“Well,” she watches the way he drags his index finger along the spiral vine pattern on the table. “Not entirely to myself anymore.”

“No, I suppose not,” Catherine glances down at her lap, a sheepish coloring of pink crossing her cheeks. “Though you’ll have the hallowed halls to yourself in a few days’ time.”

“Oh, will I?” he quirks his brow, a curious expression on his face.

“Mhmm. I’m headed to Paris on Monday.”

The potion professor looks away, his eyes focused on the scattered patrons throughout the square.

“I was unaware you had travel plans,” he loftily says.

She kneads her thighs as she watches a small family ducking out of Gladrag’s with a wrapped package in tow.

“Well, I certainly couldn’t leave you to watch this lot on your own could I?”

Sharp returns her gaze and smirks.

“I’m confident I could have managed it alone, Hart. You didn’t need to hold off your journey for something so frivolous.”

“I didn’t,” she laughs warmly, enjoying the scrunched expression he gives her. “I’m trying to avoid the excessive lines of holiday travelers. Monday was the clearest day on the schedule. And Ominis said he wouldn’t be able to secure me a room until then anyway.”

“Ah, how is Mr. Gaunt?”

His tone is airy, however, she assumes the query is not from a genuine place of interest but merely a reason to further carry on the conversation.

“He’s well; happier.”

The Potion Master nods, his gaze sweeping across the village square.

“It’s been years in the making on his, and Sebastian’s, part to get me into the same country as them for a few days. I’m afraid with my career of choice, I was rarely ever in one place for very long.”

Sharp rests his elbows on the table, folding his hands together into a fist which he then places his chin upon.

“A full reunion party from the sounds of it then.”

Catherine shakes her head, a laugh bubbling to her lips, “Hardly, as it’ll just be the three of us.”

With a pleasant sigh, she rests her cheek upon her palm as she stares at the towering decorated spruce tree next to the Owl Post.

“I sometimes forget how solitary this life could be. Don’t misread me, I will never regret the path I’ve chosen. But I feel as though my friends grew and had far more fruitful lives in the traditional sense while I was off, you know, chasing down poachers and the like.”

She shakes her head, blinking her dream-like eyes for a moment before she looks to her companion who appears to be trying to dissect her down to the last particle.

“Sorry, I’m not sure why I told you that.”

Sharp gives a small shrug of his shoulders, as if to say worry not.

And, for just a moment, she thinks that perhaps the ex-Auror could understand her positioning. She had to imagine that his previous line of work rarely left time for a person to have the traditional sort of life one would typically seek out. A doting spouse, cherub-faced children, a happy home situated in a neighborhood of good standing and prestige.

Though she knew little of the Potion Master’s past, she had never once been under the impression that there was a Mrs. Sharp hidden away in a lovely estate down south. She could hardly fathom the thought of tiny figures circling the stern-faced potions professor, lovingly calling him father.

No, the man before her had taken a similar path as she. The solitary one that was well-fulfilled with other means of joy and accomplishment. For a time.

They turn to more familiar conversations after that – grading unreadable essays, assessing dismal progress, and stories of their unruliest students. The sky fades to the heavier hues of magenta and navy as the sun begins to dip down past the horizon.

The two professors are walking down the street now, a breath of space between them as they pass other villagers and holiday shoppers. She can feel the warm brush of his fur-lined cuffs as her fingers graze the fabric.

Her companion stares up at the sky for a few slow steps, his eyes squinted ever so slightly. The colors up above mix together like loose watercolors on an evening canvas, swirling clouds of pink and dazzling gold.

“Only three more days till Yule,” she comments softly.

He nods.

“The return of the light will be welcomed after this constant darkness.”

And then his gaze turns toward her, “Will you be able to celebrate the day?”

She gives him a small smile, “Sebastian celebrates the bigger sabbats: Yule, Beltane, Samhain. So, I imagine we’ll manage to carve some time out for it. Though I’d rather do my usual traditions here.”

Rubbing her hands together once more, she gives a soft blow of warm breath before she tucks them away into her robes. Sharp’s gaze is latched onto the movement and she finds herself wishing she had the foresight to purchase a proper coat from Gladrag’s weeks back – before the temperature had dropped so drastically.

The waitlist was stacked out well past the new year now and by the time she could collect the package, the valley would be welcoming the warm flowerings of spring. For the time being, she would just have to make do with what she had.

After taking a final headcount of the students – forty-three in total – Catherine turns towards her fellow professor.

“If we don’t return by dinner, send a search party, will you?”

Sharp lets out a polite snort of amusement, but shakes his head, “I feel inclined to take the long way back –“ and when she glances at his leg, out of pure instinct alone, he adds, “Sometimes exercising eases the discomfort.”

Though she’s not convinced, she murmurs, “If you’re sure…”

Gesturing a hand outward, Catherine begins walking back down the path to the castle – the students stretched out ahead of them in little clumpings. She keeps to his pace without comment.

Much like her outings with Mirabel and Roland, she finds that she enjoys the silent company that Sharp brings. The quiet comfort that walks alongside her – occasionally trading glances and soft words.

It’s a tentative friendship, she realizes halfway down the road.

And while she would have never expected to find herself in that standing with her ex-professor, she would be foolish to deny that she enjoyed his presence. After years of traveling the world alone, after taking on a relatively solitary position at the school, Catherine found a familiar sense of comfort within the man beside her as she had once done with the friends she was set to meet in three days’ time.

As she rubs her hands together once more, Sharp rolls his eyes and mutters a barely audible, “Buy a pair of gloves, will you?”

Casting another warming charm, she can almost feel the liquid heat trying to penetrate the icy walls of her exterior appendages. It’s a small relief and one she is more than happy to accept as the looming towers of the castle come into clearer view.

A blur of people greets her as she steps out of the cool green flames of the Floo network, her head swimming with the motion. Grabbing a tight hold on her luggage, she steps clear of the hearth as another traveler comes through quite abruptly. Catherine barely has the chance to place her bag onto the ground before she hears the rumbling chuckle over the bustling sound of the Parisian wizarding street.

“There’s my girl.”

With a turn, her gaze meets the gleaming green eyes of her dearest friend as he beams at her through the passing travelers. Her eyes widen and her smile grows wider.

“Hello, darling.”

She rushes into his embrace with a bright smile.

His arms wrap around her in an instant, tugging her close to his chest. She can feel the bristles of his beard upon her crown as he presses his cheek down. The warm scent of woodsy musk and spiced rum tangled in his coat’s lapels. The rapid beat of his heart thumping away under the palm of her hand.

Sebastian Sallow had become a handsome wizard in the years following graduation – not to say that he was never a sight to behold prior to their seventh year, but she had certainly never noticed his charms for what they were.

He releases his hold on her, keeping one arm wrapped around her waist as he leans down to summon her bag to him.

“Six bloody years, Hart. That’s how long you’ve kept me waiting.”

She plucks the tip of his nose with her finger.

“As though you weren’t off shrouded in mystery and darkness down in that secretive Department of yours.”

“Yeah, comes with the name, doesn’t it?” He shrugs, unabashed, “But at least I stayed in the same country!”

With a bubbling laugh, she hugs him tighter – finding an old comfort in the embrace. His hands rest upon her lower back and she can feel his grin upon her shoulder.

“Oh, there you are.”

Catherine turns at the soft melodic voice behind her.

Not to be outdone, Ominis Gaunt had grown into quite the attractive man as well. His perfectly coiffed locks made his sharp features truly stand out. She finds herself visually tracing the constellations that his freckles created on his cheek.

“Hello, Ominis. It’s good to see you again.”

Tentatively, she pulls from the other man’s arms and steps forward, lowering her hand so her fingers brush against his.

He doesn’t stiffen this time but seems to relax instead as a smile crosses his lips. Slowly, she envelopes him in a hug, keeping her touch light in case he feels the need to rescind the affection. But he surprises her once again as he leans his chin upon her shoulder and holds her close.

“I’m happy to have you back, too.”

She hears a scoff to her left and she can almost imagine the face Sebastian is making as he says, “Oh sure, she gets a hug but I get a boxing to the head.”

Ominis pulls away, focusing his attention on the other man.

“Because you tried to bewitch the snow in front of a cafe full of Muggles, Sebastian! Honestly –“ he turns back to Catherine, “I’m thankful you arrived when you did. I’m not sure I could have managed another second on my own.”

“As if I’m a Crup that needs to be kept,” Sebastian scoffs.

With a roll of her eyes, she takes hold of both men by the crook of their elbows – effectively silencing them both.

“Well, you certainly know how to make a girl feel like she’s back in school again.”

Sebastian’s booming laugh follows them as they head out onto the magical streets of Paris – arm-in-arm.

Place Cacheé was bustling with holiday shoppers – the central square of the French wizarding market. The cobblestone streets were free of heavy snow drifts, as the Isles had been when she had departed. Instead, a light dusting clung to the colorful shop awnings, and thimble-sized icicles hung from the branches of the barren trees.

Ominis had secured the three of them rooms at the Hotel De Ginestou.

While he had forgone his measly inheritance once he broke away from the Gaunt family in its entirety upon graduation, Ominis had found his own way. And now, thanks to his own natural talents, he had sequestered away a sizable sum of money that he rarely ever dipped into. That no one but him could dip into.

This particular occasion, was one of the rare moments, however.

Catherine stares out at the market square from the arched window of her third-floor room. The suite contained two bedroom offshoots from a central living area – with the boys opting to share a double room while giving her the single.

The trio had spent their first day together out in the square, enjoying the varying foreign fares that the French market had to offer. Catherine had been on the lookout for gifts to give to her fellow colleagues. She had a handful of items already set to be delivered on Christmas morning back at the castle. But a few still needed to be sorted, as Hogsmeade hadn’t had quite the right trinkets in mind.

Sebastian planned to have them all traversing the streets of Muggle Paris before Christmas though, so perhaps she could find those last few presents out there.

That first night together, they sipped coffee on the patio of the cafe across the street from their lodgings and had the opportunity to watch the sun set while they finished their meals.

Everything had been so lovely thus far. They found their comfortable familiarity buried under six years of distant contact and unintentional silence. Soon, she felt quite similar to the sixteen-year-old version of herself – laughing with a bottle of wine shared between them as they sat upon the floor of their hotel suite, sharing more and more outrageous stories of their time away.

But now, the suite is quiet.

Blowing her breath against the window pane, she drags her index finger across the fresh canvas to create a multi-pointed snowflake. Outside, a light snowstorm had overtaken the city. Down on the street below, an inch or more of freshly fallen snow covered the walkways. Hurried shoppers darted between the safety of the awnings.

A small smile appears on her face as she blows once more to solidify the image.

This time of year brought around many different memories for her. For the last decade, she had spent the Christmas season in different countries around the world – where the momentous drink of wine or mead straight from the bottle was considered celebration enough. Familiar songs around roaring fires, or the very occasional passing of necessary items in lieu of frivolous gifts.

Miriam and Nigel had purchased a pair of sturdy leather boots for her during their travels across New Zealand on Christmas, as her own were terribly worn by that point. Yet that was perhaps the greatest gift she had received since leaving school.

During her short time at Hogwarts, the holidays were filled with laughter and joy as she celebrated with new friends. The spirit of the season was found in the snowball fights in the courtyard and the late-night conversations around the fireplace in the common room with mugs of cocoa and cider on hand.

But when recalling the years before the discovery of her magic…

Catherine starts another pointed snowflake on the fogged-up window pane, albeit slower as she drags her finger in a slow loop.

There were two different holidays in her mind. Those had before her parents died and those after. Admittedly, there was almost no celebration to be had in the aftermath.

The mill owner, Mr. Perkins, was a good Christian man who made sure his workers had the blessed day off. Many of the young girls who worked the bobbins had families to spend their time with. But several, like Catherine, who lived at the Boys’ and Girls’ Refuge in Manchester, simply didn’t have the luxury.

While the nuns made sure they attended the evening service, nothing more was had outside of randomly given brown-paper packaged gifts from the local charity organization. She usually gave her presents – a wooden train one year, and a gangly hand-sewn doll another – to the younger girls as she had no need for toys. Not since…

The holidays spent with her parents, however…

Those memories were concerningly faded after so many years.

She could recall a wreath with four candles nestled in its bows. The heavenly aroma of roasted goose and steaming potato pancakes with cinnamon applesauce. Images of the beautiful blonde-haired angel with a golden crown who was rumored to bring gifts to deserving children on Christmas Eve. The sweet ginger taste of Lebkuchens. The powdered sugar that would cling to the corners of her lips when she snuck another slice of Stollen.

Tucked away in those memories, hidden like the last present on Christmas morning, she could hear the sound of her parents’ laughter. The gentle chastising Johan would receive for sneaking a second biscuit before dinner. The exhaustion that was plain upon their faces as they watched their children unwrap their gifts. The tight warmth of her mother’s embrace.

A gentle rapping of knuckles upon her door has her turning.

Sebastian leans against the doorway, arms crossed and a deep smirk on his face. With a blush blooming across her cheeks, Catherine tucks her arms behind her back and glances away from the window.

“What?”

“Figured you wanted to get things started, unless I’ve interrupted the great artist at work?” he grins with a smug voice.

With a breath, she brushes past him, shoving his shoulder as she goes – though he doesn’t so much as budge, “Six years too short.”

His trailing laugh follows her into the dining area of the hotel suite.

Ominis had opted to leave them to it, as he had no love for the holiday and found his time better spent down at the complimentary bar. Catherine certainly couldn’t blame him, knowing the environment in which he grew up. It was a miracle Ominis had wanted to spend this time of year with anyone at all. Though she was slightly prideful of the fact that he chose to spend it with them.

She runs her hand along the soft leaves of the woody-smelling spruce wreath they had made earlier that day together. Sebastian had brought along the supplies in his suitcase, much to her delight. Rubbing her finger along the wonky-looking velvet ribbons he had tied, a warm smile crosses her lips.

In the center of the table sat the Yule log, surrounded by spruce bows, pinecones, and crisp red apples. A pair of wooden reindeer stood guard over the plates of prepared food – courtesy of a disgruntled cook down in the hotel’s kitchens.

“Would you like to do the honors?”

With a start, she glances up toward her companion who’s holding the three candles in his hand.

“Please,” she urges, gesturing at the log, “By all means.”

He gives a nod before carefully placing the two colored candles on the lace-covered tablecloth. Grabbing hold of his wand, he lights the first one with a delicate Incendio and situates it in the middle holder.

White: for purity, protection, and peace.

Rounding the table, Catherine takes hold of the second candle and does the same action. Her breath catches in her throat as she holds her finger close to the flame just to feel the flicker of heat against her skin.

Red: for strength and passion.

Together, they light the last candle. Sebastian places it in the final holder of the Yule log and steps back, a wide smile spreading across his lips.

Green: for health, prosperity, and new beginnings.

“Oh, look at that,” he says, with a soft voice of wonder.

She follows his gaze up to the ornate white ceiling where a spring of blooming mistletoe reaches down toward them. A look that spoke of having suffered too many mischievous pranks at the hands of the man across from her befalls her face.

“Yes, very clever.”

Sebastian immediately clears his throat, rocking back on his heels as he leans closer to her with his cheek on full display. With a sigh, she leans up and pecks a chaste kiss on his scruffy face.

With a pleased grin, he leans down and brushes his lips against the top of her head before picking up a slice of fruit cake – offering her a second piece.

“Blessed Yule, Cathy.”

Taking a bite of the sweet-spiced treat, she smiles back.

“Blessed Yule, Sebastian.”

Aesop awakens slowly as the pull of a precious dream keeps his eyes from fully fluttering open. Only due to the rich aroma of steaming coffee does he finally roll over, his legs tangled in the heavy red blanket, as he stares at the recently placed cup on his nightstand.

Salazar, bless House Elves.

Waking is a taxing affair on any normal day. But winter days had a particular added discomfort to them. His leg aches in a way that doesn’t stem from just the cursed muscle. It’s a throbbing somewhere deep in the very tissue brought on only by the weather.

He downs the half-used bottle of pain potion beside the mug of coffee.

At last, he rubs at his tired eyes and manages to sit up. The warm sheets pool around his lap as he stares down at the modest stack of presents at the end of his bed.

There’s no need to move as he grabs hold of his wand from the table beside him and summons the packages over to his side. It was self-indulgent, that he was all too fully aware of. But if one couldn’t be a little indulgent on this day of all days, then when could they be?

Abraham was gracious enough to purchase a lovely old bottle of whiskey for him with a golden dragon topper. It was nearly identical to the one Aesop had gifted the Charms professor.

This is followed by the usual array of potion and herb books from some of his other colleagues. He receives not one, but two copies of Potions of the Ages: A Collection of Advanced Brewing Techniques from Cecil Waterford and Headmaster Aragon.

Dinah sends him a thin book of obscure healing plants from around the world and their common usages. It appears as though the entire thing had been translated from another language as he flips through the pages with a surprised hum.

A new feathered quill, a glass paperweight in the shape of a curled serpent, and a box of assorted chocolates are added to the growing pile as well.

Tucked away between the packages, he plucks a plain envelope up with his calloused fingers. He peers at the swirl of writing on the front in deep emerald ink for but a moment before he stuffs the letter into the drawer of his nightstand.

That could be dealt with another day or once he had the proper amount of alcohol in his system.

With the final package opened – a slightly burnt fruitcake from Ranira Witherford – Aesop finally pulls free of the comfort of his bed and sets about to get ready for the day. He doesn’t take count of the presents to realize that one gift is missing.

The spirit around the castle would be in full swing with much merry-making and joy abound. Matilda would be supervising the remaining students as they took to the grounds while the ghosts and the portraits would inform them of any misbehaving miscreants running amok.

He was fond of this day, surprisingly. As in, most people found it surprising that the grouchy Potion Master was capable of finding joy in things other than belittling his foolhardy students.

But Aesop genuinely did enjoy the season. It was just due to the fickle nature surrounding his leg that he found his demeanor a sour affair.

For the majority of the day, he keeps to his quarters. Savoring the warmth of the roaring fireplace, the pleasant tingles of pain potion working to keep a numbness around the cursed appendage, the indulgence of fine artisan chocolates, and even the welcomed comfort of sketching in his armchair.

Little things that were difficult to come by during the average days of the school year.

But as the hours tick by and the light begins to fade from the window – forcing him to light the lamps around his study to continue his drawing – he comes to face the music that his free time is running out. Shuffling into his heavy woolen coat, the professor heads down the tapestry hall – passing the silent room near the stairs.

Briefly, he wonders what Hart is up to in Paris. If she was with Sallow and Gaunt, he couldn’t imagine any good. Though perhaps those thoughts only stemmed from the troubling three years the trio had shared as students together.

The crisp winter wind bites at his cheeks when he steps out onto the courtyard.

A handful of students are out on the hill near the empty Beasts classroom, sliding down the snowy slope on a wooden sled. A littering of oddly shaped snowmen line the lawn – with one holding what appears to be a broom near Kogawa’s shed.

He’s not sure, entirely, what made him decide to stretch his legs, so to speak. But he finds the chill air a welcome sensation as it fills his lungs. He makes a slow loop of the fountain, content to partake in just a small amount of exercise.

The looming gray-speckled sky above brings the promise of more snow as a slow drift of flakes begins to descend from the skies. One, rather large flake, seems to swoop through the air toward him before he realizes, as he squints his eyes, that it is, in fact, an owl.

A rotund, snowy white, owl.

The creature hoots only once as it soars downward, dropping a hefty package in his waiting hands before it circles around Aesop and heads off in the direction of the owlery.

The potions professor stares at the plain brown rectangular package, flipping it over to examine the folded white tag attached to the coiled string that reads only his name.

A momentary thought passes through his head – another book, lovely – before he schools himself and gently pulls the tied string loose. Unfolding the wrapping, just there in the quiet of the courtyard, Aesop vanishes the packaging and examines the crimson book with a skeptical eye.

He was mentally placing bets on whether it would be another book devoted to beginner-level potion-brewing or an encyclopedia of common herbs and fungi.

Golden embellished font garners his attention.

L’art Impressionniste en Europe (1865 – 1903)

Fingering the cover open, he flips through the pages.

Scaled-down portraits and landscapes and still-life greet him. The names of famous Muggle painters adorn the bottom of the pages. Monet, Renoir, Bazille, Morisot.

He snaps the cover closed, wanting to savor this in the privacy of his chambers. Aesop pockets the book as the students begin to trudge down the hill. With another glance towards the sky, he becomes aware of the hour and forces himself to patiently wait for them as dinner would soon be ready in the Great Hall.

Only four others had remained for the winter break. The Headmaster sits at the head of the long table, with Matilda and Mudiwa on either side of him. Students sit scattered about the table, far too nervous to sit directly beside their professors. Aesop nods politely at Ranira and the others before he takes a seat beside the Deputy Headmistress. A few stragglers make it to the Hall at last and then the delicious feast can begin.

Though he chats pleasantly with Matilda and a few Slytherin students to his left, his mind rarely travels far from the book in his coat pocket. His curiosity is burning, his desire to sequester himself away and savor each image too strong.

Pops of Christmas crackers pull his attention back to the moment as Mr. Nichols places a Viking helmet upon his head and Matilda happily takes hold of a pink crown. Aesop sets aside the velvet green and red elf hat that appears in his own package.

After bidding his colleagues good night and a happy Christmas, he’s finally able to depart. The entire journey, the book digs against his thigh like a scorching reminder.

But at last, he unlocks his chamber door, sheds his coat, and finds a comfortable position in his armchair. Thumbing the pages, he stares at the carefully arranged pictures that allow him to see the progression of a single artist’s portfolio through several years.

He finds himself lost in the golden sunset hues of Gillaumin’s Soleil couchant à Ivry (Sunset at Ivry). Transfixed by the gentle mixing of pastels in Cassatt’s Summertime. In awe of the depth of detail in Renoir’s Luncheon of the Boating Party.

The potions professor finds himself eagerly studying each image until the fire turns to orange embers and his hip aches from retaining a singular position for so long. At last, he flips the final page over – only to discover a note carefully wedged between the page and end cover.

In a momentary lapse of memory, he chastises himself for not realizing who exactly had sent the book in the first place. The one professor he did not receive an expected gift from – as was traditional of the Hogwarts’ staff.

Holding the piece of parchment between his fingers, he examines the rough curve of Hart’s handwriting.

Aesop,

Apologies for the delay, owls are hard to come by this time of year – surprising, I know. While it’s not a book on potions, I do hope you give it a look through. I spotted it in a shop in the 18th arrondissement and thought it might be of interest. Hopefully, I wasn’t too far off base.

Wishing you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! - Catherine Hart

New Year’s Eve is an entire blur.

Glistening gold lights and silver streamers, blurs of drunken partiers with contagious smiles and bright laughter. Bubbling glasses of champagne and the noxious aroma of cigar smoke. Someone’s hand on her waist, spinning around on a marble floor. Counting down the seconds with explosions of multi-colored sparks emitting from everyone’s wands.

She regrets everything when she forces her eyes open the following morning. Dressing slowly as her sluggish mind refuses to cooperate with her schedule. With her wand, she packs away all of her clothing and trinkets. Squeezing everything into her luggage so the small stack of Christmas gifts can take up space too.

Sebastian had presented her with a beautifully carved wooden phoenix that ruffled its feathers and stretched its wings out. Ominis had been slightly more practical with a new quill and stack of personalized parchment bearing her name. So, you’ll have ample reason to respond to our letters.

The trio shares a warm breakfast around the dining table, filling the growing trepidation of parting with any small story or antidote that comes to mind – many of which had been heard several times before.

But, at last, their bags are packed and in hand, and the quiet peace of the hotel suite is locked up once more. Like little ducks in a row, they march down to the Floo Network. She wraps them both in tight hugs – ensuring that this is not like the goodbye they had shared before. They would meet up again – sooner than six years, she promised.

“You take care of yourself, okay?”

The blonde man smirked, “I always do.”

Taking hold of Sebastian’s warm calloused hand, she watches as Ominis disappears with the flicker of green flames. A second parting is had, in the quiet English port, as the oddly quiet man watches her enter another hearth – headed back to the village they had frequented so many times before.

“You can always come up during the weekends.”

“Or you could come down to London.”

They both knew it was unlikely.

With a wave, Sebastian fades from view and she’s stumbling out onto the quiet streets of Hogsmeade.

Shrinking her luggage down so it can fit into her pocket, Catherine heads back to the castle – feeling the warm beckoning of its call as she neared closer.

Several students are out and about in the courtyard, though it would be another three days before the rest of the student body returned to the school. For now, it was a quiet solace for the few bodies that remained for the holiday season.

Like a tight embrace, she relishes in the feeling of the Bell Tower. The earthy scent of spruce garland greets her as she heads down to her quarters – eager to shed away her traveling clothes and perhaps take the time to soak in a much-needed bath.

Once inside, she’s quick to light the fireplace – hoping it won’t take too long for the room to become heated up.

Flicking the locks on her suitcase, she directs her clothes back into the wardrobe, her new writing supplies to the desk, and the phoenix statue to her bedside table. Only once her things are put away does she draw her attention to a small stack of paper-wrapped packages on the rug beside her armchair.

As much as she wants to tear apart the strings and slide her thumb under the wrapping, she holds back – eyeing the open leather bag near the end of her bed instead.

Ducking her head down into the opening, she calls out, “Deek! Are you down there?”

She spends the next four hours busying herself in the bag. The old house elf was a natural of course, but she felt her duties had been severely neglected over the holiday – though she remained grateful for the help and thanked Deek far more than he liked for it.

Only then, after she climbed back out into her room and had to cast Lumos upon the scattered candles to fill the area with light, did she finally make her way over to the Christmas presents.

Like a child, Catherine deposits herself on the rug before the crackling fireplace. One by one, she reads the tag and opens the packaging.

A book devoted to North American beasts from the Headmaster. A jaunty sky blue pointed hat from Matilda – which the young witch immediately tries on and keeps in place for the remainder of the openings.

Broom polish from Kogawa, the expensive high-quality kind. Fruitcake from Ranira. A blooming purple plant from Mirabel that smells oddly of cherries. A new set of Tarot cards from Mudiwa that she stares at with a barely-masked look of disdain. A handful of books and sweets from the likes of Waterford, Crestwell, Moore, Shah, and Dippet.

There’s also a few items from Poppy: a small portrait of a soaring Hippogriff, a new dragonhide apron, and a pink and lime green box of cauldron cakes – still fresh as the day they were made. Natty also sends her a simple necklace with a silver feather attached to the chain – one that she is quick to place around her neck as she peers down to admire the placement.

She grins at the Christmas card sent by the Thortons, a moving image of them waving in front of a hollow of Nifflers who are actively trying to loot Nigel’s trouser pockets. Augustine’s card shows her atop a proud-looking Granian. While Edmund sternly salutes the camera from the top of the Great Wall.

With a flick of her wand, the cards float over to her nightstand and the torn packaging disappears. As she begins to ease onto her feet – her joints actively disliking the sudden change in position – she catches the faint blue wrapping out of the corner of her eye, wedged near the leg of the armchair.

Lowering herself back down to the rug, she pulls the small parcel free and examines the soft package. There is no tag, no note from the sender. But by doing a quick mental catalog of everyone who had already sent her gifts, she can easily limit it down to one person; one man.

Curious as to what could be inside, Catherine carefully pulls the paper free, unfolding it like a book on her lap. Inside, she finds another wrapped item – though the paper is a thin black that crunches beneath her fingertips. This too she pulls free.

A slow smile stretches across her pink lips as she picks up the glistening chestnut leather glove. Her fingers rub the smooth shell before they dip inside the warm black wool. She slides them on, one at a time, grinning as she finds that they fit perfectly and their added warming charm instantly sends a burst of heat through her fingers.

The memory of a quiet conversation held over a week ago on the journey back from Hogsmeade replays in her mind. Buy a pair of gloves, will you? He had said to her. While she had never found the time to do so before she left for Paris, clearly the potions professor had managed to slip away to purchase this fine pair.

She was truly looking forward to seeing him now, as she glanced over at the wall near the bed that separated her chambers from his. Ever observant, always watching – the ex-Auror must have truly pitied her that last trip to the village. But no matter, as she was genuinely grateful for them.

A brief thought given to the book she had managed to find in a tiny little store in Muggle Paris crosses her mind. It had been a risk at the time, something that he was unlikely to receive from the other professors. But she was aware of his secretive hobby and Catherine had hoped he wouldn’t be too offended by the purchase.

Brushing the knees of her trousers clear of imaginary dirt, she stands and begins to sort away her new items – keeping the gloves on the entire time, reluctant to take them off just yet. For what reason, she can not say.

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

#aesop sharp x oc #aesop sharp x mc #professor sharp x oc #professor sharp x mc #aesop sharp fanfic #professor sharp fanfic #hphl fanfic #series: bitter water #my fic

[eldritchwhispersofficial]

(NOTE: This character is from my Analog Horror/Slenderverse/Creepypasta AU the Lilacverse. She is not a canon character.) "I'm looking for someone. Do... do you know her? She's my cousin. Her name's... Virginia."

HERE SHE IS! My Monument Mythos (Lilacverse AU) OC!!! (If you say she looks like Frisk I will kill you instantly I KNOW OKAY I GOT IT) Name: Catherine Eternity Arnoldson/Cat Stewart/Cathy Woods Presumed Age: 9 (1983) 18 (1992) Actual Age: 9 (1934) 58 (1983) 67(1992) Species: Special Tree/Climber Backstory: (TW: Child abuse, depression, sui thoughts/self harm, implied s*xual assault [im definitely not projecting my own trauma onto her as a coping mechanism wdym hahahahaha]) Catherine Eternity Arnoldson was born on April 16th, 1925, to Elias Arnoldson and his wife Jeanie. She was a very sweet and charming young girl, with a quick wit and a bold tongue. She was considered quite clever from a young age. When Catherine was 4, both of her parents passed away in a terrible fire. She was sent to live in New York with her uncle Allen, aunt Dorothy, and cousin Virginia. Virginia was delighted to have a new playmate, and the two girls became fast friends. Catherine loved Virginia dearly, and considered her a sister. In 1934, Virginia disappeared after going to put a Christmas ornament (a bear) on the tree at Rockefeller Plaza. She was 13. Soon after, Catherine became very upset. She decided to figure out what happened to Virginia, and ended up going to Rockefeller Plaza. She touched the Special Tree, and... ...was INSTANTLY teleported into Wonderland. Catherine spent almost half a century in Wonderland, confused, scared, lost, and searching for Virginia. She attempted to escape multiple times by climbing the trees, but never succeeded. She saw what happened to the OTHER Climbers, and wondered why she wasn't stretched and burned like them. At some point, she came across Everett, who was ALSO searching for Virginia. Everett thought she was Virginia, and was disappointed to find out she wasn't. But he was excited when he realized Catherine was Virginia's cousin, and tried to help her find her, although they never succeeded. After a while, Catherine was teleported back out of Wonderland. She woke up over 500 miles away from her home, in a little suburb in West Virginia called Galler, near the larger city of Ashton. She was discovered by the police, who upon interrogating her, realized she had no ID, no family, and couldn't remember where she had come from. They put her in foster care, and she was quickly adopted by Gilbert and Pearl Stewart, a very rich and prominent couple in the area. Gilbert and Pearl were horrible people. who pushed down Catherine's lively personality at any opportunity, and constantly referred to her as "Cat", a nickname she DESPISED. They forced her to go to prep school and tried to mold her into the "perfect little lady", a role she could not fill. Catherine developed extreme depression, suicidal ideations, and began to hurt herself on purpose (burning her fingers on the stove, beating herself with a belt, carving words and symbols into her arms and chest with a knife). This only led to more abusive behavior from her "parents", who only cared about her as a status symbol. When Catherine turned 18 (or rather, 67), her "parents" immediately began trying to marry her off. Catherine despised all of the shallow, narcissistic young men they paraded past her, each one richer than the last. She refused to marry them, understanding that since she wasn't a good enough child, her "parents" wanted her to marry into a rich family to increase their own social standing. More than one of Catherine's suitors were more than a little perverted, and several of them were men who were too old for her (physically, if not chronologically. See how time travel fucks with everything?) On more than one occasion, she was violated after refusing to marry or sleep with a suitor. This added to her feelings of loneliness and self-hatred, which culminated when she decided to commit suic*de and hang herself in the woods.

And that's when she met... HIM. She met the mysterious man in the suit by complete accident. She was in the process of tying a noose, staring up into the tree branches, wondering just HOW she was going to do this...

When there was a sudden loud burst of static, and the wind suddenly turned cold. Catherine turned around, wary, and looked up. And kept looking up. And stared at the impossibly tall man towering over her, trying to find a face that simply wasn't there. She opened her mouth to scream. What came out instead was "Ooh, you're tall. Can you help me tie this rope in the tree so I can hang myself, please?" He was very confused. Catherine related her story to him- she couldn't remember where she came from except for a few fragmented memories, she was adopted by people she despised who abused her, she was a victim of s*xual assault, and she wanted to kill herself desperately. He took pity on her. Comforted her. Dried her tears. She fell in love, in a confused way. A few days later, Catherine was informed that her "parents" had found a new suitor for her: Oakley Simon Woods, an extremely wealthy and mysterious 21-year-old man from nearby Ashton. She was saddened and disappointed, but agreed to meet him, with a heavy heart. Catherine dressed in her finest clothes, and went down to meet this new suitor- only to stop dead in her tracks. There, sitting on the couch and chatting with her father, was a young man with icy blue eyes, long, dark black hair, and pale white skin. He wore a black suit, and was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. And she recognized him. Recognized his voice. "It's you!" Catherine exclaimed, flinging herself into Oakley's arms without a care in the world. Her "parents" would have reproached her, but Oakley's eyes lit up like he was the happiest living being in the world, and he kissed her. He explained that they had met by chance in the forest a few days earlier, and the reason he was courting her was that he'd fallen hopelessly in love with her. Her "parents" were incredibly startled by Catherine's evident willingness to marry Oakley, and Oakley's insistence that he be allowed to marry Catherine. They were married three months later. Oakley took Catherine to Lilac Manor, they ended up having a baby who they named Nella, Catherine turned into a semi-murderous proxy known as Sugarpink, happily ever after, right? OH YOU SWEET SUMMER CHILD. You fool. THERE IS NO WORSE FATE THAN BEING AN ARNOLDSON. Catherine was sad. She wanted to go home. Sure, she had a family now, who she loved very much- but she missed her uncle and aunt. She missed her cousin. She missed her old life. So, she tried to go back. She tried to send herself back through Wonderland and back into the past. It didn't work. What did occur was that she succeeded in trapping herself on the Bridge to Nowhere, where she spent an unknowable amount of time starving, slowly going feral, and being terrorized by the giant evil spider known as Mongo.

Relationships: Virginia Arnoldson (Cousin) Allen Arnoldson (Uncle, deceased) Dorothy Arnoldson (Aunt, deceased) Jeanie Arnoldson (Mother, deceased) Elias Arnoldson (Father, deceased) Leonard Morlin (Cousin in law) Everett Arnoldson, Maya Arnoldson, Nathaniel Arnoldson (Cousins once removed) Quinn Arnoldson, Lauren Arnoldson (Cousins twice removed) Pearl Stewart (Adoptive Mother, disowned), Gilbert Stewart (Adoptive Father, disowned) Oakley Woods (Husband) Mary-Anne Woods (Sister in law) Nella Woods (Daughter) Veronica Woods (Mother-in-law, deceased) James Woods (Father-in-law, deceased)

#slenderverse #monument mythos #catherine arnoldson #oc #slenderman #please they are so cute #theyre in love your honor #haha trauma

[realchemistry]

Wednesday

Here are some thoughts on Wednesday.

Though I should say first that I remember watching some family Addams show, but I vaguely recall it, like I don’t really know which one it was. It was in Spanish too, so I didn’t really know her name was Wednesday till I’m not sure when.

Ok, here it all goes. Spoilers follow:

Episode 1

Jenna Ortega has been a fave since You (plus the whole rollercoaster video with Jen Garner). Then come the credits and there are Catherine, Christina and Gwendolyn. I love these women, I’m in for a treat.

I literally thought the opening was a dream sequence. Not the whole thing, just the piranhas part. But it isn’t. Cool, cool, cool, cool. Also, Wed said the school was underfunded and then they had that HUGE indoor pool... I was really confused at that.

I don’t remember Wednesday having any powers, so I’m guessing that’s new. Or maybe I really don’t remember anything at all.

I love that Christina’s such a ray of sunlight here, and that she got Wed’s plant right.

I think one of the ~boys is the homicidal monster, I’m pretty sure I read something about it in passing here, but I don’t recall which one of them it is, I’m thinking it’s probably the sheriff’s son, since it’d be the most extra. So that’s kinda spoiled for me, which is a bummer.

I love the callbacks to the family’s time in the school, and I’m also pretty sure Gomez isn’t a murderer, so that’s something for Wed to figure out.

I love seeing her smile at the end, so cute!

Episode 2

I was wondering what Weems’s thing was. I’m guessing, since she can shapeshift, that she might be responsible for the accusations against Gomez. I wonder why she’s hiding what happened to Rowan, what’s her connection to the monster/murders. Or is it just to keep the school safe?

I kinda like that Christina is a normie. She said the conservatory is always open... I’m sure that’ll come into play.

So Xavier’s powers are to turn drawn things into alive things? 

I love that Enid and Wed won against Bianca. Definitely got Wed into the school spirit.

I also wonder about what happened to the sheriff’s wife.

I love that Poe’s an alumni and that the double snap opens the secret passage door.

I’ve realized that I’m pretty sure Christina played Wednesday in some Addams movie, but I never watched that.

Episode 3

Gotta love it when colonizers burn.

So much going on! I can’t believe Ajax is dead! I’m guessing that’s what he is, yes? I didn’t get what his power or outcast-quality was till that moment.

Marilyn’s got secrets, I like it! 

Weems obviously hates Morticia, that much was obvious in the first episode. I wonder what her deal with the mayor is.

I love that Wed got herself a little brother at school. I don’t get how Eugene’s retainers could still be useful after Wed opened the door with them.

Love the visions into the past. That had to be where the answers were, so I’m excited to see more.

Xavier’s dad’s like Morticia and Wed... interesting. Those marks at the end...

At least the sheriff’s got proof that there’s a monster roaming around.

Tyler looked rather conflicted... so sussss.

Episode 4

A school dance, yay! Wed and Enid looked so pretty.

And also, apparently, Ajax is alive and didn’t turn into stone, he just froze for a little bit... I’m glad about that. Specially cause Enid deserved a good smooch.

BUT EUGENE!!!!!! I can’t believe he still went alone, so stupid!!!!

Xavier’s breaking my heart, IDEK. And Bianca too.

So Tyler went to a ~rehab camp, or whatever it was he called it, after he was the biggest asshole to Xavier, and I’m guessing that’s why he has to attend therapy sessions or is it his mom stuff?

Weems was in love with Gomez, maybe I was right and she accused him of killing a normie way back cause he turned her down for Morticia?

Episode 5

Finally a bit of answers! Gomez truly never looked like he had murder in him, and the twist wasn’t particularly twisty at that point, but I’m glad it was dealt with.

Eugene!!! I’m sure he’ll get better cause he has to, it’s law! The moment with his mothers and Wed got me emotional.

I knew the coroner was gonna die cause all that mention of retirement plans had only one way to go. I wonder who did it, why now. I’m thinking its’ something to do with Gates’s sister, that whole recap of the family’s tragic story read like Henry’s in Stranger Things to me.

Feeling even worse about Bianca’s situation after meeting her mother. I hope she won’t have to use her powers to scam people.

Enid took a stance, yay for her!

I wonder when we’ll meet Xavier’s dad, since we have to at some point.

I’m glad Wed figured out that it was Weems pretending to be Rowan. And she said it was for the school, so maybe that’s all there is to it.

The Addams eating potpourri was hilarious, as was the fishing technique.

Episode 6

The actor who plays Lucas radiates charm, it’s insane. 

So Wed turned 16... how old is Tyler supposed to be? I was thinking about this when she met him while he was at work, but to find out she’s only 15 then seems to make it even worse. I’m guessing him and his friends might be going to a normal school in Jericho but it still doesn’t look good to me.

Thornhill was being suspicious... She showed up right after the Mayor was hit. Is she somehow related to the Gates? I don’t know, her whole being a normie thing, maybe it wasn’t true. She also gives Wed a Frankenstein copy, and then we see all the body parts... Sounds like whoever’s behind the murders wants to build their own version of it.

I’m so sad for Enid, she really does try so very much to be Wed’s friend.

Oh, look, Tyler was never around while the monster showed up... sussss.

Wed channeling Encanto with the whole prophecy that might look to be something but it’s actually the opposite. It’s honestly what first came to mind when she first saw the drawing but now she basically spelled it out in those terms so it was funny to me.

Episode 7

Okay, so even before she was killed, I figured therapist was innocent and Thornhill’s actually Laurel and her normie act was just that, an act.

The traumatic event that brought out the Hyde in Tyler was probably his mom’s death, however it happened... or maybe he killed her?

And I thought it was interesting that Fester mentioned that Hydes are artistic or something like that, when we saw Tyler doing the whole birthday message on the coffee.

I’m so glad Thing’s okay and Enid’s back!

It’s hilarious that Fester’s the black sheep in the opposite way those usually work... tho he did rob a bank and a vehicle.

Episode 8

Okay, so it all developed pretty much as I thought it would. I was so glad Enid wolfed out, old Crackstone was defeated... but the best part was the hug for sure! Wed and Enid are friends who hug, lovely!

I’m sad for Weems but it also made sense seeing as it’s Gwen playing her.

I’m happy that Xavier and Wed said goodbye on friendly terms, tho it’s funny that she got a stalker as soon as she joined the 21st century.

Yay for Eugene recovering and using his power as well as for Bianca helping out!

I wonder if we’ll see more of Laurel. I’m guessing that depends on Christina but I’m sure we’ll see more of Tyler... I honestly never trusted his face, but I kinda wish I hadn’t been spoiled. I read something in passing like “x turned out to be y”. It didn’t register much then, but I put the pieces together once I started watching the episodes. Would I have picked up on all the hints the way I did or been totally clueless without it? We’ll never know, which I hate (spoilers are seriously the worst thing ever), so now I gotta read opinions and watch reactions to experience it through unspoiled eyes now.

All in all

I thoroughly enjoyed the show. It was funny, it had mystery, it had lovely people and relationships and it entertained me fully.

It had high school drama mixed in with Harry Potter style crimes and competitions, with a bit of Veronica Mars (sans technology) teenage investigation and supernatural stuff of all kinds.

I can see why it’s a hit and I’m glad I finally caught up to it. I just hope TPTB know what they’re doing and have a great season 2 in store. 

ETA: I just read the show was filmed in Romania and I’m so happy about it. I blame Seb.

#Wednesday #Manu watches #Wednesday Addams #Enid Sinclair #Xavier Thorpe #Bianca Barclay #Morticia Addams #Gomez Addams #Eugene Ottinger #tbtl

[the-wales-5]

Valentine's Day 2023

***

13th February 2023.

"I hope you don't have any crazy plans for tomorrow," Catherine murmured minutes before falling asleep. William smiled and continued petting her hair. Indeed, there were no plans for Valentine's Day. The last time they celebrated it was probably before their wedding. With marriage came other days to celebrate their love. Hence, there were no special days for them in the calendar except for wedding anniversaries and birthdays within the family.

14th February 2023.

Catherine woke up with the smell of omelette coming from the kitchen. First, she thought that her husband made a mess while preparing breakfast so she decided to come to the kitchen to check. On the way there her mind began to 'work' after sleep and she realised William was actually very good at making breakfast. She felt quite ashamed of herself as she entered the kitchen and saw her children and husband putting plates and glasses on the table.

"Good morning" she quietly said and yawned

"Good morning, mummy. Happy Valentine’s Day" Louis said and kissed her on the cheek

"Thank you, my little man" Catherine lovingly smiled and kissed Louis too. Then she hugged her older kids and Orla. William was looking at them with a smile while making sure that the omelettes would not burn. He served breakfast to his wife with a short "good morning" kiss when their kids were not looking. Catherine tried not to blush as she began to eat the omelette. He still managed to make her feel like a shy teenage girl with a simple kiss..

Because the kids were on the school mid term break, The Prince and Princess of Wales had no time only for themselves for the majority of the day. In the late afternoon while Catherine was doing some drawings with them, her husband sneaked out of the house. Charlotte was first to notice his absence as she asked "Where's papa?"

"I don't know, Lottie. I'll go and find him" Catherine murmured and began to check all the rooms in Adelaide cottage and then left for the garden too. She had in mind that it was Valentine's day, and also remembered that he liked to surprise her. However, a fear crept her mind nonetheless. Although they were not celebrating February 14 as something 'special' she thought that William perhaps wanted to spend time with her, got disappointed that they were not even talking through the day and left. She didn't really know why but those "stupid" thoughts were stuck in her mind.

*

He returned home half an hour later and went to his office for a moment. Then, as if nothing happened came back to the living room where Louis and Charlotte greeted him.

"Where's mummy and George?"

"They are looking for you, papa. Where have you been? Mummy was worried"

"Where is she now?" William asked and now he was the one searching for his wife

She was sitting on George's bed in his room and he was holding her hand. The princess was about to call on the number of her husband's private secretary. Fear mixed with the anger of some kind filled her mind.

"Kate.." William said as he stepped into George's room and it was a subtle signal for his son to let them stay alone.

"Where have you been?" She asked without looking at him even after he sat down

"It's.. It was to make a small surprise for you"

"We talked about it.. I don't celebrate-.."

"I know" William put his hand over hers "We do not specially celebrate Valentine's Day"

"Exactly, so why did you.." Catherine was about to ask another question when William silenced her with a kiss and then took her hand and led her towards his office.

She was looking at him with narrowed eyes as he closed the door.

"What the hell are you doing, William Wales?"

He said nothing as he handed her a box wrapped in pink paper and a bouquet of pink tulips.

"I know it is not your favourite hyacinth, but it is not available yet, so I hope this is okay"

Catherine stared at him, still with signs of anger and confusion but soon she proceeded to open the box. Inside, she found nothing else but an envelope.

"How many things am I supposed to find today yet?" She sighed. William didn't reply and watched her as she opened the blue envelope. There, she found a picture of them which was taken in 2002. Both of them with silly facial expressions, taken by Fergus, their university friend and roommate. On the back it was written "Middleton & Wales. Two silly but amazing people. F". Catherine sweetly giggled as she saw it.

Memories from St Salvador's Hall and Hope Street filled her mind and replaced irritation with nostalgia. William stared at her with adoration in his eyes for a few seconds, in absolute silence.

"Where did you find this? I thought I kept every single picture" she finally said, sitting down on a chair in front of her husband's desk. He could tell she was still in disbelief.

"Well.. I kept this one" he replied as they both were holding a piece of paper capturing a 20 year old moment.

After a few seconds of silence, Catherine resumed their conversation: "So, Fergus gave it to you at some point?"

"No, it was mine all along. He just had written that description back in 2005, right before our graduation" William replied "Now, it's yours"

Catherine smiled and kissed her husband on the cheek "Thanks for this gift. Oh, and sorry for feeling angry earlier"

"Do not worry, Miss Middleton" William put a strand of her hair behind her ear and smiled.

"I hope you do not consider it as a Valentine's gift though" Catherine added then

"No" William shook head "It's just something that reminds me of our courtship. Hold on.. Were we already courting here or not yet?" He asked, Catherine mouthed "I don't know" and they both burst into laughter before looking into each other's eyes.

"We shall go back to the children" William murmured but it was quickly followed by him kissing his wife on the lips, then her neck..

"Stop it.." Kate whispered, trying to catch her breath "We must go back to the living room".

William looked at her and his face turned red as he said "I just remembered our university days and-.."

"Who said that you cannot remember it again later this evening and at night?" His wife smirked.

"I thought that you do not celebrate Valentine's Day" he teased her and kissed on the lips once more.

*

When William was putting the children to sleep, Catherine was already in their bedroom, waiting for their lovable night. At one point, she looked at her and William's 'old' picture again before putting it among others in the "uni" section in a family photo album.

Valentine's Day or not, he always knew how to surprise and make her feel the happiest in the best way possible.

***

~ The end ♡

#royal fanfiction #2023 #valentine's day 2023 #prince of wales #princess of wales #kate x william #william and catherine #happy valentine's day #valentine's day #love #stories #text post #tags

[vallaurent]

Valerie "Val" Laurent

Name: Valerie “Val” Laurent

Age: 30

Community Job: Nurse/Part-Time Bartender

Reside in: Spacious apartment near the solar panel yard

How long have they been in Redwood?: 4 months

Gender: Cis Woman

Sexuality: Bisexual

Relationship Status: Single

Faceclaim: Indya Moore

Biography: (CW Child Abuse, Addiction)

Val’s early life wasn’t a happy one. She was born as “Chloe Harper” to her parents John and Catherine Harper. Her family seemed almost perfect from the outside, with John and Catherine being high school sweethearts who married almost as soon as they graduated and seemed to be going strong ever since. Except that it most certainly wasn’t as perfect as the Harper family tried to appear to be. John, a police officer, was an alcoholic. Chloe remembers often enough coming home from school to find her father passed out on the couch, bottle in hand. Her mother, Catherine, had become bitter with her marriage and taken to having affairs, none of which she bothered to hide from her daughter. Catherine ended up leaving John and Chloe without a trace when the girl was ten. This seemed to break their fragile household - John turned from a tired drunk into a belligerent, becoming verbally abusive towards his daughter, before escalating it. 

Chloe doesn’t talk about what happened, but on one night, she knew she needed to get out. So, throwing what little belongings she could fit in her school backpack, Chloe left her home. The next few years were hard on her. She made her way to New York, changing her name from Chloe to Valerie to leave her past behind. When Val reached New York, she was broke, had no documents or a place to stay. Out of desperation, she quickly found herself taking on seedy jobs with people who had no interest in asking questions, before, finally, slipping into sex work. 

Val doesn’t like to think about that time of her life. She worked the streets to survive, because she had no way out. Quickly, in order to cope with the stress of what was happening to her, she found herself drinking, which didn’t erase what was happening to her, but took the edge off of everything. She spent years living like this, working and drinking, hardly ever sleeping in a warm bed for more than a night at a time. 

Val was sure she would have lived like this forever if a kind soul hadn’t taken pity on her. A former sex worker who had managed to leave the industry, they took Val in, to live in a communal house in Harlem. And while Val was still left with issues to battle, finally, at age 22, she found herself living in a somewhat stable home for the first time in years. Her life seemed to improve - her addiction was a constant issue, something she never quite managed to beat, but it got better with the help of her new found community. She even managed to start studying to become a registered nurse. 

By the time the outbreak happened, she had been clean for about a year. Working in a hospital as a nurse in training, she found herself faced with the outbreak as it happened. Watching people not die when they should, coming back when they shouldn’t. Watching the infected lunge at her coworkers, anybody that came to near. Watching the hospital break down entirely, patients being airlifted, staff evacuated until there was nothing left. 

Val’s commune broke apart just as quickly - people becoming infected, leaving for the countryside, few staying behind until they couldn’t handle it anymore. Val tried to cling onto the last bits of her home until she couldn’t - until raiders burned their house in Harlem down and Val was forced to flee. 

She spent the next few years on the road. Her story isn’t special - she joined up with groups, watched people die, fought for her life when she needed to. Encountering Redwood was nothing more than pure luck - stumbling across the settlement after her most recent survivor group had disbanded. Redwood seemed like a godsend to her - just that some of the issues she brought from outside never quite left her. Not as much as she thought they did. 

Headcanons:

She was treated as the baby of the commune she lived with, and despite her tough upbringing, sometimes acts a little spoiled because of it. She definitely has the habit of getting people to do what she wants by sweet-talking them (whether that actually works is a different story). 

She loves gossip, and when she’s working the bar, she spends a lot of time trying to learn about the latest, juiciest rumors and spreading them around town.

Her dream when coming to New York was to become a model. She even went to a few castings during her first few weeks but, without documents, they could not really hire her. 

Despite her sometimes (seemingly) spoiled and childish attitude, she is absolutely not squeamish when it comes to blood and gore (she can’t really afford to be, working as a nurse).

Ever since coming to Redwood, she has fallen back into her old patterns of addiction. She does her best to hide this, but she tends to sneak alcohol during her shifts.

#tfh.intro

[yikesharringrove]

It’s a book Steve’s actually read.

Well, Nancy kinda mostly read it to him. Which really just makes the whole thing hurt a little bit more.

His speakers were crackling and he had turned the bass up high enough that the song was distorted, vibrating through his car.

It was embarrassing. Scream-singing to Kate Bush while sobbing into your steering wheel in the high school parking lot.

He’s just got a lot of feelings, and Nancy dumped in that alleyway, he can literally see it and Heathcliff, it’s me, I’m Cathy. I’ve come home, I’m so cold.

Which, it’s all just bullshit. Pardon the word.

Because, Catherine and Heathcliff don’t even fucking end up together. There’s something about family difference and he remembers Nancy saying socioeconomic like that word meant anything to him and Catherine winds up dead of bad brain-itis and Healthcliff is a dick so they never should’ve been together anyway.

But, whatever.

He’s feeling very much like Catherine right now. Standing on the moors with a broken heart.

Because fuck Heathcliff. And fuck Nancy.

Kate Bush is the only one he can trust anymore. 

Her and her red dress and Steve’s insides feel like that red fucking dress in a way he can’t explain and Heathcliff, it's me, I'm Cathy. I've come home, I'm so cold. Let me in your window-

He just about jumped out of his skin when the passenger door opened.

One too-tan hand reached out to crank the volume down on the song, and a too-pink tongue slid across too-white teeth and

“Harrington, I’m obligated to tell you that you’re acting like a pussy.”

Hargrove.

Y’know, he’s the top of Steve’s Fuck List. Right there with Nancy and Heathcliff, and everyone else who sucks shit and makes people feel bad.

“Can it, dickhead.”

To be fair, Steve was ugly crying to Kate Bush by himself in his car, but he’s allowed to be a pussy by himself in his car.

Hargrove just gave Steve a look that Steve’s pretty sure meant I’m resisting the urge to punch you in the face right now, but was undercut by that stupid fucking tongue of his lolling around like some kinda hyper-sexual golden retriever.

Meanwhile, Kate Bush was still singing and Steve was still Cathy on the moors.

“I’m fucking sad, or whatever. Let me be a pussy.”

“Oh, come on, Harrington. You really this cut up about some prissy little princess? She’s not even the best this town has and that is saying something.”

“Y’know, for a guy that’s constantly calling all the girls in town ugly, you sure do fuck a lot of ‘em.”

“At least I’m getting some. When was the last time the princess put out, eh? Or was she savin’ it for marriage? I could see her bein’ one of those types.”

He said those types like he wasn’t wearing a saint’s pendant around his neck. Like Steve didn’t see his family all sitting uncomfortably silent together in the diner after mass every single Sunday afternoon.

It was weird, seeing Billy in a nice shirt. All buttoned up properly with his hair looking all respectful. Especially since Steve was usually high off his ass and slurping down a strawberry milkshake with cheese fries like he’d die if he didn’t.

“I’m not gonna talk about my sex life with you, Hargrove.”

“Aw, why not, Harrington. Don’t wanna compare body counts? You embarrassed or something?” Billy was grinning that shitty sharp grin of his, still waggling his fucking tongue as he leaned closer to Steve. “You still a virgin, King Steve?”

The song ended. Steve rewound the tape. It started up again.

He needed Kate now more than ever.

“Of fucking course I’m not. I’m just not some gross asshole that goes around telling everyone who’ve I’ve fucked. It’s called being a decent guy.”

“It’s called being a prude. Now, c’mon. Tell me who’ve you fucked. Maybe we’re tunnel buddies.”

Steve wanted to throw up. Kate was on the moors again.

“You’re disgusting. Tunnel buddies. How gross can you even get?”

“I hope that’s a rhetorical question.”

“I don’t know what that means and you’re a shithead.”

Hargrove tossed his head back and laughed, showing off those teeth that looked like they could take a chunk out of Steve’s flesh if Billy got close enough to try.

You had a temper like my jealousy. Too hot, too greedy.

“Seriously, though.” Billy had stopped laughing. “What is this shit?”

“She’s Kate Bush and she speaks to my heart.”

Billy just stared at him.

Yeah, that was a pretty pussy thing to say.

“I just got fucking dumped, dude. Let me be sad about it,” Steve backpedaled.

And then Billy did something very unexpected.

Well, he did something very normal for his character, and then he did something unexpected.

He lit up a cigarette.

And then passed it to Steve.

Steve filled up his lungs with a thick drag of smoke. He held it for as long as he could.

Which was really long.

Swimmer’s lungs. And that.

He blew out the smoke. Heathcliff, it's me, I'm Cathy. I've come home, I'm so cold. Let me in your window.

“Is this fucking song based on Wuthering Heights?”

“Yeah, you dumb dumb. It’s fucking called Wuthering Heights.”

“Okay, dumb dumb, I clearly don’t even know this song.”

“Maybe you’d be less of an ass if you did. Dumb dumb.”

Billy lit a cigarette for himself, letting the smoke trail out of his mouth like he was some kind of dragon.

Billy probably fancies himself a dragon. Thinks he’s this big scary creature that just goes around breathing fire and ransacking villages for their gold.

Ooh, it gets dark, it gets lonely on the other side from you. I pine a lot, I find the lot falls through without you.

Really, he’s probably like a dog of some kind.

Domesticated.

“You’re staring at me.”

Yeah. Steve was staring at him. Watching him smoke while Kate Bush played loudly. The speakers still sounded like shit even though Billy had turned down the song considerably.

Steve didn’t know when he had stopped crying.

Probably right when Billy had let himself into his cave of self pity, but his face was still wet.

He wiped it off, not pointing out that Billy had been staring at him too.

“Why are you here so late? Practice ended like, an hour ago.”

Billy shrugged lamely. He kinda looked like a little kid.

Heathcliff, it's me, I'm Cathy. I've come home, I'm so cold. Let me in your window. 

“Bored. Didn’t feel like being home.”

“So you came to sit in the break-up mobile with me. How nice.”

“Mostly I just wanted to make fun of you for listening to this garbage. I could hear it across the lot.”

And sure enough, Billy’s car was parked a good ways down from Steve, about as far away as their two cars could be from one another.

Steve doubts Billy heard Kate all this way, but what’s he gonna do, bring that up?

No. He’s rather sit in this weird silence that settled between them, feeling awkward about himself and his body and listen to Kate.

I'm coming home to wuthering, wuthering, Wuthering Heights

“She’s not worht it, y’know.”

Steve had to do a double take to make sure it was still Billy sitting in his passenger seat, and not some cheap imposter wearing a Billy-suit and saying almost nice things to Steve in a not-mean voice.

“What’d you say earlier? Plenty of bitches in the sea?” Steve would’ve laughed at that comment when Billy made it if they weren’t naked together.

There’s something things you don’t do while naked with another guy, and laughing just isn’t one of them.

Plus, he had been a little too focused on figuring out why Billy’s nudity had given him that same hot feeling that nearly seeing Rob Lowe’s dick in The Outsiders movie gave him last year.

“I mean, it’s true. Don’t sweat this break-up. She seemed like an uptight bitch anyway.”

“Hey.”

Steve was still a little too sore, a little too fresh from the split to trash talk Nance like that.

“Whatever. Get high. Look at some porn. You’ll be fine.”

Ooh, let me have it. Let me grab your soul away.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Silence again.

Kate was back to the chorus.

The song was almost over.

“You could always go on the rebound. get her out of your mind with someone that’ll actually put out.”

Hargrove had barely even said it before he was yanking Steve forward, giving him no time to prepare as their mouthed smooshed together in something that was very very awkward, and very very sloppy.

Steve still had tears on his cheeks, and his cigarette was getting dangerously close to the filter, threatening to burn his fingers, and Kate was still singing, and Billy was kissing him, and dear God Steve’s at least a little bit gay.

Heathcliff, it's me, I'm Cathy. I've come home, I'm so cold. Let me in your window. 

They drifted apart from one another just in time for Steve to rewind the song again.

“So, uh, yeah,” Billy said, and his cheeks were this wonderful shade of red, and Steve couldn’t stop thinking about Kate’s red dress and that fucking kiss and he was on the moors again, but this time he and Billy were making out in the grass and oh fuck, oh fuck-

“Yeah. Good.”

“Good?” Billy raised on of those dark eyebrows at him, his cheeks still burning.

“Good. Very good.”

Billy nodded a few times, sucking on his cigarette. Steve suddenly remembered he had dropped his on the floormates and tried to stamp it out before it got singed to bad.

“Okay then. Good.” Billy opened the passenger door, stepping out and flicking away his cigarette. He seemed to think for a moment, before turning around, leaning his upper body into Steve’s car.

Steve thought they were going to kiss again.

He was ready to go for it, ready to let his eyes close and maybe let it lead to more. He was Cathy and he was ready for some action.

But Billy just grinned again.

And skipped the song.

#yes i know when nancy and steve break up billys only been in town for like three days but its my fic and ill make up a timeline if i want to #yeah i call people dumb dumb all the fucking time so i had to put it in #this idea came from me listening to this song on a loop for fifteen minutes in the parking lot before work and crying before going in to wor #k #also i've never read wuthering heights everything i know abt it is from the song and this one fic i read that mentioned it #also the way that this is probably technically a song fic #i hate it #yikes writes #steve harrington #billy hargrove #harringrove #this is so self indulgent omg

[insufferablelust]

Pretty little thing (III)

Warnings : this series will be filled with Adult content, upcoming smut, murder, psychotic behaviors, dark kinks, traumatic events, manipulation, gaslighting, and isolation, interrogations, Daddy issues, abusive parents, blood, Spencer Reid x Unsub!Reader.

This is a dark fic, there might be stuff that could trigger you so please read with caution and/or don’t read it if you are sensitive to the stuff in the warnings.

MASTERLIST.

——————

Broke down the walls of her will, like the haunting willow tree singing as she savor and serve. adrenaline rushing and prickling inside her bloodstream, relishing the way his name rolls off her tongue. glistening with adoration, and graceful lust.

——————

“William Y/L/N, her father.” Next to her’s.

“Garcia—“

“On it!”

~

Y/N’s head was spinning, she hasn’t said anything hasn’t even heard any word that spilled from her lawyer’s mouth. Her mind solely pinned to the man behind the glass which she couldn’t see but she could feel him. His presence warms her up in a way, yet sent an incredibly powerful tingling feeling up her spine, from the beginning he was always going to be her’s— she has waited since cat, patiently waiting for her execution, playing the naive clean up girl for her, but now that her biggest threat, as well as her mentor is burning in hell, she’ll finally make him her’s. She just need to find a way to execute her masterplan.

“You aren’t listening, aren’t you?” The annoyed tone of her lawyer caused her to snap back into her role, sighing softly she let out fake tears slowly— knowing damn well the very man she want is right there.

“I’m sorry. This is all just overwhelming, listen do what you have to do.. all i’m going to say is....”

Spencer watched their interaction from behind the protective glass, his eyes never leaving every single micro expressions she made, every twitch of her lips, he saw everything even if he can’t hear them.

He watched as she cried, tears spilling all over the table her fingers were shaky, and her knees bounced. He could tell that the voice she lets out must be shaky, with hiccups, he scoffed to himself as he observed her. Knowing every single behavior she displayed was a cover up on top of a cover up.

Even after her lawyer stood up, his eyes never left her face, wanting to see everything. Not only that it’s his job— but there’s something about Y/N that almost.. amazes him in some ways, maybe it was because the cat situation but.. the way she built a fortress over her true self, the way she managed to be whoever she wanted to be and perfectly at that. It was like she was an actress, an art.

Then, he was snapped out of his mind when her lawyer close the interrogation door shut, sighing as she looked over at Spencer.

“Are you going to gawk at my client all day, agent? don’t you have a theory to pursue?” Typical, it was to get on his nerves.

“Yes, she’s a highly capable suspect of dozens murders. It’s my job to make sure we get her this time.” Spencer answered calmly, trying not to let any of their plans spilled, he was meticulous that way. Sharp.

“You better find those evidence soon agent, or the court will see to it that Y/N Y/l/N is— was in fact just another victim of Ms.Adams,” Spencer’s lips twitched at the sound of her voice, but moreover at the names she mentioned.

“Oh and My client asked me to tell you that the little brown house is only the beginning of the end, clock is ticking.” His eyebrows furrowed, as he snapped his head back towards Y/N— finding her looking straight to the glass almost as if she knew he was there, the sound of her lawyer’s heels clicking away turned all the wheels inside his head,

Little brown house,

beginning,

of the end,

————

“So, i found out William Y/l/N changed his name to Hansen Sharp after his company went bankrupt years ago. There’s not much of him few years after that basically just a mundane man living a mundane life but.. turns out, oh no..—“

“Garcia...”

“Hansen Sharp served jail time for a reported violence complaints from several different women but get this, after his bankruptcy, he worked as a high school janitor—“

“Let me guess, the women who reported him were the mothers.” Prentiss shake her head,

“Yeah... 4 Complaints, Violence against children, his victims were girls around 15 years old.” Garcia Cringed,

“Her stressor, she wasn’t even going to try to get her father after she left his house but then she heard it and somehow she met cat.” Tara sighed heavily

“No, cat found her, she told me that.” Reid crossed his arms this time

“Oh! i found his address, he’s currently serving parole, it’s 157 Brownstone— i’m just going to send it to you crime fighters.”

“We caught her before she could find her father whereabouts, that’s why she was so unstable. JJ, go with Alvez and Rossi, Tara you’re with me. Reid stay here, observe everything. Lets go.”

Brownstone,

Little Brown house,

Reid slammed the door open, meeting her eyes as she smiled, “Hello Professor, Is there anything i can help you with?”

She knew.

————

“Tell me where he is.” Reid banged the table harshly, eyes sharp through yours as you smiled still, bringing your chin down to rest against the table and rolled your eyes

“Who’s he? I don’t know anything, professor.” Y/N shook her head as she bit her lip teasingly, enjoying the tense look on Spencer’s face as he leaned in closer to where she was pouting underneath his gaze

“Y/N—“

“Oh! how wonderful professor! we’re using first names now? oh okay um hi Spencer right?” Her voice was bright, bright and manipulative. She reminded him of Cat, from the way she talked to her gestures yet there’s something about her that screamed wounded to him, as if she was tortured and this is the only way she knew on how to feel.

Closing his eyes momentarily, before opening them and slowly walked over her side of the table, gently running his fingers through her hair and chuckled as he suddenly grasp her hair tightly— she barely flinched, “Stop messing around, Where’s your father Y/N?”

“Oh wouldn’t you like to know?” She smiled in amusement, eyes glimmering with its doe like stares up at him. Y/N let out a satisfied whimper as he gripped the hair tighter, pulling it back slightly, his voice was so deep that she could feel the timbre rumbling through her spine,

“Tell me right now, or i swear to god you will never see me ever again.”

There, that right there made her eyes go soft, her smile turned into a genuine frown and she felt as if her guts were being punched— she hate it, hated the fact that he even dared to say something like that. Doesn’t he know that he’s hers and hers only? the possessiveness, the need to have him consumed Y/N the longer she sat there.

“Stop it with the tears, you might be a damn good manipulator to everyone but not me,”

What tears? Y/N thought as she sucked in her breath, she didn’t even realized she let out a tear let alone letting his words consumed her that way. She was in deep, and she won’t ever let him go.

“Oh but you see this, Dr.Reid,” She smiled sadly, leaning closer— so close that he could feel her warmth, and whispered,

“I’ll tell you where my wretched father is, although he’s all bloodied the last time i seen him,” She shrug as she press her lips against his cheek,

“but—“

“There’s no deal Y/N” He cut her off, causing her to giggle sweetly in his ear and tuts, “Ah ah but here’s the thing professor, i don’t mind if i get a death sentence or life in prison— either way i’ll die anyways and best believe i know how to,” She chuckled,

“You see all my life, i never ever wanted to hurt anyone but my father— well and Catherine of course but she’s death, and soon he too will join her.. unless...” She pecked his cheek now causing him to grip the table tighter,

“I’ll tell you where my father is but under the condition that you, my dear professor, shall go to a date with me.. You went with my so called twin, only fair i get the same treatment right..?” She smiled sweetly, leaning back down to her chair as soon as Spencer bolted out the door and thought, If only he knew that this is the beginning of the end, for him.

————

By the time the team got back from the house, Spencer is already waiting for them, pacing around in the room as he kept on thinking about her offer,

“you, my dear professor, shall go on a date with me..”

“I would like to go on a date with you..”

He flinched when he remembered the phrase that Cat used, shutting his eyes for a moment as he thought about their words— analyzing them thoroughly, letting their voices dance around his head, as if taunting him to find the difference,

You shall,

I Would,

Cat proposed, meanwhile Y/N demanded.

He was snapped out of his mind as he heard the team walked inside, placing each evidence and clues they found on the table. A pair of bloodied socks tested to be Hansen Sharp’s, a bloodied hammer with no lead on the DNA match, and a written note of “Have fun hunting, x C” were amongst the things they found back at Y/N’s dad’s house, there were no sign of him and no trace of her DNA that could link her to the murder.

“We need think to rethink the best way to approach her,” Tara muttered, “She obviously knows where he is, whether she’s the one torturing him or not— she knows. Garcia have you found anything linking to the handwriting or DNA on the hammer?”

“No... according to her school journals, it’s definitely not her’s.” Garcia whispered the last bit, eyes scanning through her screen and sighed.

“Reid?”

“She asked me to go on a date, in return she’ll tell us where her father is.” He looked up at his team, to find them looking back at him and he sighed, “Look, maybe—“

“No. Absolutely not.” Prentiss insists, her tone set dangerously low as she flip through the newfound evidence from Sharp’s house. “We will not follow her game, no matter what. She’s as dangerous as she could get right now, maybe she wasn’t responsible for other murders but she is certainly a master manipulator. Whatever you do, do not let her get inside your head.”

Too late, Spencer thought.

“Tara is right, we should try different methods and we have to do it fast, we don’t know how long Sharp could take it.” JJ suggested, he went to pat Spencer’s back as he shake him lightly “We know you think this is your fault, but it isn’t, we’ll save him and we’ll get her.” She assured, Spencer smiled as he nods.

Yet, little did they know that Spencer was beginning to wish he never searched for her.

————

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[arse-crack-thistle]

gifts

rwrb and the five love languages | part two

in which june struggles to have a nice valentine’s date with nora

June never expected to care this much about a stupid holiday like Valentine’s Day, but here she is, practically renovating the apartment to give her girlfriend a perfect night. She strings LED lights around the entire living room ceiling and uses Command hooks to drape the sheer, white Ikea curtains she bought on sale months ago in preparation for this. The lights glow pink through the curtains, making the usually neutral-toned living room appear like Aphrodite’s palace. June’s moved the coffee table into her room and replaced it with a fluffy blanket and a picnic set-up to rival TikTok lesbians.  All she needs now is Nora, if only she weren’t stuck at school.

The texts say, Will be late! Data mining for the gods! [Monet X Change gif] I want to be home with you though. Will bring noodles! And chocolate! Scratch that, I ate the chocolate. Sorry.

June knows she shouldn’t be annoyed because Nora has no idea what she’s coming home to. She also knows who she got into a relationship with—a brilliant mind that’s constantly moving parsecs a minute and has a hard time communicating her feelings. June has to remind herself that Nora loves her even if she doesn’t always show it.

That’s what tonight is for. It’ll give them time to slow down and just be together. Break the routine. Talk or not talk. She doesn’t expect it to be mushy or obnoxious—June isn’t a super, flowery romantic herself—but she does want another sentimental moment to hold onto forever.

Like the night of the 2020 election over a year ago. After Alex and Henry slipped away and everyone else was celebrating in their own groups, Nora pulled June into a storage closet at the venue and kissed her point blank, leaving no questions in her mind that their dabbles the months before meant something more than spectacular.

Or like six months ago when Nora asked her if she wanted to move in with her. She didn’t do anything particularly special, but she slammed her laptop shut while June was throwing on one of her sweatshirts and asked her to stay—to take the second bedroom because Nora needs space sometimes—but to stay with her because she was her favorite person. June answered with a happy “yes,” and Nora got up and kissed her. They didn’t talk much more about it; June just packed up her room at the White House and let the world think they were very best friends.

June pours a glass of wine and waits on the couch, flipping through social media. A few hours ago, her brother posted a picture from the Valentine’s gala he and Henry threw for the London queer youth center. Alex, Henry, Bea, Catherine, and even Philip and Martha hold champagne flutes with cheeky smiles on their faces. The POTUS account has a sweet yet posed picture of her mother and Leo. She likes everything she sees, from the various celebrities she follows to the photos she’s tagged in by fans. The time on her phone reminds her Nora’s now over an hour late.

She texts her, Home soon?

Ten minutes later her phone dings. Need more time. Almost done!

You are aware it’s Valentine’s, yes? And that we had plans?

Yes!!!! But flexible plans, right? Not like we can’t eat noodles and make out later. Will leave soon though. Promise.

I got food covered. Just get home please.

June sighs. She thought she made it clear this morning that they deserved a night with no distractions. God, they need to talk; she’s afraid to, but nothing will get better if she doesn’t say anything and if they don’t try.

The charcuterie board spread she copied off of Pinterest has been sitting out for a while so she moves it from the floor to the fridge. “Soon” for Nora could mean an hour. Empty coffee mugs line the sink. An open pack of weed gummies sits on the counter, hardening. Binders of paperwork and schoolwork collect on the kitchen table. There’s so much Nora in here. June redecorated the living room and kitchen when she moved in, but Nora’s managed to touch everything.

She smiles. If this were Alex, she’d be pissed at the mess, but it’s Nora. The beautiful, erratic mess that is Nora. The girl who can have four different shows on at once and can still get shit done. The girl who always burns pancakes when she tries to cook breakfast for June. The girl who never fails to kiss her first.

June won’t lose her. So she sits down on the floor, runs her fingers over the fleece, and waits. And drinks more wine.

Sometime later, when a key turns in the lock, she downs the last sip in her glass and sets it down. Some old love songs play from her phone, the ones she and Nora love to make fun of. She hears her girlfriend curse when her key gets stuck, and then she bursts through the door and catches herself before she could slip on the hardwood.

“I know you said you got food covered, but I got noodles any—Whoa! You did all of this?” Nora walks into the living room with takeout bags in her hands and stares, mesmerized, at the ceiling. Her contacts must’ve been bothering her because she has on her back-up glasses.

“Hi. Happy Valentine’s Day,” June says and reaches for Nora’s hand to pull her down.

“I’m sorry, June. I had no idea. I thought we both hated this holiday, so tonight wasn’t that big of a deal. But this—this is beautiful,” Nora says, having a hard time meeting June’s eyes.

“Thanks.” June rubs Nora’s hand with her thumb. “And this isn’t really about the holiday. I just wanted to give something nice to you—to us—just us. With no distractions.”

The strings from “At Last” by Etta James play from the phone. The curtains billow from the air blowing out the vent. As much as she hates to ruin the moment, June has to start the conversation.

But Nora takes a deep breath and talks first. “I know I’m a bit all over the place but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. I just have a lot going on.”

“I know, but sometimes it feels like you don’t care about us as much as I do. It feels like an afterthought to you,” June says.

“That’s not true, June! Come on! You know me.” She grabs June’s other hand and squeezes.

She squeezes back. “You don’t act with feelings in mind, but I know you have them. And I know it’s hard for you, but I need you to share them with me more. I need a reminder that you care every once in a while.”

Nora’s quiet. She uses her arm to wipe her eyes, knocking her glasses off.  “I—I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do.”

June’s chest collapses. She wraps Nora up in her arms. “I’m sorry, Nor. I don’t mean you’re not enough for me. I love you so much. I—”

“No, I understand. I just—I need help with that. I need you to tell me when you need more—maybe not after the fact like now but—”

June laughs and pulls away. “You’re right. I have a stewing problem. I just assume you’ll eventually get it.”

“Yeah, don’t assume that.” Nora laughs too—the big kind that shows all of her teeth. “Reign me in when I’ve been off for too long. And know it’s not on purpose. I’m seriously spiraling in my own head the majority of the time.”

“Ha! And a hot head it is too.”

They both pause and look into each other’s eyes. And bust out into laughing fits. June makes a fart sound with her mouth, and Nora tackles her. They rumble around on the blanket for about forty seconds before June’s wine glass tips over and surprisingly bounces instead of shattering.

The girls take that as an opportunity to stop and pour some more glasses of wine. Nora preps the takeout while June brings the charcuterie board back to the indoor picnic. Nora changes the music to some weird techno shit, but June snatches the phone. They compromise with One Direction, which makes no sense since 1. June only knows their last album and 2. Nora definitely remembers the story of June turning down the advances of one Niall Horan when she did the daytime talk show circuit after her book deal was announced.

Either way, they stuff their faces and end up cuddled on the floor.

Nora interrupts the moment. “Before we get to sexy time—"

“Jesus Christ.”

“I just wanted to give you something. I would’ve saved it for your birthday, but I can get you something else.” She pops up from the floor and jogs to her bedroom. When she reemerges, she’s carrying a bunched-up blanket. “I didn’t have time to properly wrap it because—you know, you weren’t going to get it yet—although, it probably wouldn’t’ve been wrapped later either—but anyways, happy Valentine’s Day.”

She crouches down and hands over the present. She smiles and bops up and down in anticipation. June unwraps the blanket and sees a book.

It’s one of those photobooks you can get at Walgreens, and on the cover, it reads, “Catalina June Claremont-Diaz and Nora Elizabeth Holleran are NOT good friends…” June flips it over. “They’re fucking GIRLFRIENDS!” Inside is page after page of pictures as early as the day they first met and as recent as New Year’s Eve a month ago. A lot of candid pics they take of each other—Nora’s favorites. A lot of sleepy, cuddle pics—June’s favorites. It’s so perfect.

“Nora—this is—wow.” She feels the tears coming. No one has given her anything like this before.

“I’ll be better—”

“So will I.”

“No matter where my head’s at, I’m always thinking of you—just 50 million other things as well,” Nora says and cups her chin.

June leans in. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Nora kisses her, and everything wound up in June relaxes. Her body is so warm. “Best Song Ever” starts playing.

Cue sexy time.

check out the rest of my rwrb and the five love languages series: part one, part three, part four, and part five. (links to come as they’re released)

so this could be for quality time or gifts, but i decided to go with gifts since i had no other ideas for it! it’s definitely not my love language (quality time for the win!) but i had to write something lol. so i made it sapphic bc everything gay is better! <3

rwrb romance week | @rwrb-fests

#rwrb #june claremont diaz #nora holleran #nora x june #nora and june #my writing #rwrb fest #rwrbromanceweek #rwrb fanfic #fanfic #wlw #red white and royal blue #casey mcquiston #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #pez okonjo #princess bea #stick up his arse philip #president ellen claremont #oscar diaz #rafael luna #zahra bankston #firstprince #bi disaster #my gay bean #queer lit #queer books #queer fic #love languages #gifts

[the-cheese-writes]

Chapter 5

[Chapter 4] || [Chapter 6]

{Masterpost}

----------

Pulling Logan by the hand, Patton walked over to the very back of the field, where all the leafy walls of bushes and shrubs separated the school from the outside. Though he usually sat near the back around this area during lunch, Logan had never really gone to the very end, so this was a new experience for him.

As they reached the bushes, Patton looked around for a moment, then pushed back a few branches. He let go of Logan so he could use his other arm to wade through the leaves and suddenly he disappeared behind them. Logan’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he waited for Patton to return… but he didn’t.

“Patton?” he whispered and suddenly Patton’s face peeked through the leaves.

“Come on!” the bubbly student beckoned excitedly, holding his hand again and he pulled Logan through.

Due to the sticks and branches slapping him as travelled through, Logan squinted his eyes and shielded himself with his free arm. When he felt like he was in the open again, he slowly reopened them and his jaw dropped slightly at the sight.

Before him was a round clearing of grass and the sun shone through the tree leaves which sheltered them from above. It looked like this small area of the school was made personally for him and Patton where no one else could intervene or interrupt them, due to the shrubs at the entrance which posed as a door.

“Patton, what is this place?” Logan asked.

“It’s my secret little corner of the world,” answered Patton with a juvenile smile, holding his ankles in the middle of his cross-legged position. “I accidentally discovered it when I saw something peeking through the bushes here. I pushed through a few branches and found this green patch of grass and everything was just so… beautiful.”

And beautiful it really was.

Coming over to sit next to Patton, Logan smiled at him and looked around, still in a bit of shock that he had never seen this place before. Then all of a sudden he felt a head fall onto his shoulder. A burning blush creeped up Logan’s neck as he looked down at Patton’s caramel curls, so fluffy and soft. Suddenly his heart lurched as he remembered the way he used to do this with his mother. 

When he was younger, he would lay on her shoulder as she would cradle him to sleep, stroking his hair and singing lullabies in his ear. His father would join them whenever he could and when he did, he would either stun him out of sleep with a tickle attack or rub his back and aid his mother into sending him to dreamland. Those were the good times.

He desperately tried to choke back tears from the memories as they started to well up in his eyes, but it was no use. They fell and Logan accidentally let out a quiet sob, causing Patton to immediately jolt up and look at him.

“Logan? What’s wrong?” he asked, concerned and worried.

“Apologies Patton. The way you were laying on my shoulder caused me to reminisce about my childhood… and my mother.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-”

“No, you have nothing to be sorry for,” Logan interrupted, trying to smile as best as he could through tears. “I liked the feeling.”

Carefully, Patton reached up and wiped a couple tears from his cheeks and Logan gasped quietly at the contact. No one had touched him like that in years and all of sudden he felt like his mother was holding him again. Another single tear fell as he stared at Patton, the other boy gazing back affectionately at him. His shocked expression then melted into a smile.

“Thank you,” Logan whispered, holding Patton’s hand by his cheek. And when he lowered it, he laced their fingers together. Looking down at their hands, Patton blushed and smiled bashfully.

“You’re welcome Logan. Do you mind if I lean on you again?” he inquired. Logan shook his head in response and Patton returned to the position they were in before. They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, watching the leaves gently bounce with the wind and hearing the distant laughter coming from the other students in the school.

“What was she like? Your mother?” Patton asked quietly after a minute. Smiling to himself, Logan recalled pictures from his memory of what she looked like.

“She was… the most loving mother ever. She was kind, gracious, sweet, caring and she never allowed a bad moment to ruin my day. She somehow always found a way to put a smile on my face whenever I was sad and lifted me up when I was drowning in my lows,” he explained and Patton listened intently, feeling the joy and happiness from the memories as well as grief rub off on him. He could hear the pain and longing in Logan’s tone and he could tell how much he missed her.

“She and my father used to dance around the living room together, and I would watch them and she would invite me into their dance. When I was younger, obviously I struggled with it, but as I grew older, she genuinely helped me, and my father even joked that he was afraid I would one day take his place. She had a grace about her wherever she moved and my father used to tell me stories of how men would swoon over her but he seemed to be the only one who didn’t. Yet, he was the man she fell for,” Logan laughed softly at the thought and Patton gazed at him sympathetically. Then Logan looked up and stared into his blue marbles.

“She had your eyes.” At that Patton blushed a deep shade of red, flattered that Logan saw a piece of someone he cared deeply about in him.

“What was her name?” he asked. Logan looked away with a sad smile, allowing a brief moment of silence linger in the air.

“Catherine,” he answered. “Her name was Catherine.” Staring at him warmly, Patton softly took Logan’s hands in his and met his eyes.

“She sounds like the best mother ever,” he said, genuinely meaning every word and Logan could see that.

“Indeed she was.”

Suddenly, they heard the bell ring and started to leave. Logan got up and helped Patton up too, but when they were standing again, their hands never parted. The two boys walked side-by-side, hand-in-hand from the field back to the school, picking up their bags which they left on the tree beforehand along the way.

It wasn’t until they were near the students again that they, begrudgingly, let go of each other. But unfortunately, Patton and Logan had to go to different classrooms, so they had to part ways. Just before he left however, Logan called Patton back.

“Can I meet you again at the end of the day? By the gate?” he asked and Patton smiled in response.

“Of course. At the end of your lesson, I’ll be waiting there for you,” the bubbly student replied and Logan nodded. They stayed facing each other for a few more extended seconds and Logan could tell that Patton wanted to do something, but he just didn’t know what. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t have time to find out however because Patton then turned and walked away to his final lesson and Logan watched him go.

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@patt-off

#sanders sides #fanfic #sanders sides fanfic #brewrites #sanders sides au #angst #prinxiety #logicality #logan sanders #patton sanders #britain #british #ww2

[simp-for-spencer-reid]

Sugar with a Side of Coffee- Ch. 13: Purple Hyacinths and White Orchids

Chapter 13: Purple Hyacinths and White Orchids A/N: I’m sorry in advance Masterlist

Cate awoke the next day with a headache from drinking so much wine. Her alarm was chiming through her phone and it felt like the sound bounced between her ears. Pressing her palm into her forehead to create a pressure that wasn’t her headache, she let out a large sigh as she sat up in bed. It was her mistake to keep drinking with Spencer’s friends when she knew she had to work the next day. Even though she was paying for it today, she had a really fun night at Rossi’s. 

Spencer had driven Cate back to her house last night. Instead of the usual comfortable silence, Cate was blabbering the whole ride in Spencer’s car. Not only was she the chattiest Spencer had ever seen, she was also the touchiest. Not always touching him, but fiddling with the radio, opening all the compartments to see what was inside. A wine-drunk Cate was brazen and not nearly as quiet as she normally was. 

“Want to know my favorite flower?” Cate said out loud to Spencer, while rummaging through the pockets of his suit jacket that she was still wearing. Spencer glanced over to her.

“Of course.” He smiled at her. Every few seconds, a street light would shine an orange glow in the car, and Spencer swore this was the most beautiful he had ever seen her. 

“It’s Asters. I like all colors but pink would be my favorite I think.” Cate started to take off her shoes in his car. She was struggling with the small buckle on the heel. “Now it’s my turn to ask you a question.” She sat back up, defeated by the small metal buckle. There was a silence as she thought of what to ask him. “What’s your middle name?��� She decided. He had just pulled into her parking lot. 

“Walter.” He quickly said, before getting out and walking around to open her door.

“Spencer Walter Reid.” Cate tried his full name out. She took Spencer’s outstretched hand and stepped out of his vehicle. She eyed him up, repeating his full name again. “Yeah, that seems about right.” She interlaced their fingers.

Spencer thought that the elevator would be their best option to get Cate safely to her floor. She dug in her clutch for her keys and passed them to Spencer to put into the lock. The two walked into Cate’s apartment just as Shrimp was walking past the hallway with one of the little toys Spencer had gotten him. Cate sat on the bench in her foyer and extended a leg to Spencer. 

“Please help.” Cate stuck her bottom lip out. Spencer grabbed her ankle and his nimble fingers just barely struggled with the buckle. He laughed and motioned for her other foot so he could take the other heel off. When Cate stood up, Spencer admired the height difference between them. He could tell Cate was getting tired by the way her bubbling conversation faded. She slid his jacket off, holding it out to him. In the soft light of the hallway, Spencer could see her freckles that peppered the top of her shoulders.

That night was the first time that Spencer had seen her room. It suited her. He pulled back her black and white comforter. Cate laid down, still in her dress, getting settled in. Spencer kissed her forehead and gently took the bobby pins from her hair. He rested another yellow throw blanket over her body. On his way out, he gave Shrimp a scritch and quietly shut the door behind him. 

“I feel like we haven’t worked together in forever!” Marta said loudly. Cate walked into The Empty Mug with her sunglasses on. She scrunched her face.

“Why must you be so loud?” Cate closed her eyes, pausing in her step. Marta chuckled. 

“Hungover on a weekday? You’re becoming quite the rebel, Catherine.” Marta was putting the last of the chairs down. “It’s getting colder, my parents were thinking of retiring the cart for the season.” Marta informed Cate. 

“Aw, I’m gonna miss my cart!” Cate was walking to the back room to put away her things and put on her apron. Like clockwork, soon after Marta flipped the sign on the door from closed to open, Spencer walked in. 

“Hey, Sweater Vest, when are we gonna get a visit from Morgan for a change?” Marta joked with him, starting a pot of coffee. Cate came out of the back, her face lighting up when she saw Spencer. 

“How are you feeling?” Spencer laughed. He had moved so he was standing in front of her. Cate brought a hand to her temple.

“Oh, you know, dealing with the aftermath of your friends. Remind me not to try and keep up with them again.” Cate laughed. Spencer shifted his weight from heel to toe.

“Would you like to go to the new Italian restaurant on Jefferson street later tonight? Like a proper date?” Spencer looked hopeful. Cate’s smile grew.

“I’d love to.” Cate nodded. She was mentally picking out an outfit already. The end of her shift could not come fast enough. As soon as Spencer mentioned Italian, Cate was thinking of an alfredo dish with bread sticks. Cate felt like she was back in high school, giddy like a schoolgirl for the first real date she’s had in awhile. She supposed she could count the museum date as a date, but she categorized it as friends, since that was all they were at the time. This time, though, their feelings were aired out and on the table and they were exclusive. That’s what made it a real date. 

Cate just about ran home, her scarf blowing behind her as she rushed to her apartment. She showered and washed her hair to fix her hat hair. She shaved her legs, even though she planned on wearing tights. After her shower, she walked to her room in a towel, laying out her outfit she had curated all day. A dark green sparkly dress that had long sleeves. It fell above her knee, so she had black tights to cover legs and a black pair of ankle boots with a small heel. She curled her hair for the first time, managing to only burn her fingers twice. She facetimed Marta to show her the outfit and swoon over this date. Seeing the time, she wondered why Spencer hadn’t been to pick her up yet. 

She remembered that they hadn’t decided on how they were meeting. Cate figured she’d shoot him a text and let him know she would meet him at the restaurant. Cate’s nose was red and a bit runny from the walk to the restaurant. The restaurant was all lit up with soft yellow lights and it was everything Cate imagined a real date would be. 

Cate gave the hostess both her and Spencer’s names. He had made a reservation under his name in advance, despite the full house and the hostess informed Cate she was the first of their party of two to show up. The hostess led the way to a table for two, in a more secluded part of the restaurant that was more dimly lit and the tables in this area all had candles on their white table cloths. 

It had been about fifteen minutes before Cate let some negative thoughts cross her mind. She tried calling Spencer, but his phone went straight to voicemail. Cate was on the second basket of breadsticks, pleading with the waiter for a few more minutes. After ten more minutes, Cate had decided to order her meal, not wanting the reservation to go to waste. 

She could barely eat. Half of it was boxed up for Cate to eat for lunch the next day. The waiter had come back, telling her there was already a card on file to pay for the meal. Out of pure pettiness, Cate did something she never usually did. She ordered dessert for herself. A chocolate lava cake was brought to the table. The servers were now sneaking peeks at Cate sitting by herself. She pretended not to notice and picked at her chocolate cake that only tasted like spite. Cate finally gave them her own card to pay and left the restaurant with her leftover box. 

She hauled a cab to go home, since it was now dark and freezing out. While she was in the backseat, her phone rang. Spencer’s name flashed on the screen. She wanted to answer and give him hell, but she left it for voicemail. She chuckled bitterly to herself thinking of Derek already chewing him out- wherever they were. It’s not like he would tell her what state they were in or where they were headed. Her phone finally stopped ringing, and a new voice message notification showed. 

“I am so sorry. I know I promised you a date tonight. What I did was inexcusable. I’m on the jet and I’m an hour and a half out. Can we talk?” Spencer’s voice was rushed with embarrassment. Or was it guilt? After she texted Spencer to meet her at her place the taxi pulled up to her building’s entrance. Cate paid and got out of the car. 

She left her box on the counter. She wanted to stay in her outfit so Spencer could see what he missed, but she didn’t want to be too mean. A part of her felt bad for being mean. She knew he had a demanding job and she was lucky to have spent so much of Spencer’s free time with him so far. She knew he was out there, getting the bad guys and making the world a safer place. With a sigh, she changed into sweats and a t-shirt and plopped on the couch with some reality show to fill the silence. 

A knock on her door made Cate jump from a sleep. She hadn’t even realized she had closed her eyes. She could hear Spencer frantically knock again. His voice coming from the other side of the door. 

“Cate? If you can hear me, please let me in.” Cate looked through the peephole. He was still in his FBI windbreaker. Still feeling mad at him, she opened the door just enough so he could see one eye. “Oh, thank god. I really am an asshole. I’m so sorry.” He started to say.

“Just tell me you got the guy.” Cate’s face was still hard with anger. She sighed. “Tell me you solved the case and it was good for you guys.” Cate blinked.

“Yeah. Yeah we did. It was tough, but we did it. That’s why I was late.” Spencer’s shoulders slugged.

“You weren’t late. Late implies that you would’ve showed up at all. You didn’t. I sat there by myself for an hour.” Cate spat. She took a deep breath in, fingers tapping the door while she made a decision. Opening the door wider, she let Spencer in. He followed her to her kitchen, where she took out a plate to reheat the leftover meal she had. “You must be hungry.” Cate said. Knowing that there was one less killer loose made Cate feel less angry at Spencer. She took out two forks and the two picked at the alfredo pasta together in silence. As they ate, Cate moved closer to Spencer, slowly pressing into his side. She was glad he was safe and home. 

Spencer stayed the night, the two snuggled up in Cate’s bed. Cate’s head rested on Spencer’s chest, his arms wrapped around her. In the morning, he had to get up before her and he gave her a quick kiss before leaving to go back to the bureau for another day. 

On another occasion a few weeks later, Spencer had promised Cate to another date at a different restaurant. Like before, Cate had gotten dressed and ready- waiting for Spencer to pick her up as promised. She facetimed Marta as she waited for Spencer to arrive. They discussed some new baked goods to try at the shop for the winter. She hung up the call when her doorbell rang. 

She excitedly opened it, but it wasn’t Spencer on the other side. It was Penelope. She looked guilty, and when she saw Cate, she looked at her with pity. 

“I am so sorry to be the bearer of bad news.” Penelope said. In her hands, were a bouquet of Cate’s favorite flowers: pink Asters. Cate sighed. “I can’t stay for long, I have to get back to my batcave, but I also brought you this.” Penelope handed a pint of chocolate ice cream to Cate. Cate smiled sadly at Penelope and thanked her for stopping by. 

Spencer’s poor attempt at trying to mend his mistakes was to invite Cate over for more sleepovers and movie nights. He had even given Cate a key to his place. In the cases where he knew he was staying overnight, Cate would let herself in and water his plants for him. Sometimes she would wrap herself in his housecoat. She loved Spending time with Spencer and she was grateful to have met a wonderful male specimen, but she was growing tired of the kisses in passing and waking up alone in a bed where they had slept together. Cate bitterly thought of how she used to be happily single and how she became a wreck of a woman in love.

It happened one day when she came home from The Empty Mug. Spencer had beaten her to her apartment door. She smiled, excited to see him at a reasonable hour for the first time in a while. In his hands, he held a bouquet made of purple and white flowers.

“What’s the occasion?” Cate questioned with a small laugh. “Not that I’m not happy to see you.” She smiled at him, opening the door for the two of them. Spencer brought the flowers to the island. Cate could tell he was nervous. “What’s up?” now she was growing anxious. 

“I know these aren’t your favorite flowers. They’re purple hyacinths and white orchids. They both mean sorry. Well, the orchids mean I’m sorry and the hyacinths are more of a please forgive me.” Spencer spoke with his hands, playing with his fingers.

“Forgive you for what, Spencer?” Cate placed her hands on the countertop of the island. “What are you talking about?” Cate shook her head.

“You deserve more than this. I feel awful when I have to leave for a case. You don’t deserve being stood up or waking up alone. And as bad as I want to be what you deserve and what you need, I can’t quit doing what I love. I wish I could but I can’t.” He stammered out. Cate grew angry at him, the floodgates had opened and everything she felt was coming out.

“You don’t get to tell me what I need! You don’t get to decide how I feel!” Cate started. She had come to terms with how their relationship was and how important Spencer’s job was. He was keeping people safe and Cate knew what she signed up for.

“Stop being so understanding, you’re making this harder than it has to be.” Spencer closed his eyes, pressing his thumb and index finger into them.

“Fine. I won’t say that it kills me not knowing where you go. Or if you're safe. I won’t say that it’s been easy, but I've been here, spencer. and I was planning on being here!” Cate yelled. Her throat burned. She didn’t want it to end like this. Tears stung her eyes. She couldn’t figure out why Spencer wanted to end this so bad. 

After a silent standoff between Cate and Spencer, he curtly nodded and turned out the door. Cate let herself sit on her kitchen floor and Shrimp finally came out now that the screaming match had subsided. 

Spencer was off his game at work. The team had spoken amongst each other and had come to the conclusion that Spencer and Cate were no more. That was a lie, Derek had visited the shop to get the details from Marta. Even though things were tense between Spencer and Cate, Derek wasn’t the only one visiting the shop.

“How long are you gonna let him just sit out there?” Marta asked, peering out the window to Spencer, sitting on the bench across the street from the coffee shop. He had been spending all his free time on this bench that faced the coffee shop. He hated how cold he got on the bench. Winter was in full swing now. He hated even more how things ended between himself and Cate. He tried reaching out to her, but Cate wouldn’t answer her phone or her door when he knocked. He knew he royally messed up.

“Until he freezes” Cate replied, not looking up from prepping a coffee order. She tried her best to ignore him. Talking to him or even seeing him would break her. She knew she would let him back in and she would just suffer again.

“Just because it’s cold outside doesn’t mean you have to be cold hearted” Marta told Cate. Marta felt bad for the two of them. And not just because all the scheming her and Derek had gone through to get them together had failed, but because they were good for each other. Marta made Spencer his usual coffee order and walked across the street to the bench. 

“She hates me doesn’t she?” Spencer asks. Marta sighed.

“I mean, I wouldn’t say hate but maybe strongly dislike” Marta said, trying to lighten the mood.

#sugar with a side of coffee fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

[stronghours]

SUNSHINE IN THE SKY REPRISE

And it came to pass, a few weeks after she and Jules made a bad decision on his thrifted futon, that they met again during 4th of July merrymaking. 

Lux toddled in grey lake water among Ava, Claire, and Archie (Celeste down and out with summer flu). Lux couldn’t swim, a fact disclosed in private to Ava, which Ava hadn’t kept to herself, and the group formed a stooped, anxious ring around her doggy-paddling. She was forced, among the smell of hot dogs in the safe green grass hundreds of yards beyond and the ominous cloud cover above, to make sure only her ass whomped her protectors’ knees when the waves tried to boil her body up and away. She’d made a mistake, and her only wardrobe protection beyond her suit itself and her spandex underthing was a hastily added solid color sarong, which while dry didn’t match, and while wet, just looked lousy and modest. But she couldn’t be parted with it and had made up a past bout of minor skin cancer, a pin-mole insidiously located on her protected inner thigh, the paranoia of which haunted her still. Even Ava dropped her chin for the C-word.

Now she suggested Lux float on her back and allow her perception of the water to form fingers in the magic slot located on her lower back, and soon she’d be floating like crazy among the wacky kids and her hot workmates and her boss and all their invisible pubes. A wave slapped dirty fingers up Lux’s nose.

“It’s kind of like learning a language,” Archie contributed. “Got to learn it when you’re young. Looks like your parents fucking doomed you.”

“My pap pap slam-dunked me in our above-ground when I was five,” said Claire, who floated tummy-down in frog position by exerting no effort Lux could observe. “I bobbed right back up, but like, what if I hadn’t?”

Lux, six feet tall, decided to use it to her advantage and planted her knees in the sandbar. She could just about do it and keep her eyes and forehead in periscope position.

“Reuben and I are thinking of installing an above-ground,” said Ava, and seeing Lux shrink, rose to her feet and splashed water across her dewy collarbone. Lux pushed every single one of them out of her mind and stared between the chops out into the open sea to make-believe Michigan somewhere on the other side. A rhythmic slap approached from the left and the white bow of a lifeguard’s canoe sailed past their collected heads.

“Hey now,” scolded the familiar voice behind the sunglasses, “only three hot bitches are allowed in the water at a time. Think of the community.”

Ava sloshed around at the familiarity, but everybody else had already noticed it was, absurdly, Jules, and sent up a bunch of soggy greetings, all except Lux who rose into a semi-crouch in the drifting seabed out of surprise, and Ava, who let them all perform verbal recognition on her behalf and only spared a nod.

Jules looked very high school, very lanky on the bobbing bench, with the oars braced under his tanned arms and his cute red tank top cinched under his fanny pack. He rode the up-down of the surf the same way he did most things, with enough bored grace to suggest he’d learned quite enough and had more interesting things to do. Lux had recently learned this conceit of his could be bypassed, and she was glad he kept the sunglasses on when he looked her over.

“What’s up Cathy,” he said, with the same Sophomore carelessness, and she plunged her head under an oncoming wave, the pressure preferable to the dawning knowledge that now, he had information he could disclose, and he’d had it for weeks.

She rose again, squinting. She couldn’t tell if he had caught on.

“What?” he asked. “What did I do?”

“You got another job, Jules?” Ava surged forward, displaced Lux. “Roscoe doesn’t give you enough to do, on top of commissions?”

“Give me another commission and you’ll find out.” He drew the left oar’s pole hard under his titty to keep the nose of the canoe from slicing into their crescent. The mechanism bucked like a horse and the wind snatched the ugly white hat off his head and toward an oblivion of preteens due north. Claire yelped and threw herself into the water, rippled away to go fetch it. “You ever been in the cellar underneath Rawhide, Ava? That’s like, thrice-darkness. I was gonna kill myself.”

“I’ve never been in a situation that required me to be in the cellar underneath Rawhide.” Prim Ava glanced pityingly at Lux, who allowed wave after wave to pummel her head in her effort to stay low. “Poor baby. She can’t swim.”

“Throw her off the pier,” Jules suggested.

“It worked for Claire’s pap pap,” Archie said, and braced an annoying hand on the back of Lux’s neck. “Sorry babe, looks like you’re going down.”

Lux threw herself underwater before Archie could push her into the drink. Beneath the top swell she had enough time to touch her palms to the sand and try to dig her hands where she’d braced her knees, but she was blind, and the divots were washed away and the grains were swept off and replaced swept off and replaced, and she panicked when the water tugged the sarong’s knot. She resurfaced from the green and grey, coughing and yanking the weedy fabric around her legs. Ava, shining and petite against the sky, so securely tucked to smoothness, had finished with Jules herself and was high stepping back to shore.

“…I’m just saying, you should definitely try it out –” Archie had spoken in the interim. Jules was nodding. He’d shoved the sunglasses up and over his curly head and while his gaze was trained forward to take in the gamboling bathers, Lux could feel him keeping her in the corner of his eye.

 -

She remembered being in good if overenergetic spirits. She recalled a hot yellow sun. She wore her lavender halter with the powder-blue culottes, her hair freshly hennaed from the night before and trustily bunned. She traveled from a three-hour duo with Ava regarding some mind-numbing bouts of predicament ropework that left her guiltily bored of the client and his ballerina snobbishness, but pleased with her improving knots, and with the fact she could at least trick Ava into thinking she was a viable rope top. She’d exited the bus prematurely and entered the sidewalk throng to burn through her constipated spirits, past a raucous patio partition of a dippy sport’s bar and collided with Jules himself, exiting.

It was like striking a human-size grasshopper. He recoiled, elbows up, and almost upset a busboy’s tray. She reared at his excess, ready to dive into the full indulgence of her insult. In the past year after the Annelise Petro incident she’d only seen him at a distance. Their last words, exchanged in close quarters within Jules’s car more than twelve months ago, had not been civil. He was much tanner than she remembered of him in previous summers. He’d filled out in the chest and shoulders. For a second, she could glimpse he’d gained some weird physical vitality – but as she observed, the color drained from his face. His shoulders slumped. He looked sick as a dog. She’d thought he was drunk.

She grabbed him by the shoulders and steered his head away from her. “Do not,” she ordered, “Do not fucking puke on me.”

He pulled himself straight but didn’t dislodge from her grip. “Don’t say anything,” he hissed, dirt-sober, and before she could make him clarify, a middle-aged couple loomed over his shoulders. The woman, a full six inches shorter than both Lux and Jules (it was just then Lux realized she and Jules were precisely the same height) sparkled nervously, trussed in Cubs blues.

“Oh Jules,” she said, “Who’s this?”

She was blond and ferrety, but in the man, Lux could see a sour and fleshy shadow of Jules’s own face and bearing. He looked at her with the same stern contemplation Jules had leveled on her in the past, and Jules presently, dead in the eyes, curled in on himself like a shrimp.

She’d inexplicably exited her rancorous ditch and stumbled over Jules in the no-man’s land of Blood Relatives. She wanted to, against all rational thought, shove him behind her back and put her arms out.

Instead, she reached a hand to the man (dad? Oh boy, what fun) and chirped, “Hi, I’m Catherine!”

And to the woman (mother? God in heaven), “don’t we just all love Jules!”

The woman shriveled with feeling that hardly looked like relief. The man gravely shook Lux’s hand, and she was pleased with his grip’s condescending pressure. Her body moved far ahead of her brain. She could see herself at distance, popping one toe behind her planted heel, one hip cocked, tits pushed out, but no further than her glowing smile. “And how do you two know each other,” the man said, said, explicitly did not ask. Neither man nor woman introduced themselves.

Jules, white-lipped, opened his mouth but Lux flowed over him. “2007,” she answered, “Leidermeister Playhouse, down in, uh, are you from around here? No? Well, Tinley-ish. Way down there. Spring musical. I was on playbill. And Jules was doing costumes for Pippin.”

For the first time, Jules treated her to the sweet sight of his smug, sick face struck totally dumb.

“Theater!” The woman bubbled. She put her hand on her companion’s meaty forearm, placating.

But the man was not letting her go without a fight. “Theater,” he said. “And what part did you play.”

She treated him to her glowing smile first (cracking, a little). If Jules had learned his own abysmal manners from these creeps, then he’d somehow made improvements on his own time.

“The Mother,” she improvised. “Of course.”

“Stepmother,” Jules piped up, at last.

It was all yadda-yadda to Lux, but the man finally checked the neon dial of his watch, gripped the woman by the elbow, said they would have to start taking pains for a cab if they wanted to catch the game in time. “Sure,” Jules said, though his permission hadn’t been asked, his advice unsought. “You’re not far away.”

“You call her and say you saw us, sir,” the man said. “She’ll expect it.”

Jules was too busy accepting limp patty-pats from the woman, who shot Lux a tragic grin before she scampered up the sidewalk, followed by the broad back of her presumed husband. No proper hug, no I-Love-You, no masculine head smacks or back whacks or take-care-of-yourself-you-hear pronouncements. They just walked away. Her own parents would be appalled.

The life was coming back to Jules’s face, but he was still doubled over, as if from a cramp. “Jiminy Christmas,” he uttered, and she wanted, in a surge, nothing more than to pinch his cheeks and trap his head in her armpit and noogie him to death and bust his fluff. Instead, she assisted him away from the crowd, and before long they strolled down a quiet residential street, arm in arm. She decided to give him five whole minutes to recover from the encounter, but he did it in two.

“Ledermeister,” he said to her, appalled.

“Leider,” she corrected.

“You nutty bitch,” he dared, but there was no gas behind it.

“It’s like you think I’m some kind of pervert or something,” she said, and before she could help it, she started to nag. “What did you think I was going to say? Jules makes rubber sex suits with built-in condoms? I saw him in street clothes in a high-etiquette dungeon fingering my boss’s twenty-one-year-old latex bottom?” She felt him up a little in her haste, accidentally, and he squeaked. “Who actually has something to lose here?” She asked. “Who’s the fucking dominatrix here?”

“You don’t like me,” Jules said, coolly. “I had no idea what you would say.”

He sounded terribly calm. The sidewalk was dappled in shadows of maple leaves and, boxed in by reasonable townhouses on both sides, she was inclined to stay calm as well, and in her calm, she found a strange truth.

“I like you just fine,” she said.

“Oh.”  

She liked him just fine. She liked him more than she liked Ava.

They walked.

“God, it’s fucking hot,” she said. It would be more comfortable not to have their arms around the other, but she didn’t unlatch.

“I moved to this neighborhood a couple weeks ago,” he said. “We’re not too far. I’ve got a window unit.”

A window unit meant he’d accumulated an actual window; a net gain from what she remembered of the dismal basement unit she’d ducked inside three times over their three year acquaintance, along with a damp cement strip notating the kitchen and two hoary pipes jutting six inches from the ceiling where tawny water dripped into provided buckets and Jules himself, barefoot, crisscross applesauce on a carpet square stringing the hundredth of ten-thousand waiting bugle beads with one or two local drag queens, staring open mouthed at a small, shit television propped up on a pile of clean laundry encased in a garbage bag, and onscreen a shoulder-padded daytime soap actress made lines like “there’s nothing to worry about Blake – do you really think I’d expose the Nazi treasure to outsiders?”

“Yeah, let’s,” she said.

He’d found a squat, orangey building with collapsed flower beds out front and only the faintest smell of weed in the halls. She noted, vain, that he opened the doors for her and motioned her up the stairs first and it wasn’t until she’d reached the top landing of the third floor, and he was sorting out keys that she felt the pluck of that old sexy situation, which was Going Inside a Boy’s Apartment, something she hadn’t done since college, and even at that time, something that usually happened under the close watch of protective friends. She couldn’t eye him either, to see which way his intentions were shifting – he was already eying her – but then he let her inside and the feeling was wiped out by absurd, maternal relief.

“Oh, thank God,” she blurted out. “This is so much better.”

The place still smelled like paint and floor wax, and she walked about at her leisure, touching the walls, and flapping her arms, knowing she wasn’t going to crash into a spiderweb or trod on mummified centipedes. The only furniture yet was a pulled-out futon (he was a bedmaker, who knew) and the walls had been built out to delineate a kitchen. She lifted the back of her shirt to the air conditioner.

“I thought you were an idiot for accepting that place, before,” she told him, regarding the old basement. “Or you’d picked it to antagonize people on purpose.”

“Give me a break! I was broke. I was nineteen.”

He shed one flip-flop on his way to the kitchen. She watched it prone on the floor while she calculated.

“No, no,” she reminded him. “When we first met, Ava said you were twenty. We were in a bar. She made you duck under the table when the bouncer made rounds. You were illegal.”

“Nuh-uh,” he said, unevenly thwap-thwapping back to her. He handed her a beer. “I was here a whole year before you showed up. I came before you.”

He sat on the edge of the futon, and she considered that perspective as he scratched the back of his shin with his bare foot. He had long, narrow feet, and when he was looking at things that weren’t people looking back at him, his eyes tended to glaze over. He was looking at the blank wall.

“Hold up,” she said. “How old are you now?”

“Old enough for you to sit next to me,” he replied.

It didn’t mean anything, coming from him. She left her beer on the windowsill and sat next to him. He’d have to get a nicer bed at some point, she thought, bouncing up and down a little, and wondered if, all along, his manners and his living situation pissed her off so much not because, as she initially believed, they were representations of his obnoxious personality, but because she had been frightened that he was going to get hurt and clearly no one else around was going to warn him otherwise.

“You must have left your parents pretty quick,” she said.

“That was my aunt and uncle, just now.”

“Were they more fun when you were growing up?”

“My grandma raised me,” he said. “For eight years. Then we swapped.”

She unfastened her sandal straps and tried to dream up a guess about him that could possibly be correct, but she had the feeling if she said raised in a house? He’d go no, in Mr. Toad’s canary-colored caravan, and the woodland squirrels taught me how to sew, and I lost my virginity to Morlocks. She wondered if she was the first girl he’d ever brought up here. She wondered if his aunt and uncle already knew he was gay. She wondered if he was gay. And in her wonderings, she missed, at first, his growing impatience beside her. He touched her hand; she accidentally flipped her right sandal underneath the futon.

“Crap,” she said.

He rolled his eyes and slid to the floor, slipped between her legs, and with one cheek pressed to her thigh he rooted one armed underneath the springs and came out with the sandal, which he deliberately tossed several feet away. He came up on his knees, face lifted to hers, and she had to spread her own knees to accommodate him. His stern little expression was very cute, and she was warm with pleasant condescension, something sorely missing from her and Ava’s ropework that afternoon. She was tired of art, she decided, ignoring Jules’ cold hands creeping up the back her shirt, and she was tired of fantasy and she was sick of endurance feats physical and mental, and she was tired of her own cowardly communication, so much so the tiny bubble of unearned pride she felt for Jules’s ability to maneuver himself into the positions he required ballooned, out of control, into an old familiar cocoon where she couldn’t hurt him and he couldn’t hurt her.

“Nobody knows,” he told her, perhaps feeling it too. “But I can be a good boy.”

Jiminy Christmas, indeed. But he couldn’t have her for cheap, and he clawed her spine too confidently. She put her palm to his left cheek, let her thumbnail scrape over a pale divot where it looked like the nap of a paint scraper had teased out a pill of his flesh, years ago.

“Listen,” she asked, and squeezed his ribs with her knees. “If you had met me while I was with relatives, and I looked scared about it, what would you have done?”

His fixed gaze skittered to the side, over the wall, across the floor, and while he didn’t retreat, he only spoke up when his face reached a zenith of clumsy guilt. “I would have fucked around with you first,” he admitted. “Only a little.”

“I thought so,” she said, and smacked him a nasty one across the face.

With no furniture around, the crack resonated. Jules took it open-eyed. He didn’t whine or argue and only clenched his jaw a couple seconds after, when the real pain hit. He faced her again, glowing and pink, his left eye watering. She couldn’t help it. She grabbed his head and squeezed and clawed and palpated, yanked his lamby hair, perfect for yanking, and beat his butt with her heels. His head thrashed and his hands flapped around behind her back. She seized one and forced it down on the blanket and let the other undo her halter knot while she bridled him with her free thumb. His back molars rose on the edges in sharp ridges, and she whirled her wrist under his chin until she could see him swallow from the inside. The whites of his eyes showed.

“Good boy my ass,” she said, to herself, but he heard and appeared wounded. “Okay, okay,” she conceded. She wiped her thumb on his face, forgave him silently, and even her playful meanness disintegrated. He crawled over her lap and rubbed his red-hot face in her shoulder, gnawed painlessly on her clavicle. His shorts stuck out in front.

She knew a hundred ways of positioning and a hundred more roleplay scenarios he’d probably accept without suspecting she used them not to her pleasure, but to protect her modesty. She was sick of it all, hadn’t fucked or been fucked properly since she’d been his age, and was horny enough to maim. She took him again by the shorthairs along the nape of his toasted neck, and when he sighed down her back, she pressed his hand to her groin.

“Feel,” she ordered.

He felt dopily, paused, and resumed. Squeezed. Offered no comment.

“Tell me what that is,” she said.

He had delicate ways when he had enough patience to reveal them. Without asking permission he slipped a hand down her waistband, far between her legs, far too quickly for her to chase him off, and by the time she felt him properly, he held her so the head nestled in the heel of his hand, wedged against the meat of his thumb. He felt her up against the underside vein of his silky wrist.

“That’s the cock that’s gonna fuck me,” he answered, correctly.

 -

She had condoms in her purse. He had Vaseline in a bric-a-brac moving tub besides the futon. He rolled onto his narrow tummy, and she flipped him onto his back again so fast he nearly rolled off the mattress. She wished, as she watched him raise a knee and finger himself, that she’d brought her toolkit with her from the club where she kept her nitrile gloves and her fancy salves and her more mobile toys. Jules laid himself out on the futon like somebody else would on a beach, languid and comfortable and she pressed one of his nipples with impatience. She suspected he’d be chatty, but he didn’t speak at all during the preliminaries. He had more body hair than she would have expected, but not enough to grab, and a severe bathing suit tan line that reminded her of Ava’s jabs about the minor gossip between him and Roscoe. She wondered if some queen paid him to lay out on a patio somewhere, if that kind of arrangement still happened, and she wondered if he could let go of the sniping and the attitude long enough to show that hypothetical crowd what he was showing her now – that he was, actually, a very good boy.

When he was ready for her, the very good boy reached out with his arms (and made gimme-gimme clutches with his hands). She obligingly sank on top of him, then, quicker than she intended, into him, guided by his hooked shin and a decisive hand on her ass. She clawed his scalp and arched, involuntarily driving herself forward. A telltale sensation like he’d dumped a bucket of his own blood over her head soaked her from head to toe, and for a hot second she thought it was too late – then he jerked one her nipples until she shrieked and came back to him, stunned. 

You’ve got more than that in you, she heard him say, through the haze in her brain, and in between two blinks he swapped out the sadist faunlet for, once again, being her very good boy, and he undid her bun with one hand and guided her head so he could kiss her mouth and calm her down. She saw from above his legs lock around the small of her back. She was shocked she could get hard enough to effectively penetrate, a shock that blissfully vaporized as she rocked inside him.

His own cock, which they mutually ignored, was restrained by her soft stomach. Her breasts ached, pressed against his chest, and she had to break free from his clasp to prop herself on her forearms. He followed her, licked her lips until she gave up and sank back down. The tip of his nose was cold against her cheek. She could feel his lashes and the curve of his eyeball roam around in the socket. He was a ferocious and intent kisser, not nearly so languid now, and every goosebump outside his skin and strand of muscle beneath rose to her, encased her in his prickles. His focus made her quite aware of a separation between her hips (melted, as far as she was concerned) and her brain, electric-bright now, entertaining Jules by turns as a barbed, poisonous plant, as a nuzzling, brainless creature, as a mean bottom slut who clawed her bottom and held her hair in a knot in his fist, who maybe needed to be exercised as a handler would a spirited pony, in order to nurture his kindness, improve his manners, and keep his juices fresh – and she giggled involuntarily, a tight muscle in her back relaxed, and she came inside a boy for the first time.

She either made an unacceptable noise, or a had been making noises all along. A downstairs neighbor ratta-tat-tatted their ceiling, Jules’s floor. Practical as a fillet knife, Jules pushed her out of his ass, swung one leg wide, slammed his heel rudely against the floorboards, uttered “fuck off, asshole” then rolled back to her again and rubbed his face between her breasts. She cuddled him a couple tender seconds, which he tolerated, before scuttling backward and regarding her from a lucid distance as she disposed the condom.

“Come back here, she said. He looked like a praying mantis.

First, he stuck his legs off the thin mattress and with one judicious sweep of his torso, seemed to crack every bone in his body. Then he crawled over and allowed himself to be held.

“Oh,” she noticed. “You didn’t come.” His dick was still hard, and when he laid his back flat against her hip, it bobbed due west of his belly button.

“Relax, it doesn’t always happen for me.”

She ignored him and let her ego propel her forward. He reclined on her like she was a chaise and breathed through his nose.

“You know what Ava calls you?” She asked, jerking him onward and upward, hopefully.

“I’m a community opportunist,” he answered smugly. “Plus, Roscoe’s houseboy.”

Two out of two, verbatim. She drew her nails up and down his stomach and he twitched, fought against curling up. “Houseboy,” he repeated, hissed. “The last houseboy passed away in the fucking nineties. They peeled him down with the wallpaper.” She felt, through his spine, how he tried and failed to work up a temper. “Then they tatted his chalk outline above some burlesque artist’s John Willie tramp stamp. Mistress Avalon sure is concerned with faggot business.”

“Your boys don’t make you come?” She asked, a hill over him now, and above arguing. He sparred solely with himself.

“What boys? These guys – big guys –”

She went back for more Vaseline, not great for this kind of thing, but she was getting the idea Jules had a sensible nursery spirit and rarely abused himself. He didn’t appear to know much about his body and froze like a striker frame when she rolled the tip of him in her palm for more than fifteen seconds.

“– They think your asshole is your only sex organ,” he continued. “They hate themselves for loving twinks. And then they give you the reach around and if you aren’t wet like pussy then oh-h-h-h my god, it’s like the fucking sky is falling –”

She sat up, and his feet paddled the blanket to stay in contact. He reached behind her and grabbed her hair again but didn’t pull. He turned his face into her neck, and he shook all over.

“Being a slut is really hard,” he said, woefully, failing to hide, for a millisecond, the ghost of what might have been a sweet kid. Or it was her imagination. Either way, she made him come all over himself. It didn’t seem to register to him until the drops hit his chest. He looked down at his sad, wet dick and then back up at her, so testily she laughed in his face. He was smudged pink all over from her lipstick, and she pinched his springy cheeks.

“I’m a cradle-robber,” she declared.

“Okay, Methuselah,” he said, unimpressed, and darted away into the dirty ivory bathroom before she could slap his ass.

He recovered rapidly. In the sunny room things took a slumber party turn. He fetched her abandoned beer, dug out makeup wipes he inexplicably possessed, and repaired the damage to her makeup. He berated her when she couldn’t stop giggling.

“I was kind of wondering…” he began.

He paused. Sex had made him tactful.

“Go on,” she allowed.

“I was wondering if I’d ever figure out why you bothered being a dominatrix.” He used the point of his little finger to clear wet black scuzz from the corner of her eye. She hardly felt it. “Ava’s got her thing about being top dog. Claire’s a sadist. And somebody needs to get around to neutering Archie before he starts spraying the furniture. You, a mystery.”

“You think about me!” She preened and wiggled.

“You go on.”

“I like,” she confided, “to strap muscle hunks to the pommel horse and tickle them until they scream.”

“Gee whiz.”

“I like straitjackets, but I don’t like rope,” she continued. “And I like floggers, but not single-tail whips. And I like human furniture, but not human ashtrays.”

“The Marquis de Lux over here.”

He’d reached around and started French-braiding her hair. She put her ear to his chest and found his mousey heart.

“My mom and dad were angels,” she continued. “And my sisters were angels and my aunts and uncles and my grandparents. They were angels from the start. So was I. I liked it. Doctors like it too. When a kid is angelic, and very, very, very, very good, and says the right things, and rolls over. They give you what you need.” She thought that over. “They decide to give you what you need,” she clarified. “I was rolling over constantly. I didn’t know how to stop. It freaked me out.”

Jules’s heart answered wug-wug-wug. He sat in her lap and tried to get her braid to stay fixed in a twist. “See, I’m the opposite,” he said. “I’m a huge cunt, but I’m always looking for an excuse to be nice.”

Her hair unwound down her back. He clamped her bobby pins between his teeth, to deliberately make the job harder, then, looking down in their laps, spit them on the floor. And as quickly as she decided she needed to find her clothes and depart, having revealed too much, she stayed the entire night.

 -

On the lifeguard pavilions, the green flags were lowered, and yellow flags were handed up.

“Archie,” said Jules, from the safety of the canoe, “Head on back to dry land. No! no,” he called when Archie took Lux’s elbow. “Cathy and I need to talk really quick.”

“It’s not safe,” Archie said.

“I’m Red Cross certified,” Jules said, arms outspread up the oars as far as they could go. “I’m a beautiful heroine, waiting to happen. Also, I’m in fucking charge.”

“Go away, Archie,” Lux agreed, and Archie slopped to the shore, his broad back damp red in the sun’s undergrowth. Dark clouds approached from the west.

“Actually, that’s my boss.” Jules pointed to the sand straight ahead, where a bronzed ingenue, her thigh muscles sticking out like bread loaves, appeared to be watching the duo intently.

“You’ll get in trouble,” Lux cautioned.

“She wants to ride me hard and put me away wet, I think I can get away with it. I feel like you must have,” he added, pointedly. “She’s nineteen.”

It was hard to glare when wet, and it was hard to talk with Jules high and dry. Lux was clammy and clingy, and she couldn’t understand why he sniped at her. Then he crouched down, chest to knees, under pretext of scraping the oars straight down his gunwales and snapped, with pure, guileless annoyance: “Why are you pissed off? I’m the one who should be mad.”

That was too much to bear. “Jules –”

“I showed you my hole and said call me.” He straightened, the little snot, sincerity evaporated. “And you didn’t call me. Now I feel cheap.”

“Jules,” she said, sticking to her own path. “They don’t know.”

“Of course, they don’t know!” He said, clueless, if technically correct. “I didn’t think you’d spread it around to that crowd.”

“Shut up, Jules,” she tried again, and when his mouth opened automatically, she really blew. “Shut the fuck up!”

He shut the fuck up.

“They don’t know. They don’t know.”

She refused to say anymore. She wasn’t in the mood to roll over. Funny, how fucking a guy in the ass could spackle over a few of the gaping holes in her dignity. Patiently, she watched Jules rock to-and-fro, his face oscillating between his premature certainty and the vanishing tail of what she was trying to explain. Then he exclaimed, “huh!” and raised his face to the heavens.

Whistles sounded north and south, and one of his canoe companions raced twenty yards past, churning the creaming waves to reach the point to disembark. Jules ignored it all.

“Oh.” He started, blank-faced. “There’s bossola.”

He waved to the girl on the beach, who was really putting her back into her whistle. “Jesus, baby,” he said just as abruptly to Lux, who had been forced to retreat a few feet to find higher ground. “Now I’m really starting to worry.”

It was either of their guesses, as to what situation he was talking about. Lux wasn’t sure herself, and doubted he knew. His confusion reminded her less of him now, more of him the morning after, when she’d woken up, found him sitting bolt upright, staring at the walls of his clean, sunny studio. He’d turned to her bleary face, and with no confidence whatsoever, asked, Is it really so much better? 

“You want to climb up?” He asked now. “I’ll tell boss you have a cramp.”

“No, I can make it by myself.” She strolled backwards, ass out of the water, and twisted the sarong in front.

“I told Roscoe I fucked a girl for the first time,” he called to her, his eyes cast demurely downward. “You should have seen the sweat roll down his back.”

“I’ll call you,” she promised.

“Yeah, you better,” he advised, and shielded his face against the bursting spray. “Before someone else does. Ladies love the canoe.”

One perky heave-ho, and he displaced bow and stern, fixed his little craft perpendicular to the beach, and cast off toward the pier.

On the beach, Archie and Claire scuttled in the sand, packing their bags, and shaking out their towels. Claire held Jules’s rogue, soaked hat. “I was going to swim back over, but she yanked me out,” she explained, and pointed out Jules’s bossola, who had, watching Lux emerge from the dirty waters, eyed her face, eyed her cleavage, and continued stalking down the shore. She had an ass that needed to be seen to be believed. Lux hoped Jules wouldn’t tease her too much. She might call him sooner, to demand that exclusively. Possibilities, vistas, scenarios, she thought of all these and wrapped her towel around her waist, and she faced the dreary city skyline and she dreamed, and the full force of her imagination asserted itself.

“I’ll give it to him when I see him next.” 

Domme Lux took property of the hat.

Ava, ever watchful, caressed their folded umbrella. “I thought you and Jules didn’t get along,” she said. Deliberately did not ask. Lux, in that moment, didn’t care. It wasn’t her job to teach Ava manners.

“I like him just fine,” she said.

#SAFEWORLD #intimacies; ambiguities; a twunk in a boat #beautiful friendships have been sprung for less #isn't particularly relevant but this takes place in 2009

[picklestainedpages]

🥒📚 “Have you not heard the prophecy that France was to be ruined by a woman and restored by a virgin from the marshes of Lorraine?”

When I mentioned that I was reading a book about Joan of Arc to almost any queer person, their faces lit up. There is something about the story of La Pucelle d'Orléans that seems to resonate with queer people - even those with no religious leanings. I myself was raised without any real religion, and I became pagan later in life. As a child, I was introduced to Joan of Arc in school, and I was obsessed. It was only when I was 30 years old that an art project reminded me of her, and I decided to do some reading.

Many people know the basic story of Joan of Arc. Joan - Jehanne or Jehanette, more likely - was a peasant girl who rose up to save all of France, only to be burned at the stake. As I read this book, though (or, listened to it while I did dishes), the details of her story came to life. I wasn’t surprised by anything I heard, but it made this saint so much more human. She was pious from a young age, but was no shepherdess receiving her calling in a flash of light, surrounded by her sheep. Joan’s father had visions of his own, of his daughter traveling with troops, and was filled with fear. The only women who followed troops were prostitutes, and he told her brothers that if it looked as if she was going to go down that path, to kill her. There were obstacles to her mission before it even started.

That is, what I believe, so fascinating about her story, and why so many queer people feel a connection with her. While Joan, in her day, had many supporters, there were obstacles every step of the way. She never gave up, no matter what was thrown at her. Some may say that her refusal to give up her arms after her mission - returning rule of France to the rightful king, then dauphin Charles - proves that she was just power hungry. Even if she was, so what? Anyone who was born to a life that had been decided for her would cling to something more. No matter if her voices were truly Saints Catherine and Margaret or angels, if she was experiencing mental illness, if she was possessed by Satan, or if it was all a ruse, Joan set a goal and kept to it. She was not going to let anyone stop her, even if and when it killed her.

“Joan of Arc: A Life Transfigured” looks intimidating in print. There are long paragraphs with too many dates, too many French names to remember, and an almost wandering narration. It skips around the chronological life in a way that works sometimes, and other times is confusing - especially when it jumps between her actions and her trial. It was still a book that I couldn’t wait to get back to. I got so many dishes done. Personally, I would recommend the audiobook. It’s easier to handle, and the narrator, Cassandra Campbell, has a friendly voice. She also speaks the French bits - names, place, and direct quotes - perfectly.  

I was concerned, going into the book, that it would ruin my childhood fascination with Joan of Arc. This book told her story in a very interesting way, and I would recommend it to anyone who has any sort of interest in Joan of Arc, Catholic history, or French History. ⅗ pickles.

#bookblr #book review #book reviews #nonfiction #joan of arc #biography #jeanne d'arc

[smileforfelix]

ambulance

summary: in which park jisung falls off his skateboard and you're the only one to witness it

words: 1.5k

category: skater boy!jisung x fem!reader, fluff, like one curse word (if you count hell), mild injury (not described really)

a/n: this is like the first thing i’ve written that’s not a drabble so sorry if it’s literally all over the place. it’s inspired by prompt #362 from @creativepromptsforwriting​: 'They only realized they were holding hands the entire time, the moment they had to let go'. so please enjoy!

the harsh led lighting hurts your eyes as the bumpy road jostles your body around in the tiny bench on the side of the ambulance. lying in the middle of the car is a boy that you met approximately 10 minutes ago, and now you're riding with him to the hospital. it still puzzles you why you agreed to go with him when the emt asked, hell, you're still having trouble processing how he ended up in this ambulance in the first place.

. . .

earbuds blasting noah taylor (or whatever music you listen to), distracted by your instagram feed while walking home from school. consequently, the only thing you were aware of was the sidewalk beneath your feet, trying not to fall onto the concrete and hurt yourself. normally, the walk home was uneventful, despite the fact that the route home takes you through the plaza outside the strip mall in town. however, on this particular day, something happened that you would probably never forget. you see, this particular plaza has a lot of benches and fountains and stairs in it that made it difficult to walk through if you didn't know where you were going. nonetheless, after 3 years of taking the route, its safe to say that you no longer really need to pay attention to what's in front of you and just keep walking to get home as fast as possible to greet your cat. and, on this burning hot day, you were to preoccupied to see (and hear) the cute boy with the bleach blonde hair hurtling towards you on his neon orange skate board. 

fortunately for the both of you, your best friend's name popped up on your phone and you stopped to pick up the phone, preventing you from walking the foot forward that would cause you to collide with the boy. regardless, you felt the woosh of air that came with him hurtling past you, and you looked up just in time to see the boy's wheel get caught on the bench that came into his route when he swerved to avoid you, and get thrown off his board and down the short flight of stairs onto the sidewalk. 

looking around, the plaza appeared to be deserted, not unusual since it was 6:00 pm and most kids were at home eating dinner by now, and since you felt like it was kind of your fault he crashed, you hurried down the stairs to make sure he was okay. "hey, are you okay?" you ask while on your way, but no reply comes. thinking he's probably just disoriented you shrug it off, but he hasn't moved at all since he fell off his board. finally reaching him, you shake his shoulders, repeating your question. when still no response comes and he doesn't seem to be waking up or moving, you start panicking. "oh my god, uh what do i do, what do i do?" flows out of your mouth once you start panicking that maybe this, objectively very handsome, boy is not gonna wake up anytime soon, and maybe he's not okay. after all, he did fall down a flight of concrete stairs and probably hit his head somewhere at the bottom. "what's the logical move here? think (y/n), think. who do you call when someone gets hurt? ghostbusters 911!" dialing the 911, you keep your eye on the boy to make sure you know what's going on. "911, what's your emergency?" "there's this boy here, and i think he hit his head pretty hard, and he's really not moving, but there's not much blood and i really don't know what to do" you rush out to the dispatcher. "alright miss, stay calm, everything is going to be okay. can you tell me where you are?" "um yeah, yeah, i can. uh it's the, it's the shopping plaza on st. catherine, on the west side near the stairs in front of the pizza shop." "thank you miss, stay where you are and an ambulance is on it's way to you. it'll be there in about 8 minutes."

not really knowing what else to do while waiting for the ambulance to arrive, you tried shaking him one last time just to make sure he wasn't awake. upon receiving no response, you took out your phone and texted your mom, letting her know of the situation because she was supposed to be home by now. in the middle of her phone call, she heard a groan from next to her and you look over to see the boy open his eyes slowly, rubbing his forehead and looking around. "oh my god, are you okay?" "um actually, what happened?" the boy asked drowsily, still coming to his senses. "uh well, uh so you fell off your skateboard and down the stairs. i guess you hit your head pretty hard at the bottom. i was the only one here, so i called an ambulance. it should be here soon." you answered, letting him know of the situation. "oh. well thanks, i guess. uh but do you know where my board is? it's brand new and my mom is gonna kill me if i broke it." he says with newfound urgency in his voice. "i just told you you were going to get in an ambulance and your response is to make sure that your board is okay?" you exclaimed with surprise. "just stay there and don't move, i'll go get your board. it's up on the plaza." you explained. running up the stairs, you retrieve the orange board which, by some miracle, is in one piece and perfectly functioning. "thanks. what's your name by the way?" he asks. "i'm (y/n)." you reply "jisung. thanks for calling the ambulance and not just leaving me here." he adds while reaching for your left hand to shake. just as you introduce yourselves, the ear-piercing screech of the ambulance's sirens is heard and the ambulance comes into view not ten seconds later. the medics get out and hurry over to you and jisung, ensuring that he's okay and doing some preliminary exams. "it looks like we're gonna have to take you to the hospital do some more tests, just to make sure you don't have a concussion or anything else is wrong." the medic says, directing his words toward jisung. "will you be riding with us to the hospital, miss?" he asks you, raising an eyebrow. "ummm," you hesitate, but after looking at jisung and seeing the scared and pleading look on his face, you give in, deciding that since this accident is kind of your fault in the first place, you should see it through to the end. "yeah, i'll ride along with him." you stay with jisung as he's lifted in a stretcher to make sure nothing happens to his head, and sit by his side in the ambulance.

. . .

and that is how you found yourself here, in an ambulance with a stranger, not really knowing what to do next. you texted your mom the situation and how you ended up riding to the hospital as well. you remembered that you hadn't seen jisung text or call anyone, and just as you were about to ask him, you look up from you own phone to see the medics drilling the poor boy with questions, and you decide that maybe, just maybe, this isn't the right time to ask anyone anything. the bleach blond hair that covered his forehead and a little of his eyes, the cute nose scrunch he would do when the medics got too close, the brown eyes that were looking at you- wait, at you? you lock eyes and raise an eyebrow, causing his eyes to widen and his head to turn away. giggling at the boy, he was cute after all, you go back to scrolling on your phone with your right hand until the ambulance stops and you realize you were at the hospital. you get out of the ambulance alongside jisung, making eye contact with him and nodding to reassure him. "miss? i'm going to take him to his room now." the nurse said at the hospital. confused as to why she was informing you, you just nodded your head, and agreed. "i'm going to need you to let go of his hand, miss." he said, looking at you exasperated. blushing, you realize that since you and jisung have shaken hands waiting for the ambulance, you never let go. you slowly release his hand and watch as they take him down the hall to his room. turning away, you call your mom to tell her that everything is done, and ask if she can come pick you up. when she arrives, among the chaos of the emergency room, you leave the hospital thinking about the cute boy on the orange skateboard that just made a boring wednesday one of the most eventful days of your life.

#nct #nct fluff #nct dream #park jisung #skater boy #park jisung fluff #nct imagine #nct scenarios #nct fanfic #nct dream imagine #nct dream scenarios #park jisung imagine