#(oh yeah should clarify. i do that with people around my age/slightly older/younger. not like. old people.)

[jellyloveru]

FUCK

[dumblydork]

Summer

Hello! I am SO sorry for having gone MIA all of a sudden on Tumblr and Ao3, but life caught up once exams ended and I was in a deep, dark place for sometime. But not to worry, because I'm definitely better now, and finally got over my writer's block/unmotivation (if that's a word) and what better way to start off writing again if not with a Hinny fic?

As usual, I hope you enjoy this sort of non-magic alternate universe, maybe a modern meet-cute of sorts? From the one and only Ginny Weasley's perspective, of course.

Again, you can find my Ao3 right here where I post quite fluffy Wolfstar one shots!

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The summer was harsh in Cornwall, which was where Ginny's family home was situated. She went up to university in London, just having recently finished her second year in Drama. Last summer, she was on a long trip with her best friend Luna, and hadn't been able to make it down to be with her family. But this year, she fully intended to spend as much time as possible with them, even if her older twin brothers were being annoying arses.

"Fred, George, just wipe the bloody tables already!" She screamed, exasperated, even though the twins were not even 20 feet away. The only unique cafe-by-day/restaurant-by-night was owned by Ginny's family. It was a quaint place, serving the best coffee to tourists and locals alike, along with not such a sharply contrasted cosy restaurant theme the place adopted when the sun went down.

And currently, the cafe was a few hours away from opening as a restaurant, and was left in the care of Ginny and her older twin brothers. She had another older brother after the twins, but he was off with his university friends (being an year older) and had even MORE older brothers ranked above the twins. Her oldest brother Bill, worked as a vet in New York, also where the second brother Charlie worked as an art curator. The third brother Percy was currently obtaining his PhD in some sort of Math which Ginny was too 'humanities' to understand (in Percy's own words, that subject bigot). The brothers after Percy, twins Fred and George were as stated, being annoying prats but worked in some sort of prank shop, much to their mother and Percy's chagrin (Between us and her, Ginny never understood why Percy felt a need to voice this opinion, because if Ginny also opened her mouth to provide an opinion on every single thing under the sun, working in a prank shop was perfectly acceptable).

Finally the last brother Ron went to university in Devon, having recently finished his degree in Astronomy combined with Philosophy, and that was it. Growing up with 6 older brothers, Ginny was significantly hot tempered, a trait often made fun of because of her (and her whole family's) flaming red hair.

"Oh for God's sake the two of you, just shut up if you don't want to do any work!" She finally snapped, causing two identical pairs of brownish eyes to look at her.

"Okay!" They smirked, before actually rushing away to the back of the cafe. Ginny sighed, wondering for the tenth time that afternoon why she bothered to come down here in summer. The twins, despite being her favourite, were useless gits-

"Ginny! Where are Fred and George?" Her mother's voice flew out from the front of the store, removing Ginny from her trail of thoughts, where Molly stood with hands laden with grocery bags. Her father, Arthur, she saw outside from the huge floor to ceiling windows, was unloading the boot of their car of more paper bags.

"They ran away after being absolutely useless gits." She muttered angrily, almost aggressively wiping a glass and placing it on the shelves behind her.

Her mother let out a long suffering sigh, but nevertheless joined Ginny in tidying up the cafe. "They're quite irresponsible." Molly sighed, wiping down tables at a superhuman speed.

"Mum if it's okay, can I join Ron and his friends at the party happening down at the beach?" Ginny asked apprehensively. The question had been burning at the back of her mind since the morning when Ron actually invited her to the beach party being thrown by one of the local boys. He had brought his uni friends and girlfriend down from Devon, and Ginny had already met Hermione, Ron's soulmate, if their behaviour was anything to go by.

Being in an all girls school, Ginny practically grew up with her girlfriends gushing about boys and celebrities, often almost swooning like some Victorian women when boys from the neighbouring school passed by their grounds.

However, Ginny was smart- if having six brothers had taught her anything, it was that boys were annoying, and only a few handful of them were actually decent. But now, looking at how close Ron and Hermione were, Ginny was starting to long for her own sort of romance. It had been over a year since she broke up with her first and only boyfriend Dean. She was convinced the breakup had solidified her stance on relationships, which was that relationships were okay but there was no need to actively look for one. Ron and Hermione's lovey dovey-ness was revolting, but uncharacteristically had Ginny pining away for her love story as well. Not that she'd ever admit it, of course.

"Well there's nothing really to do, and if it's busy there's a lot of pairs of hands to help. So sure, go on." Molly finally said and Ginny could almost fist pump, if it wasn't for the wet rag she was holding.

The evening rolled around quicker than Ginny anticipated, and before she knew it, her and Hermione stood in Ginny's small attic bedroom, getting ready for the party. "So, tell me, how was Dean?" Hermione asked, looking behind at Ginny through the mirror, where the younger girl stood blinking away extra mascara.

"Oh well, he was alright. Nothing like fireworks or sparkle." Ginny flushed slightly as she processed her own words. Oh, how she sounded like a lovestruck 12 year old.

However, Hermione didn't seem to mind. She simply grinned. "I'm sure with the right person it's more than just sparkles and fireworks." Hermione winked, and Ginny wondered if there was more to the statement than she understood. However, Hermione was already done with the topic, now going on about her course and what plans Ginny had for after university.

They walked downstairs, finding Ron standing at the door, his eyes glued to Hermione as she walked down the stairs. To be fair, Hermione definitely looked stunning- even if it was for a casual beach party. Ginny noted slightly bitterly to herself how the simplest pair of jeans and top could make one gorgeous to the right eyes. She breathed deeply as Ron wrapped an arm around his girlfriend, the girlfriend in question smirking back at Ginny as she followed them. Okay, very confusing.

The walk to the beach from the cafe was short, and there was already a bonfire going in the distance, with some upbeat song playing from someone's phone. "So, where is Harry and everyone else?" Hermione asked, looking around. Ron still had a hand in Hermione's as the two of them looked around for who had to be Ron's friends. "Neville!" Ron suddenly yelled good naturedly, as a tall guy walked towards the three of them with a big grin on his face.

"Ron! Hermione!" Neville hugged each of them in turn, smiling broadly at Ginny.

"Neville, this is my younger sister Ginny. Ginny, that's one of our friends from uni, Neville." Ron introduced. Ginny waved, which was returned by Neville.

"Is your girlfriend here as well?" Hermione asked, to which Ron added, "Oh, do we finally get to meet the elusive To-Be-Mrs. Longbottom?"

Perhaps having noticed Ginny's confusion, Neville clarified. "These two here haven't had the chance to meet my girlfriend- well, fiance as of a week, yet. In answer to your question Ron, no, she unfortunately couldn't make it. But she's been inviting the two of you over for dinner since ages." He turned to Ron.

"Actually yeah, we should definitely go. Anybody seen Harry?" Ron asked, looking around the small crowd of people. Ginny moved away from the couple to sit next to the fire, and grab a cold beer in the process.

She had just made herself comfortable slightly away from the warm fire when a figure sat down next to her, causing shivers to go up her left side. "Hi, you must be Ginny." The figure spoke and Ginny looked to the source of the voice, to be met by the unruliest mop of black hair she had ever seen on a human, and twinkling green eyes. In the soft light from the fire, they glowed slightly amber.

"I am. But I don't think I've met you?"

Ginny didn't get an answer because Ron's voice interrupted them. "Harry, you came!" He shouted, the figure (Harry) getting up to tackle Ron in a hug.

"Of course I did, getting sloshed at your best mate's beach party is always infinitely better than home." Harry grinned, and Ginny started to feel her heart race.

"I see you've met Ginny." Ron said, sitting down in between her and Harry.

"I just did, yeah." Harry smiled mischievously. They had moved closer to the fire, and in the brighter light, Harry's face was more distinct. And boy was he fit. The hair, even though messy, was not unattractive (quite the opposite), and his face was slightly round, made rounder by the permanent grin which seemed to reside there. And his eyes were covered by round glasses, reflecting off the orange from the fire.

"Well anyway, Gin, this is Harry, my best mate from university. He just made it down here to Cornwall." Ron said, and suddenly got up to fetch more drinks, but Ginny didn't miss the glares Hermione was shooting Ron from across the fire.

"Do you reckon we go a bit further away?" Ginny, being so busy interpreting the look Hermione was giving Ron, hadn't noticed the boy had shifted closer to her.

"Uh, sure." She found herself slightly tongue tied, staring into green amber.

"Brilliant, Let's go?" Harry got up, and lent Ginny a hand. She took it, and a slight warmth, probably not from the fire, ran down her spine when their hands remained connected.

They walked away from the party, not too far that a search team would be required, but just far enough to hold a conversation in peace. The music slightly played in the background, a slower guitar theme, and Ginny turned around to see Ron and Hermione swaying around the fire, the brightest smile settled on both their faces. Ginny simply let out a happy sigh, attention darting down to entwined hands.

"So, Ron tells me you're in drama?" He asked, as they sat down near the water with their legs bent, just that the waves touched their toes and washed back.

"Yes, I am, final year now. Although I haven't heard a lot about you?" Ginny teased. Harry simply chuckled, a sound she realised she found much more attractive than she should have.

"Well it's a shame since I am his best mate but, Harry Potter, third year medic, at your service." He lightly bowed his head, eliciting a giggle out of the girl.

"Medicine huh, that definitely sounds hectic." She commented, as her fingers drew an absent minded pattern in the sand separating their sitting figures.

"I also captain the football team." He replied, eyes shining with humor. Ginny looked up, wondering if it was a coincidence that the man she found extremely fit also checked off all her criterion of 'boyfriend'.

"Oh- well I don't know how you found the time to be here, what with studying and football." Ginny smiled. Harry looked back at her, eyes boring into her brown ones. "Only because I was told someone stunning was going to be here." He said in a lower voice. Ginny flushed under the stare.

"I'm sure having those feelings for your best mate's girlfriend is not a good idea." She teased, feeling some confidence seeping into her. Harry scooted closer, placing a hand on Ginny's.

"And what if I said they weren't for the girlfriend, but for the sister?" His eyes darted down to her lips, her own pulse quickening. Then continuing with her sudden confidence, she unconsciously leaned in, her lips just millimeters away from Harry's. "The sister would definitely like that because she thinks you're extremely fit too." Ginny whispered, her lips just brushing against Harry's before he closed the distance completely.

The two of them sat there, away from the party, lips moving in slow sync as if they were doing the communicating. Getting to know each other in silent movements, a dance of attraction and dominance. Thee music faded in the background, as behind her closed eyes Ginny saw stars, and faintly made out the sound of fireworks exploding behind them. Not that she'd admit it to anyone, of course.

But in that moment, it was just her, Harry and the cool water playing with their feet. And when they finally pulled apart, Ginny secretly swore that she saw her reflection in green pools glow and sparkle.

Not that she'd ever admit it, obviously.

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TAGLIST: @amy-herondale-chase // @purplepygmypuffskein // @ginnypxtter // @alwaysmagica1 // @norakelly // @her-blazing-look //

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Okay, I hope you guys enjoyed that! I wrote that when I was half asleep, so I'm not even sure if most of it makes sense haha.

As usual, if you want to join the taglist and be notified whenever I write a new Hinny story (which will be much more frequently now), please interact with the pinned TAGLIST post on my account!

Thank you for reading, and please interact with the post! Reblogs are always appreciated but likes and comments are just as amazing! Loads of virtual hugs xxx

[feminaexlux]

Branded

It’s the @lukanette-exchange fic! After a long while it’s here!! @kingsglaivian I hope you enjoy! Also thanks to LBSC and @quickspinner in particular for finding the cool soulmark prompt lol

I am super, super excited to share this with you!

Original prompts: “childhood friends AU, soulmate AU, and an AU of the exchangee's choice.”

∴

It’d been just a few minutes after they first met when she first wrote her name on him.

She had come closer and stared over his shoulder when she saw he’d been drawing something. Was it a drawing? It looked like he had been drawing circles on a bunch of lines. Oh, Maman had showed her how music was written, it was music! “Hi! Are you drawing music?” She had asked cheerfully.

The boy had startled, apparently not having seen Marinette earlier. His pencil had marked across the entire page. “Aah!”

“Oh no!” Marinette whined. “You messed up!”

“Y-you made me do that,” he frowned. “You scared me.”

“Are you drawing music?” Marinette continued asking.

“Oh, yeah, yeah I am,” he said, turning the pencil around and erasing the errant mark. “I think about music all the time.”

“So what does that mean?” she asked, poking at his paper.

“That’s uh… that's…” he thought a bit. “I think that’s D and the next one is F and another D but this one’s higher. It’s a song from a video game.”

“You play video games?! Papa and I play games too!”

They talked back and forth about a bunch of different little things and he completely forgot what he’d been doing. Then it got to the point where Marinette had pulled out one of her markers and started writing her name on his arm. “– and if stays tomorrow it means you found your true love!” Marinette smiled up at the boy she’d been talking to. He looked like he was a few years older. Maybe he was even 10? Maybe he was younger, he looked really kinda small to be 10.

She was at the playground next to her family’s bakery. She’d been running around and playing with a few other kids there, but she saw this one boy sitting by a tree in the shade. He looked like he was alone and Marinette wondered if he’d been bullied. She knew what that was like, even at the tender age of 5. But it was easy to talk to this boy, he was much less Crazy Mean Boy than Kim was. He was more like Nino! And Nino was nice.

“Is that your name?” the boy asked, staring at her neatly written letters. “Marinette?”

“Yeah!”

“So if it stays tomorrow you’re my true love?” He asked, confused. “Mom told me that writing names on other people is bad… But why?”

“Maman and Papa have their names on each other’s arms,” Marinette said. “It’s not bad! Oh but you have to draw over it ‘cause it’s important that you do it,” Marinette added.

“Why?”

“It’s important,” she clarified. It looked like he was going to keep asking why until his mom called out.

“Ay laddie, it’s time to go,” a lady with a long braid said in their general direction. She had a girl on her hip and was walking over to the boy. “Why hello there lass, are ye makin’ friends with me boy?”

“I’m Marinette,” she said up to the lady. She wasn’t Lass, she wanted to say.

Marinette saw the boy quickly pull down his sleeves from his hoodie to hide her name. “Itwasnicetomeetyoubye,” he said quickly, before Marinette could whine about him hiding her name. He ran away to hold onto his mom’s hand. “Let’s go mom,” he continued, pulling his mom away in a slightly embarrassed fashion.

“Don’t ye want to say farewell? We won’t be ashore fer a while son.” Well, she didn’t know at the time he had wanted to run away and hide so the nice new girl wouldn’t be weirded out by his mom like most people were.

“See you tomorrow!” Marinette yelled after him.

She didn’t.

∴

It’d been just a few days after they first met.

Luka scrubbed and scrubbed at the M on his wrist but it wasn’t coming out. He’d scrubbed himself raw at the sink, his flesh feeling tender and his skin close to bleeding. He’d written over the girl’s marker with a pen a few days ago, idly curious if the mark would stay. At least he’d written over just the M, thinking about the nice girl who’d been curious about him.

“Luka?” He heard his mom call out. No, no, no. It wasn’t coming out and his mom would see it and she’d freak out and he’d have to make an excuse or find some of her makeup or something. He’d been told to take off his hoodie by… that man and so he ran back to the bathroom to try to do something about the M on his wrist.

Anarka opened the door. “Luka, my boy what are ye–” Oh no oh no she saw the mark. He put his hands back in the sink and kept scrubbing, starting to cry. “Luka what…” His mom started, initially alarmed and then… and then she came over to hug him.

“Mom what do I do?” He cried. “It’s not coming out!”

“Who'd… no, it doesn’t matter. Luka stop doing that, it’s not going to come out. It doesn’t, lad.” His mom took his hands from the sink and started to dry them. “It stays no matter how hard ye try to get rid o’ it.” She spoke to him with the rare moment of solemnity. “Ye'e been Branded, and there’s nothin we can do about it.”

“I don’t wanna be Branded!” he wailed.

In a quiet, heated hiss Anarka whispered “This is why I told ye to never write names on yerself!” She looked at her son crying and sighed, shaking her head. Luka would realize later she’d been more disappointed in herself that she’d let him get Branded like he did. She thought she warned him, but how could she blame him for something no one ever thought would happen at 7 years old?

Who finds their soulmate at 7?

But it’d be a shackle for the rest of his life. Luka would grow up wondering if this M would ever be part of his life again, whether M would even want to be his partner. If he did find someone else to be his partner, they’d wonder if they’d ever be loved like whoever this M was. “Here,” Anarka sighed. “Ye can’t get rid of that Luka. But ye can cover it. Forget about it now, lad,” she said gently, taking off the wide leather cuff she had on that had covered her own Brand. “This 'ere’s yers now. I’ll get ye all freshened up. Granpa’s waitin for us,” Anarka said, pasting on a fake smile.

Luka hated that man. He was angry and hateful and mean, but Anarka had wanted to see her own Ma again, to have her Ma help guide Anarka in the raising of two children Anarka never originally planned to have. Granma was nice. But Granpa? No. Luka swore to himself he’d never be like Granpa.

His mom put the cuff around Luka’s Brand, looping twice to fit the small wrist better. “All covered up now. Is that fitting, Luka?” He nodded, staring at the “S” on his mom’s wrist.

“Was… that dad?” Luka asked, pointing at the Brand.

Anarka laughed. “It stands for Scotland,” she said lightly. “It stands for the Sea. It’s not yer da, no,” Anarka lied.

∴

It’d been a few weeks since Marinette met Adrien Agreste.

She’d been convinced Adrien was her True Love, and was continually disappointed every morning when his name disappeared off of her arm. “Tikki, it disappeared again,” Marinette sighed.

Tikki shrugged. “Maybe he’s not ready?” The Kwami had seen this before. The Brands were a form of magic that humans had that linked two souls together, signaling that they’d found their soul’s mate. A person would have to write another’s True Name on themselves somewhere, and it would disappear at sunrise if it wasn’t meant to be. Sometimes, though, it depended on if the other person was even capable of loving back. A Brand that had disappeared earlier might “take” later, when the soulmate was ready.

Tikki wasn’t sure if it was a good thing for Marinette that Adrien wasn’t capable of loving Marinette back yet. Maybe Adrien had a different name? The kwami wasn’t going to put forth the suggestion that it might not be Adrien at all. Marinette seemed convinced, and Tikki knew better than to doubt her bearers.

Marinette’s parents proudly wore the names they had on their arms, a very simple “Tom” on Sabine’s wrist and a beautifully formed script of “Sabine” scrawled across Tom’s massive forearm. Of course it simply encouraged Marinette into writing several names on her own arms throughout the years, even if most people found writing names on themselves taboo.

Recently, though, it’d just been Adrien’s.

None of the attempts ever stuck.

“It’ll happen one day!” Tikki said cheerfully. “I believe that you’ll find your soulmate one day. But right now you should get ready for school!”

∴

It’d been a few months after Juleka showed him that the picture curse was broken that he met the girl that’d been able to break it.

“I’m Ma-ma-ma-Marinette!”

He’d laughed a little and it hurt her feelings. Good job, Luka, that was a great first impression. Luckily he was able to apologize and smooth it over.

It tickled him, just a little bit, that he’d met another “M” in his life that he actually ended up liking. He ended up liking her a whole lot, which… ultimately kinda sucked because she’d been interested in someone else. Well, that was alright. He’d been used to the idea that he’d never find “the one” since he technically already had and lost them so many years ago.

But this one? This “M”? She was pretty cool and he found himself more interested than he’d ever been in anyone before.

There’d been one other “M” in his life a couple of years ago before his mom decided to move them all back to France, and Paris in particular. Her name had been Meryl and she was a pretty awesome girl, but she’d been several years older and already in University. She’d still given Luka some attention though, apparently finding it cute that she had a boy doting on her like he did. She was nice and she said he’d look good with some blue in his hair, and it’d been the last thing she said to him before she found herself her own soulmate. It hadn’t been Luka, of course.

He’d gotten into a fight with Granpa over his hair after Luka had dyed it. Juleka joined him by dying her hair purple. Anarka had finally had enough of her and her kids being put down and said she was going to go back “home”. It’d been a hard conversation with Granpa, but after Granma had passed Anarka and her kids had little reason to stick around in their Scottish family house. Anarka’s little wildlings were less little, and Juleka and Luka were both in their tweens to teens, largely old enough to handle themselves now.

Anarka had found some nearly-derelict fishing barge and spent a few weeks with her kids fixing up the ship, making it their new house, and they left Scotland as soon as they could. She sailed the newly christened Liberty back into Parisian waters, claiming the Seine as her new home. She gave a little wink to Luka, a nod to the new “S” in Anarka’s life that her Brand now represented.

It’d been good to see his mom coming back into her old self, the wild, chaotic, free spirit that she’d always been. He was no longer embarrassed of her like he’d been so many years ago. And he had to be honest to himself, the boat wasn’t the first choice he’d make in having a place to come home to, but something about Paris just felt right.

Juleka had been feeling better too. The younger Couffaines had been under their Granpa’s oppressive shadow for too long. And now they were slowly discovering more of themselves over time.

Rose was one of the first friends Juleka had made after coming back to Paris a few years ago, and they were “best friends” since. Today, Juleka showed him a neatly written “Rose” in a flourishing script on the back of her right hand. Juleka apparently hadn’t minded getting the Brand at all. “Marinette did this too,” Juleka smiled. “She’s been drawing names for people who ask. It’s so cool,” Juleka mumbled.

“She’s amazing,” Luka said out loud. Jules gave him a look and even he couldn’t figure out what it meant. “What?”

“She’s got eyes on Adrien, you know.”

“I’ve heard your schemes, I know.”

“I’m on team Adrienette.”

“Alright.”

“She deserves to be happy.”

“Sounds good.”

“It’d be weird if you two dated, anyway.”

“But we’re not dating. She doesn’t seem to notice me.”

Jules frowned at that and grumbled something that sounded to Luka like “she notices and it’s weird.”

He thought to himself, Not where it matters.

∴

It’d been a year since Adrien lost his mother, and Marinette finally said the words “I love you” to him.

Yes, it was a video recording and yes, Felix had apparently gone through and deleted it before Adrien ever got to see it, but she’d done it! She’d done the thing! She could do it again! It had to be easier the second time, right? The second… time.

She couldn’t bring herself to do it. It’d been nearly a full year of her attempting Adrien’s name on her arm, and nothing changed. She’d stayed up and watched it fade out when the sunlight hit it during a few fitful mornings. She wrote his name so often it stopped looking like a word and more like a familiar pattern. Just shapes and no meaning.

Marinette had tried out a few different names over the year as well, just so she’d be certain… in a slightly unsettling way. She kept it discreet, writing on her ankle or in another place easy to cover up in case it was… taking. She’d written “Nathaniel”, once. It disappeared. She’d written “Chat Noir” and nearly sighed in relief (and maybe deep down in slight surprise) when it disappeared. Not that it was his real name anyway.

She’d secretly tried “Nino” once, even though he and Alya had gotten together. It hadn’t stuck. Nino and Alya hadn’t asked for Marinette to write each other’s names down, and maybe… maybe that was actually healthy? Like they didn’t need any external validation in order to really enjoy time spent with each other.

There might have been a lesson in that.

She tried “Kim” and “Wayhem” and “Theo”, even though the last one kinda creeped her out a bit. She tried “Kagami.” Nothing stuck.

There was still one name she hadn’t tried but… but she’d been absolutely terrified of it. Luka had more or less admitted to the world at large that he loved her after he’d gotten akumatized. There’d been genuine affection that was unfiltered, unbiased, uninfluenced by whatever the magic was that made names stay on people. He didn’t seem to mind that she was so, so into Adrien. Even if she wasn’t his soulmate, he’d love her.

S-So she’d be able to do that for Adrien! Yes, that made sense. Yes, that soulmate stuff was all kid fantasy anyway. Even if it was demonstratively real.

But if Adrien found his soulmate and it wasn’t Marinette… what was she supposed to do? Just step out of the way?

∴

It’d been a decade since Marinette and Luka first met except neither remembered that first time when they were young children, even if they’d been in the same place: the park nearby the bakery.

He’d held onto her as she broke down crying about the heartbreak and how tired she was. Luka told her he’d listen and be there and hadn’t lied about any of it. It was why she chose to sit next to him after letting her infatuation go and stepping out of the way for Kagami, watching Adrien and Kagami have their Sweetheart’s ice cream together like it was always meant to be Adrien and Kagami instead of Adrien and Marinette.

Marinette chose to sit next to Luka instead of going home.

She went to bed that night deciding that the whole names and soulmates and True Love thing was just a big huge distraction from what she really needed to focus on, which was getting through school, defeating Hawkmoth, and getting her name out there as an up and coming Fashion Designer!

It lasted all of 3 days until she finally gave into her curiosity and wrote an L in the crook of her left arm before going to bed. She really had meant to write out the rest of his name, but then her phone buzzed and there’d been an akuma alert. She sighed and rolled into action.

Her Lucky Charm gave her a guitar pick. That was a little too on-the-nose, Tikki? Ladybug zipped over to the Liberty, somehow not surprised that Luka was still up and leaning against the Liberty to overlook the Seine, looking cool and thoughtful. Actually, scratch that. He looked a little haggard and worried, and he’d been expecting to see Ladybug. Well, at least it meant she didn’t have to go in and wake him up.

“… you must return the Miraculous after…” Ladybug trailed off, noticing as Luka reached out to take the bracelet that he hadn’t been wearing any of the normal… accessories he chose to wear most of the time, most notably the leather cuff he usually had on. Something bothered her and she caught his hand before he touched the bracelet. She turned his right hand over and looked at the pen mark on his wrist. “Is that an M or an E?”

Luka pulled back his hand immediately, embarrassed. “An… M,” he said reluctantly.

Then Ladybug remembered it’d been incredibly rude of her to ask. “Oh, I’m so sorry I-I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It's… been 10 years since I got that, I don’t even remember much about it,” he shrugged.

Ladybug smiled, biting back a sudden urge to scream, and offered Luka the snake Miraculous again. “If you agree… I’d like your help, Luka.”

Ladybug, Chat Noir, and Viperion were able to save the night and have everyone able to go to bed on time. She picked the Miraculous back up from Viperion, who seemed to be confused the akuma victim wasn’t who he’d expected it to be. “Anything wrong, Luka?”

“No… no, I’m glad I was able to help. I’m okay,” he said, clearly still a bit frazzled. Ladybug furrowed her eyebrows at him and he eventually sighed. “I guess I’m worried about a… friend. She’d been going through a lot so I’d been… I’d been waiting to see if she’d either call me or… or God, I don’t know,” he laughed, a little bit in disbelief. “I almost thought she’d been akumatized tonight. I’m so glad it wasn’t her. But it kinda makes me feel like crap for even thinking that.”

“It’s kind to be worried about your friend. W-Which friend by the way?” Ladybug asked. “I could pay her a visit if you’d like?”

“I don’t know if she’d appreciate that, actually,” he sighed. “She can kill me later if she wants, but yeah it’d be great if you’d check up on her. It’s Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Instead of being worried that Luka was worried over her, she asked “Is she your M?” Ladybug got blindsided by her own question, but she only felt the impact and implication after she asked it. “Oh no, no, I’m so sorry I’ve been so rude.”

He blew out a breath. “I wish,” he mumbled. “I don’t know,” he said, his tiredness making him slightly more obvious about being miserable. “I guess I could know for sure by writing out her name.” That was said like he had been convinced it’d disappear…

“I’m pretty good at writing out names. If you want I could write… the rest of her name out on your arm?” Ladybug offered impulsively.

“… Sure,” he agreed. He watched her as she grabbed a nearby marker and wrote out Marinette on his arm. “Wow, that… looks pretty dead on to her signature.”

“Pfft,” Ladybug laughed. “That’d be the worst identity reveal ever. Marinette’s signed a few things for me too, I’ll have you know.”

“You might have a future in crime with your forging skills if you ever decide to stop being a hero,” Luka chuckled.

“I’ll stick to saving Paris, don’t worry,” Ladybug giggled. “You do have to write over it yourself if you want it to stay. I mean… if she is… you know…”

Luka nodded. “I know. Probably a long shot. Thanks,” he said.

“I’ll check up on her. Thank you for caring, Luka,” Ladybug smiled. “And you know, I’ve got a good feeling about this one,” she said quietly, biting her lip while tapping his arm. “I’ll be off. Have a good night, 'Bug out!”

Ladybug landed in her bed and detransformed. Tikki floated back to her little nesting spot while the kwami watched Marinette pull out her phone.

hey luka just got a visit from LB! thanks for thinking of me

Marinette looked down into the crook of her arm, grabbing a marker and filling out the rest of Luka’s name. She’d recognized that M on his arm.

Had it really been 10 years when she first met him? It was kind of funny that she didn’t remember until now. He hadn’t given his name back then but she remembered the disappointment the next day when her new friend didn’t show.

Had it really been a whole year of writing… the wrong name on herself?

It’d been months since Luka told her she’d been the melody in his head. Months.

And she had spent a week in heartbreak over the wrong boy.

It’d just been a few days since she decided she was going to let Adrien go. And she found her soulmate after that? How lucky was she? Marinette looked up at the sleeping Tikki and squinted suspiciously. Maybe she was Lucky™, except that she had apparently met Luka when she was 5.

Marinette stared at her phone, watching the minutes go by. She wasn’t going to be able to sleep tonight.

The sun rose after an agonizingly boring time of rolling back and forth in her bed, too excited to go to sleep but too tired to do anything productive. She kept checking the name on her arm and it’d still been there all throughout the night, but now at first light… she was… scared. She closed her eyes and covered her head with her pillow, half dreading what she’d see if she looked down at her left arm where she wrote his name.

“It’ll be there,” she said to herself, feeling more certain of that than anything. The warmth of sunlight hit her left arm. She lifted the pillow off of her face but kept her eyes closed. Slowly she opened one eye.

His name was still there. “It’s you,” she whispered, feeling the tears fall from her eyes.

She launched herself out of bed, turning into a little hurricane of activity. She threw her jacket on and ran downstairs, kissing her Maman and Papa on the cheek and telling them she’d be out for a while. They’d been too surprised to see her up at the crack of dawn to complain much, just insisting that she take her phone with her and that she wear proper shoes.

She ran down to the subway entrance and guessed the nearest station where Liberty would be moored, taking the subway train there. She emerged from an entrance about 10 minutes later, ignoring the confused looks the other commuters shot her since she’d been a mess of pigtails and pajamas. She ran toward the Liberty, climbed up and leapt over the railing onto the ship when she saw that the gangplank wasn’t extended.

“Marinette!” she heard Luka’s alarmed shout. She knew he’d be up. She knew it! He ran over to her. “What the heck–” He’d been wearing a different hoodie, a long sleeved one that covered up both his arms. She frowned at him, noticing the dark circles under his eyes.

“You’re up early,” she said.

“S-So are you! And you’re-you’re here? What’s wrong?” His voice had dropped from a high pitched panic to his deeper, concerned tone in the span of two words.

She took off her jacket and extended her left arm. She saw him flush but start pulling up his hoodie from the hem, taking it off and tossing it aside. He turned his right palm up to show her the name written across his forearm.

Their names had stayed. He breathed out. “Did Ladyb–” She cut him off, her hands on either side of his face to pull him down, planting a kiss on his lips. They pulled back a second after, looking at one another in surprise.

“It’s you,” she said, resting her forehead against his shoulder. To be honest she’d been embarrassed that she’d just kissed him in the disheveled state she was in, having left to see him as soon as she got out of bed, but she felt giddy and… right.

He pulled her in, wrapping his arms around her to hug her tight. “And… it’s you.”

[iwillbeinmynest]

Hold On Loosely - Biker!Steve x Reader(f)    Chapter 13

Authors Notes:  If you’d like to be tagged please send me an ask. I keep better track of tags that way.

Word Count: 2k

Special Thanks: Here’s to @itsanerdlife for fueling my Biker obsession and being my Beta for this whole thing. To my girl over at @girl-next-door-writes who also beta’ed for me. And an extra shout out to @bettercallsabs for this beautiful graphic. She is amazing and y’all need to check her out!!

Notes/Warnings: (My notes and warnings are for the story as a whole. Some notes and Warnings will not apply to every chapter.) smoking (I do not support smoking. keep your lungs clean y’all.) drinking, (be of age, don’t be stupid) minor violence, backstabbing, attempted murder, anxiety, stress, mentions of death, car accident, trauma, …I think that’s it. let me know if I’ve missed something.

Master List

After the prospects arrived, Steve drilled them about various security duties. Three boys, no older than twenty-three, were stationed on the front porch and driveway and two more inside. The men inside with Y/N were older. One of them, Frank, looked as tough as nails and the other, Pietro, was younger but had a fire in his eyes that gave Y/N an odd sense of security. Who was she kidding, they all did. There was no denying the respect and loyalty they all had for Steve and she knew she was in good hands.

 Y/N kissed Steve good-bye and was almost relieved when he finally rode off. "At least, now, he won't be pacing trails in my carpet." She tried to smile at Frank as he escorted her back inside.

 "He isn't really the sit till type, Ma'am." He smirked.

 "No, he isn't." She needed to work before she thought too much about what he'd gone out to do. "You boys want some sweet tea or anything?"

 Pietro shook his head with a smile. 

 "No, Ma'am. Don't worry over us. You do whatever you want to. We'll be here if you need us." Frank nodded.

 Y/N gave them a smile and headed to her office. 

 She kept busy in her office for hours and her work did exactly what she needed it to. She was perfectly distracted, until her stomach rumbled. She looked up at the clock and saw that it was nearly eleven p.m.

 "No wonder." She mumbled to herself. It explained why her eyes seemed to be crossing a little.

 She went down the hall towards the kitchen. She saw Pietro watching t.v. while Frank's attention was drawn to the window as he peered through the blinds. Y/N ignored them and began to make enough pasta for all the prospects and herself. Bum arm or not, cooking was relaxing and she could use some of that.

 She didn't get farther than putting the water on the stove when a shuffling of feet caught her attention.

 She looked into the living room to see both Frank and Pietro at the door. Frank was already halfway out and Pietro looked back at Y/N. He held a hand up, signaling her to stay put.

 Y/N didn't really know them from Adam but she obeyed for Steve's sake. Then, she heard a familiar voice. 

 "And just who do you think you are?!" The attitude was as thick as her slightly northern accent. Y/N new that voice anywhere and she rolled her eyes.

 "Don't matter who I am, this ain't a good time, Miss." Frank tried to be polite but even Y/N could hear him about to lose his temper.

 "Y/N is my friend and now is as good a time as any!" Mandie argued.

 Y/N pushed past Pietro and put a hand on Frank's shoulder to catch his attention. "Mandie, what are you doing here so late?"

 "Well, I- Y/N! What happened to you?!" Mandie finally got a look at her face and was shocked to see her so beat up.

 Y/N bit her lip and reached out for Mandie's hand, tugging her in. She looked at Frank, who looked like he was about to physically remove Mandie from the property. "She can come in, it's fine."

 "Steve said no visitors." He countered, his brows full of conflict.  He wanted to follow what Steve said but Y/N was Steve's girl.

 "If he has a problem, he can talk to me about it later." She reassured him. "Come on, Mandie. I was just about to make dinner."

 Mandie sat at the island bar while Y/N cooked and told her all about the accident she'd been in that morning. 

 "Gracious, Y/N." Mandie shook her head when Y/N finished. "Sweetie, are you okay?"

 Y/N waved it off. "I'll be fine if I don't think about it. You sure you're not hungry? I made enough for a biker gang." She joked.

 "Really, I'm fine. Speaking of bikers, how long are all these men staying here? This is a southern town and people will talk, ya know."

 Y/N was a little put off by what Mandie was implying. "I'm not sleeping with them and really it's no ones business who I invite over. And furthermore, people talking is kind of the point."

 Mandie frowned. "What do you mean?"

 "The accident wasn't an accident. Someone planned it. That's why all these bikers are here watching over the house."

 "How long will they be here?" 

 Y/N shrugged. "As long as they're needed probably."

 "I'm so sorry." Mandie hung her head for a moment before looking up at Y/N with regretful eyes.

 "For what?" Y/N didn't know where this sudden turn in Mandie's emotions came from.

 "If I hadn't taken you to that biker bar, none of this would have happened. Your life could have gone on as usual and now look at you. Stuck in this house like a hostage by a bunch of dirty bikers." Mandie practically spit the last words out of her mouth like they were poison. 

 Y/N frowned and inhaled to defend them when the front door opened and she recognized the distinct gait of heavy boots.

 Steve walked into the kitchen and was surprised to see Mandie at the island. "What are you doing here?" He asked her impulsively.

 "I was coming to find out why my best friend hadn't been talking to me only to discover she’s been beaten up by your friends." She grumbled.

 "Mandie, stop." Y/N leaned back, subconsciously distancing herself from Mandie. "Not all bikers are friends and Steve has done nothing but help me from the moment I met him."

 Steve took a quick breath before finishing his walk to Y/N. He gave her a short kiss and then looked suspiciously at Mandie.

 When Mandie practically undressed Steve with her eyes, he snaked an arm around Y/N.

 "I'm going to send the boys home then grab a shower. You good here or should I keep Frank around?" Steve asked his best girl.

 Y/N shook her head. "Send them home. They can take this pasta with them, though. I didn't get a chance to feed any of them yet."

 Momentarily forgetting about Mandie, Steve was filled with pride that his girl was gonna feed the guys. That's something old ladies do. He kissed her a little harder this time. "Love you." 

 Y/N flushed red at the PDA but replied, "I love you, too. Go," She pushed him back slightly with a chuckle. "Send them home and shower. You smell like the road."

 Steve smirked as he walked backwards out of the kitchen. "I thought you liked when I smell like the road? Never heard you complain before." It reassured Steve to see her smiling and teasing him. Made him feel a little better about leaving her earlier to go to the club. 

 "Go!" She shooed him away, still flushing from his implication.

 When Y/N looked back to Mandie her chuckle faded. Mandie looked like she was about to explode. "What's wrong?" Y/N asked.

 "Are you out of your mind?!" Mandie’s voice was hushed but angry. "You love him? He's a biker! The only thing he loves is the club! And what, he's living here, too?"

 "Yeah, but he's protecting me. Why are you-" 

 "You're so stupid! He's only here to sleep with you. Once he gets that he'll bail and you know it. You're fooling yourself if you believe that he loves you. This is just because you've been in a dry spell since Danny. Shame on you for forgetting about him!"

 "Mandie, stop it! What is wrong with you?!" Y/N's voice had gotten loud enough that Frank stepped in. 

 "Everything okay in here?" He asked with tense shoulders.

 Mandie inhaled to speak but Y/N cut her off. "Everything is fine." She said with a hurt look at Mandie. "She was just leaving. Please make sure she gets to her car."

 Mandie's jaw dropped. "Wow, kicking me out. Some friend you are. I was just trying to help you."

 "Goodnight, Mandie." Was Y/N's only reply.

 Mandie scoffed before snatching her purse from the counter top and all but stomping to the door and down the porch steps. She got in her car with a slammed door and she hurried back out of the driveway and down the street. 

 "Quite a piece of work, that one." Frank growled when he came back inside. "You'll have to excuse my evesdroppin' but I didn’t like a thing she said to you." When Y/N looked a little surprised to hear he'd been listening, he clarified, "VP's orders."

 Y/N nodded and leaned on the back of the couch, running her hands over her face with a sigh. "Yeah, well, she's always been a fair-weathered friend. I just don't know what got into her all of a sudden."

 Frank shook his head. "Don't know but I get a funny feelin' about her."

 "I know." Y/N sighed. "Well, now that she's gone you boys can head home, too."

 "Maybe we should wait until VP is outta the shower." Pietro suggested.

 "No," She offered a tired smile. "Y'all go home. I'm sure he won't be in there long."

 Frank and Pietro shifted their weight but conceded. Frank made her set the alarm behind them and she could tell he listened for the beeps from the other side of the door, which made her chuckle and call out another 'good-night', which he returned. She peeked through the blinds and watched all five bikes ride off.

 Y/N went into the kitchen and swore under her breath. She'd forgotten to send the pasta back with them. Oh, well.

 After she'd cleaned up, she could hear Steve using the blow dryer. She needed the trash to be taken out as it had started to smell from who knows what. She thought about waiting for Steve to do it but when she got another whiff of something rancid, she couldn't take it.

 She tied up the bag and hurried out the front door to take it to the outside bins. She groaned to see that the bin had already been taken out to the curb. With the bag at arm's length, she walked down her driveway and tossed it quickly into the bin.

 Y/N grinned at herself. This was the most mundane thing to happen to her in a while and it was ridiculous how much it entertained her.

 The sound of a bike heading toward her gave her pause. Had Frank or one of the boys forgotten something?

 She slowly backed up to give whoever it was room to pull into the driveway but when the biker drove slowly past, Y/N's blood ran cold.

 He wore a black bandanna across his nose and mouth and sunglasses to cover his eyes, despite the fact that it was nearly midnight. He wore a long sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows that showed off his ink. On his forearm was a cassette tape and a blue skull with a red mohawk. 

 Frozen in place, Y/N couldn't breathe. A flash of the accident. Pain in her chest.

 A rev of the biker's engine and he sped off.

 Y/N ran back inside and when she opened the door she collided with Steve. He kept her from falling and she buried herself against him as she started crying.

 "What are you doing outside?!" He yelled. He was more scared than angry but it didn't sound that way.

 "He- He- That man- it wasn't Frank. I thought it was- his tattoos. I think he was- from the accident-"

 Steve moved Y/N out if his way and set the alarm before shutting the door behind him. He could still hear the distant rumble of a chopper. He hopped on his bike and took off, following the sound.

 Y/N grabbed her phone and a knife from the kitchen before locking herself in her room. She dialed for Nat and silently begged that she would pick up.

 "Hey, you."

 "Nat! Please send someone! TheguyfromthecrashwashereandStevetookoffafterhimandimalone-"

 Nat cursed. "Whoa! Y/N, slow down! Where are you?"

 Y/N tried to slow her breathing and stop crying so she could be understood. "In my room. Steve took off after him. I'm alone, here." A sob ripped through her.

 "After who?" 

 "The biker from the crash."

 Nat cursed again. "Stay where you are. We're coming. Don't leave your room!"

 "Okay," Y/N's voice was a little calmer now. "Okay."

**************

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[millie1536]

A Second Chance

(Edmonton Ladies in Waiting)

Joan could barely contain her excitement as she entered the room. It felt like only yesterday that she had been in a place just like this one. She remembered the mix of fear and excitement that would fill the room each time a potential family came to visit. She remembered the way she and the other kids would pretend to go about their daily activities as if nothing was different as they watched to see who would be adopted.

In fact the room she found herself in was very similar to the room she remembered. It was large and filled with all sorts of toys and games. Oversized cushions and soft blankets surrounded a bookshelf in one corner and a television sat in the other. A large sliding door opened up on to a grass covered backyard. Children ran from one activity to another, talking and laughing as they played. They seemed happy.

Or at least most of them did.

As Joan looked around the room her eyes landed on a young girl sitting in the darkest corner of the room, seemingly trying to hide from everything and everyone. She watched the girl, rocking back and forth, for a few moments before making her way towards her.

“Hi, I’m Joan.” Joan gave the girl a warm smile. “What’s your name?”

“Elizabeth Blount.” The girl answered, looking at Joan with a blank expression.

Blount

Joan was sure she’d heard that name before.

“Are you here to adopt someone?” Joan’s thoughts were interrupted by the young girl.

“Yes, actually.” Joan smiled again at the girl.

“Well,” Elizabeth said, eyes scanning the room before she pointed to girl of about 12, “That’s Sophie, she’s really smart and wants to be a neuroscientist when she grows up.” Elizabeth paused before pointing at another child, “And that’s Kieran, he wants to be a video game designer. Over there, that’s Cara she’s a really good artist and she really likes dragons and draws them a lot. That one over there is Ruby, she want’s to be a vet when she’s older. She used to live on a farm before she came here and she said that the first thing she’s going to do when she gets out of here is get her horse back. James want’s to be a cricketer, sometimes when it’s raining and we’re not allowed outside he throws his cricket ball at me. He says it’s because I’m not active enough and he’s trying to help me. Oh, and that’s-“

“What about you?” Joan asked suddenly.

“What about me?” Elizabeth asked, rocking forward with more force than before and smiling when her back hit the wall as she rocked backwards.

“Well, you’ve been telling me about everyone else, what about you?” Joan rephrased the question. Elizabeth thought for a moment before answering.

“I’m going to age out the system and then…” Elizabeth shrugged, “I don’t know.”

“Why are you going to age out the system? Do you not want to be adopted?”

“No one wants a retard. People send their kids here because they’re like me. No one’s going to choose to have a spastic kid.” Elizabeth told her as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. In that moment Joan wanted nothing more than to scoop the girl into her arms and shield her from the world.

 “Elizabeth Blount?” Maude, the woman who ran the home, asked hesitantly, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Joan said firmly.

“It’s just that Elizabeth has a few… uh… special needs.” Maude said, as if speaking in code.

“That doesn’t mean she shouldn’t have a chance at a family.” Joan responded. She had made up her mind and there was nothing that would change that, “I’m sure it would be helpful for both Elizabeth and I if you expanded on her ‘special needs’ but if you don’t wish to disclose any of the information you alluded to then we’ll just have to work it out along the way.” Maude sat there, clearly taken aback but Joan’s abruptness.

“Elizabeth was diagnosed with Autism at age four, last year she was diagnosed with Disruptive Mood Dysregulation Disorder. She also suffers from nightmares and possible PTSD; however she’s never opened up enough for anyone to properly diagnose her.” Joan couldn’t help but feel as though she were at a funeral. The way Maude spoke about the young girl made it sound more like a eulogy than anything else. “She’s a handful.” Maude added.

“Well it’s a good thing I have two hands.”

 It was decided that the transition would be easier for Elizabeth, or Bessie as she preferred to be called, if she got to know Joan a bit better before the adoption was finalised and so over the next few weeks Joan returned to the home.

“What would you like to do today?” Joan asked the dark haired girl.

“I don’t know.” Bessie shrugged, “It’s raining so we can’t really go anywhere.” The two sat in silence for a moment before a sudden burst of laughter from across the room caused Bessie to flinch.

“Is there somewhere quieter you’d like to go?” Joan asked, sensing the girl’s discomfort.

“I mean, everyone’s down here so my room’s probably empty but you don’t have to go up there if you don’t want to. We aren’t actually allowed upstairs during the day.”

“How about we head up there for a bit and if you want to come back down here then we will?” Bessie thought for a moment before nodding. She seemed to do that a lot, Joan noticed, the girl almost always thought about her response as if trying to work out if it was the correct answer.

Bessie led Joan upstairs to the bedroom she shared with four other girls. Joan followed Bessie as she made her way over to the bed furthest from the door.

“Well, this is it.” She said plopping down on the bare mattress. Joan looked around and saw that the other four beds all had sheets and blankets and was about to ask Bessie why her bed was bare when she noticed a pile of blankets in the corner a metre or so from the bed. “That’s my nest.” Bessie announced when she saw Joan looking at the pile.

“It looks very cosy.” Joan said.

“It is,” Bessie grinned, “Do you want to sit in it? It’s really warm and soft. I like to curl up in it at night and hide.”

“Who are you hiding from?” Bessie just shrugged again.

“No one in particular. I just like hiding.” Joan noticed that Bessie seemed far happier to talk now that it was just the two of them.

“So, Bessie, what do you like?” Joan asked in an attempt to get to know the girl.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, what do you enjoy doing? What’s your favourite food? Do you have a favourite animal? That kind of thing.” Joan clarified.

“Oh, okay.” Bessie nodded, “I like hiding, wait I already said that. Um, I like animals because they don’t judge you for stupid things they only care that you’re nice and don’t hurt them. I like reading because it’s like I get to go an adventures and make friends and stuff but I can do it somewhere quiet and no one interrupts me. Colouring and drawing is fun, I like making patterns. What was the other question? Oh, yeah, favourite food. I don’t really have one, I don’t really like eating because sometimes it hurts and it makes me feel sick.”

“Are there any foods that don’t hurt?” Joan asked the girl, she wanted to be sure that Bessie would eat if Joan adopted her.

“I think so,” Bessie nodded slowly, “But I can’t remember which ones. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay.” Joan assured her, “We can work it out together.”

“You mean…” Bessie looked up at Joan with big eyes.

“I would like to adopt you, Bessie.” Joan smiled when Bessie’s face lit up.

“Really? But why me? Why not one of the normal kids?” Bessie’s face fell a little.

“Because you are a sweet kid and I want to give you all the opportunities my mum gave me.” Bessie tilted her head slightly and so Joan continued, “I was adopted when I was a year or two younger than you are. I want to do for you everything my mum did for me. I want to give you home that you feel safe in and that doesn’t overwhelm you with noise and people. What do you think?”

“What do I think?” Bessie repeated the question.

“Yeah, would you like to come live with me? You’ll have your own room and we can build you nest of whatever size you want.”

“I’d like that.” Bessie smiled, a small laugh escaping her, “I’d really like that.”

 Joan groaned when she heard her phone ring. She was already running late and she really didn’t have the patience to deal with anymore telemarketers that morning.

“Hello?” Joan said as she positioned the pone between her head and her shoulder.

“Hey, Joey, how are you sweetheart?”

“I’m fine mum.” Joan replied as she started the car, “Look, mum, I can’t really talk right now.”

“Oh, is something the matter? Are you alright?”

“No, I’m fine.” Joan laughed a little at the way her mum’s voice reverted back to the one she used to use when Joan was sick as a child. “I’m picking Bessie up today.”

“Is that today? I thought it was next week. I’m sorry Joey, I’ll be right over.”

“Wait, mum. I know you’re excited to meet her but I think it might be best if it’s just me and Bessie for the first couple of days, I don’t want her getting overwhelmed with too many new things at once.” Joan bit her lip hoping that her mum would understand.

“Right, of course. Sorry. Well tell Bessie I say hi and that I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

“Alright, I will.”

“Okay. Bye, love.”

“See ya.” Joan sighed as she hung up the phone. She loved her mother but sometimes she was a bit too excitable.

As Joan pulled up in front of the home she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Two minutes to spare.” She said, looking down at the clock. Deciding that it wouldn’t be a terrible idea to be a tiny bit early Joan got out of the car and headed inside.

“Joan!” Bessie waved from where she was sitting on the second step of the staircase.

“Were you watching the door?” Joan asked, giving the girl’s hand a squeeze.

“Yep, you’re one minute and 25 seconds early.” Bessie informed her.

“Am I?” Joan asked, looking down at her watch, “In that case I should probably go wait in the car for a minute or so.” Joan said as she turned away only for Bessie to grab hold of her arm and pull her down to sit beside her.

“You’re not that early.” Bessie said through a fit of giggles as she gave Joan’s hand a tight squeeze. Bessie wasn’t particularly fond of people touching her and she very rarely allowed anyone to hug her. The first time Bessie had given Joan’s hand a squeeze Joan had been a little confused.

 “It’s like a hug,” Bessie had said, “But it doesn’t make my skin burn.”

“That’s very clever.” Joan had told the girl who smiled proudly.

“Sometimes I like hugs but most of the time it makes my skin feel like it’s on fire. Sorry.”

“Hey,” Joan had said, “Don’t ever apologise for not liking something. I just want you to be happy and safe,” then as an after thought she had added, “And you know what? It’s not the physical contact that makes hugs special. It’s the person you’re hugging.” Joan vividly remembered the way Bessie’s face had lit up when she squeezed her hand back.

 “Are you excited?” Joan asked Bessie as she settled herself on the step.

“Yeah,” Bessie nodded, “But I’m also scared.” She admitted the last bit quietly.

“Would you like to watch the video again?” Joan asked. She had made a video tour of her house for Bessie so that she wouldn’t feel like she was going in blind.

“Yes please.” Joan got her phone out of her pocket and set of the video. It started at the front door, then went into the office, then the lounge room, followed by the kitchen and finally the bathroom. Afterwards it went upstairs and showed the three bedrooms, Joan’s room and two spares. Joan had told Bessie that she could choose which of the rooms she wanted and she had chosen the bigger of the two that also happened to share a wall with Joan’s room. The room was a simple guest room but Joan had promised that Bessie could decorate it however she liked.

“Can I get a loft bed?” Bessie asked once the video had finished, “That way I can hang up blankets and make a cave underneath it.”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea.” Joan agreed, “And you know, there’s this really big tree in the backyard that would be perfect for a treehouse.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“I’ve always wanted a treehouse.” Bessie said excitedly.

“Me too, but we didn’t have any big enough trees where I grew up.”

“Can we build it together?” Bessie asked, “I mean I get if you’d rather just buy on and have someone put it in, it’s probably quicker and safer and-“

“I’d love to build a treehouse with you.” Joan told her.

 “Alright, last one.” Joan said as she turned to the final page, “You ready, Bessie?”

“I’m ready.” Bessie nodded. She watched closely as Joan signed the last form.

“Well, that’s it. You’re stuck with me now.” Joan laughed as Bessie jumped around the room with excitement.

“I think it might be the other way around.” Maude muttered, just loud enough for Joan to hear.

“Alright, Bessie, why don’t you go get your bag and I’ll meet you at the front door in a minute.” Joan waited for Bessie’s footsteps to disappear up the stairs before turning to Maude, “Listen, I get that she probably wasn’t the easiest kid to have here but that’s not her fault. Surely you’ve noticed the way the kids treat her and how uncomfortable she is around them, if you had allowed her to stay upstairs instead of forcing her to be with everyone else-“

“I can’t just go around making different rules for different people.” Maude said, “If I had let her stay in her room then everyone else would have wanted to stay upstairs. The children are required to stay downstairs for supervision purposes. There are plenty of quiet corners for them to retreat to if they want to be alone. Kids need to learn that sometimes in life you have to do things you don’t want to do.”

“They also need to learn that not everyone has the same needs.” Joan said calmly, “This isn’t a case of Bessie being shy. Her brain doesn’t process sensory input like other people’s do.”

“You’ve know the girl for a month, how would you know what her brain can and can’t do?” Maude rolled her eyes.

“Because I’m a paediatrician, It’s my job to know.” Joan said, turning and leaving the room.

“What was that about?” Bessie asked when Joan met her on the front stoop.

“I just needed to have a quick word with Maude.”

“About me?” Bessie asked nervously.

“Yes,” Joan had made a promise to herself that she would be truthful with Bessie, “I didn’t like the way she spoke to you, or about you for that matter.”

“What did she say?” Bessie wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.

“It wasn’t so much what she said,” Joan told her as they walked to the car, “More how she said it.” Joan sighed before kneeling down so she was eye level with Bessie, “Bessie, I need you to listen to me and understand that no matter what anyone says to you, no matter how they treat you, you are an incredible person, alright?” Bessie nodded sadly.

“It’s because I’m autistic isn’t it? That’s why people treat me like that.”

“No,” Joan shook her head, “People do what they do because they don’t understand. They don’t understand that you’re brain processes information differently to theirs and sometimes people lash out when they don’t understand something.”

“Because they’re scared?”

“Exactly, people fear what they don’t understand.” Joan confirmed, “But like I said, you are an amazing kid and nothing that anyone says is going to change that.” Bessie smiled wides as she wiped her eyes on her sleeve, “I think it’s time to go home, what do you think?” Joan smiled back.

“Yeah, let’s go home.”

@upsettimyspagetthi

[gotboredwrote]

Etymology of Us // TM!JFM

Pairing: Tim Murphy x Fem!Reader Word Count: 4K Style: One-Shot Warnings: (16+) Fluff, explicit-ish talk about sexual themes – no smut (implied), swearing Summary: Everyone who knows Tim knows he’s a smart guy, but they think it’s all about the dinosaurs. For the most part, that’s true. He does have a few other passions, though, and he always unconsciously demonstrates that for you, even in the most personal of situations. Permanent Author’s Note: To clarify, I write because I get bored. Nothing is meant to be professional in any way, nor is meant to offend, cause anxiety, cause anger, cause sadness, or promote disagreement among readers in any sort of (semi)permanent way. A/N: I have a lot of confidence in the fact that Tim would be educated on more than dinosaurs, and this just happened to be something I felt really strong Tim vibe from. So, yeah. I’m not proud of the introductory part of this story, but whatever lol.

Masterlist

~

You know Tim is smart. So does everyone who knows him. Except you know him a lot more intimately than most. Considering you have been together for almost six months, after having met him at the museum during a tour, there is not a lot you have not done together. You have gone on every kind of date imaginable, and gone almost all the way romantically when you would stay the night at each other’s apartments. It was the best relationship either of you had been in for a number of reasons, and it felt like you were soulmates. Tim never ceased to amaze you every single day, part of the reason your relationship was so strong. You felt like you learned more about love, life, random knowledge, and dinosaurs than you ever did in all your years of formal education. He was a bookworm and always had new information to willingly share with you, something he would never do with past girlfriends. They did not care like you do, something else that made your relationship so strong. There was mutual pining and mutual adoration and acceptance of the other’s personality – key for a healthy relationship. Tim started teaching you things even back on your first date, and even then, you knew that this boy would make a large impact on you.

~

The first date you went on was extremely traditional, which was classic Tim, as you would come to find out. It was not a super fancy restaurant, but one of those places where you did not feel you could just wear a raggedy tee shirt and jeans or leggings. You elected for something a little nicer, and once the two of you were at the restaurant, you fell into conversation easily. Like two friends who have not seen each other in years and have tons of catching up to do. No awkwardness, no nerves – just two people having a pleasant dinner who also happen to be on a date. The conversation spread across all topics from family to friends to hobbies, and eventually it settled on work. Ever since the two of you met, you had so many one-on-one questions you wanted to ask Tim about his work. You prefaced with one specific memory that flooded your mind.

[flashback start]

You met because you had attended a tour he was hosting on the Mesozoic era, generally aimed at children aged six to fifteen. He had been given a roster of how many people to expect, which was quite a few, and he noticed that you had walked in not bringing a child like most of the adults on the tour. At first, he thought maybe you were looking for a sister that brought your niece or nephew and you just happened to be tagging along, but then you made no effort to find anyone. When he realized you had come alone, he worked up the courage to come over to you and ask if you were in the right spot.

“Ma’am?”

“Oh! You’re Dr. Murphy, aren’t you?”

“Yes, um, are you in the right place? This is a tour for a younger audience.”

“Well, unless I read my ticket wrong,” you held your ticket out in front of his eyes so he could read it, “I believe this says ‘Dr. Timothy Murphy’s Presentation on the Mesozoic Era, Thursday, August 14 at 1:00pm.’ Did I read it wrong?”

Tim simply looked at the ticket, and then back to you in a stunned silence. You had really bought a ticket to see his presentation, despite knowing that almost all the tours he does in the museum are for younger kids.

“No, uh, you… you didn’t read it wrong.”

“You seem a little shocked that I have a ticket, Doctor.”

“Well, it’s just that I don’t really get people my age on these tours, and everyone who comes to the lectures are old coots.”

You laughed at his vernacular, loving how professor-like and old man-like such a young, cute guy could be. When he heard you laugh, his eyes went wide and he felt his heart skip a beat, because a young, cute girl loved his jokes, which never happened.

“Sorry for how bold I just was – that’s not how I usually am. Basically, I have tried attending your lectures in the past, but whenever I get the money to buy a ticket, they’re usually gone or the only seats left are one’s I can’t afford. I’ve read all of your books, some of them more than once, and you just never cease to amaze me. You’re really smart and I admire that.”

Tim felt dizzy. He was hearing the words coming out of your mouth, barely being able to process how kind they were. Never had anyone spoken to him in such a way, not even his colleagues or past girlfriends, of which there were not many because he was always so busy or they hated how involved in his work he could get. But to hear you say them just changed his whole perspective on life. He did not even know your name but he was enamored with you. One could call him desperate, and he would just scoff and look down at his feet. Not denying it, however.

“Well, um… listen. Normally with the kids, I have to dumb down my word choices because the younger ones won’t know everything, so I apologize in advance for how childlike I may present myself.” You smiled sweetly at him, acknowledging him and showing him that you did not mind. “I also would love to have you attend my lectures every time we have them, so let me see what I can do about arranging a sort of ‘seasonal pass’ for you, that way you never have to worry about a seat.”

“Dr. Murphy, you do not—”

“I’m serious. Like I said, it’s always older men who are always judgmental about the way I hold myself up on stage. I’m… not a bold person. I’m shy, and they don’t like that. It would be really nice to have a face like yours in the crowd each night. One that I know is appreciating everything I say, wholeheartedly.”

“‘A face like mine?”’

“…” You could see Tim visibly swallow and his Adam’s apple bob out of sheer panic. “A cute one?”

You felt your lips part slightly at the compliment, somewhat shocked that someone as clearly shy as him paid you one. You knew that coming from someone like him, it had to be genuine. Dr. Tim Murphy thought you were cute, and wanted to see you again. Even if it was only for a lecture.

“Then… this cute face would love to attend all your lectures, Dr. Murphy.”

You saw the toothy grin spread across his face, pushing his cheeks up to high heaven. It made you airily laugh a little, seeing him like that.

“If you keep smiling like that, I’m going to have to start calling you cute, too, Dr. Murphy.”

“I wouldn’t mind that. But there is one thing you have to do for me.”

“What’s that?”

“Call me Tim. Not Dr. Anything. Just Tim.” You nodded your head at him, and he asked you one last thing. “And what should I call you?”

“Y/N.”

[flashback end]

“You remember how we met?”

“Of course, I do – you came to that tour for children and I wanted to make sure you were in the right place.”

“Always the gentleman, Tim.” You and Tim had been finishing up dinner on your first official date, reminiscing about that day. It seemed like you already crammed a lifetime’s worth of memories into that first meeting you had, because you had managed to talk about it for the last fifteen minutes. “I remember being amazed at how you talked to those kids. I mean, you clearly know tons of bigger words that younger children wouldn’t know, yet you know how to explain it to them really well. It made me very impressed with you, seeing that you really were as smart as your books made you out to be.”

“Yeah, I had to explain everything like that because they weren’t going to understand what Mesozoic meant or anything like that. They’re children, and they just like the idea of dinosaurs, not the actual history of them. Back when I was in college, there were certain root words or stems that we needed to know in order to understand the classification of dinosaurs. For some reason, learning about the way the classification worked sparked something in my brain. I love learning about whatever I can, and I guess that was my body’s way of telling me etymology was something for me. I started researching where words came from, going through the dictionary word by word. Seems boring, I know, but… it made me happy.”

You could see Tim start to feel as if he was talking too much, like all his past dates went, except that when he looked up at you, he could tell that was not the case. You had leaned your body in and over the table, propping your head up on your fist, intently staring at him. Taking in every word that slipped past his lips as if your life depended on it. This encouraged him, while also making him really giddy inside. He reached over to the small candle that was burning faintly between you two, and lifted it up, carefully so as not to burn himself. He watched you as your eyes moved to the candle, and back to his own, waiting to hear what he was going to say.

“Like… candle, for instance. Originally, it was candere in Latin, which means ‘be white or glisten.’ Eventually, that became candela, still Latin, and then old English turned it into candel. Then, when modern English came around, we switched the ‘l’ and the ‘e,’ probably because it just looks less ugly.” He let out a chuckle at his own humor. “But, that’s kind of what I did with the dictionary. Learning about where words come from, and what they originally meant intrigues me.”

His eyes had not really left the candle once he started to speak. Once he finished talking, however, his eyes nervously looked back into yours. Your facial expression had changed, ever so slightly. Your eyes had gone a little wider than usual, and they were sparkling, more than usual. Then he noticed that your cheeks were a dusty pink and that you had pulled a small part of your bottom lip into your mouth with your teeth. Tim was not the most experienced, considering how girls would treat him in the past, but he could practically feel the tension radiating from you. Something about him knowing those things made you feel… good?

“You’re amazing, Tim. Really.”

“Thanks. I know plenty more where that came from.”

“I’d love to hear more.”

~

Every day since your first date, Tim would always make it a point to showcase his smarts to you in the way that seemed to make you feel a certain way, because he liked seeing that he could have an effect on a woman that way. Especially considering that woman was you. One night, you and Tim were hanging out at his apartment after a date night. The two of you had created a small tradition where if your date ends quicker than expected and you end up back at one of the apartments, you will watch Jeopardy. Tim quickly found out, since you suggested watching the show in the first place, that you loved to learn too, and even though he could typically get about half of the show’s questions right, he loved seeing how proud you got with yourself when you would get three total. Tonight was no exception. You made it back just in time for the show to start, and the two of you were patiently waiting to see what the categories would be for the first round. The first five were announced, each earning a groan from one or both of you at the fact that they were not really subjects you know. Then the sixth one came up.

“And finally, you will be dealing with etymology. [First contestant’s name], you begin the round. Let’s begin.”

You turn to Tim and see a huge smile across his face, and you could not help but reciprocate. You two had seen so many episodes and not once had the category that practically formed your relationship come up. Now, on a night where you two are snuggled into each other, your head on his chest, enjoying the warmth radiating from the other person, that was just the icing on the cake. The contestants seemed to be avoiding the etymology category, moving all around the board in no semblance of order except for skipping that one, and you could hear Tim groan above you.

“Why are they skipping it? It’s the best one up there!”

“I know, babe, but the anticipation makes it worth the wait, right?”

“I guess.”

You could just imagine the small pout Tim had plastered onto his face, knowing that he would have to sit and wait for a commercial break now, as well. It made you smile to yourself, because you had seen that face before when he would work on something and he got intensely focused. It was an adorable face that he only made around you – he never let anyone else see him like that. It made you feel really loved. Eventually, the show came back on and the contestants really did do everything else and left the entire etymology category last. When the final question popped up before the etymology category would start, you turned up to Tim and smiled, as if to say ‘ready to show off your smarts, brainiac?’and he knew exactly what you meant. His eyes were beaming widely, ready to shout out the answers before anyone on the screen could.

“…cable.”

“Neighborhood!”

“Manure. Ew.”

“Aerosol.”

“…Hourglass?”

So far, Tim had gotten every single one correct, and the contestants only managed to get the neighborhood one correct. Then it was time for the final question, and you were waiting to see if Tim was going to make it a clean sweep. Then the question popped up and you waited patiently.

“From Ancient Greek, a diminutive of uncertain origin and probably in reference to its location on the female body, it means ‘I sheathe or shut.’”

“Clitoris!”

Tim was one hundred percent correct, and for some reason, despite the energetic and completely innocent nature in which he said it, it lit a fire in you that only Tim could put out. But you did not want to make it obvious, because he was clearly so happy with himself that he got the entire category right. So, you simply decide to ‘award him’ with a small kiss, but you moved your body upward a little bit so your head could reach the crevasse of his neck and shoulders. The kiss was small, swift, and chaste, but the location is what mattered. Tim had been smiling and celebrating himself, but the feeling of your lips on the small but small amount of exposed skin from his tee shirt stopped him in his tracks, and it made him blink rapidly and swallow a little roughly. You felt as though this was his way of encouraging you to keep going, since he never told you to stop. You lifted your head a little bit, so your mouth was lined up right with the side of his neck, where you placed a breathy, open-mouthed kiss. Still teasingly short, too short for Tim’s liking. You could hear your boy moan quietly, clearly having some kind of effect on him. You wanted him to feel the way you did as he innocently shouted out a part of your body you wished was getting attention from him now.

“Do you know where the word ‘kiss’ comes from?

You hum lightly against his neck where you were still peppering wet kisses to. You squeaked out a ‘no,’ waiting for him to continue with his thought, if he could.

“It has Germanic o-origin, and comes from the old English cyssan… shit. I… I think you know what it means.”

“Mhm.” He could feel the vibrations of your response against his neck, and he groaned louder this time, not wanting to hold back anymore. He could feel you start to pull away and stand up, practically whining at the lack of contact. He did not want you to leave, and you could tell. But you had absolutely no idea what gave him the idea that you were going to be leaving his side anytime soon.

As you stood, you lightly took his hand in your own, and pulled on it to signal him to stand with you. You made sure your back was facing him, though, because you did not want him to see how desperate for him you had become. Now that both of you were standing, you begin to walk as slow as a tortoise toward his bedroom, hoping that he would get the picture and start pampering you and worshiping you on the way there. You felt like you were in a movie, considering how cliché this whole thing is. But neither of you cared, you just needed to get the cliché’s out of the way. Eventually, it clicks in his brain that he should be following you, and he makes up the distance by walking directly behind you, lightly running his fingers up and down your spine. One particular stroke down your spine went further than the others, and you could feel Tim lightly tug on the hem of your shirt. Indicating that he wants it gone. He spoke in a whisper so quiet you could barely hear him.

“How about the word shirt? It’s from the Old English scyrte, which is Germanic. It kind of means short.”

With every new word Tim chose to tell you, he gained confidence in what he was doing, indicated by the non-shakiness of his voice. You were proud underneath it all. While Tim is speaking, you could slowly feel the fabric inch up your torso with every word. You could begin to feel the cold air of his apartment on your skin, and your body tells you that you need some kind of warmth. You fight off every reflex in your body telling you to latch onto Tim or at least steal your shirt back, not wanting to ruin the moment both of you had been waiting for six months to happen. You never saw it, but you could hear the light noise his shirt made when it hit the floor, Tim always wanting to make sure the two of you were even in all aspects. Even something as intimate as this. You both continue your ascension to his bedroom, and eventually you reach it. What should have taken about ten seconds for any normal person took the two of you practically three minutes, Tim adoring the look and feel of your back and spine, you relishing in the feeling of being appreciated in such an intimate way, something no one has ever done for you before Tim. You reach for the doorknob and simultaneously turn around to see what kind of effect you were having on your boyfriend, and it was clearly the one you wanted. He already looked fucked out, and neither of you had really touched each other. Not the way you both needed to be. Once completely facing him, you turn your hand on the doorknob to let yourselves in, and his hand comes up to your face to lightly stroke and pull on your hair. The strokes to show you he loves you, the tugging to let you know he wants and needs you.

“Hair’s a funny word originally. Hær. Old English, again.”

As he was speaking, you had lost all ability to move your legs anymore, feeling like they would collapse under you simply from the fact that Tim was being the way he was. Most people would have found him annoying for bringing up things like he was during a time like this. For you, though, it made him hotter because he was not afraid to be himself, even in the most intimate of situations. He was smart, and he liked showing you. You also loved the fact that letting him continue to talk was making him more and more confident in the things he was doing to your body, which was a win-win for both of you. Eventually, you were snapped out of your thoughts by the feeling of Tim’s body pushing against yours to get you into his bedroom, fast, based on the force of the push. He does not even need to look behind him as he locks the door, and wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into his body. It was killing both of you that there still had not been any mouth to mouth contact in this whole situation, but you were both holding out in order to let Tim continue to speak, and to build up the anticipation for later. He did, however, pull you close enough to his body where you could feel each other’s breathing on your lips, desperate and needy, if breaths could feel such a way. You had not even realized Tim had gotten you to move again, so entranced by his breathing and his facial features, until you hit the side of his bed and your knees buckled underneath you. Your bum hit the bed and you bounced lightly, which normally would have made you laugh. This time, feelings were different. More serious. More lust-driven. Once you realized Tim was done taking initiative and wanted to trade off with you, you reached forward to hook your hands into the pockets of his jeans, and you not-so-gently yanked his body to yours. Your face was flush against his chest, chin practically resting on it, and you could feel the front of his jeans where you wanted him against your stomach. You were gazing up at him, face flush pink and eyes blown out black and half-shut. Waiting to hear him speak again. You saw him reach his arms toward your body, lightly resting his hands on your waist and then proceeding to find the waistline of your pants. Just as you began to reach for the buckle on his belt, you heard his angelic voice again.

“How about hips, wanna know where that word came from?”

You never said a word, and neither did he. All that was exchanged was a small pause and silent stares. You were both waiting for the other to make the next move, because both of you knew deep in your cores that if the other took another step forward, the night would end up being far from over. Tim could not take waiting anymore, so he crashed his mouth down onto yours like his life depended on it, and that he would never get to kiss you again at the same time. It was deep, passionate, full of love, and driven by lust. It was never a small kiss to begin with, so much so that it was practically impossible for either of you to deepen the kiss in any way. Tim thought of one more word that he wanted to teach you, so he slowly pulled away from your mouth, the tiniest string of saliva still connecting the two of you. Normally, that would be something you found disgusting, but in that moment, the part of you from the final Jeopardy question started throbbing at the site, indicating your desperation and just how passionate the kiss really was.

“What about the word sex?”

Tim had still been pressed flush against you, and at this point, you could clearly feel what effect you were having on him through his jeans. He caught you off guard with the question he asked, and your motions stopped just as you reached the button of his jeans.

“Instead of telling me, why don’t you just show me… Doctor?

Tim taught you a lot that night. And you taught him a thing or two, as well.

Permanent Taglist: n/a

Specific Story/Character Taglist: @gardnerlangway @dr-tim-murphy

[lentils-writes]

Day 5: Pacific Rim AU

(well, this isn’t short at ALL, I’m sorry)

The LA Shatterdome is pretty new - it’s only been there for about a year, but so far it has two Jaegers (Sigma Hyperion and Corsair Atlas) and there’s talk of adding a third soon. It’s not Kara’s first choice of assignment, but apparently they need a physical trainer with Marines-level experience to work with the Rangers. So she takes the job and shows up at the Shatterdome on her first day, ready to go.

One of the LOCCENT controllers, Bobbi Morse, greets her. “Sergeant Palamas, good to see you,” she says, offering her hand. “I hope the trip here was satisfactory.”

“Fine,” says Kara. “Where to first?”

“This way. We’ll take you through the Shatterdome proper and show you the training room.” Morse leads her through the giant warehouse-style part of the building that houses the enormous Jaegers. They’re so big that Kara has to crane her neck and she still can’t see their heads. “That’s Sigma,” says Morse, pointing at a matte black Jaeger with a sleek design and an eagle-shaped decal on it, “and that’s Corsair.” Corsair is a deep shade of purple and looks like a linebacker.

Kara blinks up at them. “They’re...impressive,” she says. It’s an understatement, but anything would be.

Morse grins at her. “Would you believe me if I said you get used to it? Or at least, I do. We’ve only had a few missions so far, but it’s way better watching them in action. ‘Course, you’ll be working more closely with their pilots.” She gestures for Kara to follow her into the hallway at the other end of the room.

The training room is nice, with plenty of space for a couple dozen people to train comfortably. Kara glances around and nods approvingly. “What style are they used to?”

“I know Ranger May and Ranger Hartley were in the program together, they’re well-versed in kempo. Ranger Coulson I’m not sure of, he might have a mix of styles, and Hunter…” Morse pauses and shakes her head. “Full disclosure, Sergeant, Ranger Hunter is brilliant in a Jaeger, but he’s also lazy as hell.”

Kara snorts. “Sounds like the two of you have a history.”

“Ex-husband,” clarifies Morse, rolling her eyes. “If you hear him mentioning a demon or a she-beast, he probably means me. I’m perfectly capable of professional cordiality, but he on the other hand…”

“Noted,” says Kara, grinning. “I’ll push him. Anything else I should know about any of them?”

“May does yoga every morning at some ridiculous hour, so she’ll take pretty much anything you throw at her. They might have you work with the Strike Troopers too, they handle a lot of the on-the-ground stuff when Kaijus show up. Triplett and Johnson are the squad leaders, and they’ll have the best intel on what works for their squads.”

Kara nods. “Alright.”

She doesn’t actually meet the Rangers until lunchtime, when Morse herds her toward a table where four people are chatting amongst themselves. “Hey,” says Morse, “this is your new trainer, Sergeant Kara Palamas. Be nice.” Then she turns to go.

Kara glances after her, then sits down and gives the group a shaky smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” says the white middle-aged balding man who offers a hand. “I’m Phil Coulson. Nice to meet you, Sergeant. Mel and I pilot Sigma Hyperion.”

One of the women, white with a bob cut, nods at her. “Isabelle Hartley.”

The other man, slightly younger than Coulson and with a neatly trimmed goatee, smirks. “Lance Hunter, at your service.”

The last woman, Asian with long dark hair, rolls her eyes at Hunter and then says “Melinda May.”

Kara nods, taking note of all the names. “So,” she says, feeling a little awkward. “Morse said we would probably be starting your training regiment tomorrow morning. You should know a little about me in the meantime. I grew up in the Chicago area, four point oh, all that jazz. I’ve been in the Marines for three years, stationed at Quantico before I was transferred here. I’ve trained in mixed martial arts and a variety of self-defense styles. Any questions?”

“Yeah, just one. Are you seeing anyone?” Hunter asks.

Isabelle elbows him roughly enough that he drops his forkful of potatoes. “Do you think you could keep your stupid questions to yourself for five minutes?”

Hunter pouts, but Kara just snorts and rolls her eyes. “I’m not, but you’re not my type.”

“You sure?”

“Presuming you’re a guy, yes,” replies Kara, enjoying the look of shock that flashes across his face. “I guarantee you are not the magical dude that will turn my lesbian self straight.”

She takes a sip of her water. The smirk on Melinda’s face is somehow the most satisfying part of the moment.

---

Kara gets used to her new routine. Every morning she’s up with just enough time to grab a bagel or some toast on the way out the door, arriving at the Shatterdome in time for an eight AM training session with the Rangers. Then she has another, less intensive training session in the afternoon with the Strike Troopers. May, Hartley, and Coulson work hard every morning, and Hunter...well, Kara nudges him and he eventually cooperates. He’s physically adept, but seems to prefer not doing work when possible. Kara’s working on it.

May’s great to spar with, though. She’s a little older than Kara and was in the Navy for a decade before starting the Jaeger program in its earliest years. This is her second Jaeger, after her first partner was killed during a mission in Hong Kong. Kara pieces these bits of information together through idle things that Melinda says, and then through some casual questions she asks Hartley.

“Her husband Andrew was her first partner,” Hartley tells Kara in the locker room one day after training. “She took it pretty hard. But she and Phil are incredible together. Hunter and I are pretty good, but they’re like next level.”

Kara wrinkles her nose. “So...are they…?” She can’t quite bring herself to finish the sentence.

Hartley laughs. “Fucking? No. I think sometimes Phil would like that, but I haven’t seen Mel date anyone since we all got here. She is into girls though, if you’re interested.” Hartley winks. “I am too, but I think my wife would have something to say about it if I said any more.”

Kara colors slightly. “I wasn’t- I-” She coughs. “I have to go report to Morse, excuse me.” Hartley’s laugh follows her out of the room.

Melinda doesn’t talk often, but she seems not to mind Kara’s company. Sometimes she’ll even opt to sit next to Kara in the mess hall. Kara doesn’t want to push anything, but she smiles at Melinda when she gets the chance. Once she gets daring and swipes an extra beer for Melinda, who smiles and says “Thanks.”

(As they’re all leaving the mess hall afterwards, Isabelle nudges Kara. “Nice one,” she mutters into her ear, grinning. “You’re really on her good side now.)

Kara almost forgets why they’re all there. Kaiju don’t seem like such a big concern when Melinda has such a nice smile.

Which means it’s all the more jarring when she’s awoken by a kaiju alert on her phone at four AM.

The alert directs all civilians to the nearest shelters, and all PPDC affiliates to the Shatterdome immediately. Kara throws on clothes in a heartbeat and, luckily, manages to snag a taxi and arrive within half an hour.

The Shatterdome is chaos. People are running everywhere and the alarm is going off nonstop. Kara’s unsure what to do, but then Morse dashes by her and says “C’mon, into the control room with me, you’ll be out of the way” and Kara follows.

Morse takes her place and immediately goes into work mode, ignoring Kara. That’s fine, Kara expected that. She just watches and listens - the Kaiju is a Category III and, since it looks vaguely serpentine, Morse christens it Hydra. Both Sigma and Corsair are being sent out to deal with it. The Strike Troopers have already been deployed, and the Jumphawk pilots are getting ready to take off with the two Jaegers. Kara scarcely knows where to look. She focuses on breathing.

She can barely see the four Rangers entering the Jaegers, tiny shiny figures in their drivesuits. Her heart’s beating fast enough that she can hear it - maybe everyone else in the room can too. She got four hours of sleep, but she’s so wired she feels like she might never sleep again.

Sigma and Corsair get dropped in the middle of the Pacific, a mile or so from Hydra. It feels like the entire room holds its breath as the Jaegers walk toward the kaiju. This is their third outing together, and by this point the teams work almost seamlessly together. Corsair, as the bulkier Jaeger, goes first to basically act as the battering ram. Sigma is smaller, lighter, and a little faster, so she hangs back to act as reserves.

Isabelle was right. Phil and Melinda’s Jaeger moves effortlessly, despite the waves pushing back against it and the inherent clunkiness of a giant metal mecha. Kara’s seen tapes of other Jaegers, of course (who hasn’t) but she’s captivated.

Then they reach the monster.

Its long neck strikes out, aiming for Corsair’s head, but the Jaeger intercepts it with an enormous fist that sends the kaiju reeling. Enraged, it opens its mouth to roar and lunges - which is when Sigma comes in from the side. The kaiju has the advantage of limberness, but the Jaegers outnumber it. Sigma’s palm, equipped with gamma blasts, fires at Hydra, mostly missing it but leaving parts of its skin scorched.

For awhile it seems like the Jaegers have it under control. Then, suddenly, Hydra whips its head around and smacks directly into Corsair, which slowly, horribly tips backwards into the ocean.

“Fuck!” hisses Morse. “Rescue boats, get out there! Get them out! Now!”

She keeps shouting orders to Sigma, since Hydra is still fighting, but Kara barely hears her over the roaring in her ears. She’s terrified equally for Melinda and Phil and Isabelle and Hunter. But Melinda...oh god, Melinda…

She could turn and walk out of the control room, hide somewhere until all this was over, but she forces herself to stay and watch. Hydra is trying to get behind Sigma and knock it over the way it knocked over Corsair, and none of the screens show what’s happening with the rescue teams. Morse calls, “Chain! Use the chain!”

Kara has no idea what she’s talking about, but then a giant chain slips from somewhere under the mecha’s exoskeleton and Sigma’s using it to wrap around Hydra’s throat and choke it out. Then it’s all over.

There’s a cheer in the control room, but it’s subdued. Morse gets on the radio to contact the rescue boats. They managed to retrieve both Hunter and Hartley, who are still alive, but Hartley’s arm was crushed and Hunter’s barely breathing. Meanwhile, Phil and Melinda check in, exhausted but okay. Morse deploys another Jumphawk team to retrieve them.

Technically, everyone can leave once the kaiju threat’s been dealt with, but no one wants to until they hear for sure about Hartley and Hunter. It’s a tense couple of hours until they know anything, during which Phil and Melinda return to the Shatterdome and are greeted with half-hearted high fives rather than the typical jubilation. They don’t seem to mind, though - they both look haunted.

Kara pushes through the crowd to get to them (just to check in physically, she tells herself). She’s prepared to say something professional - “good work,” maybe, or “are either of you hurt?” Instead, she starts to say something, chokes, and sort of falls against Melinda in the world’s most unplanned embrace.

After half a second to absorb how nice Melinda feels against her, she freezes. “Shit,” she mutters, quickly letting go. “I’m, I’m so sorry, May, I-”

She’s unprepared for the feeling of Melinda throwing her arms around her. “Don’t apologize,” murmurs Melinda. “Don’t you dare apologize, Kara.”

Kara swallows what’s suddenly a huge lump in her throat and clings just as tightly to Melinda as Melinda’s clinging to her.

---

The doctors have to amputate Hartley’s arm, which she’s remarkably relaxed about. Kara and the others are able to see her relatively soon after her surgery, once she’s conscious. “At least it was the left one,” Hartley says with a lopsided shrug. “I need the other one for...important things.” She smirks at her wife, Victoria, who rushed over as soon as the shelters were opened.

“You’ll be too busy resting to do any of those things,” scolds Victoria. “I’m not letting you out of bed for weeks.”

“Ooh, sounds hot,” teases Hartley.

Melinda rolls her eyes. “Well, I see you didn’t lose your sense of innuendo.”

“Oh, you like it when she does it,” grunts Hunter. He’s still laid up too, since quite a bit of water got into his lungs and they want to be sure his breathing stays consistent.

Melinda ignores him. “You both scared us.”

“Yeah, we had no idea you went down at first,” Phil says. “We just focused on beating the bastard as quickly as we could.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hunter says, but he’s smiling. “Taking all the credit when we’re the true heroes here. Izzy left a piece of herself in the ocean, for Christ’s sake!”

“How about all of you are heroes,” Kara says with a snort.

“Agreed,” says Melinda, giving her a smile, which makes Kara’s chest do something funny.

“Anyway,” Phil says, “we should probably let the two of you rest, huh?”

“I’m fine,” Isabelle says, but her eyelids are drooping.

“Go on,” says Victoria, resting her hand on Isabelle’s shoulder. “I’ll keep an eye on them. You three have been here since the attack, you should go eat.”

Suddenly, Kara’s stomach reminds her that she hasn’t eaten in hours. “Oh,” she says, almost absently. “We should eat, yeah.”

“C’mon,” says Phil. “I hear they’re keeping the mess hall open longer to celebrate. I mean, it’ll be the same slop it always is, but maybe they’ll give us an extra helping.”

He walks ahead of them, and once he’s not looking, Melinda brushes her hand gently against Kara’s before grabbing it. Kara feels her face get hot, which is ridiculous - what is she, a teenager? But she turns to smile at Melinda all the same, and Melinda smiles back.

[ravenclawred]

Serpents and Flares - A Draco Malfoy Fanfiction

I need to finish that article about the Cannon’s strategy for this season by Friday at the latest. Oh, and I need to set up an interview with the Harpies’ new keeper. Shit, what was her name again?

My increasingly extensive to-do list rattles around in my brain as I walk tiredly down a sidewalk on the outskirts of London, still several blocks from home. It had been a long day at the Prophet and I’m desperately looking forward to a hot cup of tea in the comfort of my own home.

Or maybe something a little stronger, I think to myself as I focus on the dingy old tavern to my right. I’ve walked past the same little pub so many times, but it’s never occurred to me to enter until today. As a child I was taught by my father not to ignore the little inklings in life, as they can lead to some of the best stories. Not that this is the sole reason for me pushing through the faded red door, a bell tinkling over my head. It’s more so that I don’t actually have anything better to do today. And after the day I’ve had I could use a stiff one.

I briefly take in my surroundings. There are a few patrons scattered amongst the tables, and a handful or so sitting at the bar. A few of them are chatting quietly to each other, while the others focus on the task at hand. A cheerful fiddle tune plays lightly in the background. I approach the bar and hop into a vacant barstool next to a lone blonde, settling my briefcase on my lap.

“What can I get for ye?”

The bartender is a gruff looking older man with kind eyes. “I’ll take a Jameson and Ginger,” I tell him. While he makes my drink I continue looking around the bar. It’s a little dingy, but cozy. I cast a glance at the patron next to me. I’m both shocked when I recognize the face and surprised that the hair didn’t give him away sooner. “Draco Malfoy, is that you?”

He looks over at me, startled. It’s only been a few years but he looks like he’s aged twice that. He looks… worn, I guess, is the way to put it. “Hello,” he says, surpised. “Erm, do I know you?”

“Sorry,” I say. “That was a little weird of me. No, you probably don’t. But we went to school together. I actually played you in Quidditch a few times.”

“Oh. Well I’m sorry,” he says, he says, his voice gruff as he looks down at the pint in front of him.

“Oh no, it’s really no big deal,” I say as the bartender places my drink in front of me. “I was a few years younger, I don’t expect you to know who I am.”

He looks over at me, his brows knit with confusion. “Were you not at the battle then?”

“No… I was,” I say slowly, taking a sip.

“Well usually when I run into former classmates they don’t have too many nice things to say,” he says bitterly. “It’s not like I made it much of a secret, who’s side I was on. Forgive me for assuming you’re here to hold me accountable.”

I shake my head. “That’s not what this is about,” I respond, feeling strangely defensive. “I’m just surprised to see you hear is all. I didn’t take you for one to be hanging about in muggle pubs,” I explain.

“No one knows me here,” he says. He takes a sip of his ale before adding, “Usually anyways.”

I nod, considering what he just said. I guess it makes sense that not everyone was as forgiving as the ministry had been. “Well I’m sorry to ruin your track record.”

I return my focus to my drink, but I see him smirk out of the corner of my eye. Seeing him here in his worn black sweater, years after the fact, makes him seem like an entirely different person. Much less intimidating, but… sadder. It’s a little heart breaking. But then again, I had never shared the same hatred that most of my classmates felt for him.

I’m not sure what else to say, so a few moments pass in silence. He’s the one to break it. “I don’t think I caught your name,” he says cautiously.

“Coralie Moncrief,” I tell him.

“Nice to meet you,” he says. He switches his focus between his drink, the wall behind the bar, the bartender, anywhere but directly at me. I see dark circles beneath his eyes in the rushed glances I throw his way. “You said we played Quidditch together, yeah?”

“Here and there,” I say. My brain immediately recalls one of my first matches. I was only a second year, but I made the team as a chaser thanks to my dad’s training all summer. But in those first few matches, I was scared shitless. In my first match against Slytherin, I took a Bludger to the rib cage. It knocked me off my broom, and once I regained my focus after hitting the ground, I saw a flash of green come to a pause somewhere above. The pale hair gave him away, as he was pretty well known to everyone at Hogwarts. He only paused for a moment, as if making sure I was okay, or at least not dead, before returning to his search for the Snitch. I remember being surprised that Draco Malfoy of all people broke his focus for even a moment to make sure that a second year from another house hadn’t fallen to her death. Maybe that was the reason I had a hard time believing that he was the cold blooded death eater everyone made him out to be.

“I was in Ravenclaw,” I clarify.

“I think you might look vaguely familiar,” he says.

Another quiet moment passes. “So what have you been up to lately?”

He looks at me now, like he’s unsure how to answer. I get the feeling that he hasn’t taken part in many friendly conversations recently. “Not much,” he allows. He casts a furtive glance at the bartender to make sure he’s out of ear shot and lowers his voice even more when he speaks. I find that I have to lean in slightly just to hear him. He’s returned to focusing on the pint glass in front of him. “Not many people are interested in hiring a Malfoy, I’m afraid. I’ve been working in the Department of Mysteries. Not much goes on in there anymore, but I reckon the Ministry placed me there so I’d be out of view.”

I feel my brows furrow. Wow. I realize that I hadn’t really thought much about Draco since the war, let alone what his life would be like in the wake of so much horror. Even though we were never friends, and hardly even acquaintances, I can’t help but feel bad. “Well do you like it at all?” I ask.

He scoffs, and looks over at me like surely I must be kidding. I shrug, feeling self-conscious. “I can’t say I know enough about the Department of Mysteries to assume,” I explain.

“Well I don’t mind the privacy,” he admits. “But the work is rather dull.”

Yet another silent moment passes. I take a deep breath before I continue. “Look Draco, I know this isn’t my place to say and I don’t mean to assume that I know the first thing about you or your life,” I say cautiously. I have his full attention now. He’s looking me right in the eye, his own piercing blue eyes making me lose my train of thought for a moment. They look intense, and afraid of what I might say, like here comes the blame that he’s been waiting for. I regain my train of thoughts before I continue. “I know it’s easier said than done, but fuck what everyone else thinks,” I spit out. It’s rushed, like if I don’t get it out now I’ll lose my nerve. “You can only do so much about what other people want to think. Maybe it’s time to focus on forgiving yourself.”

My words hang thick in the air while he continues to hold our gaze. I have no idea who I am to be giving him any sort of advice. But seeing him so…… defeated, I had to say something. The Draco I knew at school was terrifying, to be honest. But he always so sure of himself, larger than life. While this Draco was slightly more approachable, it was heartbreaking. Sure, he made his fair share of mistakes. Bad ones. But he had clearly done his time beating himself up over them. I couldn’t just stay quiet.

I’m the one who breaks eye contact, grabbing my glass and taking a large swig in an attempt to dull the awkwardness. “You’re the first person to tell me something like that,” he says, his voice strained. I know that I’ve hit a nerve. But then his voice hardens. “Why?”

“What do you mean?” I ask, confused.

“I mean, why don’t you blame me?” he asks defensively. “You’d be right to. Why are you acting concerned about my well-being or some shit like that?”

I take a deep breath. I was at the Battle of Hogwarts. The whole thing was a terrifying blur, and I saw things that I never could have imagined. I still wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat after having nightmares about seeing the bodies of my classmates laid out in the great hall. Some I knew, some I didn’t. I was fortunate that none of my close friends were among them, but seeing something like that doesn’t ever really leave you. It resonates in a way I can’t describe. But I also remember standing in the courtyard, all of us across from the Dark Lord when he demanded that we join him or die. I stood there, frozen and in denial, because how could it have come to this? Then I heard a woman, who I assumed was Draco’s mother, call his name. I looked around, shocked that he was still with us at all. I mean, why would he be?

When I spotted him, I was even more surprised to see him standing stationary. His face looked terrified, trying to decide if he should step forward. It wasn’t until his mother called him again, her pain audible in her voice, that he cautiously crossed the courtyard and into the arms of the Dark Lord. That was the last time I saw him.

But in the aftermath of the battle, when I was back home with my parents, sitting up all night because sleep provided nightmares too vivid and too soon for me to cope with, that I remembered a detail from a couple years before. I had snuck out of the common room late one night to meet up with my boyfriend at the time, a Hufflepuff. While I walked quietly to our decided rendezvous point, I heard hurried footsteps coming down the hall. I nearly shat myself, assuming it was Filch who had always terrified me more than most, and jumped behind the nearest column. My small frame tucked into the shadow safely, but I could still see out into the corridor. It wasn’t Filch after all. It was Draco, rushing along the hall, glancing behind him every so often. In the light of the torches I could see tears glistening all down his face, which was distorted with emotion. Once he disappeared, I continued on my adventure, too enamored with the excitement of a new relationship to spend much time worrying about the strange behaviors of a student that I didn’t even know. It was later that year that Dumbledore was murdered and the stories started spreading as quickly as the darkness. Draco Malfoy, a Death Eater? How dare he betray Dumbledore that way? But during those sleepless nights after the battle, I pieced the memories together and drew my own conclusions. It became hard to believe that Draco was acting out of hatred, or any true belief in the Dark Lord’s ways. Was it fear? Was it something he was born into, and felt incapable of stopping? I figured I’d never know. But after those initial weeks of terror, I began to piece myself back together, pushing the memories out of my mind as best I could. I all but forgot about Draco Malfoy.

“Because, I think that placing all the blame on you would be closed-minded and unfair,” I say finally, staring straight ahead. When he doesn’t respond, I take another sip and turn my head to look at him. “Yeah, you made some shitty decisions. You don’t need me to tell you that. But from what I’ve heard it doesn’t sound like you had much choice in the matter. I can’t imagine being in your place. It’s not fair to blame you for the hand you were dealt. All of that horribleness that happened was going to happen with or without your help. You’re not Voldemort. But it’s easier for people to center the blame on someone they know,” I say. I’m talking so fast that I’m running out of breath, so I take a second to inhale. “Again, I might not know what I’m talking about at all, but I have a hard time believing that what you did was out of pure malice. I feel like the circumstances you were under made it difficult to be on the right side. And sure, you did some really shitty things. You fucked up. But to me it seems like you’ve spent more than enough time hating yourself for it. And what is the point of learning lessons as hard as that if you aren’t going to move forward?”

He’s still staring at me intently, his brows furrowed together. “You don’t know me,” he says, bewildered. I nod. Then I down the rest of my drink and grab money out of my briefcase and put it on the bar.

“You’re right,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

I hop off the bar stool and turn to leave. Just before I’m out of range, I feel his hand grasp my arm. “Wait, I’m sorry,” he says. I slowly turn back to him and he releases his grip. “I’m just… surprised, is all,” he says. “You’ll have to forgive me, but I’m not used to people saying things like you just did. You caught me off guard.”

I nod. “I’m sorry, it’s not my business,” I say.

“Maybe not,” he says. “But it was good to hear all the same. If only it was as easy as all that.”

“I’m sure it’s not,” I reply. I stand there awkwardly for a moment.

“Can I buy you another drink?” he asks, gesturing to my vacated barstool. I nod, returning to my seat. He gestures to the bartender to make me another. We’re quiet as we watch him pour my drink. After I take a sip Draco breaks the silence. “So what’s the briefcase for?”

“I write for the Daily Prophet,” I answer.

I see him visibly tense up. “No, no,” I say, realizing what I’ve said. “I’m the Quidditch reporter. I go to games and conduct interviews and write the reports. Things of that sort.”

“Oh,” he says. “That sounds like a pretty great job.”

“It can be stressful,” I admit. “But I like it.” I lean over and jokingly add “Be awfully hard to write a report on you, as much as I’m talking.”

He laughs, and I realize it’s the first time I’ve ever heard it. “Are you always so opinionated?”

“I have my moments,” I shrug. “Really though, I’m sorry I overstepped. It’s not like I know enough to talk.”

He sighs. “It’s okay. I’m glad it’s not public knowledge. It’s not exactly a pretty story.”

“Well, if you ever get around to wanting to tell it, I’m sure I’ll be around,” I say before finishing off my drink. “I really should get going though. Thank you for the drink.:

He nods. “My pleasure. Have a good night.”

“You too,” I say, giving him a small smile. I feel his gaze on my back as I make my way to the door, entering the cool night.

Chapter 2 up now!

http://www.mibba.com/Stories/Read/616929/Serpents-and-Flares/