Dec 21, 2024
Drew some of the gals from Void Silver #2 because I love them <3
(Don't copy/trace/repost/steal/etc.; Click for better quality!)
seen from China
seen from Türkiye
seen from Canada
seen from T1
seen from Canada
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from South Korea
seen from Japan
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from Türkiye
Drew some of the gals from Void Silver #2 because I love them <3
(Don't copy/trace/repost/steal/etc.; Click for better quality!)
More of the magic crew as young adults: drunk edition :3
Lil mini comic bonus :3
Carleton Told A Lie (6 of 6)
They did it. Sunday and Carleton got into the shed and saw what they needed to. Now, the next day, they have to face the consequences.
Word Count: 1,717
Notes: This is the final chapter of CTAL! Read from the beginning, or read the previous chapter here. If you want to see my lovely artwork, read on Ao3.
"The cat's just an image your subconscious created."
Carleton didn't come to school the next day.
Half the kids who'd been chased off Marvin's property were absent, too, and of those that still showed up, most of them were so fidgety their professors took notice. Maybe their nerves were simple first-time jitters and none of them had ever done anything more criminal than steal a pencil, or maybe they somehow felt something had gone horribly wrong.
Could they feel the Cat's eyes on them, even from so far away?
Whatever the case was, Sunday didn't blame them for their absence or their nerves. He was only here because he hadn't felt sick enough for his parents to let him stay home.
They'd been pissed he was gone so long, more so when they took his stammering, stuttering attempts to lie about where he'd been as a poor cover-up for him practicing teleportation and getting himself trapped in a patch of park soil. It was easier to let them think that, so he sat there and was yelled for the better part of the night about it. When they were done, they plucked the grass and plant mush out of his flesh, flushed the dirt from his scratches with clean water, bandaged him, and sent him to bed.
They'd left him a bowl of stew beef, but he didn't eat. When he tried, he had to fight to not throw up the single bite he'd taken for the next thirty minutes.
The Cat was trapped in his head, and he was certain it wasn't just numb terror making him feel that way.
He barely slept. When he did nod off, he'd dream of the White Cat and its burning eyes. He would not realize he'd fallen asleep. His bed would disappear from beneath him and he'd fall into the Cat's domain, a vast, vantablack land lit by distant stars. It would look at him with its head cocked to the side, study him.
Sunday was never scared during the dream, but when saliva and blood and black crud filled with stardust dripped from the Cat's dried lips, it'd spatter against his forehead. That would wake him up. Then he'd be scared.
Needless to say, school passed him by in a haze of grey and white.
He only barely snapped out of his stupor to assure his teachers that he was feeling alright, otherwise it was back to circling the drain. Every question he asked himself was another heavy chain hastening his descent.
What was that thing? Why was it in the shed? Was it made of the dead cats? But how? Why?
And why couldn't Carleton just leave it alone?
But it wasn't fair to lay the blame purely on his shoulders. Sunday also had to ask himself: Why couldn't I just leave it alone?
More pressing questions followed that one:
Is Marvin alright? Did I get him killed? What about his mum, what about Ramesses?
Did any of them see me? Carleton?
This was a fuck up of impressive proportions. Possibly the worst ever committed by anyone, by Sunday's estimation. He had no idea if he'd been seen, and if he had, what would happen next. His parents would kill him if Marvin or his mum didn't first and that was almost as terrifying as being tried in court. But it was dark out, it would all be a he-said-she-said, right? Maybe he would only have his own shame to deal with after all.
Time passed and lunch rolled around. The place was abuzz with a different, somber type of chatter. Everyone wondered why Carleton wasn't there.
Some students posited that he'd found a regular shed and was scared Sunday would maul the other half of his body if he turned up empty handed. Others wondered if Marvin had got him. Or the police. Or if he'd just realized how stupid he was being (or been stood up), called the whole thing off, and was now too embarrassed to return to school.
People kept coming up to the students who'd crowded around Carleton the day he'd laid out his idiotic plan to ask about the shed and what had happened. Maybe one of them had gone after all, they reasoned. They'd know what had happened.
Nobody came up to Sunday.
Why would he have been there?
On the second day after the ill-fated caper, Carleton still wasn't back.
Slowly, the school was piecing things together. Or, it thought it was.
The story went that Carleton had gotten caught, not immediately, but in hindsight when Marvin's parents managed to narrow down who the teen rifling through their belongings might've been and gotten the police to investigate. It was unclear what would happen now, but every boy who'd followed Carleton that night now rightfully feared they were next to be caught.
As people continued to pester Carleton's posse for any answers on his success (or lack thereof) and whether he'd been arrested, they became cagey about questions. They started telling lies, but they were sloppy. Uncoordinated. A couple busybodies figured out they were lying, and soon they had to dodge hordes of their peers like Marvin had not so long ago.
Sunday doubted they recognized the irony.
It was the third day. Carleton was still MIA.
Sunday kept his head down, but his penance was due any day now. When they thought he wasn't looking, his professors gave him sidelong glances. Carleton must have told the police when they caught him.
Did he show them the White Cat? What did they say? What would happen to it and Marvin?
As he meandered through his day, his peripheral vision filled with bruised faces and white fur, Sunday wondered what the Magic Circle would think of the creature. Could they contain it, or had Carleton and Sunday unleashed some unknowable thing into the world—forever?
The other boys made themselves scarce. Some of those who'd tried to keep up attendances stopped coming, maybe because they'd been caught, maybe because they thought they could delay the inevitable.
A sense of malaise and macabre curiosity spread far and wide. The professors had to address this.
They started explaining at the beginning of their early morning classes that yes, Carleton was missing, but only because he was in a lot of trouble for trespassing. No elaboration beyond that was necessary. No more rumors, please.
But Sunday wondered if there was more to it. Something not fit to be said in a school or around magicians under a certain station.
When asked again whether Marvin was a cat killer, the teachers said no. He was, however, being kept from school until further notice so he could heal both mentally and physically.
Some students said their instructors hesitated before denying the claim.
Sunday went to lunch that day wishing he could disappear or turn back time. He relived that night and all the stupid steps he'd taken to get there, now able to see every mistake, every moment he could and should have turned back.
He kept to himself until someone—Caoimhe—approached him, but she wasn't there to bother him with more questions. In fact, she looked more anxious than Sunday had ever seen her.
She took a seat beside him and spoke as low as she could get away with, "How are you feeling?"
"How do you think?" Sunday didn't look at her. He hoped she would speak no further on what Carleton had done, he didn't want to lie to her face.
"Figured as much, I can't believe"—Caoimhe hesitated, then stopped speaking. She studied him for a while before continuing, "Sunday, can I trust you to keep a secret?"
Sunday blinked. He studied Caoimhe in turn, trying to figure her out. "I… Think so…"
"I hope so. Talk to you after school."
She left before Sunday could ask what she meant.
When school let out that afternoon, Caoimhe found Sunday before he could even think to wonder where she'd meet him. Once again, polite conversation was forgone. She launched straight to business, "If I hear a peep about this to anyone else, Sunday, I swear"—
"There'll be no peeps! Promise." Sunday used his best placating grin, but Caoimhe's face remained wrought with stress. She kept looking at him with dark, distrusting eyes, like she thought he might run at or away from her any moment. "I um, still don't know what this is even about."
"Marvin's back," she whispered at last, "Kind of. But… no normal classes, and not in any of the regular parts of school. His new professors have to vet any visitors he gets, but he wanted to see me, so I got called in for a little while yesterday."
Sunday's skin broke into gooseflesh. "How is he?"
"He's… better," Caoimhe wouldn't hold his gaze, "He, uh, wanted me to give you this." She produced a folded, crinkled piece of paper from her pocket. Sunday could see letters written in black marker but not the words they formed. "He wants to talk with you, too."
"He does? Well, where is his"—
"Sunday," Caoimhe seemed shocked she was speaking, "did you really do it?"
Sunday recoiled. He knew what she was referring to but dare not speak it into existence. "Do what?"
"I just, he… I can't believe you. I-I told you it was a bad idea and you… you…" her face rapidly switched from anger to unease to sadness, then settled on disappointment. That was about all she could or would say to him as she thrust the paper into his hand and stormed away. "Bye, Sunday."
Sunday stood there, dumbfounded, clutching the crinkled piece of paper for a few minutes before he dared even think of unfolding it.
Once the thought entered his mind, he decided to go home first. Maybe because being around his parents soothed him. Maybe because he just wanted to put this off as long as possible.
When he was home, and it was dark, and he was sure his house was asleep or not likely to bother him, Sunday finally unfolded the letter in the light of a desk lamp.
It's elaborate handwriting said:
I know you were there.
✨The magic crew✨ but as adults because I have more opportunities to draw them in when they’re adults :3
Magic crew but my design for them as adults :P
(I was too lazy to color, also don’t mind the constant style change and the inconsistent anatomy, I drew these over multiple days and I’ve been super burnt out recently 😅)
Cat Scratch Fever (pt. 4)
Summary: While Sunday didn't intend to get in on Marvin's plan, they go along with it because they trust him. But Marvin is beginning to make it clear that he's not going to fix his mistake.
Sunday's done giving him chances.
Words: 2,514
Other notes: Sunday uses they/them pronouns.
___
Marvin is absent once again on Thursday, leaving Sunday with a plan for their book heist.
The plan, in theory, is simple: Sunday will ask to use the restroom during class, sneak into the library, go past the librarian into the off-limits section, and steal the book. Alongside the title of the book, Marvin had written exactly where Sunday could find it and what it looks like. If everything goes according to plan, Sunday can smuggle the book back to class in their bag and take it home. That’s not accounting for the librarian keeping an eye on everyone who walks through the door, or a student or professor seeing them enter, or explaining why they took so long in the bathroom. A foolproof plan, Marvin had said.
They’d love to see him pull this off.
Really, Sunday should have said no and convinced Marvin to see one of the professors. They know that. And yet, when faced with Marvin promising that he’d fix it, they couldn’t do it. Marvin has pulled off what they previously thought was impossible, and he’s their friend! They trust him.
Caoimhe doesn’t mince her words this time. “Sick again?”
Sunday shrugs. “I haven’t a clue, the last time that I spoke to him was yesterday before we left.” Neither of them had planned on what to tell people who asked, but Sunday’s not sure if they can avoid the topic like Marvin can. Lying it is.
“I hope it’s not anything to do with yesterday at the library.” The word library makes Sunday’s heart skip a beat. “It all still seems odd. It’s not just me, right?”
“No,” Sunday replies, fiddling with their pencil. “But I wouldn’t think about it too much.”
There’s an emotion in Caoimhe’s gaze that Sunday can’t quite decipher, but she holds her gaze until the tardy bell rings. “Okay, I was just wondering.”
Nobody else is as inquisitive as her besides Sonja and Avery, who wave them over at lunch. They’re more accepting of Sunday’s “I don’t know,” than she is. Sonja launches into the most recent gossip when everyone is situated, but Sunday’s mind and heart are racing far too fast to pay attention. Besides an occasional “mhm” and “oh, wow,” thrown in, they don’t contribute much.
They make a small adjustment to the plan: instead of going to class and asking to be let out, Sunday heads toward the library straight after lunch. No need to explain their disappearance if they don’t show up in the first place. Sunday sneaks down the corridor, peeking their head through the library entrance. The librarian has her back to them while sorting through a stack of books. Their feet carry them through the entrance and behind a bookshelf on the far left wall, heart beating so loud it very well may beat straight out of their chest.
With shaking hands, Sunday takes the piece of paper from Marvin out of their uniform pocket, unfolding it slowly. They extend a finger to the page, shining a tiny light on the end of it to read better. Transmutation of Humans and Animals, shelf 15, up 6 rows, red cover, gold lettering. Sunday glances up at the number next to them. Shelf 4. That book isn’t going to take itself.
They pass the first two shelves just fine, their feet barely making any noise against the hardwood floor. There doesn’t seem to be anybody in the library except for them and the librarian. On one hand, that’s less people who can catch them and rat them out, but it also means that any noise Sunday makes is magnified by a thousand. The next two shelves take them dangerously close to the beginning of the restricted section.
Something that Sunday has never noticed before is how dark the latter half of the library gets. Perhaps it’s to complete the aesthetics of how off-limits the back of the library is, or maybe the Twins have fallen behind on upkeep, but the lights overhead are much dimmer than they are in the center of the room. The end of the path is basically pitch black. Raising their hand, they cast a golden glow, illuminating the way ahead of them.
Shelf 8, shelf 9, shelf 10…
“Boo.”
Sunday nearly jumps out of their skin. Next to them, Rory leans against a shelf, smirking by the light of a flame. “What’re you doing here?” they hiss, extinguishing their own light. The two of them share a single class, but they don’t know much about Rory otherwise.
“Seeing if Caoimhe was right.” He comes closer, close enough for the warmth of his flame to lap at Sunday’s face. “You and Marvin are up to something, aren’t you?”
“And why do you care?” Sunday crosses their arms, hoping that the wobble in their voice isn’t too noticeable.
“I don’t, I’m just here for fun. So, what’re we doing?”
“There’s no we-” They lean in, lowering themself perfectly to Rory’s eye level, “-and you need to leave before you get caught.” With a huff, Sunday creates a new light and backs away, trying to continue their plan. Beyond shelf 10 is the off-limits section, where Sunday unfortunately needs to be. Shelf 11, shelf 12…
“So, what’s up with Marvin?”
Eye twitching, Sunday turns and glares at Rory. “Nothing. Don’t you have a class to go to?”
“Nah, I’m trying to get a record for the most absences. Of course I have somewhere else to be, but this is more exciting.” By the light of his flame, Rory’s smirk is almost devilish.
“Rory…” There’s a million ways to end their sentence, most including profanities and insults, but Sunday sighs. “This doesn’t involve you. Just leave.” They turn again, counting the shelves as they pass them. Shelf 13, shelf 14…
Shelf 15.
The problem now is that there are technically multiple shelves in this row, and Sunday’s only seeing one of four. After quickly counting the rows of books, they fixate on row 6, which is high enough that Sunday has to crane their neck to read the titles. They extend their hand forward, keeping an eye out for a red cover with gold lettering. A book occasionally catches their eye, but when pulling it halfway off the shelf, it’s never the right one. Their arm begins to grow tired.
Another book catches their attention. Their finger hooks on the top of it, allowing it to fall halfway, reading the title. Magic of the Mind. Not what they need.
They try another book, lowering it to read the title. Still not the one they need. Onto the next shelf it is.
“Magic and Medieval Torture? Wow. I can’t believe you.”
“Shut up!” Sunday’s still whispering, but they’re louder than they intended, causing them to flinch. Rory jumps back, his flame going out.
They glance up, and just at the edge of their light, there’s a red book. Sunday wouldn’t give it their attention if not for the gold wrapped around the bottom. Marvin said that it would be on the sixth row, but it’s possible that it was put in the wrong spot, right? Raising themself on their tiptoes, Sunday shines their light on the book, seeing the ending of the title. Animals. It’s a match!
Now the difficult part is getting it down. Their fingers brush the bottom of the book, accidentally pushing it further back on the shelf.
“Mister Duke? Your books are ready at the desk, Sir.”
Oh no.
Sunday can’t leave without that book. Thinking fast, they put their hands out and mumble a levitation spell. Gold and silver twists out of their palms, lighting the way as it slowly lures the book off of the shelf. When it teeters on the edge of the shelf, Sunday tips the book downward, allowing it to fall into their arms. Transmutation of Humans and Animals. They slip it in their bag, hiding the title from Rory as best they can.
“Hello?”
Footsteps begin to click-clack across the floor, headed directly for them. Rory’s face has completely changed. Where he was once wearing a smug smirk, his eyes are wide and his cheeks are devoid of colour. He bolts in the other direction, his footfalls matching the loud thumping of Sunday’s heart. The librarian stops in her tracks.
Sunday has a chance to escape. They close their eyes tight and concentrate hard, hands clasping together.
Poof!
They're in the second floor bathroom now, staring at their wide-eyed reflection in the mirror, trembling slightly. Checking their bag, they find the book still tucked between some notebooks and folders. Sunday lets out a sigh of relief. Marvin had better be thanking me nonstop after this, they think. After actually using the bathroom and washing their hands, they slink down the hall toward their class.
“You.”
Sunday spins on their heel, spotting Rory halfway down the hall behind them. He strides forward and comes nearly nose-to-nose with them. Both are silent, waiting for the other to explain themself, Sunday reflexively putting a hand over their bag.
Then, Rory speaks. “Which one did you take?”
“That’s none of your business,” Sunday snaps. “Go to class.”
They leave a stunned Rory there, slipping into their classroom with barely an explanation besides there being a line outside of the bathroom. The book burns a hole through their bag the rest of the day. Rory gives them an odd look when they pass each other in the hallway, but Sunday tries to pay him no mind. At one point, Caoimhe also stares at them. But if Rory doesn’t know what book Sunday took, she has nothing to question them about besides being in the restricted section. Just as long as she doesn’t tell a professor before they leave school, they’re fine.
When Sunday goes to Marvin’s place, they can’t find him anywhere in the house. They aren’t sure how long the associates would have held Moira, but surely Marvin should be home by now. Moira also isn’t anywhere to be found, although her food bowls and some light scratching on the side of the couch marks her presence. Sunday opens the fridge and helps themself to a soda, approaching the window and peering outside the way their mum does sometimes. Movement in the garden piques their interest.
Exiting through the back door, Sunday steps onto the porch, finding both Marvin and Moira outside. Marvin sits on the edge of one of the planting boxes, watering can loosely held in hand, sprinkling water onto one of the rose bushes. Moira's sniffing at a different bush, swatting at any bugs she sees. Sunday walks down to join them in the backyard.
“I thought you're meant to wear gloves when gardening,” they joke, pointing at Marvin’s hands. There's now multiple bandaids scattered across either one, two on his right hand and three on his left.
“Oh yeah.” Marvin shrugs, chuckling and setting the can down. “So, did you get the book?”
“Yep, Rory was being a dick and almost got me caught, but I have it!” Reaching into their bag, Sunday pulls out the book, presenting it to Marvin proudly. He takes it from them.
“Thank you,” he says, holding the book out flat and closing his eyes, feeling its weight in his palms. “It’s bound to have something that can help. It feels powerful.”
Sunday sits down next to him, watching Moira try to escape the garden box but stopping. Her movements are strange, jerky, uncomfortable looking. They realize that she's wearing a leash, which leads to a clasp on the side of Marvin’s jeans. “Marvin, why's she wearing that?”
Marvin looks up from the book, following Sunday's gaze to the leash and attached collar. “Oh, well I thought she'd like to come and garden, too! But I didn't want her to hop over the wall and escape, so I picked that up for her. It took a few tries to get it on her. She's still fierce!” He wiggles his fingers, showing off his bandaids.
So he didn’t have a collar for her to wear before… Is he taking this seriously?
Marvin gets up, scooping Moira into his arms and carrying her back into the house. Sunday picks up the book that he left behind and follows after him. Coming through the door, they see him cracking a soda open with one hand and cradling Moira with the other. “Could you help me get her collar off?”
“Sure.” Sunday approaches him, raising a hand to allow Moira to sniff them the way Marvin does. After slowly petting her head, they reach for her collar and fiddle with the latch. Moira meows and squirms around. The latch makes a pop! and falls to the floor, but one of her claws hooks into their left hand. “Ow!”
The cat leaps from Marvin’s arms, scrambling onto the couch instead. She paws at one of the cushions, at least that’s what Sunday thinks at first, until Marvin lurches forward. “No no, wait, not the couch! Don’t claw the couch up, Mum’s gonna be so mad!”
It takes Sunday a second to react, their mouth falling open before they collect themself. “Mate, that is your mum.”
Marvin picks Moira up again, holding her close to him. “I know, but- you know what I mean.” He flicks his hand.
“Marvin, that’s enough.” Sunday holds the book in front of his face. “You said that you would try changing her back if I got this for you. You have it, now let’s try it.”
Marvin’s face twists up in a way they haven't quite seen before. His eyes harden, mouth flexing in and out of a snarl, and his cheeks going red. A chill runs down Sunday’s spine; they've had disagreements before, that comes with friendship. But they’re not sure they’ve seen him get this upset before.
He settles on a tight smile that stretches his lips thin. It's far worse than anything he could've said. “Relax, I’ll do it in a bit.”
“Why can't you just admit when you fuck up?” Sunday shouts, sending Moira flying out of Marvin's arms again for a safer place. “That's your mum! Is it so hard for you to accept help that you'd rather let her live like that?”
“It's not just me admitting that I fucked up, I could get expelled for this!”
Sunday’s eye twitches. “And that's more important than Moira to you?! Look, you either take her to the Magic Circle to change her back, or I will.”
Marvin’s breathing hard, magic sparking out of his fists, but he closes his eyes to try and soothe himself. “Get out. I don't want to see you right now.”
Sunday sighs, massaging the bridge of their nose. He’s still not listening. “I'm serious, mate.”
“Sure you are. Now get out.” Marvin doesn’t do anything else besides open his eyes to glare at them until Sunday’s shoulders slump in defeat. They head for the door, turning one last time to look at Marvin, then leave.
A new plan is already forming in their head.
___
Oh dear! Marvin you're going to get in so much trouble if this gets out. Oh wait... Also SUNDAYYYYYY c'mon man you should have known better. I love you so much but you need to grow a spine!
Just one last part tomorrow! :]
Tagging: @arthyritis @glass-trash-bab @fruitycasket @chaseisglitched @dtaegis
Cat Scratch Fever (pt. 3)
Summary: Marvin promises to make things better, but when Sunday asks, he reveals that it's apparently not that easy. He asks for more time.
Against their better judgement, Sunday grants it to him.
Words: 1940
Other notes: Sunday uses they/them pronouns.
___
Marvin’s late again on Wednesday, though not as late as Monday.
It's halfway through their first class that he shows up, hair unbrushed and thrown up half-heartedly into a bun. Two intersecting bandaids, the middle saturated with red under the gauze, decorate his left cheek. Everyone else stares at him like he's been struck by lightning. Marvin sits down next to Sunday and begins taking notes, not even explaining himself to the professor. It might be an unspoken agreement between him and the teachers by now that he’ll just be late. A few people whisper here and there about it, which Marvin seems to be ignoring entirely, but Sunday can’t do so as easily.
Marvin’s words from the day before come back to them. But I feel a little bad, y’know?
He said that he’d try to turn Moira back, and maybe he actually succeeded, but he hasn’t acknowledged it yet. And they can’t talk about it in class, not with their professor walking around and people whispering about Marvin. Sunday decides to ask after class, since Marvin usually has a few minutes to talk before they have to part ways. With this hope in mind, they keep their mind on their notes, tuning out the rest of the noise.
The bell rings to dismiss them. As everyone else files out of the classroom, Sunday takes their time putting their supplies away, slowing Marvin down. They enter the hall together, and Sunday leans in and whispers, “so, is your mum-?”
Marvin cuts them off. “She’s still sick,” he says loudly, the corners of his lips turning down. “But I’m sure she’ll start feeling better soon! I gotta go now, we’ll talk at lunch!” Sunday’s eyes nearly pop out of their head as he runs off to his next class.
“You’re joking…” they mumble, dumbfounded. Transmuting a human into an animal and back is complicated even for some trained magicians, at least that’s what their professor said. But Marvin’s got magic far greater than their professors understand; that’s part of why he’s not supposed to be using it. Why can’t he do it now? Sunday shakes their head and walks off.
Wednesdays have a study hall period built in, so after lunch, they head to the library together. Marvin pulls a notebook and a stapled booklet out and starts copying from the first page. Sonja sits next to them. Normally, she and Avery sit with a group of girls, her nose glued to the page so she can sleep or listen to music behind her book. Sunday can already guess what she’s about to ask. And when she has her book out, she casually asks, “What's been up with you lately?”
“You mean with missing school?” Marvin smirks, covering his mouth with his hand. “I was sick, that's all.”
The hair on Sunday's neck stands on end. That’s not what happened, they want to say, and we both know It. Sonja’s not as close of a friend as Sunday is, so of course he wouldn’t tell her the truth, but the way that he’s lying so smoothly unnerves them. They reach into their messenger bag and take out a book on alchemy, opening it to a random bookmarked page. If they open their mouth, they're not sure they'll be keeping any secrets.
Sonja frowns, glancing down at her hands for a moment before continuing, “Oh, I’m sorry. Was it that stomach bug that’s going around?”
“Yeah, I think so.” Marvin flips the page of his booklet, completely unbothered by the conversation. “I tried to tough it out Monday, but Mum made me stay home yesterday.”
A speaker perched on a wall across the room crackles to life. “Is Marvin there?”
Both Sunday and Marvin look up, equally stunned by the voice. It’s familiar, along with the sage green mist pouring out of the end, and it’s not until it forms into a person that Sunday fully recognizes her. The Speaker stands in the middle of the library, surveying the room before setting her sight on Marvin. She strides across the room, a sense of urgency in her hurried pace. Her hands curl around the back of his chair as she leans down next to him. “Marvin, my boy, how are you?”
“Oh, er…” Marvin swallows. “I'm doing well, still recovering from being sick. How are you?”
“Just wonderful! Now, don't be nervous, but if you could come with me…” The Speaker easily swivels his chair around to face her, her grin as wide as ever.
“O-oh, right, yeah.” Nodding, Marvin packs up his notes and notebook, tucking them into his bag. “Where are we going?”
“There’s no need to be worried, we simply need to have a discussion about something. Bring your backpack, too.”
“Okay.” Marvin looks over at Sunday. “I’ll catch you later.” With that, he follows the Speaker out of the library, presumably going to her office. There's complete silence for a minute after they leave, then the room breaks into a whisper-fest.
Sunday doesn't notice Caoimhe silently sliding beside them until she clears her throat. “Do you know what that’s about?”
“What? No.” They hold their hands up, but after a moment, their shoulders slump. “It’s probably just because of him being late these last few days.”
The air is thick between them. Sunday looks away from Caoimhe, not wanting to give what's happening with Marvin away. It's Marvin’s decision to make sure that Moira is turned back to normal. If Sunday does it for him, it might make things worse for him, and it is his mum. They meet her gaze again, her eyes not as fierce as they expect them to be.
“I hope you’re right,” she says finally, reaching into her bag for a book.
Me too, Sunday thinks.
Rather than stopping by their house first that day, Sunday walks home with Marvin to find out how Moira is doing themself. The second he unlocks the door, they hear wails from upstairs. They frown. Marvin, on the other hand, puts a hand over his heart.
“Aw, she misses me!” he cooes, heading upstairs to check on her. Sunday follows him, expecting him to let her out of the cat carrier they heard about yesterday. Instead of going to her room, he opens the spare bedroom, and a streak of white shoots out past them. “She has zoomies!”
“You locked her in that room all day?” Sunday shouldn't be disappointed by now, but they still cross their arms and give him a stern look.
“Well, I thought about what you said last night, and I realized that she was miserable in that carrier. That way she can eat when she wants, too.” He leans against the stairs railing, then raises his legs and slides down, his feet swinging along the way. Sunday walks down after him. “Mum never lets me do that!”
“Mate, you remember that you're talking about your mum, right? This isn't just a stray cat you’re taking care of.”
Marvin stops and looks over at Sunday, face going red. “Right, right. And that's why I didn't put her in the carrier again!”
This conversation isn’t going anywhere. Rolling their eyes, Sunday feels something bump up against their leg. Moira is rubbing against them, encircling them and periodically meowing. She's adorable, they have to admit, but they wish that it wasn't actually their friend’s mother.
“So, what did the Speaker want?” they ask, leaning down and petting Moira, stroking from the top of her head to her tail. Her fur is soft and shiny, sifting between their fingers with ease.
“Hmm? Oh, she was concerned about the fact that nobody answered when they called about my absences.” Marvin wanders over and leans in as well, letting Moira sniff his fingers before he scratches under her chin. “I reminded her that Mum is a very busy woman and she backed off. And speaking of being a busy woman-”
“So are you not going to try to change her back?” The firmness in Sunday's voice shocks both of them. They nod, though, and stand up straight, looking Marvin directly in the eyes. “You said that you'd try to turn her back by tonight.”
“I- well-” His demeanor changes, eyes widening and hands shaking slightly. “It turns out that it’s not that simple. None of Ramesses’ notes have anything about complex transmutation of living beings.”
Sunday pauses. “But I thought that you were super powerful. You did it once, can’t you just do it again?”
“I did it by accident. I was trying to turn a pencil into a tiny tree, but Mum walked in and scared me and I said it wrong. But I think that I know how to fix it now!” Marvin gestures for Sunday to follow him, and they do so. He leads them back up the stairs, into his room, and rifling through his backpack. After a minute, he gives a paper to Sunday.
They read the name scrawled messily along the page: Transmutation of Humans and Animals. “So you found a book to help her? Great!”
Marvin shakes his head slowly, grimacing at them. “Kind of. When the Speaker took me to her office, she had a computer behind her desk. I made something fall outside of her office and checked it when she left, and I found the book archives and searched through them. I found that book, but the problem is that it’s in the restricted section of the library.”
The library isn’t only for the academy’s students, but for anyone who has access to Ebon Hall. Magic Circle members come and go during study periods every so often, as well as visiting associates. While it’s open for everyone, however, there’s a section for the adults only, and another still for people of certain ranks. Archivists would have access to most (if not all) of it…
“And you’d most likely have access to that section if you asked the Speaker for permission.” Sunday finishes their thought out loud, glancing back up at Marvin. “So you can get it tomorrow.”
“...That’s the other part.” Marvin averts his eyes. Sunday knows that face, there’s something else coming. “Mum’s associates need to speak with her about an upcoming trial, she can’t miss this one. You’re going to have to collect the book on your own.”
“You’re joking.” Marvin getting into a restricted area is one thing, but Sunday? This isn’t any of their business, not to mention that if they get caught, they may get suspended. Or be put on academic probation and be thrown into private lessons. Or expelled. Sunday’s not sure which one of those is worse. “Marvin, do you hear yourself right now? This is getting out of hand. Just ask one of the professors-”
“Sunday.” Marvin’s voice is weary. “I know it’d be easier, but please?”
They hate how Marvin tugs at their heartstrings. This is a convoluted and stupid plan, and they both know an easier way to get this resolved. It’s not like when they snuck over to Avery’s house to use their family’s pool, or when they stay up late to play games together or talk for hours, or when they do homework last-minute. No, this has higher stakes and dire consequences. Sunday’s mouth opens.
“Fine. But you have to change her back by tomorrow night. Moira would probably like that.”
Damnit.
“Yeah, I know. But for now-” Marvin leaves and goes to Moira’s room, returning with two suit jackets on hangers. “Do you think maroon or plum would look better? I was leaning toward maroon.”
You’re going to be the death of me. “Maroon.”
___
Oh Sunday you sweet summer child... Marvin does NOT have it handled Sunday please grow a spine... These two are going to be the death of me. Also Moira I love you I promise I'll make something better for you eventually.
Tagging: @arthyritis @glass-trash-bab @dtaegis @fruitycasket
Overexertion
Summary: Caoimhe injures herself during class and Marvin is tasked with taking care of her. She's reluctant to accept his help.
Words: 3,345
Other notes: I know nothing about workout-related injures please forgive me if this is silly.
AO3 link here!
___
The school of abjuration magic requires an acute awareness of one's surroundings and self. Deflecting magical attacks may send it toward one's allies instead. Likewise, not taking care of the self will weaken one's magic and body.
Marvin slams his pencil flat against the bleachers. It rolls away the moment he lifts his hand, tipping over the edge and clattering to the floor. He mutters a spell to retrieve it. Across the room, the professor glares in his direction, lips curling into a tight frown.
Whatever. He wedges his pencil between the pages of his notebook, snapping it shut.
Why should Marvin have to study magic from the sidelines? He's more than capable of practical magic. He's mastered everything Ramesses and his classmates have thrown at him. While he can't exactly demonstrate that to his professors without being punished, his peers know what he's capable of, and being forced to sit lessons out is humiliating. Marvin should be sparring right now, not copying lines from a textbook.
Off to the side, a few kids are huddled together with their backs to him, whispering and giggling excitedly. A pair of boys are stretching just beyond them. Ah. Marvin rolls his eyes and moves on to the other side of the gym, where Caoimhe is tightening the straps of her gloves. Their eyes meet and she gives him a small nod. He nods back.
It seems stupid to bar him from even exercising with the other students, but he's not complaining about that.
"Okay, okay, let's get started…" The professor claps his hands twice and a hush falls over the room. "I'll pair you off. Barnes… still preparing, I see. Carleton-"
"I'm ready," Rory announces. He fans himself with his shirt, then tosses his jacket into the bleachers. The zipper hits Marvin's ankle.
Caoimhe jogs over, one hand in the air. "I'm ready to start!" she adds, sweeping some loose hair behind her ear. She lays her bag next to Rory's jacket.
"Are you-"
"I finished my stretches," she interrupts, cracking her knuckles. "And I'm ready to go."
Rory shrugs, moving to take his position on the mat. "Good enough for me."
Caoimhe mirrors him, hands clenched into loose fists in front of her. The professor sighs.
"Very well. No phy-"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, no physical contact."
Marvin picks up his textbook, cracking the massive tome open where he left off. A mixture of annoyance and jealousy boils under his skin. He flashes Caoimhe a thumbs up, then tries to resume his lesson, laying his textbook across his lap.
A flash of orange pulls his attention away immediately.
Rory sends a fireball hurtling towards Caoimhe, a wild grin splayed across his face. Caoimhe doesn't move right away, but stares the fireball down, swirling her right hand in the air. Heat radiates off the fireball as it passes in front of Marvin. There's already so little distance between them, and it's sailing through the air towards Caoimhe—
She throws it out in front of her, palm open.
A shimmering green barrier forms from her fingertips, expanding rapidly to shield her entire body. The fireball collides with it and is instantly swallowed whole. It disappears in a mess of embers and ash, leaving Caoimhe smiling and Rory rolling his eyes.
As the last ember falls, an array of icicles forms in front of her, glinting threateningly under the gym's harsh lighting. One by one, they careen towards her. Caoimhe forms a shield for each one to shatter against.
One final icicle flies at her face. She clenches her fist shut, stopping it right before it hits her forehead.
Suddenly, she plucks it from the air and hurls it at Rory like a dart. He flicks his wrist to form a fire in the palm of his hand, catching the icicle and melting it into a pellet. It's tossed carelessly to the side.
Marvin pretends to read, but in the corner of his eye, he watches them spar. He's not the only one, either; other students who should be stretching are also paying attention, all of them in awe. He can't blame them.
Rory steps forward, raising his left hand. A breeze ruffles his hair. It steadily picks up, beginning to carry leaves of various shapes and sizes and blow them around Caoimhe's head. She attempts to bat the leaves away from her face, but they continue to encircle her. Her attention is taken off Rory for a moment too long.
He kneels to the ground, putting his hand out in front of him. Tree roots begin to sprout through the floor. They criss-cross over each other, slow at first and then speeding up when Caoimhe is still distracted. A tendril-like branch reaches for her foot.
Caoimhe catches on just in time, jumping back and scrambling onto the lowest level of the bleachers. She spits out a spell that causes the tree roots to curl in on themselves, rolling into balls that end at Rory's feet. They disappear as well.
"Good one," she admits, shaking a few leaves from her honey-coloured hair. She resumes her position on the sparring mat.
"Thanks," Rory replies. He's using a thin sheet of ice to admire his reflection. It falls to the floor when he's done, melting into a puddle.
"You may advance," the professor announces.
Rory rushes forward, fists bared. Caoimhe takes a few steps back and throws an arm out, throwing him off-balance and allowing her to shove him back. He takes a moment to steady himself, then advances once more, throwing a right hook. It's also blocked with little effort.
Sloppy, Marvin thinks, rolling his eyes. He takes a deep breath and leans back; he hadn't realized until now that he's been leaning so far forward.
Rory switches tactics. He conjures up a cluster of fireballs, sending them off one by one, then lunges at her. Caoimhe manages to block and dissolve most of them but dodges the last fireball in favour of swiping at Rory. She takes her eyes off his staggering form long enough to check that nothing was damaged.
He tries again, this time forming fireballs as he approaches. A shining green barrier preemptively forms around Caoimhe. Rory rams his shoulder against it, pushing her back a few centimeters with every attempt to shatter it. He's successful after a couple of tries.
Everything stops. They stare each other down, one stepping forward while the other steps back, one scowling and the other smirking, panting and silently daring one another to act first.
It's Caoimhe who makes the first move. She slashes her left arm through the air, sending Rory toppling backwards, then strolls up to him with green wisps forming around her right hand. He taps twice on the mat to surrender. Everyone cheers, and Marvin goes to pick up his notebook.
Caoimhe puts her hand over her left arm, trailing up to her shoulder and wincing.
Nobody notices this right away, either chatting amongst themselves or still pretending to do work or stretches, watching Rory peels himself from the floor. Even Marvin is amused. It's only when the professor approaches Caoimhe that he tunes back in.
"Are you alright?" he asks.
"My arm feels weird," she replies, so low that Marvin has to strain his ears to hear her. "I think I'm fine, I just need to rest for a-" She hisses when the professor touches her arm.
"…It may be out of the socket…"
"No, I can move it, see? I-"
Marvin scoots closer, abandoning his textbook to check on her. She's led to the bleachers, still insisting that she's fine, but the professor tries to assess her injury anyway. Caoimhe won't stay still long enough for him to find anything out. When he gets up, Marvin slides into his spot.
"Are you okay?"
Caoimhe nods. "Yes, I just need to sit here for a minute. I'll be okay." She punctuates her sentence with a sharp sigh, which turns into a gasp when she tries to lift her bag into her lap.
By now, Rory's caught on as well. He takes his place on Caoimhe's other side, pointedly glaring at Marvin before addressing her in a whisper. Whatever he says, it makes Caoimhe hiss a not-so-quiet "yes!"
They bicker back and forth until the professor returns to the bleachers. He points at Marvin, then to the door.
"You," he instructs flatly, "take her to the nurse."
"Yessir." Marvin hastily throws his things into his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. After another sigh, Caoimhe rises to her feet, her messenger bag slung over her left shoulder. He nods at the door.
—
The walk to the nurse's office is tense.
Caoimhe stares ahead, mouth drawn into a frown. Her hand is still placed gingerly over her left arm. As she marches down the hall, Marvin lags slightly behind, unsure of what to say. He keeps peering down at her shoulder. It doesn't seem to be dislocated, but her jacket prevents him from knowing for sure.
Every so often, she lets out a whine, so soft that it's hard to tell if the sound came from her or the classrooms they pass. She still says nothing.
Caoimhe doesn't usually refuse peoples' help. Rory does, maybe, but she isn't so proud that she'd ignore a helping hand. She and Marvin have studied together before, and she asks him questions as needed. She's as sensible and level-headed as they come. So why's she acting like this now?
"Stairs," she suddenly warns him.
"I see, yeah," Marvin says. He takes the left side of the staircase, making her take the right.
Just beyond the staircase is a row of doors along both sides of the hall. Caoimhe checks the nameplates on each door, mumbling the titles scrawled on them under her breath.
"Found it." She reaches for the doorknob, turning towards Marvin. "Can you wait out here?"
For a brief second, Marvin considers the request. The idea of one of their other professors, especially the Twins, seeing him outside of class makes him shake his head. "No way! You can explain yourself, you won't even realize I'm here."
"Fine." Caoimhe opens the door, peering into the room before she allows Marvin to enter after her.
A chill settles over him as he crosses the threshold. It's cold and sterile inside and, more than anything, quiet. The nurse's desk is abandoned, though nothing seems out of place; all of the lights are on in both the waiting room and the clinic. They share a look, Caoimhe's eyes widening and Marvin's narrowing.
"Do you think she left?"
Marvin approaches the desk. "It's ten in the morning, I don't know why she would… aha." A yellow sticky note peels away from hardwood. "My kid's school called, had to leave, go back to class."
Caoimhe shrugs. "Well, that sucks." She winces, but tries to smooth her features back into neutrality. "Let's g-"
A lock clicks. Marvin grins over at Caoimhe, green wisps still emanating from his hands as he opens the door to the clinic. "Come on," he says, beckoning her in.
"Wait- I can just go to someone else!"
"It'll be fine!" He opens the door wider, propping it open with his foot. After a pause, she joins him, walking into the nearest examination room.
They sit their bags down on the table against the back wall. Instead of sitting down with them, Caoimhe begins to pore over the bottles locked behind a heavy glass door. She glances over to see Marvin watching her closely.
"Really, you can go back to class," she tells him, flashing a smile. It's not that convincing. "I can-"
"So you're not fine." Marvin leans against the wall, his arms folded over his chest.
"Well- I am fine, I just- it's-" She smiles again, overshadowed by the desperation radiating from her eyes. Slowly, she shakes her head, lips pressed so thin that they're turning pale.
"Which is it?"
Marvin's eye twitches. Heat runs through his veins, rising to his face and simmering. Caoimhe never lies like this, never so obviously; she's so bad at lying that it almost makes it more upsetting. He steps away from the wall, backing up to the door, which is still ajar. His fingers wrap around the handle.
…Locking her in with him probably isn't the best idea.
Instead, he throws the door open wider, gesturing out of the room. "You can leave," he starts, keeping his voice steady, "or we can stay. One or the other." His eyes bore into hers.
Finally, Caoimhe sighs and hangs her head. "Fine."
Marvin closes the door halfway, then joins her in staring at the contents of the cabinet. There are bottles of everyday medicines like Ibuprofen and Advil and Allegra on the bottom shelves. As the shelves climb higher, they become occupied with a wide selection of potions, none of which are labeled. The one closest to him shimmers a pale yellow.
Marvin's finger trails across a higher row of bottles. The nurse must know these like the back of her hand if they're not even labeled; that, or it's to keep snooping students like them from breaking in and taking specific potions.
"I pulled a muscle in my arm."
It takes a moment for what Caoimhe said to register. He turns around, seeing her shimmying out of her jacket and rolling it up in her lap. "…And you know that for sure?"
"Yeah." She swallows, staring straight ahead instead of at him. "It's happened enough times that I just know."
"How often are you pulling stuff that you 'just know'?"
Caoimhe gives him the same look as before, a desperate 'please don't ask me that' smile. When Marvin doesn't drop it, she sighs.
"Well… Mum has a personal trainer friend, and she's been helping me figure out a routine and stuff, it helps me with my magic. And since we've been preparing for exams-" She swallows and licks her lips before continuing, still not looking at Marvin. "I've been pushing my limits a bit… A lot."
Marvin crosses his arms. "So you've been going until you injure yourself?"
"You're making it sound worse than it is!" Caoimhe throws her hands up, wincing from the sudden movement. "I was going to tell the professor about it but he wouldn't let me explain-"
"Yeah, because that's better." He scoffs, shaking his head. "You have limits for a reason, you're supposed to listen-"
"Like how you're supposed to listen to the Circle and not do magic?"
"That's different," Marvin replies swiftly. That same heat rises once more, threatening to bubble up and spill out of him. He swallows it down.
Caoimhe doesn't do the same. "You're ruining your future-"
"And you're not?"
Silence.
Silence so sudden and still that he can hear his own words ringing in his ears. Marvin takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and presses his knuckles against his eyelids. When he opens them, Caoimhe's hanging her head again.
"Are you going to let me help?"
"…Yes."
Finally. Marvin approaches her, hesitantly wrapping his fingers around the hem of her jacket. She nods, and he helps her remove it, then rolls up her left sleeve of her undershirt. Her skin is flushed red and hot. When he presses on the back of her arm, she whines, squirming uncomfortably.
Unfortunately, he doesn't know that much about injuries, particularly sports-related injuries. But he can't let her know that.
"Sit down, I'll… I'll get you some ice."
Marvin turns to look around the room. Behind him, the examination table creaks. Caoimhe makes a small, pained noise as she settles down, moving her bag over to make more room for herself. He can't see what he needs from a cursory glance.
Raising his hand, he uses a seeking spell, expecting one of the nearby drawers to open. Instead, something rattles in the hallway. An ice pack and a cloth fly into his hand. Caoimhe wraps the ice pack up herself, holding it in place while Marvin goes back to the cabinet.
"You'll need one of these."
"And you know which one?"
"Eh, well…"
Marvin places a hand on the side of glass door, getting a feel for the lock mechanism. A pretty standard keyhole, and the nurse probably took the key with her, but he can visualize all of the small teeth inside. He can pick it easily, it's the same as the door—
Wait.
"Detection magic," he mutters to himself. The inside of the lock is coated with something he can only describe as sticky. He backs up. Of course they'd take extra precautions. "I'll have to make it myself, then."
Caoimhe glances between him, the door, and the counter next to the table. Her mouth opens, then closes, then opens. "Do you know what you're doing? I'm sure a healing spell would be easier."
"I know what I'm doing… more or less."
Marvin begins collecting ingredients and a small cauldron to put them in. The nurse's station has an array of small baskets and a hotplate, basically the same as the stations in the student labs (which Marvin has never used… certainly not). He collects water from the sink in the corner, scoops a handful of dried violet petals into his palm, and counts them under his breath. A few of those, a root of some kind, a pinch of salt, all stirred over a low heat.
Things are quiet besides the faint bubbling from his cauldron. Marvin stares down at its contents, half to keep an eye on it and half to avoid making conversation.
Ever since that day he first encountered Ramesses, his words have stuck in the back of Marvin's mind. He's been marked. Magic is what he's destined to do, and the Magic Circle will have to realize that eventually, even if that means continuing to do it under their noses. Caoimhe means well, but this is so much bigger than she knows. She'll have to realize that eventually, too.
Marvin turns the hotplate off and stirs one last time, then sets the spoon to the side. As the potion cools down, he scours the room for a strainer and a cup, settling for a tall beaker in the end. The strainer is placed over the beaker and the cauldron is slowly lifted and tipped over, allowing the cooled potion to spill over the side. It shines bright blue and eminates a faint floral smell.
He holds the beaker out to Caoimhe, who puts her ice pack down and takes it. "Looks promising," he quips.
She eyes up the liquid, puts the beaker to her lips, looks at Marvin one more time, and tilts her head back. Her eyes close. Marvin leans forward, searching her for any signs of distress. The last drop drips from the glass, leaving Caoimhe's bottom lip with a faint blue sheen.
"…Do you feel better?"
Slowly, Caoimhe moves her left arm, lifting it into the air, then to the side, then rotates it in a circle. "It feels better," she affirms, nodding to herself.
"See? I knew it would work." Marvin grins, then turns to wash up the things he used. A beat passes, and he adds a pointed, "be more careful next time."
"Only if you are."
That's not the same thing, he thinks. But he decides not to fuel this argument any more.
"I will," he promises over his shoulder.
When he's done, Caoimhe stands up, jacket slung over her arm. "You can go ahead, I need to change back into my uniform."
Marvin's clamoring for the door before she even finishes her sentence. "Yeah, yeah, I'll be outside when you're done."
He closes the door and drifts out into the waiting room. A barrage of footsteps and snippets of muffled conversations picks beyond the office door; classes must be switching over. Marvin takes a step towards the door, but stops. He reaches for one of his bag straps. Nothing's there.
It must still be with Caoimhe. Shrugging, Marvin slumps into a chair, tapping his fingers on the pockmarked foam clinging to the armrest. It shouldn't take her that long to change.
And sure enough, only a minute passes before she comes out of the clinic, holding Marvin's bag. He rises to his feet, taking it from her and slipping it on. The noise outside is already dying down. Caoimhe yanks the door open and waves, then turns on her heel to rush off to class. Her bag is slung on her opposite shoulder.
Marvin smiles and waves back, even though she won't see it.
___
Yippee wahoo I wrote something! Well actually I wrote this like a month ago but editing it was kinda scary. Also this isn't beta read because my beloved friend and writing partner Fruity has been busy </3 I know I have other friends to ask but shh. Anywho if there are any mistakes or this seems silly, oh well! I love Marvin and Caoimhe's friendship (+ whatever Caoimhe and Rory got going on (platonic)).