FAHC AU where everyone knows Jeremy’s a were-creature, but he won’t tell them what he is?
Manages to sneak off to wherever when the full moon happens and so on and they think he’s scared of what he might do and so forth a la best Angst in a were-creature AU trope.
They set up a “saferoom” for him at the penthouse or take him to a cabin/whatever in the middle of nowhere where he won’t have to worry about hurting anyone.
Everyone’s expecting him to be a werewolf or whatever? Something big and scary and Ryan and Michael - werewolf and werebear respectively - are there to reassure him they can make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone.
But no, no.
Full moon happens and they’ve got him in the saferoom that Jeremy’s been a little *sigh* about for reasons no one really understands? (Does he think it’s overkill, not enough? Idiot won’t say, just sighs all over the place.)
And what does he turn into?
A goddamned jackelope.
This tiny little thing that’s adorable as hell and kind of glaring up at the werewolf and werebear who are clearly laughing at it? (Also, though, also. Freaking impressive antlers.)
But the whole thing about jackelopes being super mcfkreaking terrifying/dangerous, but most importantly this is Jeremy, you know?
The rest of the crew get treated to the sight of big mcspooky werewolf Ryan and werebear Michael running for their damn lives from werejackelope Jeremy.
And, like.
Treeing them or similarly trapping them and being a horrible little bastard for the hell of it.
ALSO.
Lindsay strolls up to him in his werejackelope form and is like *finger guns* “Nice rack, Jeremy!” because thinking about it cracks me up, okay, I’m easy like that.
AND.
Someone in the crew getting grabbed by baddies somewhere around the full moon, right? The baddies being all gloaty mcgloaterson about it because no one will save them in time!!1!
Only for a very angry werejackelope to tear through the place to save his idiot crew and the main baddie is just like ??? about it when Jeremy breaks the door down to save them before Jeremy is like >:D and murderizes them for touching his idiot crew.
And without further ado, here is the final chapter of This Is It, my fic for @chlonathweek 2k19. Enjoy <3
***
Chloé watched as water washed over her feet, briefly clearing sand away from her white nail polish only to rush back out and sink her down to her ankles in mud. The ocean mist was cool and refreshing on her skin with the summer sun blazing overhead. It really had been far too long since she’d visited the coast.
She’d known she was going to visit it again this summer; she just hadn’t predicted the exact circumstances that would take her there. Before this, she had been entertaining thoughts of planning a trip to Spain to spend a week or two on the beaches there. She had been entertaining thoughts of bringing Nathaniel with her. Now, though, she was reconsidering that plan.
“So if there are entire cities of merfolk underwater,” she said as the water rushed over her feet once more, “and your family has to go back to the water all the time anyway,” she twisted to look at him over her shoulder, “why do you live on land at all?”
Nathaniel stood barefoot in the dry sand behind her, having just finished taking off his shoes (because he wore his Vans instead of sandals, like an idiot). His hair shined a brighter red than usual under light like this—closer to that ginger orange color than the darker tones he had under clouds. She might have been imagining it, but she was pretty sure a scattering of freckles was starting to pop up on the bridge of his nose. And his eyes—that deep teal that had reminded her of ocean waters long before she had even learned the truth—were bright and clear as they rose from his phone to meet her.
He smiled in that way that always preceded something snarky. “Have you ever tried to use a pencil and paper underwater?” She gave him a look. “I’m not kidding!” he laughed. “From drawing to writing to music, just about everyone in my family is an artist in some regard.” He looked down at his phone to keep typing as he continued. “There are underwater arts for sure, but why limit ourselves when we don’t have to?”
She supposed that made sense. Even before they started talking, Chloé had known by observation alone that Nathaniel couldn’t go anywhere without his sketch book. She had never seen him so distressed as those rare days when he forgot it at home—not even his stress over telling her the truth could compare. And everyone and their mother knew Nino always had a pair of headphones on him; she hadn’t even seen him without music. Their house was full of arts and crafts varying from pottery to papier mâché, there was always music of some sort playing from somewhere in the house, and Chloé couldn’t even picture Nathaniel’s mother without a pen tucked behind her ear; it seemed just as attached as her red hair.
“Do you have any family that don’t live on land?”
He shrugged, still typing. “Probably some distant family, but no one we keep in contact with.”
“Who are you texting?”
He looked up again and smiled upon seeing her confused expression. “Just Marinette.”
“Why?” Was it wrong of her to feel a slight pang of jealousy? Would the topic of Marinette ever stop being a sore spot for her?
Two more seconds to finish typing, then he closed his phone and tossed it off to the side with the rest of their stuff. “There’s a friend of hers that I want you to meet.”
“What? Why? Who is it?”
“Don’t worry about it.” She gave him another look. He just smiled in that way that was absolutely unfair. “You’ll see.”
“But—,”
“You’re welcome to keep watching,” he interrupted, voice muffled as he pulled his shirt over his head, “but I am going to fully undress.” He turned around and knelt down by his backpack, stuffing the shirt inside. Long strands of tangled red hair lay across his back that fell down by his face as he leaned forward, baring his shoulder.
Baring the flowers.
They were perfect, down to every little detail. The shape, the design, even the tiny little errors she had nitpicked long ago. All those years, she couldn’t understand how he could think she was his soulmate; not when her own tattoo was so clear. But looking at the flowers in that moment, she couldn’t conceive of anyone not reaching that conclusion.
It was so very specifically Marinette’s design on his shoulder.
“Chloé?”
She looked up again, realizing that while she had been scrutinizing the tattoo, he had stood up, half turned to her, and maybe even said something. Now with his hands paused at the button of his jeans, he was looking at her with that snarky smile again.
“This is your last chance if you want to turn around.”
“...Right,” she eventually said. Her feet still stuck in the mud, she simply faced forward so she was staring out at the horizon again. “Sorry.”
“Is something wrong?”
“No,” she lied.
“Let me rephrase.” His voice was getting closer. With a gentle hand on her back, he came around to her side to look at her face. “What’s wrong?”
She didn’t meet his eyes, intent on watching a piece of seaweed float along the surface of the water out past the break. “Nothing. It’s stupid.”
“I don’t care.”
She rolled her head back with a pout. “No, Nathaniel, that’s where you’re supposed to say, ‘don’t be silly, Chloé, whatever’s bothering you can’t be stupid.’”
“I’m not going to lie to you.” She backhanded his stomach and he laughed, catching her hand to hold it in both of his. “Come on,” he said gently. He lifted her hand and she finally looked to watch as he pressed a soft kiss to her wrist—to her tattoo. There may be nothing technically different about it as compared to his lips anywhere else on her skin, but that specific kiss had her weak. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
She stared at him—stared at the tender, welcoming, reassuring way that he looked at her. That way that made her feel safe speaking her feelings for once in her life.
She sighed. “I don’t like that it’s Marinette’s design on your shoulder,” she finally admitted, her eyes focused on the tattoo she couldn’t see, but knew all too well would always be there on the other side of his back.
Seeing those flowers was seeing two whole years of watching her soulmate happy with someone else. Two long years of convincing herself to give up on ever being with her soulmate because she had managed to lose him before he was even hers. Two bleak years of knowing that she was one of those people who didn’t end up with their soulmate, and wondering if she would be lucky enough to ever find love with someone else. Two years, culminated in three pink flowers and a vine of twelve leaves etched into her soulmate’s skin.
Nathaniel moved to stand directly in front of her, warm palms cupping the sides of her face to make sure she looked at him as he spoke the words she may never stop needing to hear. “I’m your soulmate.”
She rolled her eyes as if hearing him say it didn’t mean everything to her. “I know; that’s why I said it was stupid.”
Even if it had only been a few months, he already apparently knew not to trust her nonchalance. His thumbs stroked gently across her cheeks. “I’m sorry it took me so long to figure that out.”
She leaned her cheek into the warmth of his hold. “I know.” Her hands came to settle on his hips and she leveled her gaze with his, meeting those genuine apologetic, remorseful eyes. “Promise you’ll spend the rest of your life making it up to me.”
A soft smile on soft lips. His fingers weaved up into her hair, thumbs settling on the edges of her jaw as he moved in. “I promise.”
By now she had lost count of how many times they had kissed. That didn’t mean that she was used to it. Nathaniel liked to cradle her head when he kissed her—whether that was her cheek nestled safely in the warmth of his palm or her head held with care in the strength of his fingers. He poured his everything into every kiss, always kissing her with the utmost passion and feeling and warmth. Like she was his whole world when they kissed; like nothing else existed but the two of them in those brief moments that their lips touch.
She was never kissed in such a way that she didn’t feel absolutely cherished with him. Secure.
“I’m yours, Chloé Bourgeois,” he whispered, putting the perfect words to a kiss like that. She wondered if she would ever get to a point where hearing him affirm that didn’t strike her to her core.
“You’re so overdramatic,” she whispered back. “Using my full name, kissing me like it’s the end of the world.”
Her eyes weren’t open, but she could hear the smile in his voice. “Maybe I’m still afraid it’ll be the last.”
“Keep doubting me like that and it will be.”
He chuckled and the sound was warmer than the sun above. “Or maybe I’m just still savoring the fact that a kiss can feel like that.”
“Whatever the reason,” she opened her eyes and found his right there waiting for her, “never stop.”
Would she ever get used to that bright, beautiful, beaming smile?
Another kiss—just one more slow, perfect, calming, centering, breathtaking, mind clearing, soul completing kiss. Nathaniel’s kiss.
As if to remind them where they were and why they were there, a particularly large wave washed up on shore, pushing water further up on her legs than before and no doubt soaking the cuffs of Nathaniel’s jeans. “Ready?” he asked.
She nodded, a nervous and excited flutter in her chest.
I’m afraid I don’t really have a good answer for you on that one, Anon.
My friend reminded me they exists and I was like, oh, no because it’s kind of perfect in the weirdest way?
I remember learning about them as a kid in Texas so I’ve always associated with the whole ~cowboy aesthetic, and my brain was like !!! RIMMY TIM’s DUMB COWBOY HAT.
(It makes sense in my head, which not a great supporting argument I know.)
Just like.
Jeremy already being a ~supernatural being with the whole were-creature thing? But then being kind of *sigh* at having to tell people he turns into yet another ~supernatural being as a werejackelope.
ALSO.
He’s one of the reasons the Los Santos news outlets start making announcements and such for people to be alert as there have been jackelope sightings in the area. Everyone knows how dangerous/unpredictable they are and the last thing the city needs on top of it’s rampant crime are jackelope attacks and so on.
Just like.
Imagine Jeremy’s face while the rest of the crew gives him shit about it while watching someone on the news going on and on and on about vicious jackelopes.
(Which, btw, are totally a thing in this AU the way normal wolves and bears are and there’s definitely some mistaken identity shenanigans with it at some point???
Some baddies grab a random totes normal jackelope thinking it’s Jeremy and the crew being like “Uh, wow, you guys are dumb,” and leaving them to deal with a Very Angry wild jackelope knowing they brought that on themselves.
And like. Those baddies are never heard from again, because horribly murderized.
Also, Jeremy never lives it down even though he had no part in it, okay, so you guys can stop with that anytime now.
ALSO.
Someone finds a (clearly fake, like a plush or something) mounted jackelope head and put it over the mantle in the penthouse and Jeremy is like >:(((( but also secretly XDDDDDDDDDDD because it’s stupid cute and also his crew are all idiots and just, yes.)
It’s @chlonathweek day 5 and we gettin angsty up in here~
***
“No, Chloé. Since Sabrina will be out of town for the rest of the week, you’ll have to pick a different partner for the art project.”
When he was six years old, Nathaniel’s mother had told him that life was about opportunities. Every moment was an opportunity, from the greatest of life’s changes to the smallest of life’s details. Every moment was a choice—a choice of stay or go, a choice of start or stop, a choice of do or don’t. Every choice had its consequences and it was on those consequences that human lives were decided. On those consequences that opportunities were taken.
And it was a simple fact of life, she had told him, that the consequences unknown, the opportunities left untaken, were the ones he would dwell on the most.
Perhaps it was the thought that he was sick of dwelling that brought Nathaniel to take the opportunity presented before him. That brought Nathaniel to raise his hand.
“I’ll do it.”
A general level of friendly chatter had sprouted in the class as students had begun discussing project plans, but conversation eased to halt then. He knew every set of eyes in the room was on him. His eyes were only focused on one.
“No,” she immediately said. She addressed the teacher, but those cold eyes never left him. “Madame Bustier, I’d prefer to do the project on my own.”
He tried not to let his fear show. He tried not to run from that soul-shaking gaze.
“Chloé, that would leave Nathaniel without a partner too. Plus, working with the class artist will be beneficial to your art grade.” In his peripheral, he saw Madame Bustier wave him forward. “Thank you for volunteering, Nathaniel. You can come sit next to Chloé for the rest of class.”
The twitch of her jaw. A look like murder. Then eye contact was broken and in just that split second before she turned to face forward again, Nathaniel swore he saw something more. Something painful.
If he did, it was hidden again by the time he was sitting down next to her. The rest of the class went on with their discussions, though he didn’t miss the glances of Marinette and Nino as they not-so-subtly spectated.
“What the fuck are you doing, Kurtzberg?” Chloé immediately snapped. “What do you want?”
“What’s the matter, Chloé?” he asked absently as he opened his sketch book to a new page. “I thought you’d be happy to have a partner who can do all the work for you.”
Wait. Shit. The words had slipped out almost as if reflex—fighting fire with fire. Except in this case, it was more like fighting a candle with a flamethrower.
Her jaw fell slightly ajar and her brows pinched together in fury. Her eyes though; swimming in her eyes was a splash of genuine hurt.
Chloé pressed her lips together and looked away without another word. She began gathering her supplies and throwing them in her purse. Guilt was an immediate led weight in his stomach and he knew that in his head, he would be kicking himself for many years to come for being rude to his fucking soulmate. Especially when he was actively trying to get closer to her.
“Wait, Chloé, I’m sorry.” He set his hand on her notebook just as she was reaching for it and that fed up look was on him again.
“Look, I don’t know why you wanted to be my partner and I don’t care. You’re right. You can do the project by yourself.” Even though he wasn’t holding the notebook hostage, she made a point to yank it out from under his hand. A moment later, she stood up and the school bell followed her out the door as if on cue.
He scrambled to grab his stuff and rushed out after her. She had a naturally fast walking pace, but she was definitely going faster than usual. “Chloé, wait!” She had already managed to make it to the school’s front door when he caught up to her. “Chloé!”
“Leave me alone, Kurtzberg,” she spat, still not slowing down.
“Wait!” He caught her wrist and the tips of his fingers met the exact mark that had started this all.
She spun to face him. “What!?”
He didn’t let go. He didn’t move. He was paralyzed under that icy gaze and he didn’t think this far and he didn’t know what to say but he needed to say something and, “The first time I ever spoke to you was when I defended Marinette’s floral design against you,” he blurted.
The worst possible combination of confusion and irritation. “So??”
“So…” His heart slammed against the inside walls of his chest and he knew he couldn’t turn back now. “That exact design is tattooed on the back of my left shoulder.”
At first, there was no change in her expression. It was as if her entire being had come to a screeching halt and the only thing her body knew to do was keep breathing. Then the wrinkles in her forehead softened the slightest bit as understanding took confusion’s place. Irritation, however, remained steady.
“Okay, and?”
He blinked. “And? Chloé, we’re—,”
“Soulmates?” she cut him off. “Yeah, I know. Newsflash, Kurtzberg,” she slipped from his grasp and held up her hand, putting his signature on display, “Your art gets spread around the school like wildfire. I’ve known for years.”
Years.
“Why didn’t you—?”
“Tell you? Are you serious? How was I supposed to tell you when you hated me from the start? When I had to watch you date someone else for two years, call someone else your soulmate for two fucking years? How was I supposed to tell you!?”
That cold fury didn’t budge, but now that hint of hurt he had seen earlier was as present as the guilt weighing heavy in his chest. Seeing her then, an avalanche of understanding came crashing down over his head. He doubted the pain he could clearly see now was even half of what she’d been holding inside. He didn’t know. He had no idea. This whole time, his soulmate was in pain because of him and he didn’t know.
“I… I’m sorry,” was all he could think to say but God that didn’t even begin to cover it.
“Yeah,” she said flatly. “Me too.”
With that, she turned to leave, and again, Nathaniel caught her wrist. Heaving a tired sigh of frustration, she faced him once again. “What do you want, Nathaniel?”
He didn’t know, if he was being honest.
In this moment, he wasn’t in love with her. He wasn’t desperately hoping to kiss her, nor did her clear displeasure with his presence make his heart break. His pulse didn’t spike from a look alone and his name on her tongue sounded no different from any other. She was beautiful—he would have to be blind not to see that—but he didn’t find himself sneaking peaks at her during class nor filling his sketchbook with her visage. When he woke in the morning, his first thought wasn’t of her and he didn’t see her face behind closed eyes when he lay down at night.
He didn’t know her favorite color or her favorite song. He couldn’t tell you what her pet peeves were or what tiny joys she found in life. He had no idea if she preferred the books or the movies, the comics or the show. He couldn’t possibly guess what seemingly harmless topic would spark a 10 minute rant, or what activities she secretly loved that she never wanted anyone to know. Did she like pineapple on pizza? Sprinkles on ice cream? Could she walk somewhere without listening to music? Did she take a water bottle with her everywhere? Chapstick? Lip gloss? Did she prefer writing with pen or pencil? Blue or black ink? Coffee or tea? Hot or iced?
He didn’t know. Chloé Bourgeois was, for all intents and purposes, a total and complete stranger. He didn’t even know if she was human.
“I want to know you,” he finally said.
“Why?”
She was listening. Giving him a chance. The anger was fading from her tone and though she sounded tired, for the first time since he saw her tattoo, he felt he might actually have a chance. An opportunity.
His grip on her wrist tightened the slightest bit, as if afraid that if he let go, she would leave and that opportunity would be lost forever. “Because I don’t know about you, but I know that it would be the biggest regret of my life if I never even tried to get to know my soulmate.”
The slight brightening of her eyes. The tiny intake of breath. It was subtle, almost nonexistent, but he didn’t miss it. The reaction to him calling her his soulmate.
“But you hate me,” she argued. He could hear her desire to fight subsiding with every word. “Don’t try to tell me that you don’t, because we both know that isn’t true.”
“Yeah,” he admitted, “I do.” His first impression of her had been awful and what he’d learned from Marinette after that had only made it worse. She was a bully, she was selfish, and with her father being the mayor and the richest man in Paris, she was also untouchable. He had never thought to look any deeper than that, because that was all the reason he’d needed to dislike her. But if she was his soulmate…
He shrugged, giving her the smallest of smiles. “And I’m clearly wrong.”
Chloé didn’t say anything. She stood there, looking back and forth between his eyes with an expression that he could only describe as exhausted and unsure. Eventually, her gaze dropped to where he still held her wrist.
With one last reluctant squeeze, he released her. She cradled the wrist in her other hand and swiped a thumb over the tattoo, staring at it as she thought.
“You’re right,” she finally said, voice low. When she looked up again, her usual air of confidence had returned. “You are wrong.” He couldn’t glean from her expression whether that was good or bad. He swallowed thickly, waiting on her every word. She let out a long breath, and with it, an immense weight seemed to ease off her shoulders. “And I probably am too.”
So…Did that mean…?
She fished her cell phone out of her purse and unlocked it. “Give me your number,” she said as she handed it over.
A flurry of pins and needles washed through him then as sincere blue eyes met his. It was the first time she had ever looked at him like that—ever looked at him with anything but antagonism. It wasn’t a happy look, but it was new. And it wasn’t…cold. Her eyes shined like the first day of spring and he could feel their warmth slowly spreading through him. It was a feat just to look away.
He tried not to let his fingers shake as he typed his information into her phone and handed it back.
“I’ll text you about the art project,” she said, and with one last look over her shoulder, walked away.
Happy day 3 of @chlonathweek! Here we are with some context~
***
“And you’re absolutely certain it was your signature?”
“I’m positive,” Nathaniel replied. “I would think I drew it on her skin myself if I didn’t know any better.”
“Wow.” Marinette sat back and crossed her arms over her chest as she seemed to consider that. Her eyes idly followed the various drops of rain dancing across the window next to her. “That’s…about as clear as a soulmate tattoo gets.”
He groaned and leaned forward on the table, hiding his face in his palms. “I just don’t understand how the flowers fit into all this! Even she recognized them as your design. If anything seems like a clear tattoo, it’s that, but…”
“But…” Her eyes found his again with a tiny pitiful smile, “...been there done that.”
Nathaniel let out a half laugh and shook his head. “We’re not soulmates. Two years of dating and feeling content never kissing each other was enough to tell us that.”
Marinette picked up her coffee cup, hiding a giggle behind it. “Remember when we tried?”
He could feel a grin curling the corner of his lips. “Even the time Alix kissed me on a dare was better than that.”
Marinette groaned, smacking her mug down on the table as she leaned forward. “God, it was so bad. I didn’t know it was possible for a kiss to be that…that boring! I didn’t feel anything.”
“Literally nothing,” he chuckled, shaking his head.
“And I remember being so scared to open my eyes because then I would have to tell you, but you—,” his body shook with laughter at the memory, “—you just suddenly burst out laughing!”
“You didn’t see the face you were making!” he defended. “Seeing that face was the biggest relief of my life.”
She sat back again, giggling and shaking her head. A moment passed as their laughter settled, the pattering of rain offering background music to their calm sips of coffee.
“So how is—,” he opened his mouth, the name on his tongue, and paused as he heard the bell ring from the door opening behind him. “—Chat Noir?”
Marinette cast a cautious glance at the customer but otherwise carried on as normal. “He’s good. He gets a bit antsy, always cooped up in the house, but he’s good.”
“You know, you could just put him on a leash and take him for a—ow!” The look she fixed him matched her kick under the table. “Kidding!” he laughed. “But really though, why not take him outside? People take cats for walks.”
“I know…” She paused to take a drink, warily eyeing the customer’s back over the brim of her mug. As she set it down, she leaned forward again and lowered her voice. “The rallies are just getting more and more frequent…and more violent. They’re starting to attack normal house pets.” Her gaze fell to the ripples on the surface of her drink. “I don’t want to risk it…”
He supposed that was fair enough. He was avoiding the rallies too, and his face wasn’t even recognizable. Still, he couldn’t imagine a life so confined. Living this far inland was restricting enough, and Nathaniel had the entirety of Paris to wander. How Adrien had been keeping his sanity trapped up in the apartment above the boulangerie for so long was beyond him.
Marinette’s brows knit together as she seemed to consider something. “Chloé…” she looked up with another glance at the customer across the room. “She doesn’t know about your hydrophobia, does she?”
He shook his head. “No, she doesn’t. She hardly knows anything about me. Or I her.”
He watched as Marinette’s eyes followed the person’s path across the room until the bell chimed behind him once again. She waited until the door was completely shut to continue.
“Mayor Bourgeois isn’t exactly the most progressive,” she warned, speaking more freely now that the only other people in the boulangerie were her parents.
Nathaniel sighed. “I know.” He leaned back and ran his fingers through his hair. “I still don’t even know if it’s her though. The flowers just don’t line up.”
The distant rumble of thunder and continued pattering of rain filled the empty air around them as they both sat with their own thoughts. He still remembered the absolute certainty with which he had called Marinette his soulmate. The same certainty she had returned. From the flowers on his shoulder that she designed to the cat on her ankle that they found together, their destiny seemed clear as day.
Of course, now he knew who the cat on her ankle really was.
“What about Adrien’s?” he asked. “It’s a ladybug, right?” She nodded. “How did that work?”
A warm smile washed over her features as her gaze was lost to a memory. “It was back in the first few months he was here—back when I still thought he was no more than that stray cat we brought in. He says there was one day where I was working on a design and a ladybug flew into the room. Apparently I was so focused on what I was doing that I didn’t even notice when it came and landed on my nose.” Her gaze absolutely melted, as if she could see his face in the surface of her coffee. “He says he was already falling in love with me before then, but that was when he knew. He had seen ladybugs before and had suspected soulmates in the past, but that… Me… I was a certainty.”
Seeing that look in her eyes made Nathaniel smile. If ever he needed further confirmation that she wasn’t his soulmate, it was right there in that warm gaze.
Then her eyebrows pinched together again. “Nathaniel.”
“Hm?” he asked as he drank the last of his coffee.
“Tell me the story of the moment you thought I was your soulmate again.”
“What? Why?”
“Just do it.”
He frowned in confusion, but she looked up at him again and he could practically see the cogs turning in her head. He might have no idea where she was leading with this, but he certainly knew not to doubt that look.
“It was the first day of lycée,” he began, “the first class we ever had together. I had been sitting in the back of the class, drawing like usual, when I heard an argument at the front of the room.” He could still recall the exact bumblebee he had been sketching that day. The scent of lemon tea in his thermos next to him. The taste of the honey and biscuits he had eaten that morning. “I looked up, and there you were—,” deep blue eyes narrowed with the ferocity of a warrior, only a hint of the fire in her soul as she faced off her enemy, “—wearing that shirt with your own floral design on it.” Exactly three pink flowers set upon a vine of twelve leaves. “The same exact branch of cherry blossoms tattooed on my shoulder. Down to each and every petal.”
Marinette nodded. “And then what? What did you do?”
“Well, I walked up to the front of the class and…” Nathaniel trailed off, realization sinking in.
“And?” she prompted, a tiny smile at the corner of her lips.
“And I defended you…” from eyes of ice and hair of gold and the will of a raging storm, “…because Chloé was picking on your design.”
Marinette waited a moment, letting the revelation ease in.
“Had you ever spoken to her before then?” she finally asked.
He slowly shook his head. “No. That was how I met her.”
NL: Akuma rally in the park. Take the long way home.
NK: Thanks for the heads up
Nathaniel sighed and slipped the cell phone back into his pocket. He hated taking the long way home. Especially on rainy days like this.
With the rain coming down as it was, he would be lucky if he made it home even mildly dry. Especially since more rifling through his locker told him he had forgotten his umbrella. He grabbed the extra jacket he kept at school and started wrapping his sketchbook for protection.
The sudden slamming of metal on metal had him jumping out of his skin and dropping the sketchbook to the floor. An outstretched hand complete with perfectly manicured nails held the locker door shut before him.
“What the fuck is this?” Chloé spat, voice dripping with venom. She waved her other hand, where she held a piece of paper pinched between forefinger and thumb, casting creases across the (very meticulously detailed) drawing it bore.
Nathaniel tried to keep his expression in the wide-eyed surprise it had automatically assumed upon her raucous arrival. “A piece of paper?”
Those icy eyes narrowed and her jaw moved in a way that told him he may be in immediate physical danger if he didn’t cooperate. “A piece of paper with a drawing on it?” he added, feigning innocence.
She shook the drawing in the air between them, eliciting the wavering cry of the paper as she cemented more creases in place. “Why did you put it in my locker!?”
“What makes you think it’s from me?”
Chloé pointed to the bottom right corner of the drawing, stabbing her index finger to the particularly stylized exclamation point that sat there. “Because it has your stupid little—!”
She stopped herself mid-statement, her tirade slamming to a halt as she caught his stare. A second too late, he realized why; in his endeavor to assess her reaction, he had accidentally dropped his act.
Her lips pressed together in cold fury as she realized what he was doing. A second later he was stumbling back a step, his own work slammed into his chest under her open palm before she turned and stomped away.
“Chloé, wait!” She ignored him. “Chloé!” Nathaniel ran after her, clutching the drawing in his fist. “Do the flowers mean anything to you!?”
At that, she stopped, ponytail whipping behind her head as she spun toward him. “What?” she asked exasperatedly, fixing him with an almost offended-appearing bewilderment.
“The flowers.” He skidded to a halt in front of her, chest heaving over his racing heart. He held up the now-crumpled paper, indicating to the detailed sketch depicting a particular stem of cherry blossoms. “Do they mean anything to you?”
“No they don’t mean anything,” she spat. “They’re clearly the flowers from Marinette’s severely outdated design.”
Nathaniel’s stomach sank, the exact confirmation he didn’t want settling in. Chloé watched him, waiting for an explanation that didn’t come.
After a few seconds, she seemed to realize she wouldn’t get one and with an irritated noise of disgust, walked away. He didn’t follow this time.
HAPPY CHLONATH WEEK EVERYONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! For @chlonathweek this year I decided to delve into a very old project I had with @princess-of-aengels years ago. So here’s chapter 1/7 of This Is It, a chlonath-focused portion of the Petals In the Rain universe. Enjoy~
***
It wasn’t the first time Nathaniel’s life had completely changed in a moment. Not the first time that his entire world had turned on its head. Not the first time a single simple event had thrown him into chaos.
Not the first time he had thought this is it.
But it would be the last.
“Nice one, Kurtzberg,” her disgusted voice spat as they both knelt down to pick up dropped supplies and scattered papers.
Nathaniel said nothing, just kept his eyes down and collected the various paint brushes attempting to flee. He had long abandoned any habits of biting back when it came to Chloé Bourgeois; long abandoned any hopes of changing their status as enemies.
Scenes like this were the bulk of their interactions now; scenes where they bump into each other—usually metaphorically, but literally today—Chloé says something rude, Nathaniel says nothing, and they go on with their lives. It was far from ideal, but it was a vast improvement from the bullying that characterized their relationship back in the beginning; the bullying that had steadily subsided over the years until it only emerged in snide comments provoked by outside force.
Nathaniel reached forward to catch a brush rolling dangerously close to her hand…
...and audibly gasped.
Chloé’s head snapped up, eyes immediately finding his. But his eyes were locked, frozen in time, unable to tear themselves away from the skin of her wrist revealed by the riding up of her sleeve.
The skin that bore the small, unmistakable tattoo of a particularly stylized exclamation point.
A blink and it was gone. Chloé bolted to her feet, tugging her sleeve down to her palm. He was quick to follow, abandoning supplies on the ground and still ever focused on the now-hidden wrist.
“I-Is that--?”
“No.”
He only looked up—only observed that cold, avoidant stare as it sought anything but him—for a second before she hurried past, purposely shoving him aside with the bump of her shoulder.
He moved with the hit, turning to watch as she strutted away. All mental processes in his brain were cast in ice. Only three words echoed off the walls of his skull.
@juuria I’m that scared anon that messaged you a while ago. Here’s a Werecreatures AU to add to my pile! I wanted to show you this cause I was really proud of it! Now back I go to my hole.
