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goddesswritings · 3 years

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“Can I slap her for you?” - Corpse Husband | Part One

Title: “Can I slap her for you?” – Part One

Pairing: Corpse Husband x Reader

Summary: Being stuck living with the queen of YouTube drama and partying during the pandemic has seriously worn down your patience. Meeting Pokimane has changed your life for the better, making Among Us a pivotal part of your life.

Word Count: 5.3k

I’m always writing so much plot! I hope you like it. Part Two is in the works.

********

Credit to PIC owner!

This pandemic was hell for you. Being stuck in this apartment with your bitch of a sister was not something you would wish on even your enemy.

When you first moved to LA with her, things were fine, and you got along. She had a budding YouTube career, and you were working a good job. Pretty quickly, she’d hired you as her editor since that was a daily part of your real job, you happily agreed because it meant you could get money on the side and still work.

Your sister was mainly a beauty YouTuber but last year she gained over 3 million followers when she started a series where she would interview people in other lines of entertainment and then test it out. Since then, she’d become a horror to live with.

Now with the pandemic, you’d been furloughed from you day job and working full time for your diva of a sister. She had only been getting worse and worse. Being stuck with her was crap, especially since she was selfish and still went out to party and do collabs with people like there wasn’t a massive virus out there.

“I hope you finished the editing I needed done.” Olivia, your sister, asked as she shut the front door.

You were just finishing up the edits from your spot on the couch. “Yeah, I did it while you were out risking lives.”

“Shut the hell up. I’m an adult and I can do what I want.” She flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder.

“Even when it’s killing hundreds of thousands of people?” You were so sick of her attitude. She has no care in the world for anyone but herself. In the last month, her name had been posted all over the commentary YouTubers channels. Slamming her for partying while the world dealt with Covid.

Olivia rolled her eyes. “Those people are not my problem at all. If they are so afraid, they should just stay home.”

“Why are you so selfish?” Her behavior was completely out of hands these days.

“Do I need to remind you that I pay you?” She sent you a glare before heading off to her room. You grumbled and threw your head back. There was no way you could handle her.

Stressing out over her was no good, so you decided to take your laptop back to your room and play some games to calm yourself down. Among Us was one of those games that allowed to you just play and forget the stress. You booted up the game and joined some random lobbies. It was hard to find good games because you usually ran into some sour players who couldn’t just play the game without causing drama.

A few rounds in, your phone buzzed, indicating a text. You exited the current game, one of the imposters had already killed you anyway, and picked up the phone. There was a text from Poki. The two of you had become quick friends when she appeared on your sisters series but she clicked more with you since you were more of a gamer.

P: Hey Y/n, what are you doing currently?

It was an unexpected text because you had been fairly sure Poki had a stream tonight.

Y/n: Nothing since I just finished editing my selfish sisters video. What’s up?

She knew very well how horrible Olivia was and she’d been the one person who you could talk to about it. You appreciated her for it.

Poki: Damn, did she go to another party?

Y/n: Yup, she sure did. Then threatened my job when I called her out on it.

Poki: Wow, not cool. Hey, so you know how I’m streaming tonight?

Y/n: Yeah.

Poki: So I had everyone set up for the game but last minute someone dropped out. We need one more person and I know you’re amazing in Among Us. Would you join our game?

This was a surprise. You weren’t a YouTuber or a streamer, so for her to ask you, meant she really was desperate.

Y/n: Sure, I’m free. Who’s playing tonight?

Poki: Rae, Lily, Ethan, Mark, Felix, Toast, Sykkuno, and Corpse.

Wow, that was a packed game full of some pretty big names. Your nerves kicked up at the thought of being in a game with these amazing people.

Y/n: Sweet!

Poki: I will send you the discord so you can join the chat and the game code.

Y/n: Thanks.

She instantly sent you the links and you got your self set up with your headphones. Poki connected you into the discord call.

“Hey, everyone welcome my good friend, Y/n. She’s the one who will fill in on the open spot tonight.” She introduced you to the group.

A chorus of hello’s was heard. You knew Rae, so she jumped right into welcoming you.

Pushing the nerves away, you managed to little hello. Your voice was softer than you’d intended. Damn nerves.

“Guys! Y/n is so good in Among Us. Her skills rival Corpse’s.” Rae gushed. You’d played a game with Rae and Poki and a few of the other girls, but no one had been streaming.

“Whaddup baby.” The deep voice of Corpse said. His voice was something else.

“Don’t make her too nervous there, man.” Felix commented which made the other guys laugh.

“Oh no worries, I’m not nervous.” You said even though you really were nervous. You switched into the game and typed in the code Poki had sent you. Immediately the game lobby popped up, filled with everyone who was on the call. Your character popped onto the screen and took the white color.

“Good to know. I look forward to being an imposter with you.” Corpse said making your cheeks heat up just a little.

“You really need to watch out for her.” Lily said making you giggle. She was right. You were a deceitful imposter.

You quickly changed your hat to the halo, making you match your chosen username, Angel.

“Look how fitting her character is.” Mark commented. “Is that an indication of how you will be?”

“Perhaps.” You were starting to calm your nerves. “You will just have to find out.”

“Okay, let’s get started.” Poki said as the countdown started on screen. You muted your mic. The screen flashed the crew-mate title, and you felt a little more relieved. You hated starting as an imposter.

The map you were in was Polus, your favorite. The first thing you did, was the navigation task before also doing keys. Nearly everyone was there, which meant the two imposters were faking the tasks. After that, you ran off entering the building that housed electrical and o2. You looked around for tasks.

“I have my eye on you, Angel.” Felix said as he came into o2.

You unmuted your mic. “Good, then you can watch me teach you how to do tasks.” You sassed, making the group laugh.

“Damn, I already like her.” Ethan said, getting sounds of approval from Sykkuno, Mark, and Corpse.

“Stop simping and play the game.” Poki commented, making you laugh.

Leaving o2, you ran outside to check the weather nodes. Felix was still following you closely. He was convinced you were an Imposter.

“Why is this guy following me around?” You asked, trying to run from him.

“Felix, what are you doing?” Rae asked as she popped up beside you.

“Making sure she’s not an imposter.” He sounded innocent.

“Well I’m not. Now go do your tasks.” Once again you ran from his character and entered the office. You passed Corpse’s black character before heading in, to do card swipe.

Suddenly a body was reported. Felix’s body.

“Whoa, okay, Y/n did you kill Felix?” Toast asked.

“What? No? I left him to go do my tasks.” You defended.

“I can confirm she was in office with me. I watched her do card swipe.” Corpse added.

The thing was, you passed him as he was leaving the office, and he definitely didn’t stay to watch you. He was headed in the direction you had left Felix and Rae. So, both were sus.

“Okay, then Rae where were you?” Sykkuno questioned.

“I left Felix by weapons. I was headed to lab.” You couldn’t decipher a lie from her.

“Hmmm, okay. Skip then?” Ethan offered. The group agreed.

Once back in the game, you decided to head to labs to find the rest of your tasks. Sykkuno followed you but broke off to go through decontamination. You did your scan in peace before another body was reported. This time it had been both Mark and Lily.

“Any sus?” Ethan asked.

“No, I was in electrical.” Toast said.

“I went to o2.” Poki added.

“Y/n, where were you?” Toast questioned. You were sure he thought you were an imposter.

“I was in the lab doing my scan, which I never got to finish.” You hated being interrupted mid-task.

“Anyone see her go there?”

“I passed her while I headed to decontamination.” Sykkuno vouched for you.

“Sure but the body was right outside the lab. She could have gone back to kill Mark after you were gone.”

“But I didn’t. I was doing my task.” You repeated with a little smile. You loved this game.

“Sure. I don’t believe you.” Toast was a hard one to convince.

“She didn’t do it. I entered lab and she was doing her scan.” Corpse spoke up. Again he was covering for you when you know he was not in Lab with you.

“Okay. I guess we skip?” Poki said. Everyone agreed but when it was done, you had two votes but three had skipped, so you had been spared luckily. Toast for sure voted for you, you had no clue who else did but it didn’t matter.

Back in the game, you headed back to lab to finish your scan. Once done, you headed to decontamination, then to the specimen room for a task. As you entered, you found Corpse.

“Hey Corpse, having fun with your tasks?” You asked as you went to your own task.

“I sure am.” He stated before his character was running out of the room and up to the lab. Once your task was done, you had finished all your tasks and headed back to Admin. You entered office to find a dead Sykkuno, so you hit report.

“That was for sure a self-report.” Toast quickly said.

“It wasn’t, but okay.” You said shaking your head. Toast was so sus on you all game.

“I’m sus of Toast.” Rae said while Corpse and Poki agreed with her.

“Wait, Ethan is dead too. Damn, these Imposters got around.” Toast commented. “By the way, I am not an Imposter. Y/n is.”

“She’s not. I have seen her do her tasks all game.” Corpse was quick to come to your rescue. It was sweet how he was vouching for you all game.

“Sure, I’m voting Y/n.” Toast said as his ‘I Voted’ badge popped up.

You decided you were going to vote off Toast because he was getting on your nerves. Apparently the others were feeling the same because everyone else voted off Toast as well. His character was launched into the Lava. Toast was NOT an Imposter.

Back in the game, you ran around, just seeing if you could spot anyone being sus before Poki was killed. Straight after the defeat title showed, and the Imposters were revealed to be none other than Rae and Corpse.

Everyone dropped back into the lobby.

“I told you I wasn’t an Imposter.” You boasted.

“Sorry Y/n, I should have believed you.” Toast said.

“No worries. But hey, Corpse and Rae had plenty of chances to kill me, but they didn’t. Why?” It was interesting to you.

Rae laughed. “I didn’t want to kill you right in the beginning of your first game with us. You deserved to have some fun before you got killed.”

“Well thank you.” It was sweet of Rae to do that.

“I didn’t want to kill an Angel. It wouldn’t be right.” Corpse stated with a cute laugh afterwards.

Felix groaned. “But you have no issue killing anyone else.”

“It be like that sometimes.” Ethan stated which had you in stitches, as well as the rest of the group. “Okay, let’s begin another round.” He added.

The next few games were fun and interesting. You were always a crew member, but someone was always sus on you. But no matter what, Corpse would vouch for you. Sometimes his character would follow you around, do tasks with you. It was pretty freaking cute and clear to see the man with the alluring deep voice had taken a liking to you. It was sweet.

“One more game?” Poki asked after a slew of other games. Everyone agreed. She started the game and after the countdown, the screen flashed that you were finally an Imposter. Your fellow Imposter was of course Corpse. It was only natural.

You and he teamed up and killed many of the others. Starting with Rae and Lily, moving onto Toast and Sykkuno. Then someone finally reported the bodies.

“Four bodies already?” Mark stated as the red x’s showed up on their icons.

“Damn, someone is having fun.” You said, pretending like it wasn’t you who had done half of the killing.

“I saw Poki headed into Electrical where Lily and Rae were.” Corpse said, sounding genuine as always. He was so good at Imposter. His ability to lie was excellent.

“Sure I went to Electrical, but I left after fixing the lights.” Poki said.

“I don’t know. You seem sus.” Ethan said. “I saw you enter lab, and after I saw Sykunno’s body right before someone reported Lily and Rae’s.”

“I swear, it’s not me. I was just doing my tasks. How could I kill four people in that short amount of time?”

“It’s possible. You could have vented.” Corpse was right too.

“Guys, please.” She pleaded as everyone put in their votes. Nearly everyone had voted for Poki and her character was launched into the lava, only to show she was not an Imposter.

“Sorry Poki.” Ethan said before everyone hopped back into the game.

Once again, you and Corpse were teamed up, but you saw Mark head one way while Ethan was going another. Almost silently, the two of you decided to split up and take them. You followed Mark into O2, trailing him into the tree. No one was around, so you killed him before quickly venting away from there. Making sure no one was around when you resurfaced. Corpse must have killed Ethan because the Victory screen popped up for the two of you.

“Damn, I should have known this was a team effort between Corpse and the Angel. You’re far from an Angel when you’re an imposter.” Mark complained.

“That’s part of the thrill.” It really was. You loved being able to shock people that way.

“Good job, partner. You’re a great Imposter like me. We need to team up more often.” Corpse’s words made you feel all warm. It was insanely fun being Imposter with him. Your combined skills made things that much better.

“Okay, I think it’s time to call it a night. Thank you so much for joining us, Y/n.” Poki yawned to show it was getting late.

“Of course. I loved playing with all of you. It was much better than playing with randoms.”

“I get that. Randoms can be very annoying.” Sykkuno agreed. “It was so good to meet you, Y/n. I hope you join more games so I can be an Imposter with you!”

You loved how excited he sounded. “I guess we all want a chance to be Imposter with her.” Felix stated what everyone else was thinking.

“Hey, no one steals my Imposter buddy.” Corpse spoke up, which once again had you feeling some kind of good way.

“Corpse, you’re being such a simp.” Rae laughed, which made everyone else go nuts.

You all bid your goodbyes before you exited the game and the discord call. You found there was a huge smile on your face after that fun you had just had with Poki and her friends. They were all super welcoming of you, despite not knowing a thing about you.

Poki: Thank you for playing with us. I hope you had fun! You didn’t mind being on my stream?

Y/n: I had so much fun, everyone was so good to me. Also, not at all!

Poki: Good because my chat loved you! They couldn’t stop gushing about how much they loved you. It was so cute.

This was not something you had expected. Her stream had never met you, so for them to like you playing a game with the group, that was nice.

Y/n: Oh wow, I wasn’t expecting that. That’s so sweet!

Poki: You also seemed to get Corpse simping for you. Sykkuno is super jealous.

You laughed when you read that.

Y/n: Sykkuno doesn’t have to be jealous. It was a one-time thing, and he can have Corpse back in the next game.

Sure, you wanted it to be more than a one-time thing, but you weren’t going to let your hopes get too high. Poki had many streamer friends, who would get their streams way more viewers than you ever could.

Poki: I wouldn’t count on that. We’re definitely going to use you for more games. You’re one of us now, even if you don’t stream.

Her words warmed your heard. Poki had been one of the very few people you had made friends with when you moved to Cali with your sister and your friendship was only 10 months old. It was nice to have someone who wanted to include you in on the things she was doing.

Y/n: Are you sure? Because I would hate to be taking someone more interesting’s spot.

Poki: You shut that mouth. The group loved you and we’re all looking forward to playing with you again.

Y/n: Okay if that’s what they want.

Poki: They do, now get some sleep. I know you’ve been overworking yourself for your sister.

Y/n: You would be right. Thank you for the fun night, Poki. You get some sleep as well.

Poki: 😊

You liked her message before deciding it was indeed time for bed. Editing those videos did take energy out of you, especially since your sister would review and have you re-edit the things she didn’t like. Not fun at all.

****

The next month passed by with Poki inviting you to more games with her and her friends. Most of those games included Corpse, who’d taken a liking to you. The last few games, he’d been bugging you to tell him who you were and how you met Poki, but you were keeping that a secret. You really didn’t want him or the others knowing you were the older sister of selfish party girl Olivia Bella.

Your sister had found out you’d been playing the game with Poki and her friends and decided she was going to say some shit.

“How did you get Poki to let you play with her and the other streamers?” Olivia said with clear distaste towards you.

You shrugged. “She just asked me to step in for someone one day and now they enjoy playing with me.”

She laughed obnoxiously. “That such a joke. I needed that laugh, thank you.”

You clenched your fists, trying to contain your anger against your sister. She was really grating on your nerves these days.

“Damn, I would do anything to play with Corpse. His voice is so hot.” She muttered looking deranged.

“He’s much more than his voice you know.”

She rolled her eyes. “He’s whatever I want him to be. God, I bet he’s so sexy behind that screen.”

“Please stop, he’s my friend and talk like that is uncomfortable.”

She cackled. “Corpse is not your friend, you loser. He just tolerates you like the rest of that group. I bet Poki only asked you to join out of pity.”

Her words slapped you in the face and threatened to strangle you. It was unbelievable that your younger sister was really acting like this to you.

“Why are you like this to me?” You questioned in all seriousness.

“Because you annoy me. Isn’t it obvious. I meant if I had the money, I would have moved here without you. Living with you is the worst. You know you’re like the most boring person in the world?”

The insults just kept on coming. She truly didn’t like you and it felt horrible. Family wasn’t supposed to be like this. “I get it, thank you.” You walked away before she could say anything else, she was horrible to you.

Her words made you sad. The only thing that could cheer you up was the fact that Poki had invited you to another game. It was something you needed after that conversation with your sister.

Poki: Hey girl, this kills me to do but Sean invited someone else to play tonight. Someone he said was eager to play with us. I’m so sorry.

This was simply perfect. The one time you craved interaction with the Among Us crew, they added someone else to the game. Of course it was always a possibility, but it didn’t stop from making you upset.

A couple of tears streamed down your face before you wiped them away. You wouldn’t let this get to you.

Y/n: No, please don’t worry. I understand it is always a possibility. Have a good stream!

Poki: I think you should know the person joining us is your sister. I tried to tell them it was a bad idea, but they didn’t really believe me. I’m so sorry.

Your sister was the reason you have been replaced for tonight. Perfect. Of course it was her. She always took the things you liked, away from you.

Y/n: Please stop apologizing, I completely understand.

Poki: Should I tell them she’s your sister?

Y/n: No, please don’t let them know that.

Poki: Okay, please know we will miss you in tonights stream.

Doubt filled you. After reading those words. There was no way they would miss you in the game tonight. It was clear you didn’t bring in viewers for the streams, but your sister would be able to do that without any issues. Now your night was truly ruined. Thankfully, you could just lay in bed and sulk all you wanted.

The bedroom door burst open. “Hey, can you set up this game for me? I assume you know I’m playing Among Us with the crew tonight. Told you they didn’t care if you were there or not.” Did she ever stop this shit?

“Why should I help you?” You grumbled, glaring up at your blonde-haired sister. She looked like she was dressed for another party, not an off the cuff stream.

“Well, I pay you and if you want that to continue, you will help me set up the game and stream.” Her hanging your only source of income over your head was really shitty.

You growled but got out of bed, passing by her in a haste. You entered her office and quickly got to work setting up the stream and discord. Then you showed her how to load the game. She just nodded, not looking happy at all.

“Have fun.” You sounded bitter but at this point, you couldn’t hide it.

“Oh I’m going to have so much fun with them. It’s going to be so good, and maybe they will ask me to join them more often and they can stop faking their friendships with you.”

“Cool, good for you.” The audacity of this bitch. You left once you were sure it was set up correctly. She didn’t see, but you shot her the finger as you left. She was a bitch through and through.

You retreated to your room to sulk some more. This day was such a let down for you. Over the last month, you had really clicked with the Among Us group. Meeting more streamers as Poki had more games. They all seemed to like you, but your sister was probably right, they were just being nice because they could.

As you stared at your ceiling, you heard your sister talking and knew the stream had started. Groaning, you threw on some headphones and put on your playlist that was saved strictly for when you were sad. It helped to take your thoughts from the stressor at hand? And ease your mind.

****

Meanwhile, the stream was hell. Sean majorly regretted inviting Olivia onto it. To be fair, he was only being nice because the girl had been begging to join the game for a while now in his DM’s. But it was a huge regret with the way this woman was acting. She couldn’t even be Imposter without outing herself and the second Imposter.

“You guys know Y/n is my sister right?” She said offhandedly as they were waiting in the lobby for the next game.

“Wait what? Is that true?” Ludwig asked in disbelief. This woman was nothing like Y/n. She was a total ditz compared to Y/n.

“Of course it is. I have lived with her for twenty years now, I know a lot of dirt about her.” Hearing her say this angered Poki.

“Don’t go there, Olivia. Just play the game.” Poki didn’t want her to spill anything about her friend. It was messy that she would even want to.

Olivia sighed. “Awe but you would love this.”

“No, let’s just play the game.” Corpse was quick to cut her off.

“Come on Corpse, are you sure you don’t want to hear all the embarrassing things I know about her?” Everyone was quickly realizing just how messed up in the brain Olivia was.

“You do realize most of us are streaming this live?” Rae stated, sounding just as frustrated as Corpse felt.

“Please, let’s start the game.” He all but growled, wanting to shut this woman up. The game started and he pulled out his phone. He was going to finally get Poki to tell him Y/n’s instagram.

Corpse: I know you told me you couldn’t tell me what Y/n’s instagram is but please, can I get it now? Her sister is a fucking bitch.

He has so much more he wanted to say about Olivia and entitled attitude but making sure Y/n was okay was his number one priority.

Poki: She’s going to hate me if I do it.

Corpse: Please, this is important to me.

Poki: You owe me. Here’s her insta.

She sent him a link that led to a private instagram under the name Y/nY/l/n96. He requested to follow her.

Corpse: Thank you, let me know when to pay up.

Poki: Will do, now get into the game or Olivia is going to kill you. She’s imposter.

He got back into the game, hoping Y/n would accept his request.

****

After an hour of ‘sad girl hours’. You decided to do something that could help you not to focus on Olivia streaming in the other room.

Clicking instagram, you saw a notification. corpse_husband has requested to follow you. This was interesting. Either he’s smart enough to figure out who you are or Poki told him.

You accepted his follow and followed him back. He only had seven pictures, and of course there weren’t face pics. You admired him for keeping himself faceless to his fans. Now you hoped he wouldn’t bend to their pressure and reveal his face. Being faceless was good for him and his anxiety. The latest pics were his hand reveals he did for the fans, they made you giggle.

Corpse was good at keeping himself secret and you liked that. You did what you could to stay secret as well. Your Instagram profile picture was not even you, so no one would be able to point you out even if they knew your face. Also, you have hidden the account from Olivia, so she couldn’t send her fans to torment you.

As you scrolled Instagram, you received a DM. It was from the one and only Corpse Husband.

Corpse: This stream is hell without you tonight. Why did Sean have to invite her?

It made you feel a little better to see that Corpse was missing you in the stream tonight.

Y/n: That’s a question you will have to ask Sean. I was looking forward to playing Among Us with the group as well, but hey, it looks like they found someone who will bring in the views.

Corpse: Nope. She’s chasing away everyone’s viewers. Your sister is the worst. I see why you didn’t want us to know the two of you were related.

Your blood ran cold. How did he know that?

Y/n: How did you know she was my sister?

Corpse: She won’t shut up about it. No one can get her to stop. I’m sorry if you didn’t want us to know about this.

Of course, you should have known that Olivia was going to tell everyone that. She was also probably opening her mouth about so much other stuff.

Y/n: Well fuck. This sucks.

Corpse: Hey, don’t worry about it. No one is judging you for this, but we are wondering how you manage to handle her.

A soft giggle left your mouth.

Y/n: It’s not easy. I mean sure I’m the older sister, but she acts like the queen around here.

Corpse: Damn. Here we go again. Your sister is trying to start some drama.

Hearing this, you realized you had to do something about this. There was no way you could let her sit there and continue to mouth off about you or anyone else in her life.

Y/n: Brace yourself, I’m about to ruin her stream.

Corpse: Good luck!

It was time to put her in her place, you got up and headed to the utility closet by the front door of the apartment. The fuse box was located there. You opened it and found the switch for her office and clicked it off. It was half a second before a loud scream was heard.

In less than thirty seconds she was running out of the office with a livid look upon her face. “What the fuck have you done?” She screamed while stomping up to you.

“I heard you were talking shit about me and decided to end it.” You crossed your arms in front of your chest.

“I can say whatever I want. The group was enjoying it.” She tried to act smug.

You laughed in her face. “Do you ever not lie?”

“Do you ever stop being a bitter bitch?” The anger was clear, but you didn’t care.

“Oh fuck off. You were annoying them with your ridiculous bullshit. I completely saved your ass from making a fool of yourself.”

“I fucking hate you!” She stepped up to you. “I’m kicking you out. Pack your shit and get the fuck out of my apartment.” The look on her face, showed she was serious about this.

“Fine.” Was all you said before you turned around and went back to your room, well your former room now. Pulling some bags out, you stuffed some clothes and important items into them. Once filled, you pulled on shoes and made sure you had what you needed until you could come get the rest of your stuff. Currently, you didn’t know how to feel about any of this, but you did need to get away from her.

PART TWO >>

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1engele · 3 years

Text

daybreak | sal fisher x fem!reader - 1. petrichor

You move to a small, rural town, in the middle of nowhere, accompanying your mother. Nockfell, she says. A boy named Larry Johnson introduces you to his friend, Sal Fisher, occasionally dubbed "Sally Face." Your feelings cloud your judgement and you get yourself caught up in what seems will change you and Sal Fisher's life, forever.

[warnings: cursing, smoking]

"the kind of blue that makes you ache."

—

Sticky wood against your skin, the hard pressure of the surface beneath your face. The unrhythmic pulsing of the migraine that pressed at the sides of your skull—like phantom palms, relentlessly squeezing your brain.

You slowly sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes before squinting as you adjusted to the dimness of the room. The noon sun filtered through the windows and cast its golden warmth over every surface. Its comfort found its way over your face, and you breathed in slowly.

You could see the dust particles floating through the air. The sunshine opened out its rays over the beige carpet. You crawled from the dinner table, laid on the soft floor, and allowed yourself to bathe in the welcoming heat.

Your fingers absentmindedly began to play with the looped fibers beneath you as you stared up at the dull ceiling and thought. Today you and your mother had awoken at an unearthly hour of the morning to start your travels to a town called Nockfell.

You'd arrived hours later. At the moment, your mother, who was named Michelle, was out at her new job—a supervisor position at a bank, or something. She'd also worked at a bank in your old town but was promoted to another location and that was the reason for the move.

You had the apartment to yourself. It wasn't much better than your last flat—equally as unsettling as the last.

Your body jerked and you murmured a frustrated curse as the resoundingly impressive knocking of your door frightened you into an upright position. You scrambled onto your feet, the heated carpet warming your soles.

After you'd approached the door, you turned the doorknob and pulled it open as far as the safety chain would allow. You then settled your weight on your right foot and leaned toward the opening. The cool, dead air of the hallway breezed your face.

A boy, with long brown hair and dark eyes. Seemed to be around your age, and taller than you. He was tanned. You assumed it was genetic, as your mother informed you the weather in Nockfell was almost always droll and depressing.

You had to incline your chin upward an inch to meet the brunette's eyes.

A person stood behind him, with eye-catching blue hair that wisped past their ears and brushed their shoulders. Matching eyes, a bit lighter than their cerulean hair. The only thing about this person that seemed a bit jarring was the mask they wore. They were smaller than the boy beside him, and you were able to look them right in the eyes.

You weren't any type to judge off of appearances, so you didn't spend much time staring.

"Hello," you press a shoulder against the door, awkwardly fidgeting. "I'm- do you.."

Before you can painfully struggle for something to say, the tallest boy resolves your conflict. "Hi," he grins easily. "I'm Larry, and this is Sal. He and I had the idea to swing by and welcome you to Addison's.."

He trails off, noticing your disheveled state and tired eyes. You were conscious enough to recognize his hesitation and quickly rubbed the sleep from your eyes. "Oh. Oh. Sorry- I know I look so bad right now.." You quickly passed a hand through your hair and licked your lips. "I was laying on the floor when you knocked."

Why did you say that? You've made yourself out to be a real weirdo, haven't you, Y/N?

"Larry", glances over at his friend "Sal" amusedly, almost like he knew something you didn't. His eyes then revert to you. He opens his mouth to speak, but his blue-haired friend beats him to it.

"You're going to Nockfell, right? I'd say you're 16, like us.."

Yeah, okay. Any suspicions a person could have about Sal's gender upon just seeing him—you didn't, his build was masculine enough and you'd already watched his Adam's apple bob, and Larry had referred to him with male pronouns prior—would probably cease upon hearing him speak.

After realizing you should speak, and not silently trail your eyes down his body, you replied. "Oh, yeah. I'll start the same day as everybody else. Shouldn't that be tomorrow, or-"

"After that," Sal tentatively cut you off, and you watched him swallow. It was sweet, his resignation. Like he was constantly worried about offending. "The day after that."

You felt as though you were missing something.

"Oh!" You exclaimed, embarrassment washing over your features. You quickly tell them your name, regretting not having said it earlier.

Beneath the tank top, you were wearing, your bra strap slipped further down your shoulder. You felt it slide. Oops, you thought, comprehending the fact that it had been misplaced the entire conversation.

Quickly, you pushed it back up and reached for the doorknob. "Okay, um, see you guys then!" And then basically slammed the door in their faces.

You slapped a palm over your mouth. "Oh my god," you breathed, abashed at yourself. "That was horrible."

They'll probably make fun of how awkward you are at school, you thought. "I wouldn't blame them," you told yourself.

At the time, you didn't realize the importance of that meeting. But, then and again, if it hadn't happened that day it would definitely have later.

The next day you and your mother settled further into the apartment. Your mother was supposed to start work the following day so that meant she had time to properly furnish your apartment. The moving vehicle had arrived a day after you'd arrived in Nockfell, which was "highly inconvenient and unconventional", to quote your mother directly.

Uninterested in watching your mother painstakingly put flower arrangements together, you took it upon yourself to explore the property and familiarize yourself with Addison's Apartments. There wasn't really much of anything besides trees and grass and the view of buildings in the distance. Oh, and the treehouse. Curiosity got the best of you and you made your way towards it.

It had rained in the night. You could smell the scent of water on dry earth and feel it against your hands and face. You tasted mist on your tongue and your sneakers squeaked on the wettish grass. You could practically feel the dampened mud staining the white soles.

You almost slipped climbing up the ladder and into the treehouse. You were glad you weren't being watched because the face of terror you'd just made was really embarrassing.

The structure was actually pretty impressive. If you could live in it, you would. A few posters here and there and a lot of storage for nicknacks and food. A family photo and a stool. A toolbox, some other shit- it was almost as if people hung out in this extremely well-kept treehouse a lot.

Fuck. You didn't expect the damn thing to be lived in. You'd expected the thing to be made in the 70s and extremely old and abandoned. You'd practically just broke into someone's property! You'd burglarized this treehouse!

"I have to get out of here," you murmur, frantically. "Before we get evicted."

That actually wouldn't be too bad, you replied to yourself. Pissing Michelle off would be really funny.

Letting out a breath, you move from the window and pivot around to climb back down the ladder and run like hell. Instead, your ears absorb the sound of creaking and boyish laughter. You have no time to react before the blue-haired boy you'd met the following day is climbing into the treehouse and meeting your eyes.

His laughter ceases and you scramble to explain yourself as his brown-haired friend follows him into the treehouse.

"I am so sorry," you rush. "I thought this thing was abandoned. I had no clue it was yours. I'm really, really sorry. Seriously. I, um- I'll leave, and I swear I've-"

Larry jerks like he was trying to hold back laughter and promptly fails. He sounds like he's going to bust a gut and you feel your face growing hot. Through your heavy embarrassment, you're concerned he's going to fall out of the treehouse from where he sat on the edge of the entrance.

His friend sends his elbow in Larry's ribs. Larry groans in pain.

“I think what Larry was trying to say there was that it's perfectly fine," Sal looks away from Larry and his steady blue eyes meet with yours. "Really. Not a big deal. Right, Larry?"

Larry wheezes promptly.

"See?"

You can't help but giggle. You quiet yourself as quickly as it starts, and hoped he hadn't heard. When you look away from Sal, you miss his softening eyes.

Larry grins at you. "Laughing at my suffering, it seems. I see how it is." He grunts in his effort to get himself up and on his feet. He's on one knee when he speaks again, an elbow resting on his knee. "What the hell is in that lanky ass arm, Sal? Steel?"

"Something like that," Sal replies, the sound of a smile on his tongue. You meet his eyes again. "So," he says your name, slowly. You breathe in but it hitches. "Why'd you move to Nockfell?"

"No reason that's interesting," you state. "My mom was relocated for work." You step back toward your back presses against the wooden wall and relax your shoulders. "And why did you?"

Sal blinked from behind his prosthetic. He doesn't answer your question but instead returns it with his own. "How'd you know I moved?"

"You don't sound like you're from here," You answered. "Where are you from?"

"Jersey." He returned, gazing at you curiously.

"You guys are like old people," Larry has finally got to his feet, brushing off the black denim on his knees with his palms. He rises to his full height and momentarily startles you. Despite his statement, he asks you his own question. "You miss your friends back home?"

You smiled despite everything. "Oh. Haha, no. I didn't really have a best friend or anything like that. I sort of floated. Never really met anybody."

He pauses. "Well, you live in our complex now." Larry runs a hand through his hair and looks down at you. "If you want, we can both be your friends."

Your eyes widen, and a wholesome feeling flutters in your chest. "Oh!" You glance over to Sal. "I- sure! If you'll have me."

Larry flashes his well-kept teeth. "Good! We need some more females within the gang, don't we, Sal?"

Sal looks as though he cringed. "Please don't call them females. And, uh- sure, I guess."

After that, it isn't a few minutes until you all sit down. You pull your legs criss-cross applesauce and plant your elbows in your knees, resting your chin on your hands.

"So," Larry says your name. "Ever smoke before?"

Your eyebrows raise.

"Sweet Jesus," Sal mutters. "Larry, you can't ask her that." Despite himself, he reaches for the cigarettes Larry's just pulled from his pocket.

"I only asked a question. You're a bully."

You look on in amusement. You can't help but feel a bit nervous about the prospect of doing something you've seen be demonized so often. "I haven't," but this is a new start, right? "Are you offering?"

"Oh, sure," Larry leans toward where you're sat directly in front of him. "Do you want to? Just asking. You seriously don't have to."

It was amusing how hard he was trying not to be to peer-pressure you. You still felt an anxious feeling, but that was only natural. The want to do something "rebellious" overpowered your inner unease. "Uh, yeah. I'd like to."

And with that, he resigns to his own cigarette and slowly lays back onto the wooden floor, brown eyes stuck on the ceiling. Smoke cascades from his mouth and floats through the air. The treehouse begins to smell like a bonfire, the earthy scent sticking to the wood.

You move closer to Sal and maneuver yourself onto your knees.

"Alright," he starts, to himself. He grasps your hand—which makes your heart jump, and you can't tell whether or not you're nervous or his touch had just heightened your attention for whatever reason—and places the cigarette in your hand. "Put the smoke between your teeth."

You follow his instructions. Sal's suddenly closer to you, flicking the lighter with the pad of his thumb and birthing a flame. "Okay, stay still." Suddenly, his unoccupied hand is brushing your hair aside and ghosting the side of your neck before sliding back and flattening on your nape. Chills erupt all over your body from being touched so personally by the opposite sex.

Your nerves are all over as he gets even closer, inches the flame to the end of the cigarette, and lights it.

He pulls back. "Alright," Sal watches you intently. "Now take it and inhale."

As you do so, you notice him stand and walk to the side in your peripheral.

Inhaling it into your lungs tastes like oxygen deprivation and extremely burnt steak. Your entire body is shaking and shuddering as your body instinctively attempts to repel whatever you've just sent into it. Suddenly, there's a water bottle in your hands, and the cigarette has been taken away. The cap has been unscrewed prior, thankfully, and you drink the water. It tastes like god's tears and rainbows and angel dust and you gasp in relief.

"Sweet Jesus," you choke out his earlier statement unintentionally. "What the hell was that?" You raise your head, and he's got his head bowed, bottom straps of his prosthetic unbuckled and he's smoking your cigarette from beneath it. Smoke filters from behind the shadows of the nose and eyes of his mask and into the air and slowly dissipates around you both. "And how are you doing it so well?"

"The first time around is absolutely horrible," he replies to you attentively. "It's all burnt and stuff. Drink some more water and you can try again if you want."

You do as he says, and shortly after you're trying again. It's nearly as rough as the first time around but you hold it in for long enough to do what it's supposed to and breathe it back out.

"Oh," You murmur. "Huh."

Larry chuckles at you from his place on the floor. Sal sends him a lighthearted glare before returning his attention to you. "See? It gets better." Empathically, he adds: "I don't want you doing that much this time, though. The nic sick sucks."

You didn't ask what nic sick was but it was safe to assume it was the effect of smoking past your tolerance and ultimately resulting in nausea.

You pass the cigarette back and forth—Sal taking a lot more hits than you, but that wasn't saying very much—until it was useless. Sal placed it beneath his shoe and put it out. He and Larry both dispose of the cigarettes and return to you, matching your position on the floor.

"So, how was it?" Larry asks you, amusedly curious.

You shrug and smile. "Wasn't bad after the first few hits. Couldn't have done it without Sal, actually." You then meet the boy in question's eyes, who meets yours back steadily, But after a moment, he looks to the floor and sharply exhales through his nose, reciprocating your amusement.

Larry's face moves in your peripheral, and you look towards him, but his features are already changed to how they were before you'd looked away from him.

Huh.

By the time you'd all left the treehouse, the sun was falling behind the horizon, and the sky above you was becoming a darker blue.

The two boys walked you to your apartment.

"That was a lot of fun," you expressed warmly as you stood at your door. "Thanks for that."

"We'll see you at school tomorrow," Sal responded, shifting his weight.

"You can walk with us!" Larry grinned. "If you want."

You found yourself genuinely looking forward to it, agreeing on the suggestion, and turning to your door to open it and retreat inside. Before you could, you were stopped.

"Wait," Sal blurts. You turn, gazing at him curiously. The mask shifts on his face. "Make sure your hair doesn't smell like smoke. Mine always does. Shake it out before you go in."

You doubted your mother would even be awake, nonetheless notice your presence, but you appreciated his advice and followed it anyway. You passed your hands through your hair before shaking it for a moment. You flattened it as well as you could afterward and laughed at yourself.

"Think that was good?" You asked, flashing your teeth.

Larry raised his eyebrows, thoroughly humored. "I think so. What do you think, Sal?"

Sal's silent for a moment, like he's forgotten he's there. Just staring at you.

"Sal?'

He blinks, shaken from his reverie. He quickly recovers, as it'd never happened. "Oh. Yeah," he states, moving to turn around and leave. "I'll see you tomorrow!"

With that, Sal's down the hall and making haste toward the elevator.

Larry exchanges a glance with you and laughs, bids you goodbye with a wave, and departs from you by following after his blue-haired friend.

You think nothing of Sal's quick departure, grin as you think of the fun day you'd had, and enter your quiet apartment.

#sally face #sally face x reader #sal fisher x reader

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lazuli-bloom · 3 years

Text

Roses and Styx

Chapter 3 – Kids' Games To Pass The Time

Beetlejuice x Reader

Word Count : 5,399

New day, new problems. Sure things aren't the worst they could be, but that new hire isn't making things all that easy at work.

Last Chapter | Archive | Next Chapter

--=--=--

An annoying, rhythmic buzz cut through silence. Light seeped its way in, chasing away the shadows of sleep. You groaned and rolled. It was too early to face the new day.

Compounding your groggy state was the fact you didn't sleep for shit last night. The chilly October night sucked the warmth from your room, and you had only a few blankets to shield yourself from it. And the chill didn't stop your mind racing most of the night. When sleep came to you, it brought restless dreams.

The first wasn't terrible, just strange. A weird bug followed you home wanting to be friends. The other dream, however... A vile pit formed in your stomach.

Your thoughts drifted to the dream. You couldn't move. Arms, legs, head, nothing. You couldn't budge an inch no matter how hard you fought. Something wanted you to stay still. And it wasn't as if your surroundings gave you any clues either. Darkness blanketed the room. No details, just a barren inky void. The only thing you found with you was a set of pinprick lights.

A voice spoke. It whispered beautiful words coated in honey. Your guts twisted. A warm touch held your face, and the voice asked you a question. Your words caught in your throat. The entity glared at you with icy eyes, and the sweet words soured to a nasty venom.

You clutched your chest as the memory of searing heat replayed. It sank blazing claws into your waist and arm, blistering and cooking the flesh.

You drew in shaky breaths and wiped away the leftover tears. It was just a dream. It was just a bad dream. You're safe.

You took in one more breath before getting up to start your day.

Normally you would go straight to the bathroom, but you wanted to check something. You stepped out into the main living space and found it empty. A DVD case sat on the coffee table, but the TV screen was dark. The couch laid devoid of any unexpected house guests. No sign anyone else was ever there. Your heart sank as you realized the encounter you remembered was just another dream cooked up by your tired brain. A frown pulled at your lips and you sighed. No time to mope. You needed to get ready for work.

You opened the bathroom door and peered inside. Rigel napped on the top of the toilet's water tank, surrounded by shredded toilet paper. At least it was less of a mess than yesterday. You clean up the ribbons and tossed them in the garbage under the sink. After you topped off his food and water, you hopped in the shower.

The water in your apartment only ever got up to lukewarm on a good day. And that was not a good day. Frigged rain pelted you, giving you goosebumps. Not wanting to linger, you got out and dressed a few minutes later.

You combed your fingers through your hair as you looted the kitchen. Damn cat, why'd it have to throw up on your hairbrush? You grumbled to yourself and pulled out the off-brand cereal to fix breakfast.

"What 'cha doing, babes?" A voice from nowhere spoke in your ear.

Your knees buckle and you collapse, taking the bag of cereal with you. You gripped at your chest to still your heart, and rolled to sit with your back to the cabinets. A man in a rotting striped suit floated in your kitchen, clutching his rounder stomach as he cackled.

"Oh sweets, that's great! I wasn't even trying!"

As the shock fades, your features scrunched up. You got to your feet and tossed the bag on the counter. With crossed arms you pivot to glare at the ghost, still laughing his ass off.

"Giving me a heart attack first thing in the morning," you said with a huff, "I came out here and you were gone. I thought I had dreamed the whole thing, you jerk."

"So you're saying you missed me?" He batted his eyes at you, setting your cheeks on fire. You would not dignify that with a response. Instead, you turned back to the counter and fixed your breakfast.

"Where did you go then?" you asked and riffled through the silverware drawer for a spoon.

"I was checking on your neighbors. Did you know the guys a few doors down have a shit-ton of electronics?"

"Yeah, and old lady Smith has a garden in her closet."

"Really? Which one is she in? I didn't find that."

"She's on the third floor, but don't bug her too much. She's nice. Plus she bakes amazing cookies for me whenever I help her."

You scarfed your breakfast, and double checked you had everything done. Rigel was in the bathroom with his things. You had your wallet and phone. After you finished the last bite, you set the bowl in the sink along with the one from last night.

You rinsed out the bowl and hummed to yourself before you glanced over your shoulder to the ghost. He grinned at you with a tilt of his head. You gave him a small smile, only to frown.

"I have to head to work."

That simple sentence wiped the grin from his face. His shoulders sank, and the color of his hair shifted. A dull purple seeped in and overtook the green. That couldn't be a good sign. "You're leaving me here?"

"Well, you could stay here, or..."

"Or?"

"If you can be out of the way and let me focus on my work when I need to, then you could tag along with me. It’d be nice having someone other than my boss to talk to during the downtime."

His grin stretched across his face again, and he spun up to you, batting his eyes. "Oh babes, you do care! Of course I'll go with you! Not my idea for a first date, but I'll take it."

You pressed your lips tight. Was this a mistake? Not like you can take back the offer, though. That would crush him. You let out a long sigh and rubbed at your temple.

"Not a date, dude."

"If you say so," he purred.

You shook your head and grabbed the keys before heading to the car. The ghost trailed you, with an ever present chill at your side. On the way to the car, he pointed out each of the apartments and spilled whatever secrets he found out. You had an inkling of some of your neighbors' crimes, but you weren't one to go tattling. It was best to let them deal with their lives and you deal with yours. So you ended up nodding along to what the ghost told you.

When you got to your car, you sat behind the wheel for a moment. Once your ghostly friend floated into the passenger seat, you took in a breath.

"Okay. A few things before we get there," You said as you fought to start the car, "If either my boss or a customer comes up and needs to talk to me, I would appreciate it if you hang back for a minute and let me handle them. Otherwise, I mostly just front-face merchandise and I can talk with you so long as I'm quiet. Also, I take my lunches in the cemetery, so I can talk a bit more freely there."

"Sounds good to me, toots."

You rolled your eyes and got the hunk of junk started. The car protested with clangs, but you drove off with a little more of a fight. On the scenic drive to work he asked you to turn on the radio, which got a dry laugh from you.

"What's so funny?"

"Radio's broke. Most things in this car are broken. Radio, heater, a/c. All of them are broken."

"Can't you get a new one? There's cars all over the place, just take one."

"Th-this isn't Grand Theft Auto,"

"It will be once you take a car!"

"Okay, technically true. I meant this isn't the game GTA, this is real life. And I would get arrested."

"Not if you had help from the ghost with the most!"

You rolled your eyes and turned onto the main road, heading for work. The rest of the drive, the "ghost with the most" filled the air with his own voice, singing a medley of songs. Some of them you recognized, others you suspected he made up on the spot.

You pulled into the employee parking and parked your car alongside the two much nicer ones there. As you collected your things, Beetlejuice pointed to the sleek mustang.

"That car looks fun! We should steal a car like that!"

"I'm pretty sure that's Brandon's car. I'm not stealing my coworker's car to take for a joyride."

"But it would be so cool!"

"Maybe later," you said, stepping out of your junker.

The bell chimed as you entered the store and caught your boss's attention. He came over to greet you and made sure you were doing better. You gave a small laugh and rubbed at the back of your neck.

"Yeah, I'm doing better." You glanced sidelong to the ghost wandering over to the front counter.

"Good. Now hopefully I can focus on training Brandon without as many interruptions. He keeps breaking away to chat with every customer that comes into the store. So I need you to handle the customers so he doesn't have an excuse."

"Got it. And if you need help with him, I can always smack some sense into him. The new order of mallets is in the back, right?"

Mr. Turner laughed and turned to go back to teaching Brandon. You smiled to yourself and meandered over to the counter. Your ghost pal sat on the countertop next to the computer.

"You never mentioned you get to hit people at your job, any openings?"

"Sorry, spot's filled. For now, anyway. But who knows, maybe we'll need a replacement soon."

"Save it for me. I would kill to get to hang around a pretty little breather like you all day and get paid for it. But doing that for free is nice too."

"You're a shameless flirt."

"How can a sexy beast like me not be with you around and able to see me?"

You shook your head and glanced at the computer. There was something you wanted to look up, you were sure of it. But what was it? You stepped closer and opened a new tab for the search. It sat blank for a moment as you retraced what the topic could have been.

"What are ya doing, babes?"

"I can't remember what I wanted to search for."

"One hundred great ways to skin a cat?"

You raised a brow and frowned at him. "I'm not hurting Rigel." A light flicked on in your head.

You typed in the cat's name and clicked on the page for the star. A picture of the Orion constellation to the side of the page showed off the stars. Most of them had fancy looking letters next to them, with a few having numbers attached. Rigel marked the lower right star, while the upper left was the only other star with a word.

"Beh-tell? Goose? Wait..." You jerked your head over to the ghost, who wore a Cheshire grin. "That's how you spell your name?"

"Yep. That's me. Behtellgoose."

You read the name once more. Betelgeuse. Such a strange spelling to sound like beetle-juice. Kind of cool though. You smiled and closed out of the tab when an unfamiliar voice called out to you.

"Good morning, Art. Great to see you doing better!"

"Heh, yeah. Feeling better." You forced a tight-lipped smile to prevent yourself from frowning. Brandon stayed still with his own fake smile plastered on his face. After a beat of him not saying anything, you asked, "Do you need something?"

"You forgot to go grab your apron. What if a customer came in? That would look very unprofessional. Here, I'll watch the counter and you can go grab your apron."

The corner of your mouth twitched, and you took in a deep breath. You stepped away and grabbed your stupid apron. As you threw it on, the bell chimed. You rushed back out, hoping to catch the customer before Brandon.

The counter stood unattended and you found Brandon down one aisle with a woman discussing products. You groaned and pinched the bridge of your nose.

"Isn't that what your boss wanted you to stop him from doing?"

"Yes, Beetle, it is."

You hissed out a sigh and shook your head. As you walked over to them, you prepared yourself to speak in your chipper customer service voice. Brandon insisted he could take care of the customer, only for Mr. Turner to order him to get back to training. Brandon grimaced and stepped away to let you take over.

Your smile was easier to keep on your face after that. You helped the customer find what she needed and rang up her items. She left with a wave and you went back to the computer.

"What the hell is that guy's deal?" Betelgeuse asked, gesturing with a thumb to Brandon.

"I don't know. I don't know if I really care." You leaned back onto your heels and let your mind wander. Whenever you were alone, stuck at the counter, you always pulled up simple web games on the computer to pass the time. But with Betelgeuse there, you couldn't ignore him to play games.

"What are ya thinking about, sweets? How hot it would be to make out right now?"

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. "No, you flirt. I'm thinking of what we can do to pass the time. All I'm coming up with are twenty questions and I spy."

"I'm fine with that," he said as he flashed you a sharp grin. "Okay, I'll start. I spy with my rotten eye, something... metal."

"Well, that narrows it down."

The two of you spent the rest of the morning going, taking turns playing those silly kids' games. Betelgeuse huffed and whined whenever a customer, or worse, Brandon, pulled you away to help them. Any time you called him out on his grumbling, he denied it as the color in his hair shifted.

He caught you staring at his hair once or twice, which exacerbated the shifting colors. Each time that happened, Betelgeuse quickly picked up whichever game you two had been playing. You left the topic alone for the moment, but stashed it away to ask about later.

Halfway into a difficult game of twenty questions, Mr. Turner came up to the counter. You ignored Betelgeuse's smug punchable face and greeted your boss, hoping your frustration didn't bleed into your tone.

"Cass, I'm stepping out for a bit to pick up something. I should be back for you to take your lunch break. Keep an eye on the store and Brandon for me, while I'm gone, okay?"

"Got it. Burn down the place and leave no evidence. Can do."

He shook his head with a laugh. Mr. Turner said, "you turd," before he waved goodbye and left the shop.

"Ooh baby, I love you talking about crimes like that! Tell me how you'd light up the place."

You turned back to the ghost. He floated with his stomach parallel to the ground as he held his scruffy chin in his hands and swung his legs pointed upward. You laughed at the dork and smiled.

"Well, the kerosene is over there, and the rolls of rags are an aisle over. There's a blow torch with some of the other tools."

"Artemis!" You whipped your attention to the stick in the mud, frowning at you. You didn't even get the chance to speak. "That kind of talk is highly unprofessional! Going over ways to burn down the store, shame on you."

"I was joking dude, it's not—"

"Well, I don't find that funny. And you shouldn't address your elders as 'dude', it is very disrespectful."

"Alright, I'm sorry."

"Good. Now I need your help."

You gave a tight-lipped smile and nodded. Brandon motioned for you to follow him, and once he turned back, you brought two fingers to your temple and jerked your head away.

In the middle of a tedious and painful walkthrough of creating an order of paint, the bell rang. Brandon broke away the second it chimed and went straight to helping the customer. That was irritating enough, but after the regular said they didn't need any help, Brandon insisted on assisting them.

You took in a deep breath and let the man dig his own grave. If he doesn't value your help, then he's not getting it. You marched back to the counter and found Betelgeuse picking his teeth.

He licked a striped tongue over his sharp teeth then said, "What a douchebag."

"Tell me about it."

The customer came up to the counter a minute later, followed by Brandon. You greeted the regular and switched the computer over to its register display. Your new coworker nudged you aside and insisted on being the one to ring up the customer.

"Artemis, you should have stayed at the paint desk. I'll meet you back there in a minute, after I help this gentleman."

You wanted nothing more than to slap that man. Who the hell does he think he is? Calling you unprofessional and pulling stunts like that? You grit your teeth and forced a smile before excusing yourself to head back to the paint desk.

Betelgeuse floated after you and lounged on top of the desk. You spared him a glance, but stuck to pacing the small paint pit, waiting for that douche-canoe to get back there. The customer didn't even have a lot of things to buy, so it shouldn't take Brandon that long.

"That freaking jerk," you said under your breath, "I can't believe Mr. Turner hired a guy like that."

"Want me to kill him?"

"Tempting, but no. I'm just going to talk to my boss when he gets back." You checked your phone for the time. A quarter after one, which means only fifteen more minutes until your lunch break. "God, I hope he's here soon."

You tapped your nails against the metal top of the tint machine, the speed of which accelerated the longer you waited. What the hell was taking him so long? Did another customer show up? This was getting infuriating.

"You sure you don't want me to kill the guy?"

"No, Beetle, I don't want you to do that."

"Art, who are you talking to?"

You turned around to the voice. Brandon stood at the threshold of the paint pit with his hand on his hips and raised a brow at you. Your face burned as you laughed, attempting to cover up your embarrassment.

"Oh, just this annoying little beetle. It was crawling under the tint dispenser."

"Do you regularly talk to disgusting bugs?" he asked. You opened your mouth to speak, only for Brandon to keep talking. "It doesn't matter. You shouldn't act so childish. How old are you? Late teens?"

"No, Brandon, I'm closer to my thirties than my teens."

"And you're talking to bugs, where any customer can come up and see that behavior. You ought to grow up and act your age, Artemis."

The bell chimed again, and you shuffled to the side to get an unobstructed view of the front. Mr. Turner stepped in with a smile and a wave. You waved back and checked the clock on the computer. One twenty-seven, perfect. You pulled your apron's strings and took it off in a swift motion.

"Where do you think you're going, Artemis?"

"Lunch."

Brandon frowned, and you folded up your apron with a smile. He probably wanted to stop you from leaving, but that shit would not fly with the boss back. Betelgeuse hopped down from his spot on the counter and followed. You tossed your apron behind the front counter and greeted Mr. Turner. After a quick rundown of what had happened, you left for your break, with a quick stop to your car to grab your food.

On the walk to the cemetery, Betelgeuse mocked the stupid things Brandon said. He was dead on with his impression, too.

"Artemis, do you think I give a shit? I'm a giant douche with a stick up my ass! There's no fun allowed in the store."

You did your best to hold back your laughter, but that only caused you to snort. A laugh roared out next to you in Betelgeuse's voice. You covered your mouth with your free hand, but that couldn't stop your shoulders from bouncing. As the two of you crossed into the graveyard, you glanced sidelong at the ghost, who shot you a grin.

In the cemetery, devoid of any other visitors, you veered towards your usual spot, off in the corner and near the front gate. You sat on the stone bench, setting your lunch beside you. Betelgeuse, however, sat on a gravestone, with his feet propped up on the one next to it.

You opened up your small bag of chips and started snacking on them. Betelgeuse looked over from picking at his nails and raised a brow at you.

"That's all you're going to eat, babes?"

"I have a granola bar too."

You grabbed the other half of your lunch and showed him. He tilted his head with a frown, but said nothing. It grew quiet, save for your munching on the chips. Your mind wandered, and you zoned out, staring unfocused in a random direction. Betelgeuse moved, catching your eye, and you studied him.

He gnawed at his black nails with jagged yellow teeth. Stubble covered his round chin, matching the same green mixed in his hair. Has his stubble changed color like his hair has? And why did his hair change color to begin with?

You hummed to yourself after finishing the last of your chips.

"What's up, sweets?"

"I... was hoping to ask you something."

Betelgeuse tilted his head to the other side and raised a brow and pursed his lips. You gave a half smile and laughed. He looked like a curious puppy. How could this ghost-demon look so cute?

"What is it?"

"I've noticed that your hair isn't always green."

As soon as the sentence left your mouth, the color of his hair shifted to a deep purple. You shrank back as your stomach twisted into knots. Even without knowing what the colors meant, the frown on his face and sudden dodging of eye contact weren't good signs. On no. You messed up, didn't you? Why couldn't you have just kept your mouth shut?

"I'm sorry. You don't have to say anything. Forget I ever mentioned it."

You dug your nails into your palms and turned your gaze to your knees. Betelgeuse produced a mix of a growl and a groan, and you peered up at him through your hair. His lips pulled into an almost smile as he kept sharp eyes pointed at his hands, where he raked his nails through the hair of one.

"I might as well tell you, you'd figure it out eventually. My hair changes color with my mood."

You dared to lift your head more. Your lips parted as your brain processed the new information.

"Like a chameleon?"

"Like what?"

He tilted his head and raised a brow as his nose wrinkled. You forced out a small laugh and smile as you wrung your wrists. "A chameleon, the little lizards that change color. It's to communicate their mood. Darker colors like black are when it's stressed, neutral tones are when it's calm, and vibrant greens, or reds can be excitement or aggression."

Betelgeuse lurched forward with a growl and ran his hands through his hair, shielding the deepening purple from view. Your stomach twisted into knots. This wasn't getting better. You parted your lips only to press them shut a second later. Why did you have to screw up and bring up his hair in the first place?

Your nails dug deeper into your palms. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

"If you're going to strip a guy naked like that, babes, you could at least buy me dinner first."

Your face wrinkled as you tilted your head at him. Betelgeuse still held himself curled and closed off, but he wore a weak crooked smile. Your lips twitched, and you huffed out a dry laugh.

"Alright, we can go through the drive thru to get a few things off the dollar menu."

"Ooh! I wanna try one of those green sludgy shake things from that Old MacDonald place."

"Sorry to break this to you, but they only sell those in March."

"What? That's lame!"

"Everything is pumpkin spice right now."

He pouted and crossed his arms with a huff. Despite the childish act, the purple in his hair faded back to a muted green. You chuckled to yourself as relief washed over you. With a soft smile, you grabbed the other half of your lunch and hummed before you opened it.

"Hey Beetle."

"Hmm?"

"I won't bring it up again if you don't want me to, but I wanted to say I think your chameleon hair is pretty cool. Like, is it magic? Or is it a demon thing? Or—sorry. I'm sorry. I'll shut up about it now. Sorry."

Your eyes darted to focus on your granola bar. You fumbled with tearing open the packaging for a second, only for the wrapper to give. The force sent your food tumbling to the ground. You stared at the broken bar and heaved out a sigh. Just wonderful.

Your pocket buzzed, veering your attention to it. You pulled out your phone and checked the caller id. Unknown number. Chills cascaded down as you stared at the phone.

"Something wrong, babes?"

"Nope. Everything's fine. Just some spam call."

You shoved it back into your pocket and let it ring. If the caller wanted anything, they can leave a voicemail. Besides, you needed to get back to work.

You picked up your trash and nodded your head to the gate. Betelgeuse hopped up and floated alongside you. After a few steps out of the cemetery, your phone rang again. Every fiber in you tensed up, but you left your phone in your pocket. The third time your phone rang, Betelgeuse spoke up again.

"Who the hell keeps calling you?"

You shrugged and laughed despite your dry throat. "Who knows? I have to get back to work though."

With a hurried pace, you made it back to the store in a few minutes. The bell swung, chiming away as you beeline for your apron behind the counter. Brandon stood at the register with a phone up to his ear.

"There you are, Art! I've been calling you and you never once answered!" Brandon frowned at you and slipped his phone into his pants pocket. "You're obligated to pick up if I or Mr. Turner ever need to call you."

"O-oh, that was you calling." A small breath escapes passed your lips and you relax, only to register what he said. "Wait, how did you even get my number? I've only ever given this number to Sam and Mr. Turner."

"Why does it matter how I got your number? The issue is; if work calls you, especially if you have a shift that day, you need to answer."

"Fine, okay. I'll save your number so I don't panic again when I'm called three times in a row."

"Oh please, three phone calls make you panic? Artemis, you're an adult. You should know better than to be worried about something as simple as a phone call."

You grit your teeth and smiled. This conversation wasn't going anywhere you wanted, and you didn't plan on sticking around. You threw on your apron and marched to a far corner of the store to get away from everyone. Well, save for the ghost haunting you.

"Wow, babes, that guy is a major piece of work."

"Piece of shit is more like it."

You grabbed at products on the shelf and pulled them forward, turning the labels when needed. If you looked busy, maybe Brandon would mind his own fucking business. You clenched your jaw and growled as you brought more things forward.

"I shouldn't be worried about phone calls? What the fuck does he know? He's never had to put up with the shit I have!"

"And what shit would that be, babes?"

You glanced up to the ghost laying on his stomach across the top of the aisle shelving. Betelgeuse tilted his head. Soft and earnest curiosity graced his features. The corner of your mouth twitched before you closed your eyes and let out a hiss.

"I don't want to get into it," you said, keeping your voice quiet, "but I've had someone call me over and over before. It wasn't fun."

You pulled the rest of the items forward within arm's reach before sidestepping to get more. Betelgeuse floated after you as you inched down the aisle. He picked the games back up, and you welcomed the distraction.

There were one or two rounds of I spy, several goes at twenty questions—which you're positive Betelgeuse cheated and switched his topic multiple times. Towards the end of your shift, well after Brandon left for the day, you two asked a few "would you rather" questions. While he asked a few risque questions at the start—bite or be bitten, top or bottom—his questions took a tamer turn, similar to the ones you asked.

"Okay babe, would you rather find a rat in the kitchen or a roach in your bed?"

"I mean... I guess I'd prefer seeing another rat in the kitchen over finding more roaches?"

"M-more?"

"Donna hires her incompetent nephew to do the pest control for the apartments." You swept the line of dirt into the pan and tossed it into the trash. "Actually, speaking of, I should double check the traps and make sure something isn't rotting somewhere in the apartment."

Betelgeuse watched you finish the last of the closing routine. You clicked the pan back around the neck of the broom and stuffed it into a corner behind the counter. The only thing left was Mr. Turner to finish locking up the cash and heading out. You leaned against the counter and rolled your head back to look at the ceiling.

A quiet stillness overtook the store. It lasted a few seconds before Betelgeuse spoke up again.

"Would you rather have a nicer place but the same landlady, or the same apartment with a nicer landlady—"

"Alright Cass, you ready to leave?"

You turned your attention from the unseen ghost to your boss. He smiled and gestured to the door. You returned a half smile before exiting. Mr. Turner locked up, and you waved goodbye. A minute later you sank into the car seat and rested your hands on the wheel.

"Well babes, this certainly seems familiar."

You glanced his way and rolled your eyes before getting the car started.

"Yep, it's been an entire day since a demon followed my home, like a lost puppy."

"I'm way cuter than any puppy. Plus, you can keep me in your apartment all you want and your shitty landlady can't do anything about it!"

"Nicer landlady, by the way," you said as the car sputtered to life.

"What?"

"I'd rather have a nicer landlady than a nicer place. Donna would just let a nicer place fall to ruin."

You pulled out of the parking lot and drove home. At the first red light, you tapped your finger on the wheel and hummed.

"Hey Beetle, would you rather stay in a comfortable and familiar place with people that don't believe half of what you say, or cut all contact with them and be alone if it meant freedom?"

Betelgeuse tilted his head from one side to the other, closing his eyes as he mulled over your question. As he thought, the light changed, and you continued on your way home. A sharp grin stretched across his face a moment later.

"Easy. I'd take my freedom."

Your lips twitched up. "Yeah... me too."

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice x reader #musical beetlejuice x reader #roses and styx #my writing #fun fact. I kept miss spelling Brandon as Brandong when typing this

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j-amespotter · 3 years

Text

★ mirrorball - j. p.

“i'm still trying everything to keep you looking at me.”

Pairing: James Potter x Gryffindor!Reader

x. x. x.

Summary: James Potter has only ever had one girl on his mind. You’ve always known that. You decide it’s time for a new haircut.

Genre/Warnings: slight angst/FLUFF, insecurity (?)

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: fluff?? from me??? who would have thought? first time writing for james! this is just me finding out lily had shoulder-length hair in ootp and rolling with it ;p let me know if you would like to be added to my taglist

masterlist

“Are you sure about this?” asked Mary Macdonald, a fellow sixth-year, close friend and roommate of yours.

Open scissors hovered around a section of your thick hair. You eyed yourself in the mirror contemplatively. “Positive,” you affirmed.

Mary shook her head disapprovingly and sighed. “If you insist. I really like your long hair, though.”

A small, almost-undetectable part of you agreed. “Change is always good.”

“For the right reasons,” retorted Mary. Nevertheless, she trimmed off the allotted portion of your hair. Gulping at the lopsided haircut, you knew there was no turning back. You assumed that cutting your hair to match Lily Evans’s new hairstyle was not what Mary considered to be “for the right reasons.”

“You know,” said Mary after snipping away in silence for a few minutes, “I think he likes you just the way you are.”

That’s the problem, you wanted to answer. I want more. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Mary glanced towards the door of their dormitory. “Copying Lily’s haircut is not the way to go about this, (Y/N),” she said in a hushed whisper.

Yes, it is. He chose her. “I’m not trying to copy Lily,” you hissed defensively. “I just wanted to try something different. And what better way to celebrate a Quidditch win than to debut a new haircut?”

Suddenly, you caught sight of a new face in the dormitory. With a quick glimpse of her, you couldn't help your defeated sigh. Lily Evans was bright and funny. She was the physical embodiment of sunshine, with hair the color of red wine and vivid green eyes. It was for these reasons and more that, unfortunately for you, Lily became the object of James Potter's affection, nearly as much as he was yours.

But even that was untrue. Your love for James, despite its unrequited nature, was different from his love for Lily. You and James were two sides of the same coin, just different enough to complement each other perfectly. It had been six years. The boy who had overpowered every waking thought of yours was yet to come to the same realization.

“Hey,” greeted Lily. “Great game today, (Y/N)! Party just started downstairs. What’s the hold-up?” She spotted the scissors in Mary’s hand and your sheepish gaze through the mirror. “Merlin, you cut your hair! It looks amazing!”

You wished you could hate her, but such was the unmistakable appeal of Lily Evans. “Thanks, Lily,” you said with what you hoped was a genuine smile. “I was freshening up. We thought I could use a little spruce.” Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Mary turn away hastily.

“Well, hurry up and get changed! Everyone’s waiting,” Lily added with a cheeky smile, one you could not entirely understand.

You stood up, shaking the hair off of your uniform. With a silent incantation and a flick of your wand, it disappeared from the floor. Glancing at Lily, an idea popped into your head. “I just need to get changed. Lily, can I borrow that yellow dress of yours? The one with the daisies? You wore it at the last game and said I could try it on some time.”

Lily nodded, as unassuming as ever. You decidedly ignored Mary’s glare as you waited for the dress to make it into your hands.

☆

“Took you long enough,” teased Sirius as you sauntered down the stairs with Mary and Lily at your heels. As you reached the bottom of the steps, he peered closer at you. “You look different, (L/N).”

You grinned. “Good different? Or bad different?”

“Ask Potter,” said Lily from behind you.

Feeling the heat rise up your cheeks, you dismissed the supposedly good-natured comment. Instead, you took in your surroundings. An impressive display of scarlet and gold ornamented the common room. Your inner lioness roared in delight. As a Chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, the best House team in Hogwarts history, you couldn’t help the immense pride awakening in your chest at your latest win. You closed your eyes. In an instant, you remembered the exhilarating feel of a soaring broomstick in the brisk air. You imagined yourself in perfect formation with your teammates, trailing after a flash of dark, ruffled hair. You looked into his resolute eyes as he seamlessly passed you the Quaffle.

“Did you cut your hair?” interrupted James’s silky voice.

You turned around with a dazed smile on your face. Meeting his unreadable gaze, you hummed affirmatively. “What d’you think?”

For an unknown reason, he seemed taken aback. Slowly, his eyes raked over your body, head to toe. “It’s pretty,” he said quietly. You didn’t respond immediately, confused by the sudden tortured expression on his face. “Isn’t it a bit cold for that outfit?”

You chuckled darkly. “That’s not what you said when Lily wore it last time.”

James stared at you open-mouthed. Without a word, he stalked away, joining Peter for a butterbeer in the corner of the room.

“What happened?” asked Lily.

You stumbled backward. At this moment, you regretted wearing the high heels you found at the bottom of your trunk. “Nothing,” you snapped.

Lily raised her eyebrow. “There’s no need to take that tone with me,” she said coolly. “It’s not my fault both of you are completely blind.”

“You don’t have a clue, Evans,” you responded, involuntarily blushing at her veiled insinuation.

“I think I do. He has feelings for you, (Y/N).”

You laughed, though you found nothing funny about it. “He likes you, Lily.”

“Maybe,” said Lily, “but he’s in love with you. Everyone can see it.” She paused, placing a friendly hand on your shoulder. “Go talk to him.”

Not a single part of you wanted to have this conversation. As Lily walked toward a tired-looking Remus, you exhaled a breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

Talk to him, said a firm voice in your head. Maybe he feels the same way.

Impossible. There was no way he could feel what you felt just thinking about him. Loving James was like flying. He was the adrenaline rush of being suspended in mid-air. He hit you with the speed of a Bludger whirring past your face. He was the Snitch that delicately fluttered in front of you, brushing your skin. He was the Quaffle that thumped perfectly in your hand.

You scanned the room for the hazel-eyed boy that owned your heart, only to discover that he had left Peter to his own devices. Something heavy settled in your stomach when you finally spotted him, seated on the space on the couch next to none other than Lily Evans. James chatted with her animatedly. You found no comfort in the tell-tale signs of her typical irritation.

Without a second glance, you tripped over your own two feet as you dashed for the portrait hole, wanting more than anything for fresh air and a free spot to scream yourself hoarse.

☆

It was by sheer stealth or unshakeable determination that you did not get caught. Students weren’t allowed on the Quidditch pitch without permission, but it was the only place you wanted to be. It was the only place you could bear to be.

You stood in the center of the pitch, hugging yourself as the prickly cold attacked you from all sides. You thought of lying down on the icy ground but knew not to subject yourself to any more physical agony.

Instead, you stood. You stood in heels that were tight around your ankles, sinking into the grass and bruising the underside of your feet. You stood in a strange, sleeveless dress in a January in the Highlands. Your eyes burned with tears that refused to fall.

Without warning, something feathery grazed your shoulder. Tilting your head slightly, you spotted a Golden Snitch. Gone rogue, you supposed to yourself. It floated at eye-level like a taunt. You reached forward and closed your fingers around it, surprised at the warmth the small object exuded.

“I should have you play Seeker,” uttered a familiar voice.

Startled, you whipped around, only to see nothing behind you. Having pivoted too fast, you felt yourself lose balance and topple backward, straight into the frosted grass you were avoiding.

Peeling off his Invisibility Cloak, James struggled to stop laughing long enough to help you up. Instead, he sat right next to you, wrapping the Cloak around both himself and your blueing body.

“You’ll ruin it,” you warned, teeth chattering.

“It can take it,” he assured. “You’re missing the party.”

“It’s your party, Captain.”

James shook his head. “It’s our party. We’re a team, you and me.”

You didn’t have anything to say to that. The two of you sat in silence, your hand still clutching the Snitch.

“You were so tall,” said James unexpectedly. “In your shoes.”

“I’m not even sure they’re mine,” you said lightly.

“No, they aren’t, are they?”

You didn’t answer. You pulled the Cloak tighter around you, unknowingly pulling James and all of his accompanying body heat along with it. The two of you were so close. You could see every speck of gold in his eyes.

James tentatively lifted his hand and reached for the ends of your hair, twirling a piece around his finger. “Your hair grew back.”

You gasped. “How? I didn’t…”

Grinning, James gently tugged the strand, pulling your ear closer to his lips. “Magic,” he whispered.

“Idiot,” you said, playfully shoving his chest.

Like a magnet, he leaned towards you again. There you were, together, under his Cloak, beneath the stars, in your favorite place in the world. With a hand cupping your cheek, he pressed his lips against yours. You inhaled his earthy scent and melted in his slow, seemingly eternal kiss.

Reluctantly, you pulled away. Your foreheads were touching. His hand remained as it was, cradling your face. “That was…”

“Breathtaking,” finished James without hesitation.

“Yes, it was,” you said, nodding fervently. “But James… what about Lily?”

He frowned. “What about her?”

“You’ve liked her for ages, James–”

“Stop,” he interrupted firmly. “This is our moment, (Y/N). I like you, and I think I always have. Scratch that… I liked Evans. But I love you. I’m in love with you.”

Your eyes widened in genuine surprise. “You are?”

“You’re my best friend,” said James. “I’ve been running away from it for so long. I didn’t mean to hurt you (Y/N). But I want to spend every waking moment with you. I can’t stop thinking about you even when I try.”

“But… I’m just me, James. Little old me.”

“Exactly. I don’t want you to be any different, (Y/N). Not for me,” he added sincerely. “I’m in love with you exactly the way you are. I’ll love you no matter how you look. But you shouldn't change who you are because of me.”

“Bighead,” you teased, swallowing the lump in your throat, “thinking it’s just for you.”

He smiled. James Potter was in love with you: the girl in an oversized Quidditch uniform, her hair cascading behind her, one that could easily deliver a kick in the shins in her trusty trainers. James loved your unfailing wit and uncontrollable nervous energy. He loved the way he felt when he looked at you. He loved the sound of your giggly cheers when you were both in the air. Most of all, he loved the way your lips felt on his. “Your hair grew back,” he repeated, this time with awe he couldn’t conceal.

“Guess we’re one crazy-haired couple,” you joked.

“I like the sound of that,” said James, pressing a kiss against your temple.

You snuggled into him, frozen temperatures now trivial. “I’m keeping the heels, though. I like being tall.”

James snorted. “If you can walk in them.” He proceeded to slip out of the Cloak, stand, and put on a very realistic show of twisting his own ankle.

“Shut up,” you said as he slid back in, snickering uncontrollably. Releasing the Snitch from your grip, you kissed him hard as it flapped in front of you.

Without tearing his lips away, James reached for the Snitch and pocketed it. “I love you,” he whispered against your mouth.

“I love you,” you said, tasting the words on your tongue for the first time, “but if we stay out here, I’ll freeze.”

“Let’s go have our own fun,” said James with another kiss and a wink to follow. “I could get used to this, you know.”

“Me too, Captain. Me too.”

Taglist: @iwritesiriusly @mads-bri @she-seeks-magic @sarcasticallywitty15

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do-you-need-a-hacker · 2 years

Text

Six years - 7

Parts

Summary

Previous part: Bittersweet victory

Next part: Confusion

Note - please read the warnings listed in the summary.

Collision

The woman you love but abandoned years ago is standing a few steps from you, in the hospital room where she was resting after a sexual assault. What do you say? What do you do? I don’t have a clue.

Am I even allowed to look at her? She seems so tiny and fragile, as she could fade and leave nothing else behind than her hospital gown.

I could offer her to talk about what happened, but would it do her any good? On the other hand, avoiding this topic might make her feel as if it doesn’t matter.

Then she speaks, and the atmosphere slightly changes. I can tell she has something on her mind. Maybe she is expecting a certain answer. I can hear blame in all her silences as if she was shouting. She has not.

There is definitely grief, pain and rage in each of her words, but her voice is so calm.

I need air. Now. A cold and empty hallway welcomes my escape.

***

I figured she would hate me, but until now, I have never doubted she figured why I left her. And there she was, demeaning herself. Garbage. Toy. A fucking toy I threw away when I got bored and tried to get back only when a piece of shit… Damn, I can’t even pronounce this word to myself! Does she really see me as that self-absorbed asshole who only took an interest in her because a rapist touched her?

I sit on the floor and bury my head into my hands, but her pretty tearing face seems to be printed under my eyelids. Breathe. Just slowly breathe, everything will become easier. The buzzing sound invading my ears gradually vanishes, making her sarcastic, cold and broken voice even louder in my head.

— “You’re here to pick up the pieces because someone else played with your toy and broke it.”

Maybe she didn’t mean it.

Maybe she wanted to hurt me as bad as she was. And I have no idea if it is better than her thinking so little of me.

Maybe her words just went further than what she intended to.

And maybe it doesn’t matter.

She has opened up to me. She has shown emotions, as if she had lost control or got tired of pretending to be someone she was not. She was no longer this quiet and measured woman, worried about being seen by anyone in her moments of vulnerability. She has been herself in that room. And I am the one she revealed herself to.

— “She said she needed someone but she refused me to call him.”

— “He doesn’t want to see me.”

I need to go back. I need to go back and show her exactly how much I have longed for seeing her. I’m running into the hallway as discretely as I can. Now is not the time to draw attention to myself and get kicked out of the hospital by an angry nurse.

When I turn in the last hallway, I ran into someone. I just have time to realize she’s about to fall before I catch her, only to lose balance myself. Somehow, I manage to pivot to land on my back so that she doesn’t hit the floor.

Because I’m not an expert at falling, I can’t avoid knocking my head. It takes me a while to realize I’m holding her for the first time, to the point I can feel her heart pounding against my chest. Her lips are so close I can feel her warm breath.

But her eyes are reddish and full of confusion. What am I doing? This situation does not make sense.

— Let go of me… Please.

I immediately remove my hands from her back. My cheeks are burning as I let her getting up.

— Sorry, I’m sorry… Come on, let me help you.

She lets me supporting her back to the bedroom without a word. I help her sitting on the bed.

— You shouldn’t have run with your ankle, I can’t help myself.

— You were gone.

I feel stupid insisting about her ankle, but it is the only thing I know how to fix. Everything else feels out of my league. I examine her strip. It looks good, except her ankle is still swollen.

— I know. I’m looking straight to her eyes. I shouldn’t have left.

Twice, I want to add, but I don’t because looking at each other, we both know what this is really about. I find a cold pack in the supply closet and apply it on her ankle.

— Did they tell you to elevate your leg?

— I don’t remember much. She lowered her gaze. How do you know I need to do that?

— That’s part of the RICE protocol. Rest. Ice. Compress. Elevate. You’re not good at resting.

I stack a few pillows at the bottom of the bed.

— You can lie down.

No answer. I can feel her eyes burning my neck as I sit on the floor, my back against the bed.

— You won’t ask me anything?

— MC, I’m dying to know what happened to you. Both last night and all these years. I’m just not certain you want to talk about it.

— I’m not sure either, she whispers.

Silence settles between us for a few minutes.

— Why are you here?

It is not defiance this time. She’s begging. She has no idea. I turn so she could see me.

— I love you. It has always been you.

#duskwood everbyte #duskwood jake #duskwood fanfiction #duskwood game #duskwood #duskwood mc

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foureyeswithanicesmile · 3 years

Text

We meet again? Boy wonder.

tags: No smut, more or less fluff but not pathetic fluff, gender isnt specified because im nb and that would be hypocritical.

‘ My my, retired the robin attire Mr Grayson?’

Dick Grayson attempted to break himself out of the restraints he woke up in.

 An hour or so before, Dick Grayson was thoroughly enjoying a cup of whiskey, the amber liquid shining in the lights of his kitchen.

He done this often after your sudden disappearance, your apartment completely empty and your workplace haven’t heard much either.

Yet now, here you both were, him tied by rope onto one of his smaller chairs, trying to look at whoever had put him in such a situation.

‘ What? You don’t remember me now?’ You asked with a more deadpan tone, his eyes widening as he looked at you. You’ve certainly changed.

Unlike your original, loose fitting black ‘work’ attire which consisted of a long leather jacket, black doc martens and various gun holsters, you wore a tight-fitting white suit that also contained a hood which drooped over most of your forehead and maybe even your eyes.

‘ H-How did you get into my apartment?’ He wondered with furrowed brows, now deciding to not wriggle against his current restraints seeing as though it was only you.

Your question caused you to laugh, now removing the white mask that covered your mouth, even taking out your white eye contacts.

‘ Out of all the things you’d ask me after all these months- you ask about how I got here?’ You arched your brow as you spoke, finally making eye contact with Grayson after many months.

His lack of response had said enough, he was still fairly adamant to know how you got here. Understandable.

‘ You gave me a spare key when we first started talking more, insisted on me popping in to check on you’

‘ Yeah I meant check- not smoke up my house and tie me up’ he almost exclaimed, looking up at you as you stepped closer towards him.

‘ My my, we meet again boy wonder, you miss me at all?’ You asked with your signature smile, finally allowing yourself to be off guard seeing as though you left a broken bottle of whiskey right next to his chair.

‘ I’d be lying if i said i didn’t’ He admitted with a slight smile, his auburn eyes transfixed on you with admiration.

You carefully took your white brass-knuckled gloves off, revealing the new scars that decorated your fingers, causing Grayson’s eyes to widen.

‘ What happened? and could you get me out of these restraints for god sake?’ He inquired, both eager and concerned. Willingly, you cut him out of the multiple ropes you tied him in.

‘ Sorry about the ropes boy wonder, I wanted to surprise you’

‘ You certainly did’

Once Grayson was fully released, he aggressively pushed you into him, hugging you with a breath of relief.

‘ I thought you fucking died’ He admitted, your mouth curling into a slight smirk as you bit your lip at his words.

‘So you really did miss me, I mean I was told you even came to my work place Grayson’ You relayed to him, his eyes averting from yours in embarrassment.

Not listening to any muttering he may have shared, you slowly walked around his house, observing the pictures he had placed around his house, eventually getting up to a large board about your disappearance.

‘ Went all FBI on me? Jesus you could’ve just waited’ You almost laughed, leaning back on your leg as you crossed your arms, Dick Grayson eventually walking towards the board in referral.

Scanning the board diligently, you came across the various ‘villains’ and anti heroes you’ve ever come across in your career- post it notes with words in annotations surrounding their pictures.

‘ Did you interrogate all of these guys? Do you want me killed?’ You asked, turning to his direction, his posture almost nonchalant at your questions/complaints.

‘ It was a last resort’ He admitted, causing you to role your eyes before going back to his half drank glass of whiskey.

‘ What’s the drink for? I was just gonna sleep on your couch to surprise you but I saw you were awake- mind telling me what you were doing?’, Your words caused Grayson’s eyes to wonder around vigorously, almost as if he was dreading the question.

‘ Thinking’ He answered dismissing any excess discussion, in which you continued regardless.

‘ About what? you know you can talk to me Grayson’, your face softened, an expression that Grayson hadn’t gotten the privilege to see in what seemed like forever.

‘ I was thinking of you’

‘ As you do.’

‘ I thought you were in serious shit, and by the look of your eye-bags and scarred knuckles you clearly have been’ He stated, taking his hand in yours in order to look at the scars dusted across them.

‘ Had some unfinished business’

You removed your hand from his, opening the lid to a bottle of red wine.

‘ In Gotham’ You added on before taking a swig of wine; not caring enough to pour it into a glass. Grayson was displeased by your words, eyes narrowing in slight disappointment.

‘ What? with who?’ Grayson asked with almost wide eyes, hands now placing themselves on his hips.

‘ You aren’t going to like what I’m saying, and I’m letting you know that it was because I had to’ You disclaimed, tone breathy as you built courage to say the name.

‘ I don’t care- just who?’ Dick asked with furrowed brows, curiosity occupying him.

‘ Deadshot’ You spoke with a sigh, eyes closing as Grayson began to speak.

‘ What? Do you know how dangerous that man is? Are you asking to be killed?’ He whisper shouted due to the time at night.

‘ It was his daughter okay, she was in danger and I owed him a few favours’ You excused, hearing an almost disappointed sigh.

‘ Listen, as long as you’re alright and have no loose ends- you’re okay’

‘ About that- I may or may not had been arrested at some point’

Grayson’s eyes widened, if it wasn’t for the time he would’ve shouted his head off; but you could already tell that he was fucking pissed.

‘ I know I know it was only for interfering with evidence alright God- It’s why I was out for so long and so off radar’ You admitted, now taking your nth swig of wine.

‘ I could’ve bailed you out’ He spoke confidently, surprised at your un-caring response.

‘ No need, Mr Bruce did that for me’ You admitted again, Graysons eyes widening more than you thought was possible.

‘ What?? Is it on your record?’ He asked almost fully pissed off, his longing for you almost sugarcoating the severity of his tone.

‘ Nope, didn’t have the chance to install it before Mr Wayne came to my rescue’ You answered, tone slightly impressed.

‘ So that’s where you got the suit? Alfred whip that one up for you?’ He asked, eyes scanning you up and down in which you grabbed his shoulder tightly and said;

‘ I know you like it, and yeah he did’ You answered in a low tone, looking down at yourself even more impressed than when you first got it.

‘ Fairly impractical for a vigilante like you, don’t you think?’ He asked, brows contorted in both amusement and confusion.

‘ Right, also about that- I’m off that kinda shit now, thought i’d take up your offer about helping you and the others out’

And with that, Nightwing’s face almost lit up like a flashlight, a genuine smile painted across his face.

‘ You’re fucking with me’ He almost shouted, you having to cover his mouth as you nodded.

You hadn’t expected Grayson to be as happy as he was, let alone even keep you here for as long as he was.

Realising his boyish excitement, he coughed to recollect himself.

‘ So could you explain the scars on your hand?’ He asked, now confidently taking your hand in his and holding it up to his face.

‘ Got into a bad bad bar fight, little did i know the guy had a knife’

Truth be told, you had no clue of the pocket knife in that man’s hand.

After a few moments of observation, Grayson raised his hand in order to lower your hood, your eyes narrowing at the contact.

‘ What on earth are you doing’

Unlike the last time Grayson saw you, your hair was a redder tint that suited you more than he anticipated.

‘ Nice hair’

‘ Why thank you.’

With a swallow, you observed the time on the clock in his dining room, now deciding to leave.

‘ It’s getting late, I should probably get myself to the motel downtown’ You dismissed, now collecting all your belongings from his couch and countertop.

As you began to leave, Grayson decided against letting you go, now stopping you by pushing on the door, leaving you no choice but to turn around.

However when you did finally pivot to face him, his expression was almost disheartened.

‘ Don’t think you’re leaving to some shitty motel, not tonight’

‘ So where would you rather me stay? back in Gotham?’

‘ Stay here. With me’

And you did just that.

A/n: if theres anything specific anyone may want let me know because summer break is so damn boring

#dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #comics #dc comics #idk what im doing #i tried

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lettrespromises · 4 years

Text

PLAN À TROIS.— TODOROKI, BAKUGOU.

A.N:

❝ dear reader,

why hello it is i, nikki, back at it again. this post was specifically written thanks to @sasukelore’s big brain, meaning that this one is for the boys with the booming system, top down, AC with the cooler system😔✊🏻. it’s my first attempt at writing smut (which means it’s a direct ticket to hell) so please bare with me, i hope you’ll like it! if you have any feedback, please feel free to send it to me! also, my requests are open for business hehe.

sincerely yours,

nikki.

P.S: “plan à trois” has a double meaning— it means “threesome” in french but it also literally means “a plan involving three people” which is the core of the story, both literally and figuratively. ❞

Genre: Smut. (All three of the characters have been aged up.)

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of drugs (but no actual use of drugs), unprotected sex (please use a condom), nudity, spanking, choking, cunnilingus, blow-job, temperature play, threesome, dirty things.

Word count: 6.5k (she’s a big girl, don’t be shy.)

Letter object: One hotel. One gala. One mission. One person to take down. Three heroes. You and Shoto have to play the perfect fake couple to gain your enemy’s trust, the only thing is, Shoto has no clue how to behave as a couple. The unexpected help comes from Ground Zero who seems a bit too impatient and eager to show Shoto how to really treat a lady.

Metaphorically speaking, the heroes are seen as the predators and the villains as the preys, it’s always been that way— an eternal game of hide and seek, which only ends in binary results, either victory or loss. The latest news concerning the hero world had put this little game to a halt: the hushed rise of the anti-quirks drugs were concerning. The enemy was everywhere and nowhere, it was all whispers, a thread of ‘who said what’, mere illusions replaced authentic clues. The rules of the game had been changed into a paradox where the villains became the predators and the heroes were deemed as the preys.

The rule of silence, which could have easily been personified as the ringleader of this dystopic scenario, was cruel— anyone could be suspected of being a link of the drug chain. But fret not, if you were suspected and voices started to echo around louder and louder, a little bit of hush money was the price to pay to reinstate the rule of silence. Anyone could be a culprit, even (or mostly) into the highest spheres of society. Those who are worshipped in an agnostic way, they were on top of the social food chain and, perhaps even, on top of the drug chain. These elites have been very vocal about their will to suppress the almighty authority pro-heroes possess— feeling threatened for their own sake and their own inferiority complex, they were willing to play dirty to be able to rule the country with an iron fist.

The corrupted elites still remained as elites and enjoyed their mondane occupations— galas being one of them. It was a dream opportunity for you as a pro-hero, a room crowded with highly potential culprits served on a silver plate with a cup of champagne to serve as the cherry on the cake.

Stealth missions were highly dangerous if you didn’t have a cover good enough, and treading on the playground of influential people could possibly cost you your career as a pro-hero, but if you managed to succeed, you were bound to bask in glory. Keeping a realistic cover is the number one check on the list entitled “how not to blow up your whole mission and be hated by the rest of the country.” Luckily enough, your agence had already done all the dirty work for you and sent you everything you needed— a flawlessly cut evening attire, a shockingly well-done fake ID and a full file regarding the background of your character, all down to the tiniest details. And I cannot emphasize enough “all” the details...

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me…” Amongst the myriad of details (and some of them were completely unnecessary, I mean, was your favorite fruit really important?), one of them was impossible to ignore. “Shoto Todoroki, really?” His name rolled off your tongue for a reason, you were supposed to play his pseudo fiancée for the night. Your thumb brushed the surface inked with his name, unconsciously wishing that if you were brushing hard enough, his name would disappear and so would your almost wilted high school crush on him.

Your silent complains were cut short, the sound of someone knocking on your door stirred you from the invasion of your thoughts. Then the knocking sound echoed once more. “Just a second!” Has anyone heard of the concept of patience? Waiting a few seconds for someone to open the door isn’t a inhuman task. Eventually (although it could’ve have been funny to let this mysterious person fume because you purposefully took too long), you opened the door to your hotel room and it just felt like you had welcomed a storm in. Much to your surprise, there were two surprise guests, two U.A alumnis just like you— Shoto and Ground Zero.

“Well, shit, were you planning on letting us fucking die in the hallways, woman?! What the fuck took you so goddamn long, ha?” When I mentioned a storm earlier on today, I meant Bakugou Katuski— his annoyance was transcripted upon his face through the frowning of his eyebrows and the wrinkle sitting between them. “It’s good to see you too Bakugou, glad to see you missed me after all this time.” His hands were shoved in his pockets, clearly not keen on listening to your sarcastic remarks nor wearing a tuxedo for the night. “Tch. Keep your smart ass talk to yourself, dumbass.”

You had indeed let a storm invade your hotel room. But unbeknownst to you, you had also welcomed a hypotizing breeze, the polar opposite of Bakugou, and apparently future fiancé for the night: Shoto Todoroki. His facial expression reflected nothing but pure serinity, a signature stoic face which radically clashed with Bakugo’s scowl. Todoroki was so discreet, almost blending his presence with the newfound silence. He was wearing an evening suit of his own, aquamarine was his color after all, it was a known fact since your high school years.

“Y/N, as you may be aware, I am here for the stealth mission. Bakugou is going to accompany us just in case something goes wrong. It was a last minute change, but considering the household names who are going to attend this gala, too much precaution is better than not enough.” Ohh, so that was the reason why the angry gremlin was here. Although, you wondered how Shoto felt about the two of you acting as a fake engaged couple, was he still serene about that? “Yeah, while you two fake lovebirds will be busy eating each other’s faces off, I’m gonna be around to check if there is any intell on these anti-quirk selling bastards.” Each of his word was accompanied by a hand gesture pivoting between you and Shoto and, of course, the same old look of annoyance plastered upon his face. You and Shoto, on the other one hand, appeared a bit surprised at the use of “fake lovebirds”, it just hasn’t sunk in yet... Denial, perhaps?

“Speaking of kissing and shit— you, half and half bastard, do you still have a fucking stick up your ass or do you know how to act in a relationship?!” His interrogation was accompanied with a daring glance thrown in Todoroki’s direction and an eyebrow lifted just to emphasize the characteristic of his question a bit more. A bold question which immediately found its answer from the mouth of Todoroki, needless to say, you felt this remark coming. “Bakugou, you’re the last person here who could pretend having the knowledge necessary to provide relationship advices.” You couldn’t help but let a laugh escape at Todoroki’s remark highlighted by its bluntness, although you quickly changed your mind once you felt Bakugou’s stare landing on you with such rage causing you to hush your laugh by biting your thumb.

“Ha?! What the fuck did you just say, half and half bastard? Use that fucking mouth for yours for good measure and let’s see if you can kiss Y/N correctly. I won’t let this mission be blown up by your stupid ass.” This time, there was a hint of amusement in Bakugou’s voice, it was hard to distinct if he asked that because he truly cared about the mission or if he just wanted to push Todoroki out of his comfort zone. But the ghost of a smirk drawn upon his face seemed to support the second hypothesis.

“Guys, just a second here. I understand why we have to take care of our cover but it’s not like Todoroki and I are going to kiss all night long.” Your gaze alterned between Todoroki and Bakugou, it became impossible to hold your gaze on a fix structure due to how flustered you felt, and soon enough, your cheeks were quick to adopt a rosy tone. “Y/N, are you scared of kissing me by any chance?” You secretly hated the obvious tone of concern in Todoroki’s voice, he was willing to do anything to make this mission a success but also make sure you were comfortable around him. “N-No! It’s just… I don’t mind it.” What a miracle, you finally managed to look at him in the eyes but the blush on your cheeks was as lively as ever. “Then damn, if you don’t mind it just fucking kiss already we don’t have all night, dumbass.” You could tell by Bakugou’s body language that he was growing more and more impatient by the second, his arms were crossed over his chest— he was getting pissed.

Todoroki captured your attention once more when his index brushed the surface of your skin right below your chin while his thumb was carefully set upon your jawline. His orbs shone by their gleam of reassureance, his eyes met yours, as a silent way to ask your for permission and you fluttered your lids shut as an answer. As if it was some kind of second nature to him, his other arm compassed your waist in order to bring you close to him. His lips finally touched yours. Each one of his actions was so soft, you could barely feel them yet, you felt like you were floating on a cloud. His lips were melting ever so perfectly with yours, as if your lips were the sole one which could fit is, you couldn’t help but to hum as the carefulness of his lips overwhelmed you. The kiss was shy, experimental, and yet so agonizing. He was temptingly and agonizingly slow, which only made you crave for more. However, given the lack of oxygen, you had no choice but to (relanctutly) break the kiss. You opened your eyes and basked in Todoroki’s beauty, still in awe at what just happ—… “Oi! Have you ever kissed anyone before, Icyhot? Fucking hell, what was that?!”

Of course this was bound to be expected— the angry gremlin in his natural behavior. You and Todoroki exchanged a look which held a thousand questions before you felt your wrist being caught by a much warmer palm, and eventually, you were yanked straight into Bakugou’s chest (not that you were complaining.) “Open your damn eyes and look, this how you fucking kiss a woman, dipshit.” The sound of his voice roaring against your eardrum made you flinch in the nicest way possible. Bakugou naturally made himself at ease all while maintaining his gaze upon Todoroki who was looking at him in return with a noticeable disdain in his eyes.

Bakugou was challenging him in a way, he perfectly knew that Todoroki was observing his every move, hence why he took the liberty to let his palm roam over the curve of your derrière as a way to taunt him. However, the taunt didn’t last too long not to make you feel uncomfortable. He quickly settled one of his hand on the small of your back (to maintain you as close to him as humanly possible) whilst his other hand was set upon your neck. He didn’t waste any more time and went straight to business.

Bakugou’s kiss was, as expected, a vivid contrast compared to Todoroki’s kiss. While Todoroki’s felt hesitant, caring, sweet… Bakugou’s kiss was rough around the edges and his sole purpose was to make your knees weak. Once he crashed his lips upon yours, he immediately swiped his tongue over the surface of your bottom lip, demanding immediate access to your mouth. You knew better than to upset Bakugou so you pleased and allowed his tongue to explore your mouth— your tongue was at his mercy for a few instants before finding a steady rhythm for you two. His presence was overwhelming— his smell, how close you were to him with nowhere to escape, his mouth, his tongue, everything caused you to rightfully let a moan escape into the kiss. At the sound of it, Todoroki’s eyes widened while Bakugou smirked into the kiss, he knew he made a point. You, in return, started to tug at his blonde hair— the rough atmosphere of the kiss affected your actions as well. Just prior to breaking the kiss, Bakugou’s teeth dug into your bottom lip and applied a few pressures while you were looking at him with pleading eyes to continue. Once he got what we wanted, he ended the kiss with a surprisingly soft peck upon your lips.

With his hand still settled on the small of your back, Bakugou turned to Todoroki’s direction and offered him his biggest smirk to show his secret victory. You were left breathless by the kiss, a series of uneven hot breaths crashed down onto Bakugou’s skin.

If anyone were to walk in your hotel room, they would be able to feel and even touch the graduating tension in the air which almost felt agonizing. The tension was mostly radiating off of the two men, a silent battle for dominance had been declared through glances, holders of pure will to outbest the other.

Todoroki observed the scene on his chair, and unbeknownst to him, Bakugou had indirectly offered him the best seat in the room to watch the manifestation of his talents. An almost inaudible sigh left Todoroki’s lips which translated into a sign of discontentment. “Y/N, come here.” The tone was strict, cold even, and you felt obligated to do as told.

Detaching yourself from Bakugou’s embrace (you could tell he didn’t want to let you go judging from how his palm lingered on your back), you stepped away and made your way to Todoroki, a quizzical look noticeable in the reflect of your eyes. “What now?” You asked. Todoroki gestured to his lap and you knew what it meant, it was a speech without any word necessary.

Paradoxically enough, Bakugou stared at the scenery in front of him in pure silence, and although it was very unlike him, he was mimicking Todoroki’s actions earlier on- he wanted to witness how Shoto was going to respond to his own deeds.

You placed your hands over Todoroki’s shoulders to gain stability before sitting on his lap, it was a foreign feeling, but goodness, it was already addicting as hell and you were not interested in finding a cure. Both of Shoto’s hands crawled on the same spot where Bakugou’s hands used to linger just a few moments ago, you understood rather quickly that he was using his own methods against him. You were the center of Todoroki’s attention, his gaze graced your frame and he was loving the sound of your uneven breath, he wondered if he could make your respiration even more irregular.

He paid no mind to mind to the silent Bakugou who was already fuming in his corner as Shoto delivered a succession of pecks on the delicate flesh of your neck, and you tilted your head just enough to let him play on a wider surface. He traded the pecks for a few daring bites on certain areas, he needed to find your weak spot. “A-Ah... Shoto!” the sound of his name rolling off your tongue coated in such bliss was enough for him to curve his lips into a smirk.

It was a brief moment of peace before he dug his teeth on the same spot and you failed to prevent any whimpers from coming out by biting your lower lip. He knew you were restricting yourself, prisoning these beautiful sounds of ecstasy, and he didn’t like any of it. He focused on your lower lip and rubbed the oh so soft surface with the pad of his thumb to prevent your from biting it, and thus, keeping your sounds of pleasure to yourself.

“Don’t be shy, love. I’m pretty sure both Bakugou and I can agree on the fact that the little sounds you’re making are too divine to be hushed. Will you be a good girl and let us hear the sounds you’re making?” It was as if his voice was coated with honey, just his voice alone was enough to make you feel weak, and if you paid enough attention, you were pretty sure he purposefully blew a fit of cold air onto the skin of your neck. “Yes, please... I’ll be good, so good.” From that moment you knew you were at his mercy and he enjoyed every second of it. “You’re such a good girl for us.”

And so he continued, but it was rougher this time, a harsh contrast compared to his hesitant kiss from just a few moments ago. His teeth dug into the flesh of your skin harder this time, the sole purpose of leaving a mark on your crimson colored flesh was haunting his mind. To accomplish said purpose, Todoroki alternated between biting motions and a few swipes of his tongue on the newly bruised skin. The whimpers coming out of your mouth shamelessly only added fuel to his fire. He knew what he was doing, and you knew just how sensitive this particular area could get.

Once he judged it was enough, he delivered a few pecks on the love bites, a way to kiss his art into your skin. “You’re so perfect, love, so perfect with my name written over your skin.” He whispered between kisses. Your head was thrown back, fingers grasping at the roots of his hair, your mouth agape- your whole body language testified of the addictive effect he had on you.

Such bliss couldn’t last for long, and quickly enough, another voice was being heard, a roar even. “Oi, oi, oi! Don’t even think for a single fucking second that you can have her all to yourself, half and half bastard.” It was almost a miracle that Bakugou had observed you in silence, but as expected, patience was nowhere near his forte. He had already crossed his limit long before you sat on Todoroki’s laps. Bakugou’s eyes were strictly focused on your frame, he was completely under your spell after observing how your chest would rise and fall unevenly to grasp any ounce of oxygen.

Your knees felt weak already, you could only stare at Bakugou and silently ask him to continue, to make you feel even weaker, to make you experience pure bliss. You wanted to say his name, it was right on the tip of your tongue, but as you observed his figure reducing more and more the space between the two of you, you just admired him in silence.

“Hah? What’re you looking at, brat? You want more? Is that it? You want fucking more? Say no more.” You should’ve known that the wicked smirk plastered upon his face was a pre-indicator of what was bound to happen. He lifted you off of Todoroki’s lap, the latter frowned a bit at the lack of your presence on him, and carried you to the bed before dropping you on the mattress. Todoroki was quick to follow from behind and stood right next to Bakugou, his hands already busy taking off his jacket and unbuttoning the first button of his evening shirt. “I’m sure that Bakugou and I can find a little agreement. After all, we can share, correct?” Todoroki’s rhetorical question found its answer once Bakugou let a discreet chuckle escape from his mouth after throwing his jacket God knows where and messily undoing his tie. “We’re gonna take real fucking good take care of you, baby girl.”

You were refraining yourself from already touching you, it took all the strength in the world not to give in to the most passionate temptations. But deep down, you already knew you were bound to be overwhelmed by pure bliss judging by how they were looking at you. You could only hum in response, unsure of how your voice would have sounded under the heavy influence of desire.

Bakugou made the first move, after all, his poor soul felt left alone when Todoroki overwhelmed you with pecks and bites. He crawled over you, his knees were on each side of your waist, his hands however, assured total domination- his right hand clutched your wrists now pinned above your hand while his left palm settled by force on your throat, needless to say, the pressure was already applied on your windpipe. “You wanna’ play that game with me, hah?! Let Icyhot have all of you to himself and I got fucking nothing in return? Babygirl, I don’t watch, I fucking play.” It was too ferocious to be qualified as a whisper, and yet, when Bakugou pronounced the last bits of his sentence right in the shell of your ear, you felt like you were floating in pure bliss. “Answer me.” His grip on your throat felt a bit tighter. “P-Please... Ju-Just do whatever you want... With my body.” The lack of oxygen felt agonizing, you were deprived of fresh air and you were laying on the bed while Bakugou exuded pure confidence and domination, an aura so thick, you wished you could’ve touched it. “That’s my babygirl.”

As Bakugou’s lips crashed onto yours, forcing its tongue into your mouth while maintaining the right amount of pressure on your throat to offer you a panorama of new sensations, Todoroki had already gotten rid of his shirt. If you paid close attention, you could see shy flames on his shoulders, he was absolutely adoring the scenery unfolding before him. Everything about you filled his senses, the sight of you giving in to Bakugou was nothing short of divine, the whimpers leaving your mouth in cascade whether the reason was the lack of air or the fierceness of Bakugou’s intentions was the sweetest melody he had ever heard. Everything was perfect.

You felt the oxygen become one with your body again once Bakugou broke the kiss and allowed his hand to travel from your neck down to your chest, but his eyes were never leaving yours. He wanted to watch you come undone under his touch, he swore it to himself.

“I’ll take the bottom half. Icyhot, I don’t give a damn about what you do, just don’t fucking interrupt me.” His eyes were already set on the prize, your heat in all its glory. Shoto said nothing in response, you were the holder of all his undivided attention. As Bakugou took a firm grasp of your thighs, opening the way to his newfound purpose, Todoroki took over the top half of your body- he started by planting a succession of pecks from your lips down to your collarbone, passing by your neck, and each kiss was amplified by the cold air he was blowing on the surface of your skin. The contrast in temperature cause you to allow a few whimpers to escape, you already knew you craved for more, it was a way of manifesting it.

“You won’t need that, will you, love?” He said while pointing at your shirt, as his index was already hooking the fabric. It was a rhetorical question of course, you simply answered by humming. Your silent response was the only thing necessary for Shoto to send your shirt flying somewhere in the room. He continued his trail of kisses down to the valley of your breasts, the same cold air following him as he went.

Bakugou, on the other one hand, had already gotten rid off your skirt, but not before letting his palms explore the generous cheeks hidden underneath it, and eventually, leaving a slap right on this area which caused you to yelp in surprise. The pad of his thumb was already brushing against the surface of the fabric, oh what a pleasure it was when he felt the sensation of humidity coming through your underwear. A sensation so good, so addicting, so divine that it brought a sly grin to his face. “Already so wet for us, babygirl? You’re not wasting your damn time, hah?” Your skin was burning under his touch, you could already feel the chills running down your spine and he hadn’t even taken off your underwear yet.

Todoroki took the strap of your bra between his thumb and index, and much to your suprise, he used the right amount of his quirk to burn the fabric and applied the same treatment to the other strap. Before you could even protest about the poor outcome of your bra, he planted his lips on your own to keep you quiet. Now, he focused his attention to your breasts and the bits of clothing left which prevented the upper half of your body from being fully exposed. He took the opportunity given by Bakugou who had gotten rid of your underwear which made you arch your back to unclip your bra. There was nothing stopping him now. He let his gaze fell on you, so full of adoration, while he leaned down and caught the last piece of fabric remaining of your bra between his teeth. His eyes held so much envy, so much desires which reciprocated in the reflect of your own orbs.

Shoto threw your bra out of his mouth, and there you were- your body bare in all its glory. “Fuck, you’re so perfect...” He whispered right against your chest, causing you to let out a sigh you didn’t even know you were holding. He used his mother’s inherited side to trace the contour of your breasts, he knew he was going to earn a moan in return and he was so please to hear such a sinful melody at the clash of his cold fingers against your burning skin. His thumb and his index worked in harmony to twist the bud of your nipple and overwhelm it by Shoto’s cold touch while his tongue delivering hot saliva on your skin was already doing wonders on your other breast, a perfect balance between cold and hot which made your arousal erupt even more and someone was quick to notice...

“Oi, doll face, focus on me, not on this goddamn fucker. Don’t you feel so fucking good when I touch you like that, hah?” His burning jealousy amplified the voracity of his deeds. Every single one of his touch served the purpose of pleasuring you, but also outdo Todoroki’s touches. He needed to be the best at everything, including making you melt under his touch. You struggled to keep your eyes open, the desire to close your eyes and let your body attract all the attention while basking in pure bliss was too strong and yet, Bakugou’s voice roared into your mind, you couldn’t help but lay your eyes on him through half-closed lids.

Once he knew he was the bearer of all your attention, he put his body and mind to work. Both of his hands planted your thighs on each side of his body, you felt too weak to move under his touch and did not dare resist the pressure. You whined in advance because you knew what was coming- and boy, did he look good with his face buried between your thighs.

One long, sharp, vertical lick was all it took to let yet another moan escape your lips once more, and to Bakugou, it was the best reward. The heat of his tongue responded to the heat of your core, it was pure harmony. He licked the your core over and over again, tasting you, loving you, worshipping you even. One time he left lingering kisses to the side of your core, another time he was left licking motions all over your folds because your taste was the best thing he had ever felt. His motions echoed to your whines and moans, he was sure of hearing a sinful melody each time his tongue entered in contact with your skin.

“Keep making these noises for me, don’t be fucking shy.” His hot breath on the center of your heat embraced perfectly the succession of his actions, “Y-Yes... P-Please, I want... I need more.” Bakugou couldn’t help but let a low chuckle leave his lips, in response to your needy attitude, he left a harsh slap on the surface of your butt, to which you whined loudly in response. “Such a fucking filthy mouth you have there, hah?” He smiled to himself, knowing perfectly that what he was about to do was bound to leave you as a whimpering mess. Without any warning, he slid two of his fingers inside your core, and fuck, you were tight. His thumb was brushing against your sweet bundle of nerves which had already been cherished by Bakugou’s tongue earlier.

You clutched the sheets of the bed to release some of the buildup pressure inside, it was as if a tornado, a volcano and a firework were exploding at the same time in your stomach, each of them resulting in a series of whimpers and moans at the overstimulation. Your lids were shut close already, yet, they kept fluttering over the invisible crimson touches left by both Todoroki and Bakugou.

Speaking over Todoroki, he was tasting you in such a different way as he started to get the grip of Bakugou’s mechanic. His mind kept roaming and roaming, he knew that just one mark on your neck was not quite enough and he needed to beat Bakugou at his own game- he positioned himself right over your right breast and blew a fit of fresh air, causing him to smile at himself for being the reason of such a reaction, and dug his teeth into your flesh. Motivated by the the way you kept tugging at his hair, he kept biting the same area over and over again until sucking your flesh just enough to create yet another love bite over your breast, such an intimate area, isn’t it? And now his whole name was written on it.

“B-Bakugou... I can’t take it... Ahh! Anymore, please, please...” His fingers weren’t enough anymore, you were pleading his name, begging him to become one with you because you were unsure as to how you were going to keep the unleashed pressure within you ruin you. “So eager for my fucking cock, aren’t you?! You’re gonna count with me each inch entering your fucking cunt, got it?” You were willing to do anything at this point- Todoroki’s bites and his cold touch, Bakugou’s fingers and tongue, it made you fill dizzy but you knew, deep down, you were slowly approaching a pure state of bliss. “Yes... Yes I will.”

For his own purpose, Bakugou took his fingers off your core and flipped you on your stomach so you could be on all fours. You were giving him the view of worthy of a masterpiece: the crimson colored marks on your butt cheeks, the vivid rosy tone of your dripping core, oh he wanted all of you. “Love, don’t you forget that I’m here too, right? Open your pretty mouth for me.” You did as Todoroki preached, opening your mouth for him to stick his index in there. “Suck.” he commanded, to which you obliged by creating hollows in your cheeks and embrace his finger around your tongue, this feeling was beyond perfect, beyond the wildest fantasies his imagination had to offer. He could only let his subconsciousness roam about how his cock would feel around your perfectly pouted lips.

Bakugou’s hands gripped your hips tightly, his fingers turning white in the process while your flesh adopted a reddish tone in response. With the use of the pad of his thumb, he spread the pre-cum leaking all over his length, and so it began: the first inch. “One.”, it sounded more like an order than a statement, “...One.” you echoed, your response didn’t come quick enough to Bakugou’s liking, making you earn a harsh slap on your cheeks in return. Then another inch “Two.” , another faint sound coming from your lips “T-Two...”, yet another slap on your abused flesh. And so it went on, the process remained the same- another inch, another whisper escaping your mouth between sobs, another spank.

On the other side of the bed, Todoroki was stroking his own length at the sight before him. You were on the brim of tears, and Bakugou didn’t show any mercy regarding your current state. “I’m sorry, her mouth is going to be full soon, she won’t have room to count out for you.” Bakugou grunted in response to Todoroki’s taunt. His strokes became gradually faster, like a crescendo if you will. His other hand, however, was placed right underneath your jaw to give you some support and your mouth was already open in anticipation for what was bound to happen.

With his hand to keep your jaw steady, you welcomed Todoroki’s lenght into your mouth and he automatically let a groan as the tip of your tongue caressed his sensitive tip. You imagined how rewarding it must have felt for them to hear your own moans and whimpers because hearing Todoroki’s moan felt like a blessing to your eardrums.

Your tongue circled around his cock, your hand was pumping his length, and Todoroki wondered if this is what heaven looked and felt like. Your whimpers were hushed by the presence of his member in your mouth, but somehow, even these half silenced sounds of pleasure sounded even better to his ears. He felt his lids shut close under the miracle work of your tongue while his hand lingered in your hair to motivate you to keep going.

Bakugou, frustrated by this change of plans due to Todoroki’s own personal pleasure, slid the entirety of his phallus into you abruptly. The shock caused you to remove Shoto’s member from your mouth momentarily to catch your breath and release yet another whine before pleasuring Todoroki again. That came as a surprise to no one, not even Shoto himself, but Bakugou’s pace was rough and almost animalistic.

The sound of his testicles clapping against your flesh testified of the pace and yet, it felt so enticing. Bakugou was not so vocal, but he did leave his fair share of grunts as he buried himself into you more and more until reaching your cervix. It was too much, your core was burning, hell your whole body was on fire. The tears that threatened to fall had put their threat to execution, you knew you were close, the overstimulation was getting the best of you leaving you in a whimpering, trembling mess.

You continued to stroke Shoto’s length with your tongue, but his need to take control took over him. The same hand that rested in your hair suddenly took a firm grasp of your hair and he thrusted himself into your mouth and from there, his grunts became more repetitive. Truthfully, it was the only push he needed to bring him over the edge, the previous work of your tongue had put him under a spell. A spell he never wanted to wake up from. He knew what was coming, you felt it too but how the tip of his phallus was tickling your throat deeper and deeper.

Shoto didn’t even notice the small flames making their apparition on the blades of his collarbone, meaning that it was finally time for him to cum. He set your mouth free and hinted his length towards your chest, letting the drips of cum color your skin, and allowed the most magical moan to leave his already parted lips in satisfaction. “Love, look what you fucking did to me. You’re so beautiful, so beautiful with my cum all over you.” Your first instinct was to fill your lungs with oxygen, something so common yet it was cruelly needed. You looked through your lashes at Shoto with pleading eyes while he looked at you with a glimpse of adoration in his. His digit was carefully wiping the excess of cum leaking down your chin to place it right into your mouth. He could only stare in awe at the sight of you tasting him. He felt so full, and fulfilled. He was finally at peace, soaking in pure bliss.

The grasp Bakugou was holding over your hips became even harsher, which you though was impossible just a few seconds before. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He grunted, trying to keep his volume at bay by digging his teeth into his lower lip but it was all too much to be contained. He knew his climax was close, so close that he could picture it if he closed his eyes just for a second. Bakugou’s name fell on your lips like a forbidden prayer, his name had turned into the only thing you were able to say. “I-...Ah! Inside, inside, fuck, please...”, you felt a wave of pleasure taking over your body, a pleasure so intense, no word could have done it justice. Oh well, that was the sole indication he needed to hear before digging his nails into your sides, causing you to arch your back and bite the sheets, already preventing the cascade of whimpers from echoing in the room. “Fucking hell... Cum with me, now.”

With one last thrust, Bakugou came within you, his face was facing the ceiling as he came undone with you. His cum slid within you and in return, your body thanked him by letting your own juice flow all over his length.

Silence invaded the room. No more grunts, no more moans, no more cries. Pure silence inhabited by the uneven breaths of three protagonists who had just touched heaven by the tip of their fingers. Three victims of passion.

Bakugou pulled out of you, earning a whimper in return at the sudden feeling of vacuity. Your legs were shaking, and you secretly thanked every God for allowing you to stay relatively steady on all fours for this long and be able to endure the bestial-like pace of Bakugou. Needless to say, you were panting, you mouth was agape and you were crying for air. Your body immediately crashed onto the mattress, the soft feeling of the sheets enveloping your skin after reaching heaven made you feel as if you were floating on a cloud.

Bakugou and Todoroki shared a look, a small grin even, before crashing down onto the mattress next to you. You were unable to move, your mind was comparable to a wild blur as a result of your orgasm. A rush of words flew through your air but absolutely none of them was powerful and meaningful enough to qualify how you were feeling. At peace? No, not strong enough. Full? Nope, did not carry enough meaning. It was a unique feeling, worthy of all the praises in the world.

Todoroki draped an arm over your waist and left a trail of kisses upon the flesh of your shoulder, a silent way to thank you for allowing him to experience heaven in a rush. Bakugou, on the other one hand, was facing your back and allowed his index to draw invisible patterns on the skin of your back. Paradoxically enough, the silence carried more words and emotions than an actual speech. Until...

“So... Um, about the mission?”

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tearblossom · 3 years

Text

Orbital Station Scene Analysis: Part 3

Lmao here we go again. Ready to fall even deeper down the rabbit hole that is this scene with me!? This one scene functions simultaneously as my source of joy and depression and I watch it more than I would care to admit. So, naturally, I have even more to say about it! It’s going to be long. Sorry.

Part 1- https://tearblossom.tumblr.com/post/645095661644251136/scene-analysis-this-is-just-what-i-personally-feel

Part 2- https://tearblossom.tumblr.com/post/645776311115186176/i-was-thinking-some-more-about-the-final-scene

In this one, I’ll be going into more detail explaining the emotional mask that I believe Takemura is trying so desperately to keep on during this scene (and undeniably fails at several times, with it coming off entirely upon the scene reaching a certain pivotal moment) and also pointing out the instances that I feel the mask slips occur. Honestly, it’s pretty easy to tell for reasons that I will explain. I’m going to reiterate the fact that I am not a facial expression/body language expert. This is just one human being looking at another human being and trying to figure them out. This is just my personal interpretation of this scene. Prepare yourself for many, many screenshots and gifs. Also, I will be using the same video sources as the other two posts because I don’t have my own footage.

https://youtu.be/ra-Ij1KU8r4

https://youtu.be/PUmQqVOq5oY

I failed to mention before the reason that Takemura even had to put up the cruel facade in the first place because I didn’t want to state the obvious and insult everyone’s intelligence. We all know the reason but I’ll just say it here anyway: Arasaka.

Arasaka is listening to Takemura’s every word so he literally cannot say shit to V that would hint at any sort of affection for him/her and absolutely nothing that would indicate any growing uncertainty in said corporation. Words mean nothing here. He has to speak through his eyes and expressions because that is all he has to offer, the only cards he has to play. That is why the meaning of this scene can be so easily missed and flies over so many people’s heads. I do not fault anyone that may have missed this on a first playthrough or even those that are still unaware of it whatsoever because Takemura is very, very convincing at first (his face becomes an open book once the contract gets brought out but we’ll get into that later) and besides, to truly understand something that involves emotions as complex as these caused by equally as complex reasons or anything involving subtext really, takes multiple viewings to truly appreciate.

In summary, what I believe is happening here is that during the entire scene up until the contract gets brought out, his mental state is constantly teetering on the edge of a cliff so to speak. He is trying so hard to fight his sentimentality and control his emotional responses not only to V’s misery and pain but also his own wavering faith in Arasaka because they are watching, listening, and monitoring. And he succeeds extremely well at first but it gets harder and harder for him to maintain the mask. The closer he physically gets to V, the harder it is to pretend, to hide. His eyes alone betray him on several occasions but eventually the whole facade just crumbles and he falls. And when the contract comes into play is when he truly, honestly looks at V and the communication through his eyes really begins.

Here is the key thing- it is the most important visual clue to understanding when things happen: When Takemura is feeling any doubt or his emotions begin to overwhelm him or he fears that they might, he promptly averts his eyes to get himself under control and readjusts the mask that has slipped.

He looks away from V during these moments!

(Just to clarify, I don’t think that every single moment in the scene that he looks away from V has this deeper meaning behind it. When people talk it’s completely natural for them to turn their heads, avert their eyes to look at other things, etc. These are just some moments that particularly stood out to me as signs pointing to my little theory.)

Okay...let’s start deciphering this conflicted, broken mess of a man.

Scene starts. Takemura is fiddling with the Rubik’s Cube. He puts it down. Expression cold as ice.

mask on full display in all of it’s glory

They talk about Saburo being back in the body of his son and have this exchange of words:

V: “Saw Saburo Arasaka’s back. In Yorinobu’s body.”

Goro: “Yes. Justice has been done.”

And then it happens for the first time...

(Could this be...doubt perhaps? Has justice really been done?)

Moving on- he walks over to stand behind the chair across from V, telling them of their imminent death.

Goro: “I will be blunt - the surgery did not help. You will be dead before winter.”

And then he proceeds to make this face immediately after...

(Lovely, isn’t it? Just full of sympathy. His mask game is strong. But don’t worry though because V wins in the end BIG TIME.)

Understandably, V gets very upset upon hearing this news.

V: “How... how’s that possible? Arasaka’s got the best and the brightest.”

And then something happens again. Whatever could it be, I wonder!

But wait, there’s more!

(He couldn’t even wait until he finished talking before looking away! It’s getting more difficult for him to look at V with a straight face every second! Also, his expression here is the most broken looking yet.) :(

He must not reveal what is hidden behind this emotional wall that he’s worked so hard to build up specifically for this meeting because the room they are speaking in may just as well be made of glass with Arasaka’s unrelenting gaze, an ever-present entity, on the other side of it. He will do so soon though, when he offers V salvation. The contract raises the stakes. The rules change. He feels the wall breaking and there isn’t anything he can do about it and he knows it.

IT’S CHAIR TIME, CHOOMS!

He looks away another 6 TIMES! Leaning more and more over that edge. Feast your eyes...

IT’S CONTRACT TIME, BABY!

Oh, shit!

It’s happening!!

He does look away here but there’s no mask on when he looks back...only despair.

It’s gone.

TO SIGN OR NOT TO SIGN

The disguise is off now. From this point onward, Takemura looks at V with his true feelings on display. This is where the ability to read the emotion portrayed solely through one’s eyes really comes into play because even though he’s not trying to hide anything anymore, he still can’t say what he really wants to say. We have to feel it through his expressions. His thoughts are so loud during these final moments of the scene that we don’t even need words to know what he’s saying.

REFUSE TO SIGN

SIGN

HOLY GRAIL MOMENT!

(I’m literally going to copy and paste what I have in my part 2 analysis about this section because I explained my thoughts on it about as well as I am able to there and have nothing else to add. My apologies for repeating myself but I feel the exact same way about it so it still applies here.)

These reactions make perfect sense because we’ve always known that he cares deeply for V and never stopped. He just couldn’t hide it! But even with this treasure trove of emotional mask slips and unintentional displays of affection, I still wasn’t sure exactly how deeply he cared for V. In other words- if he was actually in love with V or not.

Is he already in love or is he still in the process of falling in love? Is it just a friendly love? (hell no! I knew that was definitely not the case but I still had to ask just so I could cross it off the list!)

And then the two of them walked to the door and said their parting words.

V: “Gonna see each other again?”

Goro: “I believe we will.”

V: “So… see you.”

Goro: “Visit me in Kagawa - I will show you what is real food.”

And then…

he proceeded to make these faces…

HOLY

SHIT!

(The mask isn’t just gone now- it’s burned, splintered, shattered, exploded in a million pieces, disintegrated!)

This man just had the biggest revelation of his entire life: the realization that he is in love with V. These are looks of love and I will not be convinced otherwise. I’m not a facial expression expert or anything, only stating my humble opinions here, but are you seeing this!?

He realizes the truth and it catches him so off guard that he has to look away. He contemplates these newfound feelings and tries to sort them out in the few seconds that he has left with V. And he does. He accepts them. He welcomes them. The gentle, knowing look he gives V when he looks back at them is saying just this.

He also knows that he is now fucked because his love for V is going to complicate things so much more than they already were. Now that he is fully aware that he is in love, these feelings are going to directly conflict with his duties to Arasaka later if a situation arises that places V and Arasaka on opposing sides and I think we all know that is most definitely going to happen at some point.

And now he has to see the love of his life die and just leave this place and go on with his day. Damn. This is turning into one of the saddest love stories I’ve ever seen. Something major is going to happen in the dlc that is going to force his hand one way or another: V or Arasaka? I hope that Arasaka somehow fucks up so bad that it makes his choice easier but my heart breaks imagining the amount of conflict and torment that await him.

The Beginning and The End

#cyberpunk 2077 #goro takemura #takemura #takemura romance

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shouldntcryoverit · 3 years

Text

the art of discordance

captain rex x jedi!reader

previous chapter

masterlist

CHAPTER TEN

Hope you enjoy! Might start this series up again so let me know what you’d like to see and if you’d like to be tagged! 💕

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Jaida’s feet felt weighted as she plodded along the corridor. In fact her entire body did. She needed caf and, among other things, she needed peace and quiet.

But alas, as is the way of war, she’d have to settle with yet another delinquent briefing, which would most likely result in another mission for her to loose herself in. How fun.

Peace wasn’t an option as of right now, but caf certainly was. So as any ordinary Jedi going through dramatic changes to their moral code while fighting a war which had so far gone against everything they had ever been taught by their now dead master; Jaida went and got caf.

Now she stood outside the war room, significantly late, but with a half drunk cup in her hand. On any regular day, she would’ve surely rushed in; profoundly apologising for her misconduct and directing all her attention to any matters presented to make up for her tardiness.

But instead she stood and stared at the uninspiring, off-white and dented plastoid door with almost a scowl. After a second, she took a swig and entered.

“Jaida! I was wondering if you had gotten lost.” Obi-wan smiled warmly. There was a hint of a jeer in his aristocratic tone.

“Oh force I really am late aren’t I?” She tried to laugh, setting down her cup on a surface she’d found (ignoring the future ring it would leave), snapping into a character that would resemble her more awake self.

“What’ve I missed?” Jaida asked as she settled into place beside Anakin and across from Obi-wan.

The holo-projector before her displayed the usual; a barren-ish landscape with red dots across it, symbolising places she’d most likely have to risk her and her men’s lives before moving onto the next tiny red dot.

It felt fallacious to belittle that sacrifice to so little as those red dots, especially when they’d been planted like seeds as if they’re cost was unimportant. To Jaida, red dots had begun to look more like casualty reports and defeated medics; so much more than a speck on a map in a heated war room in the middle of comfortable Coruscant.

But as is the way of war, she thought.

“After the failure to capture Grievous on Salucami, we know his ships will be in this western quadrant.” Obi-wan gestured now to the map of the galaxy, the holo map had apparently changed as Jaida was blinking, and more specifically to a highlighted section of space.

Her red dots would be minuscule by now.

“Our fear is that with Grievous now in need of a place to get fuel and rations, he’ll attempt to take-over ,in effect, the next planet viable. Which in this case” The holomap zoomed into a reddish planet with a dark brown hue surrounding it, “Would be Yeon.”

“Yeon?” Jaida asked. “What’s on Yeon that Grievous could want?”

Obiwan shifted his weight before speaking. Jaida sighed; sometimes she really did regret asking questions so much, especially when the answer require a deep breath.

“Yeon used to be home to a powerful empire, though the dissolution of said empire left the planet vulnerable and corrupt. The wealth still remains, but without proper safeguarding. It isn’t unlikely that Grievous hopes to exploit this, and use their land and people to help secure more galactic wins.” He finished with a flourish. He did always make good speeches, however short or dull.

Jaida shivered. The thought of such peaceful people once again being used as pawns in the seperatist game made her stomach turn. Is this what the galaxy had come to? Perhaps that question could be answered another day.

Anakin, who had up until this point been studying his friends demeanour and desperately trying to figure out the reason for her obvious lack of clarity, spoke next.

“Our mission is to intercept their ‘invasion’ and protect the people of Yeon before Grievous can even reach them.”

“Huh, fun.” She clicked.

A few more details were flattened out, though they mostly fell on deaf ears as Jaida replayed the events of that morning.

“We’ll leave tonight, get a head start.”

Great, she thought.

The corridor felt like it would never end as Jaida carried a backpack towards her destination. It was half full of ration packs and bacta supplies: in short she had no clue what to pack for. The feeling of unpreparedness sat heavy on her chest, even as she commed Anakin to meet her in the hanger.

As she did, Echo opened the door for her, between beckoning to Hardcase that his helmet was where he’d left it. Jaida almost laughed at how mumsy Echo got the few hours before a mission; it almost matched Kix’s mother hen approach.

“Where’re we up to?” Jaida asked, hesitantly setting down the bag beside her feet as she looked over the clones all preparing for a mission.

Echo smiled softly, giving one last side eye to his dazed brothers before giving her his full attention “Almost ready.”

“Thank you.” She could always count on Echo, and a warmth spread over her expression, secure in that fact. “Where’s-“

“Hullo!” The other jedi spoke through a cracker in his mouth. “You good?”

“Where’d you get that cracker?”

Anakin swallowed. Echo had to suppress his laughter at how much they resembled begrudging siblings.

“Help me with those crates and I’ll show you.” He shrugged off, beckoning for Jaida to follow his path.

The good news was the Hardcase had managed to locate his stranded helmet, and Fives only laughed for a few minute at how he almost cried that he’d thought he’d lost it: but the bad news was that Jaida realised that she would eventually have to talk to her captain, who was standing by the edge of the hangar with Kix.

He’d showered, and his pauldron was fixed. He looked so perfectly in control as he watchfully peered over his men. Jaida felt childish almost instantly at the anxiety balled in her stomach at just the thought of having to look at his deep and piercing eyes to talk to him. This was that feeling ‘crushes’ gave you, as Anakin would explain, and Jaida didn’t get ‘crushes’. Not ever, and not now.

She began to help the clones prepare what few weapons they thought they needed. There wasn’t much to sort out and load up, but still among the Torrent company; it was a grand feat.

Jaida was counting reloads and ration packs when she sensed him. Rex, as you could quite obviously expect, was coming closer. She exhaled fiercely out of her nose and picked up the crate she’d been kneeling over. “He’s just being a captain, just be a General.” She repeated to herself like a mantra.

But when she looked up and his gaze was already on her, she froze; childish and with a crush.

“You’re coming too?” Jaida cleared her throat and asked nonchalantly, trying desperately hard to prevent a redness forming on her cheeks.

“Of course.” Rex spoke flatly. His eyebrow twitched slightly as the words left his lips, perhaps testing her meaning.

“But you’re still injured.”

Now he did raise an eyebrow, “I’ll be fine.”

Jaida kissed her teeth, slightly annoyed at her inability to calm herself now.

She nodded as no words formed on her tongue. Nothing to express the ball of emotion in her throat. The Jedi didn’t meet his eyes as she turned away.

Rex caught her arm as she went to bring her crate to the ship, but even as he stopped her pivot she was reluctant to meet his gaze.

“Jaida-” He tried.

“Don’t.” Jaida cut him off, finally glaring at him, then quickly skimming over the room to check if anyone was noticing their ‘conversation’.

“Just promise me.” Vulnerability flashed across her face as the words left her mouth, and even those crystallised amber eyes of his couldn’t make her believe he would.

Rex bit his lip and flicked back over his men across the room, before looking back at Jaida’s ask. He nodded slowly, accepting that he’d want the exact same if it were her. Whatever it was that they shared really wasn’t simple.

“I promise.”

She smiled slightly, before he let her go and she walked off to the ship.

The company left not long after, but not before Anakin and Jaida managed to bicker over who should fly the ship, then if they’d brought the right rations, then whether or not they were ready. At least it was entertaining for the clones to watch their General’s be so relaxed yet so uppity.

But nonetheless, the company all fitted into their respective places and the ship left. Jaida, after bribing Anakin, was flying the ship. She thought that it’d help her concentrate ready for the next mission, although it did also mean that she wouldn’t have to talk to anyone - so, plus.

The journey was rather short, but it certainly wasn’t sweet; for each time Jaida didn’t have to plant coordinates or watch the pressure levels in the engine, her mind slipped to the events of that morning, over and over again like torture. The guilt and worry pressed heavily against her frame; it was fair to say she was absentminded.

But they made it.

“I think we’re here boys.” Skywalker spoke over the channels.

The landing wasn’t rough, but Jaida’s vision through the ship window was too clouded to navigate properly through the thick air. The ship rocked as it hit the ground, and as the men filed our, their pilot was reluctant to follow.

The company gathered outside, Anakin knocked her shoulder; something he always used to do if she was nervous before a practice or exam. It made her finally exhale the breath she’d been holding onto.

It was dark when they made it to the village: a small dwelling lit with vibrant lights around each hut and structure. There was a hum in the air of content, they were peaceful people, and their laughter and chatter floated through the company like a warm drink.

Jaida wanted to welcome it, she really did, but she couldn’t, not when her head was this scrambled. She was still tired, and still torn between wanting to stay true to her morals and protect Rex, as well as desperately wanting to give in to her heart.

Mind over matter, her master would say. Though it seemed futile now.

Jaida followed her men into the village and tried once more to be content with the sweetness of the air. The sun was hanging low in the sky, but it still illuminated the tops of houses and slopes of hills in spite of the darkening hue encroaching. It was peace, the very kind she needed. Yet it would not breach her armoured skin.

The clones had managed to settle in rather quickly, having now taken off a few bits of armour and their helmets. They were standing and laughing with locals dotted about a wide fire pit, an area which Jaida took to be the market place.

After a cheer of babbling and exuberance calling for them, drums began playing in the background as entertainment; and the villagers seemed excited to have new guests for what looked like the first time in a while. They passed out food to the solidiers, colours of orange and green mixing on platters of fruits and perfectly cooked meat. After having a drank a few of their offered drinks, of which their alcohol quantity was unknown, Fives, Jesse and Hardcase danced to the beat as Echo and Kix tried not to laugh.

Jaida watched with an absent grin. She was resting on a crate with a cup of some sweet drink she’d been given by a swirling child, happy to see them so relaxed. Her view shifted from the gaggle of men to her Captain, who was laughing handsomely at his brothers’ feeble attempts. She tried to ignore the pounding in her stomach growing at how his face was illuminated so perfectly by the evening sun, and how it made her tongue swell to see him aswell so at peace. But it was rather difficult to ignore, especially when she couldn’t not-look.

Jaida placed her cup beside her and backed away, leaving the dancing and laughter behind her.

She found herself in the main hall of their largest structure, eyes closed in her own attempt at peace. She could still taste the wafting smell of meats and breads being cooked just a little further away. It smelt like herbs and spices she remembered only faintly from her own travels with her master. Jaida stood, staring at the painting on the closest wall to her when she wasn’t instead focused on her closed eyelids. Her brain was too foggy for anything else.

It was silent. Of course the base of the drums and the echoes of her men and their hosts still made their way in and out of the open windows, but it was silent to her. So silent that when footsteps began behind her she almost jumped.

The presence made it’s way to just a step behind her and paused. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who it belonged to, but still, Jaida cursed her abilities to identify the warmth and security it brought nonetheless.

“You left?“ Rex’s tone was more a question than a statement, and Jaida didn’t open her eyes as he stepped and stood next to her.

“I needed to think without Fives’ dancing distracting me.” She joked in a low tone.

“You call that dancing?”

Jaida chuckled lightly at that, meeting his smiling eyeline.

A moment of warmth spread between the two. It was as if the complications of their feelings melted away for a few seconds, and both simply relished the presence of each other. But it was short lived.

“I cant think either.”

Her eyebrows were knitted in slight pain and sadness, something he recognised within his own head. She couldn’t speak.

“Do you regret it?” Rex broke the silence between them.

“What?”

“The other night.”

Jaida paused loudly, but spoke with force after a second passed. “No. I don’t. ”

Silence again.

“I don’t know what to do to make this… better.” Jaida admitted, the vulnerability in her voice making her cringe.

Jaida sighed and fixed her almost tearful expression back to that familiar neutral coldness. “I don’t even understand it.” She almost whispered.

“Neither do I.” His words were barely there. “I don’t think anyone ever does.”

“Then how do you know it’s real?” Jaida swallowed, blinking down her rising dejection.

Rex paused again, but spoke with purpose. He had been brave before, now was no different.

“Because whenever you enter the room it feels like time stops. I always look for you, like seeing you will change everything. And you know what, it does; everything stops.”

Jaida was shocked to hear the confession, and it made her heart melt when she turned to face him. His face was just as creased as hers; just as pained.

He studied her eyes for a second, almost asking for permission to continue, or even to be dared to do so. But he took in a breath and carried on:

“I knew it when we were stuck in that cave, and you fell asleep against the wall. All I could think of was how perfect you looked. Force, I don’t think you’ve ever left my head since.”

She smiled. A wilful smile that covered all of her stern face. She knew that feeling he described and it made her stomach erupt as he spoke of it.

Her words fell as a whisper once again. “I can’t ask you to risk your entire life on this. But you can’t tell how much I want to.” She spoke louder now.

Rex’s eyes softened.

“We’re at war, Jade. Some things are just worth it.” Rex paused and looked to her. Her eyes held a silent beg. “You’re worth it.” He wanted to say, but didn’t. Perhaps a part of him knew that he didn’t need to.

In the dim light, he could hardly see her face at all, but the peace that had spread across it was blindingly clear. Jaida blinked.

And Rex closed the small gap between their faces and pressed his lips against hers; tender and gentle yet proud, as if it was their first. He lifted his hand to cup her face and she melted into his touch, allowing the warmth of his mouth to thaw the cold of her heart. The kiss was acceptance, it was emotion and it was thrill.

“I’m in if you’re in.” He demurred with lighthearted intention.

Jaida smiled softly, joy in her eyes that Rex only caught glimpses of, but she caught his lips in feeble ecstasy.

She broke away with a dainty smile, and Rex laughed.

“I’m in.” The jedi whispered.

He grinned again, wider now as a perfect laugh fell from Jaida’s perfect lips.

His fingers dropped from her cheek and found hers without question, taking her hand in his as he refused to break away from her hopeful eyes.

Rex squeezed her hand, then jolted, taking her with him as he ran out of the hall and back to where the music still rumbled.

Jaida let him whisk her away, gladly.

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blouisparadise · 4 years

Photo

Here are some of the amazing bottom Louis fics that were posted or completed during the month of September. We hope you enjoy this list. Happy reading!

1) Hard Candy Dripping On Me (Til My Feet Are Wet) | Explicit | 1997 words

Louis gets fucked on a plane. That’s it.

2) Fucking Nightmares | Mature | 2151 words

Louis has a nightmare. Harry comforts him.

3) You Could Take A Lick (But It's Too Cold To Bite) | Explicit | 2469 words

“You look kinda thirsty.” Louis croons softly.

Harry leans back in his chair and tilts his head to the side. His eyes are covered by the pair of expensive shades, but Louis feels his eyes drifting down his backside as he lays on his stomach.

“Why don’t you bring me a bit of that ice cream, darling?”

Louis and Harry have fun in a summer day.

4) Interview With The Vampire | Explicit | 4135 words

Note: The fic pairing is Louis/Robert Pattinson.

Working at an alpha magazine wasn't always easy for an omega like Louis, but he's just landed his biggest interview yet with an A list actor who has asked for Louis especially. Unfortunately, the interview is with Rob Pattinson, the biggest pain in the arse alpha on the planet.

Inspired by Rob’s interview in GQ Magazine and not actually about vampires

5) Conozco La Vida | Teen & Up | 4761 words

Note: This fic contains no explicit smut, but since it’s omega Louis, we’ve included it.

"I have a son," he declared, there was a very thinly veiled layer of hesitation.

Harry was unaware in the direction which this conversation was heading but chose to stare at the man instead.

"He is an Omega," he dropped the pivotal piece of information.

Harry's attention was hooked now.

"He has been raised in an Omega convent all his life, he hasn't been in the presence of any Alpha who isn't his immediate family."

"I am still waiting for you to make a point."

"You could take him as an Omega."

Harry did not react, his face remaining perfectly free of betrayal of any sort of emotion and leaned back upon his chair, his leg crossed upon his knee. "You are selling your son to me?"

6) It’s Hard For Me To Go Home | Not Rated | 4890 words

Don’t call me baby again.

7) So Baby, Let's Keep It Secret | Explicit | 4638 words

“I’ll leave with you,” Harry said after a beat, sounding sure of himself.

“What!? No!, you can’t leave with me, Harry, you have a life here. You have a job and friends an-”

Harry kissed him in the middle of his rambling. “Which means nothing if I don’t have you.”

Into You Music Video AU.

8) ZOMOS | Mature | 5659 words

Is it easy to forget everything and start afresh? Is it easy being served with hateful glances and insults when all you wish for is to be loved? Is it easy to make it seem like everything is alright when in reality your world is crumbling into pieces with every breath you take?

Is it easy to be the omega who is unwanted by their alpha?

9) Your Biggest Fan | Explicit | 9075 words

Just like everyone else, Louis has a few habits that he can’t seem to break. Guilty pleasures, rather. His nails are perpetually short because he can’t quit biting them, the bottom of his shoes scuffed from tapping his foot constantly. Sometimes his leg gets a cramp from bouncing it so often underneath his desk. That isn't too bad, he reckons, just some average teenage coping mechanisms.And also, occasionally, minor instances of theft.

10) Making A Splash | Explicit | 9557 words

“You want this?” Harry muses, fisting his cock as he drags his hand lazily up his thick length. Louis eyes the motion and nods his head absentmindedly. “You want to show everyone at this beach how much of a slut you are for Daddy’s cock?”

“M‘your slut,” Louis immediately replies, inching closer, inching closer with his eyes glued on Harry’s glistening cock, precome shining under the sun as it dribbles out his slit.

Harry grins widely and stops the movement of his hand to grip himself at the base again, pushing Louis’ head down. “Show everyone how much of a slut you are.”

11) Hung Up High in the Gallery | Mature | 14006 words

When Harry’s best friend, Louis, comes to support him at his art show, he decides they need to do some celebrating afterwards. How fast do the lines between friends and lovers get blurred ... or better, get painted?

12) My Home Is Your Body | Explicit | 15341 words

Note: The fic pairing is Louis/Henry Cavill.

He had seen who had made his senses go haywire. His ex was in the front row, five feet in front of him. He felt his eyes on him even as he mechanically made his way to the end of the runway, hoping to God he didn’t look like a maniac. Everything was a blur. He somehow managed to walk the rest of the way without falling or emoting anything. Why was he HERE? Of all places.

...where Louis is a successful omega model and the last thing he expects is his ex to become the co-partner of the new company he works for....

13) There's Nothing Like It (Nothing At All) | Explicit | 15471 words

Note: This is a sequel to this fic.

His hands are outstretched on the mattress like he’s reaching out for something, reaching out for Harry. It makes his heart swell, almost bursting with affection and love. He only waits a bit longer before reaching over to turn off the light and pulling Louis to his chest, smiling when the omega immediately sighs in contentment, nuzzling into his skin happily.Tomorrow, he tells himself. Tomorrow, they’ll talk about it.-Or, Harry isn’t ready for things to change, and the end is just the beginning.

14) Seven Simple Words | Explicit | 15535 words

It’s not like he and Louis were a couple. No, they might have been a lot of things—best mates and colleagues with a seemingly convenient friends-with-benefits arrangement—but never a couple. It wasn’t Louis’ fault he didn’t feel the same way and couldn’t reciprocate Harry’s feelings in the way he’d wanted, the way he’d needed. Harry had allowed himself to get in too deep, his entire being aching to be loved back by the object of his affections. But in love, as in life, you don’t always get what you want.

15) Works Like A Charm | Explicit | 18061 words

Ever since Louis joined the team in fifth year, a few facts have become set in stone.

One: Louis is the best chaser in Hogwarts.

Two: Harry is the best beater in Hogwarts.

Three: They do not get along.

So it’s really unfair of Liam to think that forcing them to spend time together as Louis recovers from his injury will make them the best of friends. The last thing Louis would do is get along with that git.

16) The Way This River Runs | Explicit | 27417 words

It’d be so easy to just open his mouth and plead with Harry, to scream I’m sorry until his voice disappears, but he can’t. Be it his pride or his ego or his insecurities, he just can’t do it. The worst part is that he knows Harry would probably forgive him.

But Louis doesn’t want phony forgiveness. He doesn’t want Harry’s soothing words and pity embrace, thinks he might just break altogether if he was offered them. He feels like he’s made of glass recently and it’s to the point where he kind of wants to tip over the edge, just to see if he’d shatter. Just to see who’d be there to pick up the pieces if he did.

17) Give Me Love | Explicit | 41041 words

Louis doesn't feel like a good omega, Harry doesn't remember how to be an alpha, and they figure it out together.

18) Falling Out Of Fashion | Explicit | 42123 words

Harry Styles has been the established face of the Grimshaw House of Design for two years. It’s a prestigious and coveted modeling contract Harry took away from once-famed supermodel Zayn Malik. With the model transition Grimshaw’s designs went from a more urban, Zayn-forward aesthetic, to a Harry-favoring flowery, flowing femininity in the Grimshaw designs for men.

So when Harry sees a dress Grimshaw made for a famous Marvel actress, “only a tease”, Nick says, of the evolving look, Harry knows Grimshaw is shifting his aesthetic.

Harry wonders if he can pull off the look.

19) Three Days In February | Explicit | 189346 words

Louis is cursed after a night out with the lads and the five have just three days to figure out what happened and how to break it before Harry and Louis both lose their sanity and maybe something more. Louis can hear everything Harry thinks and Harry isn’t sure he can keep his feelings for Louis a secret from his own mind.

Ridiculous amounts of banter and angst, a lot of Harry and Louis alone together, a healthy dose of OT5 friendship, and one very magical weekend.

20) Boss Bitch | Explicit | 386901 words

Harry had always wanted to work for this successful mafia; the mafia that everyone knew, everyone feared. Led by none other than the pahntom

"L'eue Courante", whom everyone knew existed, but had no other clues who this person could be. The only thing known was a high heel the phantom once left.

So this person had to be woman, Harry assumend. And man, was he wrong.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.

#bottom louis #top harry #blp fic recs #monthly fic recs #fic recs #blp #larry

218 notes · View notes

sondepoch · 4 years

Text

An Angel’s Sin (Simeon x Reader)

There’s more to the relationship between demons and angels than being simple opposites, but after an afternoon with Simeon, it becomes clear that their interpretation of sin is a pivotal point in their differences. Spurred on by the conversation, you teasingly encourage Simeon to sin, but you quickly find that you’ve asked for more than what you initially expected. Though, with this particular angel, that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

~Oneshot

MASTERLIST

They got it wrong.

Well, not entirely. But whoever discovered the concepts of angels and demons definitely didn't get it all right.

You shuffle in your seat, trying to keep your head out of sight so that your teacher can't see you openly ignoring his lecture as you stare out the window. Hey, it's not like you even need to pay attention. You're in Human Studies right now. Yeah. You, a human, actually have to take this class. And the teacher is currently going over what you learned in fourth grade, so you can afford to slack off.

But anyway, you think, mind drifting back to your previous train of thought. They definitely got it wrong.

You suppose you should commend your human ancestors for even figuring out that demons and angels exist in the first place. According to Solomon, it had been discovered through a trail of clues left behind from witches when they forged pacts with demons. Considering the obscure nature of casting sites, it's almost a wonder that people managed to understand anything at all.

Well, most of it was speculation. You muse, absentmindedly twisting your pen in your fingers. The same speculation that caused them to get everything so horribly incorrect.

You sigh.

For one, demons aren't evil.

You'd sensed it when you first arrived in the House of Lamentation, and the feeling persisted as you continued to bond with the various brothers, but there's no denying it now.

Demons are a lot of things: chaotic, messy, obnoxious, and rude, but they're not inherently evil as all the holy texts say.

Just last night, Satan cornered Lucifer in the dining hall with a plate of spaghetti while Belphegor threw meatballs at the firstborn, the two demons teaming up in the first demonstration of their "Lucifer Sucks" club while Beelzebub cried in the background over all the food wastage. Reckless, yes, and somewhat amusing to watch. But evil? Not even a little bit.

You smile at the memory, glancing at the clock.

There's barely a minute left in this period before you get to head to your next class: one of the only classes you have with Simeon. And while you usually look forward to Angel Studies, today you're excited for another reason. Someone like Solomon might be better for an objective analysis, but you want to hear what the angel has to say on the topic of demons and their innate nature.

The bell rings, and a smile blooms on your lips as you practically jump out of your seat.

You normally walk quicker to this class than all the rest, having developed a mild (read: intense) crush on the chocolate-haired boy, so no one bats an eyelid when you dart out of the classroom, practically skipping your way through the halls.

I wonder if he brought food today. The thought causes your stomach to grumble in anticipation. The two of you bonded long ago over your shared boredom in Angel Studies—Simeon, because he knows the subject better than the teacher, and you, because the Celestial Realm really isn't all that interesting. Conveniently seated next to each other from the very first day, you'd caught on early that Simeon was sneaking snacks into class. When he caught you staring, he'd offered you a cookie with a sheepish smile.

Everything after that point is history.

That single cookie had been the catalyst for conversation, laughter, and more food. Almost every day, Simeon now strolls into Angel Studies with half his binder stuffed with various treats prepared by Luke, ready to share them with you. What's not to love about the arrangement?

A soft smile blooms on your face as you enter the classroom, pleasantly surprised to find Simeon already seated in the back.

"Hey," You call, tossing a notebook onto the desk. Simeon turns to face you, a warm smile etched on his lips.

Typically, you two would take advantage of the beginnings of class to make plans for later in the day, like to review the material for Demon Studies (the hardest course for both of you) or to simply chill at Purgatory Hall; but today, the teacher walks in and immediately begins ranting about the lack of effort students are putting into his class and how upset it is making him.

From the corner of your eye, you glance at Simeon, who's shooting you that mischievous smirk of his, subtly sliding you a container under the table. You gasp in delight when you glance down, seeing the unmistakable outline of four delicious lemon squares through the glass covering.

You almost want to open the box and try a piece now, but your teacher's ranting has finally subsided, and it's too quiet for you to do such a thing without being noticed. You watch as the elderly demon finally sighs and crosses his arms, evidently ready to actually assign you your work for the period.

"So, to showcase your efforts, I want you to teach yourselves this next unit. You are to open your textbooks and read the passage: The Angel Trials of the Seventh Archbishop. I then want you to complete an analysis of the contrasting moral arguments that led to such controversy, and a concluding paragraph pointing out your personal beliefs on the matter. This is due next week, and this time I will not be accepting late papers."

You let out a sigh of relief when the teacher finally sits down, a silent instruction for all the students to begin their assignment. Where the other demons open their textbooks, though, you turn to Simeon. He's better than any book could hope to be. Not just in his natural gift for explaining, but with those abs? Nothing else stands a chance.

"So," You begin, voice low so that your teacher won't hear the whispering. "The trials of the seventh archbishop. Wanna summarize?" You ask with a giggle.

"Oh, please. You'd tune me out in my first sentence." Simeon chuckles. He has the truth of it. Since birth, you've been gifted with the rather unhelpful habit of zoning out whenever people begin explaining things you're not interested in, whether you want to or not. But after two study sessions with the angel, he'd quickly figured out the one way to keep you drawn in: food. Specifically, Luke's homemade chocolate chip cookies. "I'll explain it to you at Purgatory Hall this afternoon. Luke was planning on baking cookies anyway, so he won't mind."

You smile at the angel, thanking him for his offer.

You don't know what it is about having a cookie in your mouth while someone explains, but something about the deliciousness of the treat silences all the background noise in your mind, leaving you fully able to focus on Simeon while he explains whatever. In fact, Simeon is pretty much the only reason you're not failing your classes right now.

You sigh in contentment.

He truly is an angel.

A smart angel, at that.

"Hey Simeon," You say, suddenly remembering what you'd spent all of last period thinking about. "Why do humans depict demons as beings of pure evil and angels as beings of true good?"

The angel's eyes widen. He stares at you in pure surprise, lips forming a small o-shape before you awkwardly cough. "Sorry, sorry!" He apologizes, instantly snapping out of it. "It's just...I'm surprised. Solomon said it took him years before he realized the truth about the three realms... it's amazing that you're questioning it after only having been here a few months."

You shoot Simeon a questioning look. "The truth about the three realms?"

You have no clue what this boy is on about.

"Ah, sorry," He apologizes again, taking a second to gather his composure. You've learned that he can be quite a good teacher when he tries, so you know that he's about to go full explanation-mode on you. "Your question is valid, little lamb. When humans discovered the concepts of angels and demons, they didn't fully understand the meaning behind those ideas, which led them to make their own conclusions about our nature."

"And?"

"And those conclusions were wrong." Simeon chuckles, stealing the container of lemon squares off your lap to break one in half, offering you a piece while he continues. "It's something that people don't usually notice on their own. That's why I was so impressed that you'd picked up on it."

You smile at the boy, taking a bite of the treat in your hand. "Well, it's not like I noticed it very early. Up until now, I think I mostly bought into the whole idea that demons are evil."

"And now?"

"Well, I live with seven demons. How can I dislike them? They have their flaws, but I've seen more good than evil in them."

Simeon smiles at you, the same beaming grin that lets you know that he's proud of whatever deduction you've reached. "You're right. The human interpretation of angels and demons has never been very precise. We angels tend to love it, since it paints us in a good light...but a part of the reason why demons in the Devildom are so biased against humans is partially because you began it all, by depicting demons as emblems of pure evil."

"So then, what's the difference between an angel and a demon, if your supposed differences don't lie along the lines of good and evil?" There it is. The question that you've been thinking about this whole time.

Simeon smiles, taking another bite of the lemon square in his hand.

"Angels and demons...are merely two sides to the same coin. Two journeys to the same destination. Two halves to a whole that remains incomplete without both. We're nearly identical, in truth. Anatomically speaking, angel wings and demon wings are no different. And the way that demon horns materialize out of nowhere is akin to a halo's appearance. It's just that where angels believe in light, demons believe in dark."

"But isn't that it? That light is good, and dark is bad?" Simeon was making sense at first, but now you're more than a little confused.

"Not at all," Simeon says. He laughs his usual cute laugh. "Assigning moral values to natural features like light and dark has always been a human construct. A flawed construct, at that. Whether you're in the Celestial Realm or the Devildom, light and dark are two things that cannot exist without each other. They are entirely unrelated to good and evil."

"But isn't it natural that darkness is associated with fear, and things that are generally bad?" You pause for a minute, trying to find your words. "Light is comparable to sunlight, which directly supports life and growth. Whereas too much darkness will lead to deficiencies and...um...a worsened mental state?"

"I see your point, but the analogy is flawed. Just as not enough sunlight will kill a plant, too much sunlight will do the same. How can light be inherently good? Or the dark inherently bad?" Simeon pauses, letting his words sink in. "A blind man lives his entire life knowing only the darkness, but does that make his existence one shrouded in evil?"

Simeon pauses, letting his words sink in. By the time they have, you're left awestruck.

How have you never considered this before? It's always seemed so natural that halos and sunshine were equated to good, and horns and darkness were a sister to evil. But if what Simeon is saying is true...

"So there's no real difference between angels and demons, then, is there?"

"Not quite." Simeon hesitates, seemingly uncertain of how to put his thoughts into words. "I told you before that angels and demons are like two different journeys to the same destination. Our lives end with the ultimate purpose of serving the rulers of our respective realms, but the way we do it is where our differences come in."

"Elaborate?"

"Demons believe in more strongly in self servitude. They believe that by giving oneself their innate desires, that will result in a more satisfactory life and will better enable them to serve the demon lord. Angels believe in serving the realm before themselves. We devote ourselves to principles like virtue and servitude in hopes of reaching personal happiness."

"So then, if all that is true..." You hesitate, not sure if Simeon will laugh at your next words or not. "Then, does that mean that angels can sin, too?"

"Of course." A devious grin crosses Simeon's face. "The level of sin that an angel may allow themselves is different than what a demon would do, but certainly."

"I don't believe you," You say, smiling. Simeon? Sin? Yes, the angel dresses like a stripper, but the sheer notion of him doing anything bad seems so impossible. "I can't imagine you sinning."

"Well," Amusement flickers through Simeon's eyes, the teal-eyed boy, staring at you through a pause pregnant with thought. "Why don't I show you today? Let's skip Demon Studies today."

"Oh my god," You murmur, trying to choke back a laugh. "That's your big idea of sinning? Skipping class?" You flash the angel a grin as the bell rings, but honestly, you're surprised that he's even willing to go that far. You've yet to see any demons skipping class, so for an angel to play school delinquent? That's quite something.

"Oh hush," Simeon murmurs, gathering his things. He breaks off another piece of a lemon square before gathering his materials in preparation for the next class. "Just meet me in the courtyard, alright? I'll show you just how much an angel can sin."

"Alright," You agree, turning to gather your own materials.

The rest of the day passes quickly. Lunch is entertaining, but given that you sit with the demon brothers, lunch is never not entertaining. Today, Mammon managed to convince the lunch she-demon to double his meal portion. He then attempted to sell his extra foodstuffs to Beel, whereupon the secondborn was instantly shut down by Belphegor. Lucifer caught wind of the situation and threatened to string Mammon up for a hundred years, only calming down when you stepped in to deescalate the situation.

You couldn't fully focus on the demon brother's antics, though. Because across the lunchroom, at a table not too far from your own, sat Simeon, quirking his eyebrows mischievously as if to remind you of your plans for ditching Demon Studies.

The courtyard, he seemed to mouth out. You nodded at him, a confirmation that you'd be there. And at the time, he'd nodded back, his usual reassuring smile on his face, the entire exchange going unnoticed by any of your tablemates.

So where the heck is Simeon?

You glance at your D.D.D., checking to see how many minutes have passed since Demon Studies began. Six. Six whole minutes.

It can't take that long to get here from Simeon's previous classroom, right? What if the angel got cold feet over ditching and decided to go to class? What if he's not coming? What if Lucifer finds you skipping and strings you up for a hundred years?

"Little lamb!"

The voice unclogs a dam of relief that floods through your body. "There you are!" You exclaim, turning around to face Simeon. "I thought you'd decided not to cut class, after all."

"And leave you all alone?" Simeon asks, walking over to the bench you're on. It's comfortably under the shade of a nice, leafy tree, so the sunlight doesn't obstruct either of your eyes when you look at each other. "Why, that's a bigger sin than ditching in itself."

You smile at the angel's words, the boy never failing to bring a fresh shade of pink to your cheeks with his endless compliments. If they were to come from anyone else, you might assume them to be a form of flirting, but you doubt the angel knows the true effect of his words on you.

"Alright, so let me hear it. Tell me about all the sins you've committed!" You exclaim, clapping your hands together in excitement. You haven't forgotten the primary reason why you agreed to skip class in the first place.

"Oh, little lamb." Simeon pats your head. "Have you ever written down every single thing you've done that could be considered celestially questionable?"

Your silence says more than words can.

"I thought so." Simeon smiles. "It would be impossible for me to tell you of my every wrongdoing, or all my sins. But if you want to know a more recent example..."

"Yes!" Your voice is eager, anticipation lifting your spirits like the cool breeze of wind that rustles Simeon's fluffy hair. What kind of sins does an angel commit? Simeon told you earlier that angels consider sin differently from what demons and humans will consider sin, so you're dying to know what this mystery is. Your voice rings out clear in the courtyard: "Tell me!'

"Well," Simeon begins, angling his body toward you so that he can look at you as he tells his tale. "I'm sure you know that the Archangel Michael was the one who decided upon sending Luke and me down here as envoys of the Celestial Realm for Diavolo's program."

You nod.

"What you may not have realized is that my purpose here lies exclusively in guiding Luke, and ensuring that his exposure to demons at such a young age is not corrupting his angelic beliefs. I'm sure you can tell that we don't need to worry about that, but Michael made it clear that those were my only duties." Simeon frowns lightly, casually lifting a lock of your loose hair with his fingers and examining it as he speaks. It's a gesture he's always done, but it's never felt as intimate as now. "Michael made it especially clear that he did not wish for me to allow myself to be involved with anyone."

"Involved?" You ask, wondering if the word carries the same connotation in the Celestial Realm as it does in the human world.

"Involved," Simeon responds, and the way he says the word is enough for you to know that yes: it very much does mean the same thing.

"And...did you?" You ask. You try not to let it show, but inwardly, your brain is going wild. If Simeon is already with someone, you may as well just give up on your feelings now. No one would give up a man as perfect as him—with those godlike abs and naturally charismatic personality, and he's too good to break anyone's heart.

"Not yet," Simeon says. "My orders were clear. Though, as of recent, someone has been encouraging me to sin." His eyes are twinkling.

You feel your ears grow warm at that. "Hey!"

"So I think I might just disobey that order. What do you think, hm?" Simeon asks. He turns his gaze away from the lock of hair between your fingers, looking you straight in the eyes. Hair dropped, he uses his index finger to tilt your face towards his when you try to look away. As you stare into his eyes, you notice that the rich sapphires seem to be hiding a darker blue. But...the darkness isn't akin to evil. If there's one thing you've learned, it's that.

No, the deep blue of Simeon's eyes is speaking a different message entirely: desire.

"Should I 'involve' myself with the person I so want? Should I..." Simeon leans forward, letting his next words out softly into your ear so that you alone can hear this angel say these words of blasphemy. "Should I sin?"

You're left wordless. Or is it breathless? You can't tell. Simeon's close proximity to you no longer feels innocent. The finger he had on your cheek is now under your chin, keeping your gaze locked onto him as he awaits the answer to his question.

And you know.

You know he's aware of what he's been doing to you all this time, with his little touches and lingering looks and sweet smiles. And you can't even be embarrassed that he's so openly been pulling you further into the arms of your attraction for him, because with the way he's looking into your eyes, there's no denying that he feels it, too.

"Yes," You whisper, the wind gently carrying the word to his ears. And the second he hears your response, his restraint vanishes, and his lips are on yours.

Soft. That's your first thought. Soft, and gentle. Chaste, and beautiful.

The kiss is calm, serene as the boy himself. There's no unnecessary movement, no dramatic moaning, no senseless biting. It's just his lips, on yours, letting you feel the soothing wave of emotion and affection he has for you. His lips, on yours, and the tender hand that reaches up to cup your cheek. His lips, on yours, and the quiet pull of the moment, with the tranquil breeze dancing around you two as it touches every spot in the courtyard but where you stand, leaving the two of you blissfully alone in the moment of intimacy.

And then Simeon pulls away, and you feel the wind flitting in between you two once more. A light laugh escapes the angel's lips as he smiles down at you, gently moving to rest his forehead atop yours.

"Was it worth sinning?" You ask cheekily, interlacing your fingers with Simeon's other hand, savoring the brief squeeze he gives them.

"Absolutely," He whispers, stroking your cheek with his thumb. "Would you let me do it again?"

"Yes," You murmur, and then the distance between you two vanishes, the world stopped once more.

When he pulls away, all either of you can hear is his quiet whisper as he asks your permission to do it again, to steal just one more kiss from your lips, and your immediate reply that grants him the sin.

Only when you finally tell him that he doesn't need to ask does he stop requesting your explicit assent, and then the moment truly never seems to end, the brief breaths of air you take between kisses forgotten and replaced by new touches, new affection, new warmth.

How much time passes by before you gain the courage to cup Simeon's cheeks, touching the smooth skin you've spent so many hours daydreaming about? How long is it before his spare arm snakes around your waist and pulls you even closer to him? You cannot keep track. Even time seems to have stopped as Simeon embraces what he's spent so long denying himself, granting himself the rare mercy of an angel's sin: the most beautiful sin of them all.

You pull him closer, lips pressing against his, a quiet message to not let this stop: not just the moment, but the act. The closeness. The intimacy.

And the way Simeon squeezes your hand, it's as if he's responding. Telling you that the kisses won't end today, or tomorrow, or anytime soon. It's a quiet promise to stay with you, to be with you, to sin, and to do it all as long as it's with you.

You smile into his lips.

You wouldn't have it any other way.

MASTERLIST

Word count: 3.9k

Notes: My favorite part of this entire fic was the beginning where I described Satan cornering Lucifer with spaghetti and Belphie providing backup via meatballs - it really took all my restraint not to abandon this and write a crack fic about that

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Thank you for reading <3

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

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bubonickitten · 3 years

Text

Fic summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Full chapter text & content warnings below the cut.

Content warnings for Chapter 29: discussion of Jon’s & Daisy’s restrictive diets & associated physical/mental deterioration (and potential parallels with disordered eating etc.); arguing & relationship disputes (that are not immediately resolved in-chapter); self-harm (burning oneself with a lit cigarette); cigarette smoking; discussion of suicidal ideation; panic & anxiety symptoms; discussions of grief & loss; cyclical mental health issues (post-traumatic anniversary reactions; related self-loathing, internalized victim blaming, & survivor’s guilt; generally speaking, Jon’s relapsing into self-isolating, worse-than-usual headspace, esp towards the end of the chapter); depiction of parental neglect/rejection (Martin's mother). SPOILERS through S5.

There’s also a Hunt-themed statement that contains descriptions of indiscriminate violence & unprovoked warfare against a civilian population. Oh, and a cliffhanger.

Let me know if I missed anything!

_________________

“Statements ends,” Jon says, somewhat breathless as he fumbles to stop the recording.

“You alright?” Daisy asks.

“Fine.” The word is punctuated by a click and a whirr as the recorder resumes spooling.

“Are you, though?”

“Yes.” Scowling, Jon jabs his finger at the stop button – only for it to keep recording.

“It’s the Hunt, isn’t it.” Daisy sighs, rubbing the back of her neck. “Sorry it’s been so prominent for the last few. I’m… not quite scraping the bottom of the barrel yet, but–”

“It’s fine, Daisy.”

“Still, I–”

“I said it’s fine–!” Jon winces at his sharp tone. “I’m sorry, that was… I’m just – on edge, I suppose.”

Which is an understatement, really.

Because it’s September. It’s September, and after September is October, and October is–

Well. These days, he can’t even look at a calendar – can’t even look at the time and date on his phone – without icy dread coursing through his veins.

Sporadic flashbacks have become an everyday occurrence, set off by the smallest of stimuli: a dropped glass shattering on the breakroom floor becomes a window bursting inward into shards; a thunderstorm heralds a fissuring sky, marred by hundreds upon thousands of greedy, unblinking voyeurs; his own voice is a doomsday harbinger, a key crammed into a lock he can’t keep from unbolting. The memories are too immediate, too vivid to feel past-tense.

It’s to be expected. Studies, common knowledge, and anecdotal evidence all point to the impact of anniversaries on mental health. He knows what a textbook post-traumatic stress response looks like. Monster or not, in this particular sense he remains overwhelmingly human. No matter how much he rationalizes it, though, intellectually understanding a psychological phenomenon does little to soften the lived experience of it.

And it does nothing to temper the chilling knowledge – bordering on conviction – that it may happen again.

“Would be worrisome if you weren’t stressed out, considering… you know. Everything.” Daisy leans back in her chair, stretches her legs out in front of her, and rolls her shoulders. “Speaking of the Hunt. Any new developments?”

“I mean… nothing since yesterday? Everything I know, Basira knows.”

“Basira… isn’t keeping me updated,” Daisy says, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

“Ah,” Jon says, with tact to spare. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”

“It’s fine.”

“Is it?”

Daisy sighs. “She thinks that I think she’s wasting her time.”

“And do you?”

Daisy gives a jerky shrug. “Don’t you?”

“Not… necessarily,” Jon hedges. Truthfully, his answer to that question is as mercurial as his moods these days, shifting from hour to hour, sometimes minute to minute. Daisy gives him an unimpressed look. “I won’t lie and say I’m optimistic, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth trying.”

“You sound like Martin.”

“Well, he spent ample time drilling it into me,” Jon says with a wry smile. “I don’t have the same capacity for hope as he does, but improbable doesn’t mean impossible. If I’d had it my way, I’d have lain down and died ages ago. I’m only here now because of him.”

“Mental health check,” Daisy says automatically.

“Not thinking of hurting myself,” Jon replies, just as rote. “You don’t have to do that, you know. I’ve told you, I’m physically incapable of killing myself even if I wanted to.”

“That doesn’t stop you brooding.”

“Anyway, I wasn’t referring to anything recent.”

“Weren’t you, though?” At his blank look, Daisy gives an impatient sigh. “It hasn’t even been a year since you woke up, Sims. Up until six months ago, you were wandering an apocalyptic wasteland–”

“…I found myself utterly alone. Facing down a room full of nothing eyes, willing myself to take action. I never did, though–”

“–I wanted to act, to help, to do something, but – my mind had all but seized up, and I felt helpless to do anything but watch as events progressed–”

“–there was nothing I could do to save him – he died – so did any hope I had of – doing good in the world–”

“–there’s a sort of numbness that you adopt after months or years of bombing–”

“–I did spend a lot of time just… slumped in despair – had no reason to think it would help, but I could see no choice but waiting for death–”

“–hoping against hope that – it wouldn’t be forever–”

“Hey!” Daisy’s voice finally breaks through the rush of static. Or perhaps it was the pressure: Jon looks down to see her bony fingers caging his own in a bruising grip.

“Sorry,” he says, catching himself as he starts to list woozily.

“Not to say ‘I told you so,’ but…” Daisy gives his hands another light squeeze. “You sort of just proved my point there.”

“I’m well aware that I’m – traumatized, or whatever–”

“Not ‘or whatever’–”

“–but I’m not a danger to myself, so could we please just move on?” Jon mumbles, averting his eyes. “You wanted a Hunt update.”

Daisy scrutinizes him for a long moment before she allows the conversational pivot to stand.

“Basira said you’ve heard back from that Head Librarian,” she says, “but she blew me off when I started prying.”

“Zhang Xiaoling,” Jon says, his shoulders relaxing. “She was able to confirm some of Jonah’s intel. They do have a statement about a book matching that description in their records, and she agreed to forward a copy once it’s been digitized. They’re further along in their digitization process than we are–”

Daisy snorts. “Probably because they’re actually working on it.”

“That, and they have the benefit of a Head Librarian who actually has a background in archival studies,” Jon says drily. “In any case, they have a large archive, so it’s a work in progress. She’s processed our inquiry, though, and she says she has someone on it. We should hear back by tomorrow at the latest.”

“Huh,” Daisy says. “Sounds…”

“Like a functioning archive?”

“I was going to say ‘streamlined,’ but sure.”

“The wonders of a hiring process that prioritizes job qualifications as opposed to a candidate’s apocalyptic potential.”

“What are the chances their institution is also led by a centuries-old corpse with a god complex?”

“Non-zero, I imagine.”

Daisy wrinkles her nose. “Ugh, don’t say that.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t have evidence one way or the other.”

“It doesn’t. Does she know about…” Daisy waves her hand vaguely. “All of this? The Fears, Rituals… Jonah?”

The question gives Jon pause. He thinks back to his meeting with Xiaoling all those years ago – well, last June, from her perspective.

“Some of it, I think,” he says slowly. “She seemed familiar with some of the Archivist’s abilities. There were parts of my visit that struck me as odd at the time. I didn’t realize until later that she had been speaking both Chinese and English at different points in our conversation.”

Daisy frowns. “She didn’t clue you in?”

“She didn’t, no. But…”

Elias made a good choice, the Librarian’s voice echoes in Jon’s mind. I did offer him someone, but he thought the language might be too much for him.

It does tickle me, Jonah’s voice chimes in, that in this world of would-be occult dynasties and ageless monsters, the Chosen One is simply that – someone I chose.

“I don’t know if she’s aware of Elias’ true identity.” Jon swallows with some difficulty, his mouth suddenly dry. “Or his intentions.”

“So is it really smart to trust her?”

“If she’s in communication with him, there’s nothing she can tell him that he doesn’t already know. We’re just following up on information he gave us. And he’s likely spying on our correspondence whether she’s in contact with him or not. Not much we can do about that.”

“She could have her own ulterior motives,” Daisy says.

“True enough, but… I got the sense that her primary interest is curation. Studying phenomena, building a knowledge base–”

“In service to cosmic evil,” Daisy says pointedly.

“W-well, yes, but – I don’t think she has delusions of godhood herself, and I don’t think Jonah has tempted her with the idea.” Jon huffs to himself. “He wouldn’t want to share his throne.”

“Hm.”

“I’m not saying we trust her or the Research Centre as a whole. I had reservations about their motives then and I still do. It’s not unthinkable that they’re a front for something more sinister in the same way that the Institute is. But… I don’t think there’s any especial danger in utilizing their library.”

“Sims,” Daisy sighs, “your danger meter is broken beyond repair.”

“In my defense,” Jon says, bracing one arm on the desk to leverage himself to his feet, “at this point, everything is just differing degrees of dangerous.”

As the two of them leave the tunnels, Jon’s phone buzzes in his pocket. When he glances at the screen, he sees a text notification from Naomi – in addition to two missed calls. He frowns to himself. The two of them text regularly, but she rarely calls.

“What’s up?” Daisy asks, her brow furrowing in concern.

“Naomi,” Jon says distractedly, already returning the call. Naomi picks up on the first ring.

“Jon?” Naomi’s voice sounds thick and tear-clogged.

A cold weight settles in Jon’s stomach. “What’s wrong?”

“I j-just” – Naomi pauses to clear her throat – “just needed to hear a familiar voice.”

“What happened?” Jon asks – and realizes too late that in his urgency to discover the source of her distress, he’s poured too much of himself into the question.

“Nothing.” What starts out as a self-deprecating little laugh quickly deteriorates into a half-sob. “Nothing new, anyway. It’s always like this, this time of year. Evan and I didn’t have an exact date planned, but we’d talked about an autumn wedding. Thought it would be fitting, since we met in September, you know? Tomorrow is our anniversary, actually. Or – or it would’ve been. A-and then by the time I’ve picked myself back up, the holidays will have crept up on me, and that’s always hard, and – and then before I know it, it’s March, a-and that’s its own kind of anniversary, and it’s just… it’s a lot.”

“Oh, I – Naomi, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“It’s fine,” she says with a sniff. “Don’t think I would’ve been able to get it all out, otherwise.”

“S-still, I–”

“It’ll be three years this March. And it still feels like it was yesterday. I spend six months out of the year feeling like I’m still stumbling through that cemetery, and I just…”

This time last year, Jon thinks with a lurch, I was still the monster in her nightmares.

And even now, he still pulls her there whenever they’re both asleep.

“When does that stop?” Naomi laughs again, a desperate, pleading thing. “When does the healing come in?”

“I… I don’t know,” Jon says truthfully. “Anniversaries are… they’re hard enough on their own. It doesn’t help that… well, it’s difficult to heal from something when you’re still living it.”

“What do you mean? Evan’s dead,” Naomi says, her voice breaking on the word. “He’s not coming back. It’s… it’s over.”

“There are still the dreams. The narrative might have changed, but the stage dressing is still the same.” Jon draws his shoulders in, one arm pressed tight to his stomach. “Keeping the memory fresh.”

“It’s not so bad.” Naomi sniffles again. “Better than being alone.”

“‘Alone’ or ‘nightmares’ shouldn’t be your only options.”

“I have my own nightmares, you know,” Naomi counters, sounding slightly annoyed. “When I’m asleep and you’re not. And they’re worse, because in them, I actually am alone. Nothing supernatural about it. It’s just… me.” She sighs. “This time last year – and the year before – I didn’t have anyone. And I just… I didn’t – I don’t want to be alone.”

“You’re not,” Jon says. “Not anymore.”

“I – I know, but I…” Naomi takes a breath. “I was… I was thinking – maybe tomorrow I could come by.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon says gently, “truly I am – but it’s not safe. Especially for you, especially right now. Not with Peter here.”

Naomi is already the equivalent of an unfinished meal to the Lonely. That, together with her association with Jon, is more than enough to mark her as a potential target should Peter take notice of her.

“Feels safer than being alone,” Naomi says. “The Duchess helps – a lot – but I…” She lets out a fond but tearful chuckle. “I can’t expect her to grasp the nuances of… grief, or loneliness, or what have you.”

“How about this,” Jon says. “We tell Georgie what’s going on – as much or as little as you’d like, even if it’s as simple as ‘I don’t want to be alone right now.’ I doubt she’d be opposed to having you over.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose. I mean, I – I’ve not spent much time with her outside of just… spamming the group chat with cat photos. I like her, but she’s your friend. I’m just… a friend of a friend.”

Nestled between the words is a familiar sentiment, unarticulated and nonetheless resounding, echoing all of the earnest conviction it had when first she made such a confession: All my friends had been his friends, and once he was gone it didn’t feel right to see them. I know, I’m sure they wouldn’t have minded, they would have said they were my friends too, but I could never bring myself to try. It felt more comfortable, more familiar, to be alone…

“People can have more than one friend,” Jon says. “I can’t speak for Georgie, but she wouldn’t go out of her way to talk to you if she didn’t like you.”

Indeed, that might be the reason Jon was able to open up to Georgie in the first place. He observed early on that she had no qualms disengaging from people whom she had no interest in getting to know. Whatever Jon might have felt about himself on any given day, the simple fact of the matter was that Georgie would never have let him get so close if she hadn’t seen something redeeming in him.

And she likely wouldn’t be letting him stay close now if she didn’t still see something worth salvaging.

“It’s up to you, of course,” he says. “I won’t pressure you. But I think Georgie would be more receptive to friendship than you expect. And I think – I think you’d get along with Melanie, too.” Naomi is silent on the other end of the line. “At the risk of overstepping, I… I know being alone feels like the natural state of things, but it doesn’t have to be. If you want, I can talk to Georgie. Lay the groundwork. I won’t give her any of the details – it’s not my story to tell – I’ll just let her know that you’re feeling alone and could use some companionship.”

“Okay,” Naomi whispers. “Just… let her know she’s not obligated.”

“I will. On the extremely off chance she says no, or if she’s busy tomorrow, I can keep you company remotely. We can spend the whole day holding up the office landline if you want.”

“It’s a Friday.”

“And?”

“It’s a work day?”

“Naomi, my job is wholly comprised of monologuing to any tape recorder that manifests within a six-foot radius and doing my utmost to render my department as counterproductive to both the Institute’s professed and clandestine organizational objectives as humanly or inhumanly possible.” Naomi barks out a startled laugh. “I won’t be fired no matter what I do – which is a shame, seeing as it became my foremost professional development goal somewhere between finding out my boss murdered my predecessor and virtually dying in an explosion at a haunted wax museum. Barring a sudden and unexpected apocalyptic threat – which, admittedly, is unlikely but not unthinkable– I’ve already cleared my non-existent schedule for you.”

“Okay.” Naomi makes a sound somewhere between a sniffle and a chuckle. “Thanks. Really.”

“Any time.”

_________________

The statement is an unnerving, circuitous thing: a firsthand account from an unnamed member of the Drake-Norris expedition in 1589. In many ways, it’s eerily similar to the last statement Jon accessed from Pu Songling’s archives: Second Lieutenant Charles Fleming’s shellshocked, guilt-fueled confession of atrocities committed under orders.

The historical record is rife with accounts of Francis Drake’s cruelty, Jon knows: his role in the transatlantic slave trade, the unprovoked massacres committed in his name, the preemptive strikes that incited further bloodshed. The statement giver speaks in awestruck horror of the bloodlust lurking in the man’s eyes, the vitriolic fervor with which he undertook his campaign to seek out and destroy the remnants of the Spanish fleet – and the depths of his rage when his efforts ended in defeat. Humiliated, he turned his vengeful eye to the Galician estuaries.

The writer tells plainly of his own complicity in the sacking of Vigo, razing the town to the ground and slaughtering its inhabitants with indiscriminate zeal. For four days Drake’s men carried out their rampage, retreating only when reinforcements arrived to stem the tide.

“You may ask yourself,” the Archivist reads on, “how it is that a man born into the reign of Good Queen Bess sits before you today, some four centuries past his due?

“You see, as we left the shores of Galicia that day, I heard from behind us a vicious braying, as if someone had set loose a great host of hounds. They were close – close enough for me to sense their stinking breath hot on the back of my neck. Such a thing was impossible, for we were by that time far from shore, having already rowed half the distance between the beach and the waiting armada. That did not stop me dreading the dogs lunging and tearing into me at any moment.

“I am not ashamed to admit that I let out a whimper.

“As the seconds ticked by and the pack failed to descend upon us, my curiosity grew to outweigh my terror. I turned to look – and was thus ensnared. It was, I realize now, the instant at which I became beholden to the blood. My greatest folly.

“Perhaps I oughtn’t have been so surprised to see no hounds surging toward us atop the waves, but you must understand that the proximity of their snarling was far more convincing than their visual absence. In looking behind us, though, I was able to appreciate the havoc we left in our wake: the great plumes of ash rising from the smoldering rubble, backlit by a flickering orange glow, and wails of despair so profound as to combat the noise of the wind, the waves – even the discordant shrieking of the hounds.

“It was a scene of such devastation as I had never seen before or since. Looking back, I think upon the acrid stench of charred flesh on the breeze with horror and… indescribable remorse. It shames me now to admit that at that time, I had never felt such… rapture.

“That was when a motion caught my eye. Between the distance and the billowing smoke, it should have been impossible to discern such detail, yet there he was: quarry I had left for dead, emerging from the debris and staggering away from the ruins of his… wretched life. As he looked out to behold our retreat, I could see the grief playing on his face, the fury, the fear – but what most set my blood to boiling was the spark of relief I saw in his eyes.

“It awakened something in me – a famished and merciless thing, composed of tooth and claw and a mind beginning and ending and utterly encompassed by the call of the pack. With a roaring in my ears and a single-minded violence supplanting my sensibilities, I deserted the rowboat and swam to shore. A chorus of howls carried me forward, and I let them be my wings, steering me down the swiftest, straightest path to my target.

“I slowed for nothing, and I made certain my prey did not live through the night.

“As you can likely guess, the chase did not end there. Those baying devils who had so called me forth continued to hound my steps, nipping at my heels, spurring me ever onward to the next quarry. Those who once knew me would scarcely have recognized what I became. Whenever I dared look into a mirror, I would see in myself a dogged, seething violence so akin to that which had lived in the eyes of my former commander. A cruelty that once had frightened and repulsed me had become the blood and breath of me.

“For a time I sought to refrain from the chase. The longer I refused the call, the weaker I became. The hounds’ breath on my neck grew hotter; their braying swelled louder. I found myself wasting away: always hungry, never sated. Eventually my faculties began to slip. I would lose myself to such… bestialimpulses, and only the stain of blood on my teeth would return to me my reason. It pains me to confess to you now that it did not take long before I ceased my resistance entirely.

“It was at the turn of the sixteenth century that I happened upon the artefacts now in your possession. Their previous owner was a formidable adversary. I spent nearly a fortnight tracking him before I managed to run him down, and he fought like a tempest before he fell.

“Ordinarily I did not linger after a kill, instinct hastening me ever onward to the next great game. As I turned to leave, though, I was overcome by the sense that the hunt was… unfinished. Troubled, I reached down to check the man’s pulse. I was reassured to find him quite dead, but as I drew back, I noticed the brooch.

“It was a simple thing made of tarnished copper, fashioned into an incomplete ring, the ends of which resembled the heads of dogs. The moment my fingers brushed that ornament, I knew it was meant for me. It went into my pocket with nary a conscious thought.

“The itch of the hunt was still crawling down my spine, though; the frantic snuffling of phantom hounds yet filling the air all around me. I continued to search his person until I found what was calling out to me: a thin volume bound in leather. Curiosity ever my folly, I opened it.

“Up until that point, I had never learned to read nor write Latin with any degree of mastery. Yet I could understand the text within with perfect clarity. The script did not transform to English before my eyes, nor did the book render me proficient in the language. No, I simply… beheld the pages, and the meaning flowed into me.

“The story tells of Herla, legendary king of the Britons, who visits the dwarf king’s realm. Upon leaving, he is gifted a hound and warned not to dismount his horse until the dog leaps down. When Herla and his men return to the human world, they discover that not days but centuries have passed: all those they had known have long since perished, and the Saxons have taken possession of the land. In their distress, some of the men dismount, whereupon they turn to dust. Herla warns the survivors to stay in their saddles, to wait until the dog leaps down.

“‘The dog has not yet alighted,’ the author tells us, ‘and the story says that this King Herla still holds on his mad course with his band in eternal wanderings, without stop or stay.’

“The next several pages are unreadable. The language resembles none I have ever encountered, and I have yet to find a soul who can decipher it. I can however attest its hypnotic qualities. I have spent many hours mired in those words, but I could not for the life of me tell you what I saw there. Others to whom I presented the text found themselves either enthralled or agitated, though none could recall such episodes once lucidity returned to them. I expect you mean to unravel its secrets, but you may do well to let its mystery stand.

“The final passage – a single page, this written in English – tells of Herla’s escape: how, weary and driven to despair, he casts the dog from the saddle and into the River Wye. The instant the hound hits the water, Herla and his band crumble into dust, at last meeting the same fate they spent so many hundreds of years trying to outpace.

“I have had hundreds of years of my own since first reading the tale to digest its message, and that is why I come to you today. Although I have killed several times since these items came into my possession – it should come as no surprise that there are those who covet them – I have not sought out a single hunt since I vanquished the man who yielded me these trinkets. The hounds at my heel have not ceased their clamoring, but so long as the brooch is on my person, they cannot sink their teeth in me. I am always hungry, yes – but I am no longer starving.

“But I am also weary. I have come to understand that even as the hounds can never catch me, they will never leave me. In my four hundred years, I have played the role of both the hunter and the hunted, and have learned that they share the same ultimate plight. Whether I be predator or prey, I am trapped in the throes of an endless pursuit. So long as I should live, my blood shall never quiet.

“And that is the key: so long as I should live. Even now, the fervor in my blood insists that the hunt is eternal, but I know now that one cannot outrun one’s end forever. Much like my constant, howling companions, Death will always be nipping at my heels. In that sense, he is perhaps the ultimate hunter. Just as I have delivered to him so many souls, neither can I escape his judgment. If ever I am to rest, I must bow to his supremacy.

“And so, like Herla, I shall cast the dog away from the saddle. I leave it in your care now, and the book. I should be so lucky to exit this life with the dignity I denied so many others, though I fear I shall be found undeserving of such a swift end. I can only hope that, whatever my comeuppance should be, I shall have the grace to accept it without complaint.”

With a heavy exhale, Jon depresses the stop button on the recorder, then puts his head in his hands, putting pressure on his closed eyes.

“You alright?” Basira asks.

“More than I’d like,” Jon mutters.

“If I thought there was any chance this guy was still alive, I wouldn’t have given you the statement to read.”

“I know. Just…” Jon waves his hand vaguely.

“Unpleasant, yeah.”

And rejuvenating, Jon thinks bitterly. It’s only been a few days since his last statement from Daisy, and already he had begun to feel famished.

“They sent along some supplemental records,” Basira says, rifling through printouts. “The statement is cross-referenced with two objects in their Collections Storage – here.”

The document she slides across the desk contains two catalog listings:

Item No. 9820702-1

Description: Pennanular brooch, copper alloy. Geometric and interlace motifs. Confronted zoomorphic terminals (canine profile). Moderate surface oxidization and patination. Dimensions: 5.5cm x 4.5cm body; 12.5cm pin. Artefact dated ca. 500–700 CE.

Properties: Primary subject (Case No. 9820702) reports mediating effect on the Hunter’s affliction (unverified). Item implicated in subject’s alleged abnormal longevity (unverified). Further study suggests dormancy and/or lack of reactivity to unafflicted subjects (see associated Investigation Log).

Storage: Special Collections – Inorganic Storage, Container Unit No. 982-05. Acid-free board housing, etherfoam packing. Environmental parameters in brief: maintain stable temperature (16-20°C); relative humidity, 32-35%; light levels, <300 lux. Handling protocols as per Acquisitions & Collections Policies and Procedures §3.5.3: Artefact Preservation – Metals – Copper and Copper Alloys.

Access: Upon request. Curator approval required prior to initial visit. Applicants may submit statement of intent to Acquisitions & Collections Department Head Curator for clearance. Terms, procedures, and degree of supervision subject to Curator’s discretion.

Provenance: Surrendered 2nd July, 1982 upon receipt of accompanying statement (Case No. 9820702), subject name unknown. See also Item No. 9820702-2.

Appendices:

· Investigation Log No. 9820702-1;

· Supplemental Documents Nos. 9820702-1.01 through -1.03.

Cross-reference:

· Case No. 9820702;

· Item No. 9820702-2;

· Acquisitions & Collections Catalog §3.6.4: Antiquities – Adornments and Jewelry (Inert).

Item No. 9820702-2

Description: Bound manuscript. Front and back covers unembellished leather (source undetermined) stretched over wood board (source undetermined). Leather cord binding (calf, bovine). Paper and parchment leaves. Ink corrosion and paper degradation present but minimal (fair condition inconsistent with age and media). Dimensions: 8.8cm x 14.0cm x 2.5cm. Artefact dated ca. 1190–1450 CE.

Contents: Eighteen (18) pages total, one-sided.

· Title page (1) iron gall ink on parchment (sheepskin): Gualterius Mappus – De nugis curialium – xi. De Herla rege

· Pages two (2) through four (4) iron gall ink on paper (hemp pulp, linen fiber): Medieval Latin (ca. 12th century) script.

· Pages five (5) through sixteen (16) ink (chemical composition undetermined) on paper (cotton fiber): alphabetic script (unknown roots); refer to Supplemental Document No. 9820702-2.03 for comparative linguistic analysis (inconclusive).

· Page seventeen (17) ink (chemical composition undetermined) on paper (cotton fiber): Middle English (ca. 15th century) script.

· Page eighteen (18) parchment (sheepskin): blank.

Transcripts and translations (where possible) provided in Supplemental Document No. 9820702-2.01*.

Properties: Primary subject (Case No. 9820702) reports total comprehension of Latin portions of the text despite lack of proficiency. Text alleged to diverge from source material (De nugis curialium – Map, Walter, fl. 1200). Both claims verified upon further examination (see associated Investigation Log). Probable association with the Hunter’s affliction.

Storage: Special Collections – Secure Storage. Environmental parameters in brief: maintain temperature at 20-22°C; relative humidity, 32-36%; light levels, ≤50 lux. Housing and handling protocols as per Acquisitions & Collections Policies and Procedures §2.5.5: Document Preservation – Premodern Inks – Iron Gall and §9.2: Special Precautions – Occult and Esoteric Texts.

Access: Restricted.

Provenance: Surrendered 2nd July, 1982 upon receipt of accompanying statement (Case No. 9820702), subject name unknown. See also Item No. 9820702-1.

Appendices:

· Investigation Log No. 9820702-2;

· Supplemental Documents Nos. 9820702-2.01* through -2.07;

· Incident Report No. 9930214.

Cross-reference:

· Case No. 9820702;

· Item No. 9820702-1;

· Acquisitions & Collections Catalog §2.1.1: Archival Media – Occult Books (Active);

· Interdepartmental Bulletin No. 9941002, “The Library of Jurgen Leitner: Lessons Learned.”

*Addendum, 16th February, 1993:Supplemental Document No. 9820702-2.01 reclassified as Restricted Access. Direct all inquiries to Pu Songling Research Library Head Librarian or Acquisitions & Collections Department Head Curator.

“So?” Basira prods. “What do you make of it?”

“Well, assuming the statement is a reliable account, it seems…”

“Promising, right?” Basira says, her eagerness tinted with relief. “If we can–”

She stops abruptly as the tape recorder on the table clicks back on.

“I think that’s our cue to move this conversation elsewhere,” Jon says.

Not that it will stop the tape recorders from listening in, but he has no desire to make Jonah’s surveillance any easier for him.

_________________

It takes some hemming and hawing, but Jon manages to convince Basira that this really ought to be a group discussion. As she recaps the statement and shares her own remarks, Jon keeps a close eye on the other two people in the room. Martin is listening attentively, leaning forward slightly but otherwise at ease. Daisy, though… she’s all corded muscles and jittery legs, taut and precarious on the edge of her seat.

All the while, Basira appears impervious to the storm brewing in Daisy’s eyes, even as Martin catches on and begins chewing on the inside of his cheek, darting nervous glances between the two of them. By the time Basira finishes her overview, the tension in the air is palpable, nearly electric.

For several seconds, no one speaks.

“So,” Martin says, his voice a bit pitchy. He clears his throat before continuing. “Magical, Fear-resistant brooch, huh?”

“It wouldn’t be unheard of,” Jon says. “Remember what I told you about Mikaele Salesa?”

“The apocalypse-proof bubble? Yeah.”

“That camera of his didn’t just protect him from the Eye, it hid him from the Powers in general.”

“What was the catch?” Daisy asks pointedly. “Got to be a catch.”

“Does there?” Martin asks. His hesitant smile falls at Daisy’s blank stare, and he tilts his head back with a sigh. “Yeah, alright.”

“It’s… not entirely benign, no,” Jon says. “In Salesa’s statement, he called it a ‘battery’–”

“–charging itself on all the quiet worries that come from living in hiding, and then when the sanctuary collapses, all that fear flows out at once. No doubt, if my oasis breaks before I die, the Eye will get quite the feast from me, but in this new world–”

“That’s enough of that, I think,” Martin says, resting a hand on Jon’s arm.

Jon bites his tongue, shuts his eyes, and takes a deep breath in, only daring to speak once the tingling on his lips subsides. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for.” Martin offers him a reassuring smile. “Just didn’t want you getting bogged down.”

“That’s one term for it,” Jon says, not quite under his breath. It’s true enough, though. Sometimes it feels like the Archive is pressed up against the door, watching for the tiniest crack, waiting for any opportunity to surge through and drag him under. Lately, Martin has grown uncannily adept at sensing when to interrupt these lapses before they spiral out of control – likely because they’ve been growing more frequent.

“That’s what I thought,” Daisy says. Puzzled at the apparent non-sequitur, Jon glances at her, but she isn’t looking at him. All of her attention is focused on Basira. “This thing is probably the same. It’s not some… some harmless miracle solution. If we mess around with it, it’s bound to blow up in our faces sooner or later.”

“I’m… not sure about that, actually,” Jon says. “The brooch didn’t free the Hunter, it just made it so he couldn’t be caught. I think that’s what it was feeding on – the Hunter’s gradual awareness that he was no different from the hunted, that sensation of being perpetually stalked from the shadows by a greater predator. It spent centuries charging itself on that fear, and it culminated in the realization that he would never escape it. He would always be waiting for the axe to fall, and Hunt was happy to keep him as perpetual prey. If he wanted the chase to end, he had to give up the artefact – and once it was no longer keeping him in stasis, he had a choice to make.”

“Go back to hunting, or let it catch him.” Daisy breathes a humorless laugh. “The Hunt, or the End.”

“But it would keep you alive,” Basira says. “It would buy us time to find a way to free you for real.”

“What about the Leitner?” Martin asks. “That’s what Jonah sent us after in the first place.”

“Turns out it’s not actually from Leitner’s library,” Jon says. “No bookplate, and it seems the statement giver had it in his possession since the 1500s. It’s… difficult to tell from the statement whether it had any significant effect on him. He called it ‘hypnotic,’ but he was already a Hunter by the time he found it. I imagine it might have different effects on someone not already under the Hunt’s influence.”

“He sort of alluded to that.” Basira takes a moment to peruse the statement, running her finger along the page until she finds the relevant line. “Here – they ‘found themselves either enthralled or agitated.’ A bit obscure, but… he says it like it’s an afterthought. If it outright turned anyone into a Hunter, he probably would’ve said so.”

“That doesn’t mean it isn’t dangerous,” Daisy says.

“I never said it wasn’t,” Basira replies coolly. “The record references a transcript, so I assume they had someone read it at some point. And it also mentions an incident report.”

“What was the incident?” Martin asks.

“Don’t know,” Basira says. “They didn’t provide any of the supplemental documentation, just the catalogue listing and the statement itself. But they acquired the book in ‘82 and didn’t make the transcript restricted until ‘93, so… either it was dormant when they first studied it and became active later, or they didn’t study it closely enough to activate its effects, or it doesn’t affect everyone the same way, or – or maybe their workplace safety guidelines just changed and they decided not to risk studying it anymore.”

“Jonah did say something about its effects varying depending on how much of it a person reads, right?” Martin asks. “Though who knows where he got that from.”

“There might be some truth to that,” Basira says. “The catalogue entry does describe what’s on the title page, so I’m assuming that part at least is safe. I’m most curious about the untranslated chunk in the middle.”

And I’m a universal translator, Jon thinks, fidgeting with the drawstring of his hoodie. Basira’s eyes flick to him, as if reading his mind.

“I… suppose I could–”

“No,” Martin and Daisy say simultaneously.

Jon scowls. “You didn’t even let me finish the–”

“You threw yourself into the Buried – twice – to save me,” Daisy says severely. “You can’t keep sacrificing yourself at every opportunity.”

“I wouldn’t be–”

“What, re-traumatizing yourself by reading a Leitner?” Jon shuts his mouth, pressing his lips tightly together. “It’s not worth it, Sims.”

“Daisy,” Basira begins, but Daisy cuts her off.

“No. I’m not having him throw himself to the wolves just because you’re curious.”

Basira flinches, hurt momentarily crossing her face before her expression goes stony.

“You really think that’s what this is about?” she says, her voice shaking. “Knowledge for knowledge’s sake? Me being curious?”

“You can’t tell me you’re not,” Daisy says, and then her expression softens. “And I love that about you, I do – you’re brilliant, Basira – and driven, and passionate, and…” She sighs. “But sometimes… sometimes you need to let things go.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jon notices Martin cross and uncross his legs, his lower lip captured between his teeth. When Jon catches his eye, Martin jerks his chin minutely at Basira and Daisy, a grimace on his face. All Jon can offer is a helpless, equally awkward shrug. Near as he can tell, Basira and Daisy seem to have momentarily forgotten that they have an audience, and judging from their locked eyes and thunderous expressions, he doubts either of them would appreciate a reminder right this second.

“Let you go, you mean,” Basira says tersely. “When you say ‘it’s not worth it,’ what you really mean is that you’re not worth it.”

“Well, I’m not.”

The cavalier tone is the last straw, it seems.

“Why won’t you just let me help you?” Basira slams her hand down on the rickety table, straining its wobbly legs. “You’re just so ready to–” She lets out a frustrated groan. “You never used to give up this easily.”

“Maybe should’ve done,” Daisy says flatly. “Might’ve lowered my body count.”

“Giving up Hunting doesn’t have to mean giving up on living,” Basira says. “I might have finally found an alternative, and you won’t even consider–”

“I’m not doing anything that’s going to hurt someone, and that includes exposing Jon to a fucking Leitner.”

“I’m right here, you know,” Jon mutters testily, the friction finally getting the better of his nerves. “Don’t I get a say?”

“No, you don’t,” Daisy says, rounding on him. Now that all of her brimming agitation is funneled in his direction, he regrets saying anything at all. “Because lately, whenever I ask you if you want to hurt yourself, the best you can give me is ‘it doesn’t matter because I can’t die anyway.’”

“Jon?” Martin says urgently, his eyebrows drawing together.

“Th-that’s not what I–”

“You’re not thinking rationally,” Daisy speaks over Jon’s stammering. “You’re thinking like a condemned man with a rope around his neck and something to prove, and I’m not going to be the noose you use to hang yourself with.”

“Will you listen to yourself?” Basira says heatedly. “You get on my case about double standards–”

“That’s enough!” Martin bursts out. “This isn’t helping. Daisy’s right, Jon. You’re not going anywhere near that book – I don’t want to hear it,” he adds before Jon can retort. “Not now, anyway. We’ll talk later. But Basira’s right, too,” Martin says, turning his attention to Daisy. “You can’t make amends by dying, and you can’t do better going forward if you’re not alive to try.”

“Who says I deserve a chance?” Daisy says.

“Whatever you think you ‘deserve’” – Martin gives Jon a meaningful glance as he says it – “you’ve got a chance, and people who want to help you through it, and you ought to consider that before you assume you’d do more good dead than alive.” He exhales a sharp breath. “Anyway, forget the Leitner, and forget what Jonah said about it. The brooch seems like the more promising option here.”

“I agree,” Jon says, cowed. “Between the book and the brooch, the statement giver credited the latter with keeping the Hunt at bay. And perhaps my bias is showing, but truthfully I – I’m not inclined to see those books as anything but tragedies waiting to happen.”

“What’s the difference?” Daisy says flatly. “It took a decade for something bad enough to happen for them to make the Leitner’s transcript restricted. The brooch could be just as much of a time bomb. Just because it doesn’t have any ‘incidents’ connected with it now doesn’t mean it never will.”

She isn’t wrong. Looking back, Jon had found it infuriating that Leitner would continue meddling with the books even after he witnessed the horror they wrought, all while claiming to have learned from his hubris. Just because this particular artefact isn’t a book doesn’t make it any less ominous.

And yet…

“I think it’s already shown its more sinister side,” Jon says slowly.

“You think,” Daisy scoffs.

“It doesn’t give a Hunter strength, it makes them perpetual prey. It… won’t be pleasant for you, I’m sure,” Jon admits, “but Basira’s right – it could keep you alive while we search for a better solution.”

“There might not be a better solution,” Daisy says stubbornly.

“Which is what I said before you browbeat me into taking statements from you,” Jon counters.

“I didn’t browbeat–” Jon raises his eyebrows. Daisy gives a flustered groan. “It’s just – it’s different, okay?”

Much as Jon wants to disagree, he knows better than to argue. They’d only end up talking in circles.

“I think it’s an avenue worth pursuing,” he says. “Given the alternatives.”

“Please, Daisy,” Basira says. “Just… consider it, at least.”

The for me remains unspoken, but Jon can hear it loud and clear. As can Daisy, it seems – the defiant set to her jaw falters for a moment before she tenses again.

“Fine,” she says grudgingly. “But if it starts to go south–”

“If it manifests any new properties, we’ll prioritize containing it over interacting with it,” Jon says.

“You promise?” Daisy asks, but she looks at Basira when she says it. It takes a moment, but Basira does nod.

“Do you think Pu Songling will let us have it?” Martin asks. “Seems like their protocols are…”

“Rigorous?” Jon supplies.

“You’d almost think they were running an academic institution or something,” Basira says drily.

“Yeah, but treating the artefacts like museum pieces, it’s… it’s weird, isn’t it?” Martin says. “It’s not as if they’re fragile, right? They’re held together by… nightmare alchemy, or whatever.”

“I suppose it’s to be expected,” Jon says. “I know the Librarian has a degree in information science. And I recall her telling me that the Curator is an historian with a background in museology. But you’re right – it would be nice if Leitners were as delicate as the average old manuscript.”

“At least they’re flammable,” Daisy mutters.

“We spoke with the Head Curator,” Basira says. “She’s willing to work out a trade.”

“A trade?” Martin asks.

“Knowledge for knowledge,” Jon says. “An artefact for an artefact. I get the impression that the Librarian and the Curator are both very… collections-oriented. True to their titles, I suppose.”

“Hold up,” Daisy says. “‘The Librarian,’ ‘the Curator’ – are those just job titles, or are they, like… Beholding Avatar titles?” Jon blinks at her, perplexed. “I mean – the way you keep saying them, it’s sort of like…”

“What, ‘Archivist’?” Jon gnaws on his thumbnail as he pauses to consider. “I… don’t know, actually. I wasn’t really doing it consciously? It just…” He shrugs helplessly. “It felt right.”

“Is it coming from the Eye, then?”

“I have no idea, Basira.” Jon leans forward, props his elbows on his knees, and digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Hm.”

“In any case…” Jon exhales slowly, forcing himself to sit up straight again. “They seem to take the research and curation aspects of their roles to heart. They aren’t reckless with their pursuits, they take ample precautions, but the scholars at Pu Songling do study the items that come into their possession. And from what I understand, the Curator takes avid interest in adding to their collection. Same as the Archivist’s role is to record stories. To what extent her efforts are driven by her connection to the Eye versus her own innate curiosity, I couldn’t tell you, no more than I can make that distinction in myself.”

“Sort of a chicken-or-egg situation, then,” Daisy says.

“From an evolutionary perspective, the egg came first,” Jon says automatically. “Amniotic eggs have been around for over three hundred million years. Birds originated in the Jurassic, true galliforms didn’t evolve until at least the Late Cretaceous, phasianids don’t appear in the fossil record until about thirty million years ago, and chickens as we know them were only domesticated about eight thousand years ago–”

“Oh my god,” Daisy groans, putting her head in her hands.

“What?” Jon says, heat rising in his cheeks as Martin muffles a snicker beneath his hand. “I’m not wrong.”

“Pu Songling’s Collections Department is larger than our Artefact Storage,” Basira interjects, “but the, uh… Curator has a shortlist of artefacts she’s been on the lookout for. I checked our records and found a match. A ring – probably belongs to the Vast, based on the reports surrounding it. Looks like the Institute purchased it from Salesa in 2014, shortly before his disappearance. The Curator considers it an ‘equitable exchange,’ but she still wants to assess the ring in person before making the trade.”

“And we still have to talk to Sonja,” Jon adds. “On the one hand, she likely wouldn’t object to being rid of an artefact, but on the other hand… I imagine she won’t be keen on letting it out into the world.”

“I think it would be a harder sell if you were just going to swap it out for another artefact – something unfamiliar that they’d have to develop all new protocols for,” Martin says. “But yeah, even if you won’t be making the brooch her problem, she’ll probably still want to know what we want with it. And I can see her pressing the Curator on why she wants the ring when she gets here.”

“The Curator won’t be coming here,” Basira says evenly, casting a surreptitious glance at Daisy to gauge her reaction. “Says she’s too busy to travel.”

“So you have to haul the ring up to her,” Daisy says.

“I mean” – Basira breathes an uneasy laugh – “it’s a ring. Not much hauling involved–”

“Oh, don’t start–”

“–and there are precautions I can take. Looks like Artefact Storage has relatively thorough documentation for this one.”

“‘Relatively’?” Daisy repeats, unimpressed. “You were just complaining about how sparse their records are. ‘Relatively’ isn’t saying much.”

“Well, it’s better than nothing.” Basira rubs at her face. “I have to do this. Just… trust me.”

“You know I do–”

“Then let me have your back,” Basira says, practically pleading. “Let me help you.”

“Fine,” Daisy mutters, her posture going slack. “Do what you want.”

It’s not exactly a resounding endorsement, but it’s as good as they’re likely to get.

_________________

Despite Daisy’s lack of enthusiasm, Basira immediately throws herself into making arrangements. The Curator at Pu Songling is more than accommodating, seemingly as eager as Basira to make the trade. The real challenge is the Head of Artefact Storage.

It takes over a week of cajoling, lengthy justifications, and a concerted, collaborative effort from Basira, Jon, and Martin before Sonja finally, albeit reluctantly, agrees to discuss the matter with the Curator. Over the following days, Basira and Jon facilitate negotiations between the two: mediating a fair amount of (professional, but nevertheless pointed) verbal sparring early on, and later arbitrating the terms and conditions of the trade.

“You’d think that in the course of dealing with literal supernatural evil on a daily basis,” Basira gripes at one point, “bureaucracy wouldn’t be the biggest priority.”

“I’ve found that the bureaucratic process gives me ample time to make assessments,” Sonja says, unruffled. “Red tape has a way of bringing out the worst in people. Sometimes that’s a procrastinating student who woke up this morning, realized their deadline is next week, and ‘needs access to our materials, like, yesterday,’” she says, complete with finger quotes and a mocking tone. “And sometimes it’s some shady rich snob who’s been consistently cagey about his motives, and eventually he starts to go from impatient and entitled to desperate and frustrated, and that’s when the red flags start popping up crimson. After a while, you learn to distinguish the mundane sort of desperation from the more sinister sort.”

“Huh,” Jon says, smiling to himself. He knew Sonja was clever, but he never knew she was so calculating. It seems Jonah made the same mistake with Sonja as he did with Gertrude – overestimating a person’s curiosity and malleability, underestimating their prudence and pragmatism, and then promoting them to a position where they were free to act in a decidedly un-Beholding-like manner.

Once Sonja is sufficiently assured that the Curator has no intentions of utilizing the artefact or allowing it to venture beyond the secure confines of Pu Songling’s Collections Storage, the process starts to go a bit more smoothly. As expected, Sonja is amenable to the prospect of having one less piece of malignant costume jewelry, as she puts it, provided the Archival staff take full responsibility – both for the ring once Basira signs it out and for the artefact they receive in exchange.

“The ring has a compulsion effect,” Sonja tells them. “Makes people want to put it on – and once it’s on your finger, it’s not coming off until you hit the ground. Luckily it’s not a particularly active artefact, at least not compared to some of the other things we have here. I wouldn’t call it safe, obviously, but” – she raps her knuckles on the wooden beads of the bracelet on her opposite wrist – “it’s never breached containment.”

The how and why become abundantly clear upon seeing the closed ring box, so caked in earth and grime that it’s impossible to make out the color or material underneath.

“Buried, I take it,” Basira murmurs, giving Jon a sidelong glance.

“Yeah.” Jon grimaces at the phantom taste of soil on his tongue. “An artefact to contain an artefact.”

“Looks like the Curator is getting a twofer,” Basira says.

“Fine by me,” Sonja says with a nonchalant shrug. “That’s the box it came in, actually. Don’t know why it works, but it does, and that’s all I care about. So long as you keep it closed, the worst you’ll get is vertigo. As far as we’ve observed, anyway. There’s always a chance that an artefact has more secrets than it lets on at first glance. Assuming you know everything there is to know is a good way to end up in a casket.”

“We’re well aware,” Jon says. “Believe me.”

“Seriously, though – if this goes tits up, I don’t want to hear it,” Sonja says sternly, all but wagging a finger. “And if you call up here a few months from now to tell me that you’ve got a rogue artefact wreaking havoc in the Archives, and I’ve got to put my people at risk to contain it, I will unleash unholy hell.”

The funny thing is, Jon believes her.

_________________

Despite the progress they’re making on obtaining the Hunter’s brooch, dissent continues to simmer within the group – particularly where Daisy is concerned. As the escalating tension in the Archives becomes ever more tangible, Martin begins to feel claustrophobic under the weight of all the things left unspoken.

Daisy is consistently ill-tempered: bellicose in one moment and taciturn in the next, frequently seeking out solitude whenever her agitation gets the best of her. Martin suspects that her volatile mood has as much to do with her deteriorating condition as it does to do with her lingering aversion to the rest of the group’s efforts. Although she and Basira haven’t had another row – so far as Martin is aware, anyway – there’s been an undeniable friction between them. On the worst days, Basira keeps to herself, burying her head in her research while Daisy slinks off to some dark corner of the Archives to brood until Jon comes to drag her away from her thoughts.

Not that Jon is much better. He’s been sullen lately, growing more withdrawn, sleeping less and jumping at shadows even more than usual. Martin often catches him in a trance, staring vacantly into space and droning horrors under his breath. More and more he lapses into statement clips mid-sentence, regardless of how recently he’s had a statement. Sometimes, all it takes is a momentary slip for Jon to lose his footing and devolve into a frenzied litany of back-to-back, fragmentary horror stories. On a few recent occasions he’s lost his voice entirely, though luckily it’s only been for an hour or two at a time.

(So far, Jon says morosely after each episode.)

Most unsettling, though, is the chronic faraway look in his eye, like he’s seeing something else. Like he’s somewhere else, lost across an unbridgeable divide.

Martin is well-acquainted with the sensation of feeling alone in the presence of others. That doesn’t make it any less distressing. It’s not that Jon intends to be distant. He might not even be aware of it; would likely be mortified if he knew just how much that detachment stirred Martin’s longstanding fears of isolation and abandonment. Jon’s still affectionate, after all. Although he seems reluctant to actively seek out comfort these days, he’s still prompt to take an outstretched hand, to lean into a kind touch, to accept a proffered embrace. Still makes a concerted effort to muster, however feebly, a soft smile whenever Martin enters a room. Still attempts to be present and attentive and open.

But sometimes it feels like Jon is out of reach, separated from the rest of the world, watching it pass him by through layers of frosted glass. Martin knows the feeling. What he doesn’t know is how to fix it.

Before long, Basira is set to leave for Beijing, an artefact of the Vast nestled away in her luggage amidst assurances to Sonja that, yes, under no circumstances will Basira attempt to take it on a plane or into the open ocean because, no, Basira does not have a death wish, thank you very much.

Martin half-expects another quarrel to break out on the eve of Basira’s departure, but Daisy is oddly subdued. Perhaps she just doesn’t want to part ways with angry words and unresolved arguments, or perhaps she’s simply come to accept the rest of the group’s decision to move forward with the plan. Considering the dark circles under her eyes, though, it’s just as likely that she’s simply too fatigued to start a fight.

A few days later, Martin descends the ladder into the tunnels to find Jon standing at his makeshift desk, staring down at the map unfurled across its surface – the product of the group’s ongoing efforts to survey the sprawling tunnel system of the former Millbank Prison. The blueprint-in-progress is an equally sprawling thing: sheets of mismatched paper layered one atop the next and taped together, its irregular borders comprised of haphazard angles and dog-eared edges.

The hand-drawn map on its surface is chaotic, reflecting the penmanship of four different authors. Jon’s contributions might be the messiest – the burn scar contracture on his dominant hand renders his lines shaky at best, and his handwriting has always been a tad chickenscratch. Daisy’s isn’t much better. Conversely, Basira’s additions are the neatest, her strokes as steady as the persona she tries to project to the world. Martin’s are passable, if only because, unlike Jon or Daisy, he actually has the patience to use rulers and book edges to trace straight paths.

To be fair, it would probably look a mess no matter how painstaking they were in constructing it. The tunnels are as labyrinthine as expected: a vast network of arterial corridors with offshoots along their lengths, branching into three- or four-way forks, most of which lead to dead ends. Occasionally, they find a path that loops back around and connects other parts of the maze, creating a series of meandering, convoluted closed circuits. It’s difficult to tell just by looking, but they are (Martin hopes) making progress. At the rate they’re going, they have to be on track to find the Panopticon before the winter solstice.

In any case, as Martin approaches the desk, he sees that familiar vacant look on Jon’s face, as if he isn’t actually seeing what’s in front of him. The effect is underscored by the cigarette burning away in his hand, hanging limp and forgotten at his side. Martin clears his throat lightly, in deference to Jon’s hair-trigger startle reflex. He doesn’t count the fact that Jon doesn’t jump at all as a success. If anything, it’s cause for concern.

“Jon?” Martin tries. There’s a slight delay before Jon glances over, giving Martin no acknowledgment aside from a sluggish blink before lowering his head again.

“I, uh…” Martin offers a weak smile, attempting to keep his tone light. He gestures at the cigarette. “I thought you quit?”

Jon shrugs, refusing to meet Martin’s eyes. “Not like it’ll kill me.”

“Might catch up with you later, though,” Martin says, scratching at his neck. “You know, once we find a way out of here.”

“There is no ‘out’ for me,” Jon says mulishly.

“You don’t know that. Or Know it.” Jon’s only reaction is to press his lips tightly together, like he’s biting back a retort. “Look, I’m not trying to nag you, I just wor– Jon!” Martin yelps as he watches Jon put his cigarette out on the back of his hand.

Martin lunges forward, grabbing Jon’s hand and yanking it close to inspect the damage. It’s the same hand that Jude shook, already textured and pitted with webs of hypertrophic scarring. Somehow, Jon managed to plant this newest burn on a patch of previously-undamaged skin, sandwiched between two bands of knotted tissue.

The contours of her fingers, Martin recognizes with a queasy lurch – followed by another when he thinks to wonder whether Jon sought out that scrap of healthy skin on purpose just now.

Jon barely reacts, staring into space with wide eyes and dilated pupils. Martin looks down again to see the circular singe mark already knitting itself back together, leaving only a small, shiny patch of discoloration ringed with a dusting of ash. In all likelihood, even that will be gone by morning.

If only all wounds would heal so easily.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Martin hisses, fighting to keep his voice even. He brushes a soothing thumb over the spot, as if to apologize to the abused skin on Jon’s behalf.

Jogged out of his reverie by Martin’s sharp tone, Jon stares daggers at him, his mouth open as if to unleash a scathing reprimand, the set of his jaw so reminiscent of those early days in the Archives. An instant later, though, he withers, cringing away and fixing his eyes on the floor.

“I wasn’t,” he mumbles, at least having the decency to sound contrite. “Wasn’t really paying attention.”

It’s not the first time Martin’s witnessed a self-inflicted injury. When pressed, Jon always claims that it’s not a deliberate, planned form of self-punishment, but rather a reflex reaction that kicks in when he starts feeling adrift in time. Somewhere along the line, it seems, he convinced himself that physical pain is as good a shortcut as any – a sort of panic button to bring him back to the present when he needs grounding.

Whatever his intentions, though, and no matter what rationalizations Jon wants to dole out, it’s not a healthy coping mechanism. And it’s difficult for Martin to believe that self-punishment doesn’t factor at all, considering Jon’s obsessive guilt spirals and his blasé attitude towards being hurt.

“‘S already healed,” Jon says with a spiritless shrug. He drops the snuffed-out remainder of his cigarette on the floor and unnecessarily grinds it under his heel.

“That’s not the point.” Martin doesn’t realize how tightly he’s grasping Jon’s hand until Jon winces. Although Martin relaxes his grip somewhat, he doesn’t let go. “It doesn’t matter how quickly your body heals, or that you’ve had worse, or whatever other justifications you want to make. You’re still getting hurt. That’s not okay, and – and if it were me in your shoes, you’d be telling me the same thing.”

“I’m sorry.” Jon’s hair falls to cover his face as he ducks his head.

It’s fine, Martin almost says – except it’s not, is it?

“Come on,” he says instead, guiding Jon to sit in the nearest chair before taking a seat next to him. Where before Jon was all stiff limbs and rigid spine, now he looks like he’s given up the ghost, drooping like a wilting flower.

Though he allows Martin to keep hold of his hand, Jon doesn’t return the pressure. And Jon’s skin is freezing – no doubt partly due to the damp chill of the tunnels, and partly because he has, by his own admission, always had shit circulation. Combined with his limp fingers and loose grip, though, the overall effect is far too reminiscent of those months spent keeping vigil over Jon’s hospital bed, his hand nothing but cold, dead weight in Martin’s.

It took too long for Martin to admit that he had been foolish to hope that Jon was still in there somewhere, aware of Martin’s presence, fighting to regain consciousness. The whole time, Martin was just keeping his own company. Jon wasn’t just unreachable – he wasn’t there at all.

(Martin had been wrong about that in the end. He doesn’t know that he’ll ever forgive himself for not being there when Jon woke up.)

Martin bites his lip as he formulates a response. He’s learned over the years that when Jon is like this, it’s best to strike a careful balance between docility and defiance. Push too hard too fast, and Jon will dig his heels in; approach him too tentatively, and he’s liable to interpret concern as pity; force him to talk about his feelings, and he’ll bolt; smother him with tenderness, and he’ll balk.

Granted, Jon has become much more receptive to tenderness over the years. Most of the time, anyway. When his skewed self-worth and convictions about what he does and doesn’t deserve don’t get in the way.

“At the risk of being a nag–”

“You’re not a nag,” Jon says softly.

“When’s the last time you had a statement?”

“A few days ago.” The response is too quick, too automatic.

“A few days ago,” Martin repeats, allowing a bit of disbelief to seep into his voice.

Jon nods stiffly. “Monday, I think.”

“Today is Tuesday.”

“I–” Jon cuts off his own retort, turning to blink owlishly at Martin. “Is it?”

“Yeah,” Martin says, his heart sinking. Jon must be losing time again. “So you had a statement yesterday?”

“No, I – I don’t…” Jon squints up at the ceiling, wracking his brain. “I don’t think so? It’s – I think I would recall if it had been shorter than one day.”

“So, last Monday?”

“I don’t – I don’t know,” Jon says, growing testy. “I suppose. Must’ve been.”

“Are you hungry?”

“I’m always hungry.” The admission is devoid of all the simmering agitation that had been there only moments before. Now, he just sounds tired.

“Well… I think you might be due for one.” Although Martin had been striving for gentle suggestion, there’s a harsh edge to the words. Rather than get Jon’s hackles up again, though, he seems to crumple under what he doubtless reads as an accusation.

“You’re right,” he says hoarsely. “And I’m sorry. I know lately I’ve been…”

“Tetchy,” Martin offers, just as Jon says, “a bit of a prick.”

“Your words, not mine,” Martin says with a tentative grin. Jon returns his own feeble half-smile, but it quickly falters.

“I’ve almost exhausted Daisy’s catalogue,” he confesses. “Only a handful left now. I’ve got to make them last until the solstice.”

An apprehensive chill runs down Martin’s spine at that. “And then what?”

“I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

There’s virtually no chance that Jon, prone to rumination as he is, hasn’t been dwelling on it.

“Basira said she has a few statements, right?” Martin asks. “Which… if you already have a statement about an encounter, can you still get nourishment from other statements about it, so long as it’s coming from someone else’s point of view?”

“Probably.” Jon shrugs one shoulder. “The factual details of the encounter are less important than the subject’s emotional response. Different perspective, different story, different lived experience of fear.”

“Then… you have my statement about the Flesh attack, but there’s still Basira’s. And – and maybe Melanie–”

“I’m not taking another statement from Melanie,” Jon says tersely. “She’s been tethered to me for too long without say, and I’m not dragging her back in.”

“But if it’s consensual–”

“It won’t be, because I don’t consent.”

“If the alternative is literally starving–”

“I’ll find another alternative. Or I won’t. But I’m not asking Melanie for a statement.” Jon keeps his head bowed, but he looks up at Martin through his lashes. “The first time she quit, I was worried that she might show up in my nightmares again, but she didn’t. I don’t know if her severance from the Eye will keepher out of my nightmares if she gives me a new statement, and… I can’t risk it. I can’t do that to her. Even if the nightmares weren’t an issue… I’m not going to ask her to relive yet another traumatic experience for my benefit–”

“–I shall choose to die rather than take part in such an unholy meal–”

Jon claps a hand over his mouth, a panicked look in his eye.

“…nor shall I take my own life, whatever extremity my suffering may reach,” he tacks on, too much of an afterthought for comfort.

“Which means we need to plan for the future,” Martin says, forcing calm into his voice despite the way his heart picks up its pace.

“But it can’t involve Melanie,” Jon says – gentler than before, but still firm.

“No, you’re – you’re right,” Martin relents. “It wouldn’t be fair to her. But we could still ask Basira.”

Jon makes a noncommittal noise, his expression rapidly going pinched and closed off again.

“Lately,” Martin says, licking his lips nervously, “lately it feels like you’ve been shutting everyone out again. It isn’t healthy–”

“Healthy?” Jon’s glare could burn a hole in the floor. “I don’t need to be healthy, I just need to be whatever it wants.”

Once, Martin might have been daunted by Jon’s scathing tone. By now, he knows that Jon is all bluster – and that the brunt of it is turned inward, against his own self.

“Please, Jon. Tell me what’s going on. You’re worrying me.”

Those, apparently, are the magic words, because Jon finally capitulates.

“It’s October,” he tells the floor.

“It… is October, yeah.” Bewildered, Martin waits for elaboration. When a minute passes with no response forthcoming, he prompts, “Is that… bad…?”

“Historically, yes, it has been,” Jon says with a tired, frayed-sounding chuckle.

“I… Jon, I need you to help me out here,” Martin says helplessly. “I can’t read your mind.”

“October is when it happens, Martin.” Jon glances at Martin once, quickly, before returning his gaze to the ground. He’s twisting one hand around the opposite wrist now, fingers curled tightly enough to blanch his knuckles. “The eighteenth. When everything goes wrong.”

“You mean…”

Jon’s sharp inhale becomes a choked exhale, which in turn abruptly cuts off as the Archive takes its cue.

“…what settled over me wasn’t dread; there wasn’t enough uncertainty for that. It was doom. I was certain that some sort of disaster was on the horizon–”

“–something bad. Something unspeakable. And I would have helped make it happen–”

“–the fear never really went away. I’ve heard that being exposed to the source of your terror over and over again can help break its power over you, numb you to it, but in my experience it just teaches you to hide from it. Sometimes that might mean hiding in a quiet corner of your mind, but–”

“–soon enough, I could no longer fool myself–”

“–the calm I had been getting accustomed to had been torn away completely, and where it had been was just this horrible, ice-cold terror–”

“–that – we can’t escape the ruins of our own future–”

“–a future where – humanity was violently and utterly supplanted, and wiped out by a new category of being–”

“–there are terrible things coming – things that, if we knew them, would leave us weak and trembling, with shuddering terror at the knowledge that they are coming for all of us–”

“–I think in my heart, I have been waiting for this moment. For the final axe to fall–”

“–we create the world in a lot of ways. I suppose it shouldn’t be surprising that, when we’re not being careful, we can change it–”

There’s a breathless pause before Jon continues, in a nearly inaudible whisper: “What could I have chosen to change? Would a different path have been possible?”

“It is,” Martin says firmly, “and we’re on it. What happened last time won’t happen again. We won’t let it.”

Jon doesn’t acknowledge the reassurance.

“I should’ve known,” he says with a quiet ferocity, in his own voice this time. “It was too peaceful. I should’ve known it wasn’t going to last. And – and on some level I did know – I knew it wasn’t over – but I just… I didn’t want to be the one to shatter the illusion, I suppose.” His expression goes taut. “Didn’t much matter what I wanted, in the end. But I still should’ve seen it coming. Can’t let my guard down again.”

“How could you have known?” Martin doesn’t intend for it to come out as exasperated. He tries to reel it back, to gentle his tone. “You’ve said yourself that you can’t predict the future–”

“No, but I knew Jonah had plans for me. And I knew nothing good could come of feeding the Eye, but I kept on anyway.”

“It’s not like you were doing it for fun, Jon! You needed it to survive, and Jonah took advantage of that. Or…” No – that makes it sound purely opportunistic, doesn’t it? In reality, it was all part of Jonah’s long game from the start. “He made you dependent on statements specifically becausehe wanted to take advantage of that.”

“I made choices,” Jon says tonelessly. “I can’t absolve myself of responsibility just because Jonah was nudging me in a particular direction.”

“You were manipulated,” Martin insists, “and I’m not having you apologize for surviving it. For not starving to death.”

“You don’t understand,” Jon says, growing more distressed, reaching up with both hands and tangling his fingers in his hair. “When that box of statements finally arrived, I… I couldn’t shoo you away fast enough. I was hungry, yes, but I wasn’t starving yet. I could’ve waited longer, but I just… I wanted one–”

“–should have fought harder against the temptation – but my curiosity was too strong–”

“You shouldn’t have to wait until you’re literally on death’s doorstep before you fulfill a basic need,” Martin interrupts.

“I should when that ‘basic need’ entails serving the Beholding,” Jon says heatedly. “And I – I should’ve known better – should’ve known not to jump headlong into the first statement that caught my eye. I’d known for a while that the Beholding leads me away from statements it doesn’t want me to know. It logically follows that it would lead me towards statements that would strengthen it. If I’d had any sense, I would’ve been suspicious of anything in that box that called out to me. It didn’t… it didn’t feel any different, but I – I suppose that somewhere along the line I just got used to… to wandering down whatever path I was led. I didn’t think, I never stop to think–”

“If anything, Jon, you overthink. You’re overthinking right now.”

Martin has known for a long time now that Jon will latch onto the smallest details, allow his thoughts to branch into an impossible number of routes and tangents, tie together loose threads in countless permutations in the interest of considering all possible conclusions, no matter how outlandish. He will apply Occam's razor in one moment before tossing it into the bin, only to fish it out again: lather, rinse, repeat. His mind is a noisy, cluttered conspiracy corkboard, and he’ll hang himself with red string if given half a chance, just to feel like he’s in control of something.

“It’s easy to look back and criticize your past self,” Martin says, “but he didn’t know what you do. If we knew the outcome to every action, maybe we wouldn’t make mistakes, but we’re only human–”

“Not all of us.”

“–so we just have to do the best with what we have in the moment,” Martin continues, paying no heed to Jon’s grumbled comment. No good will come of guiding him down that rabbit trail right now. Anyway, Martin has a more pressing concern–

“Why didn’t you tell me about any of this sooner?” he blurts out, immediately wincing at his lack of tact. “That came out wrong–”

“Why didn’t I tell you how quick I was to chase you out of the house and sink my teeth into a statement the moment temptation presented itself?” Jon scoffs. “Because I’m ashamed. Why else?”

“No, not–” Martin scrubs a hand over his face. It’s a struggle, sometimes, not to grab Jon by the shoulders and shake him until all of that stubborn self-loathing falls away. “About the fact that you’ve got a – a post-traumatic anniversary event coming up, I mean. You haven’t been well, and I thought I understood why – thought it was just… all of it, in general. But here I come to find you’ve been agonizing over the upcoming date of the single worse day of your life–”

“One of the worst,” Jon says quietly.

“What?”

“I didn’t lose you until much later.”

Martin’s breath catches in his throat at that, a sharp pang shooting through his chest.

“Well… you’ve got me now,” he says meekly. “So – so you don’t have to suffer in silence, is what I’m saying. What happened to you – no, what was done to you – it was horrible, and it wasn’t your fault. I know you don’t believe that, but it’s the truth.”

“Either I’ve always been caught up in someone else’s web, passively having things happen to me with no control over my life–”

“–the Mother got exactly the result she no doubt wanted, one that would lead to a fear – so acute that I could later have that horror focused and refined into a silk-spun apotheosis–”

Jon bites down on one knuckle, eyes shut tight as he waits for the compulsion to subside.

“Or,” he says after a minute, “or I do have control, and I can change the outcome, which makes me culpable. I don’t know which prospect I hate more. Which probably says some unflattering things about me.”

“It’s not that simple–”

“It is,” Jon says viciously. “If there is another path, then I should’ve found it last time!” He closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose, and takes a steadying breath. When he speaks again, he’s no longer bordering on shouting, but there’s a quaver in his voice, a fragility that Martin finds more disconcerting than any flash of anger. “The way I see it, there are two options. One, what happened in my future was inevitable and nothing I could’ve done would’ve changed it – which certainly doesn’t bode well for this timeline. Or, the outcome can be changed, in which case my choices matter, and had I just made better choices, maybe I could have prevented all of this from ever happening in the first place.”

“You’re not being fair,” Martin says, his hands clenching into fists – but Jon isn’t listening.

“Doesn’t make much difference, I suppose. The consequences are the same either way–”

“–billions of – people making their way through life who had no idea what was right above their heads–”

“–would-be occult dynasties and ageless monsters–”

“–minds so strange and colossal that we would never know they were minds at all–”

“–idiots who destroyed themselves chasing a secret that wasn’t worth knowing–”

“–there, caught up in a series of events that I didn’t understand but that terrified me – I did the stupidest thing I’ve ever done–”

“–running was pointless. To try to escape from my task would only serve to fulfill another. I finally understood what I needed to do–”

“–I don’t know if you have ever drowned, but it’s the most painful thing I have ever experienced–”

“–I do not suppose I need to dwell on the pain, but please know that I would sooner die than endure it again–”

“Would you?” Martin says abruptly. Jon won’t look at him. “Jon, I need to know if you’re feeling like hurting yourself.”

“What would it matter if I was?” Jon still won’t look at him. “I’m categorically incapable of hurting myself in any way that matters.”

Martin blinks in disbelief. “Okay, that’s blatantly untrue.”

Jon has been a glaring portrait of self-neglect for as long as Martin has known him. That simple lack of consideration for himself, together with compounding survivor’s guilt, was the perfect stepping stone to active self-endangerment. Now that Jon’s convinced himself he’s invulnerable to a normal human death, he’s all the more careless with himself.

“I don’t want to die,” Jon whispers. “That’s the problem.”

“What—?”

“Before, I was unknowingly putting the entire world at risk by – by waking up after the Unknowing, by crawling out of the Buried, by escaping the Hunters, by continuing to read statements like it was – like it was something routine, as unremarkable as – as taking tea. Now, though – now I know better. I know what Jonah is planning, I saw what I’m capable of, and still I… I don’t want to die.”

“Well… good,” Martin says. “You should want to live–”

“It doesn’t much matter what I want–”

“–I never wanted to weigh up the value of a life, to set it on the scales against my own, but that’s a choice that I am forced into–”

“–doesn’t get to die for that – gets to live, trapped and helpless, and entombed forever – powerless–”

“–a lynchpin for this new ritual – a record of fear–”

Shit, Martin thinks the instant he recognizes the statement. It’s the worst of them all, virtually guaranteed to send Jon spiraling.

“–both in mind as you walk the shuddering record of each statement, and in body as the Powers each leave their mark upon you – a living chronicle of terror – a conduit for the coming of this – nightmare kingdom–”

“Okay, okay, stay with me–”

“–the Chosen one is simply that: someone I chose. It’s not in your blood, or your soul, or your destiny. It’s just in your own, rotten luck–”

“Jon, can you hear me? Jon–”

“–I’ll admit, my options were somewhat limited, but my god, when you came to me already marked by the Web, I knew it had to be you. I even held out some small hope you had been sent by the Spider as some sort of implicit blessing on the whole project, and, do you know what, I think it was–”

Martin reaches over, taking both of Jon’s hands in his own and squeezing tightly. The pressure seems to do the trick: lucidity sparks in Jon’s eyes and he takes a deep, ragged breath, as if coming up for air.

“There you are. Are you okay?” Martin rubs both thumbs over the backs of Jon’s hands in rhythmic, soothing motions. “Hey, it’s–”

“I don’t want your kindness!” Jon snaps, jerking backwards and snatching his hands out from Martin’s grip.

Both of them lapse into a stunned silence. As mortification dawns on Jon’s face, Martin can feel the color rising in his cheeks. It only takes a few seconds for the blood rushing in his ears to be drowned out by another voice.

Martin can remember with cutting clarity the days prior to his mother’s departure to the nursing home. She had been in (somewhat) rare form, her already-short fuse dwindled down to nothing, sniping at him around the clock, full of caustic observations and spiteful accusations.

I don’t want your help, she had sneered as she entered the cab, swatting his hand away.

It was one of the last things she ever said to him.

“Well, tough,” Martin bites out, “because you deserve it, and you never should’ve had to go without it, and you’re not going to change my mind about that, so you may as well stop trying!”

“Martin, I – I – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–”

He saw, Martin realizes all at once, his skin crawling with humiliation.

“I’m going to go make some tea,” Martin says, rising to his feet.

Jon reaches out a hand. “Martin–”

“I just need a breather, okay?” Martin says, a pleading note to his voice. His lungs are constricting, his chest is tightening, there’s a lump in his throat, and he really doesn’t want to have a panic attack in the tunnels – or in front of Jon. “I’m not – I’m not angry, okay, I just need some air.”

Jon opens his mouth, then immediately closes it, clutches his hands to his chest, and gives a tiny nod that Martin just barely glimpses before turning to flee.

_________________

“Stop crying,” Jon hisses at himself, furiously scrubbing at his face as the tears slide down his cheeks. “Stop it.”

He plasters the heels of his hands over his closed eyelids. It does nothing to stem the flow, only brings to mind images of pressing himself bodily against a door to hold it closed, only for the crack to continue widening, millimeter after millimeter, the flood on the other side trickling through the gap, rivulets swelling into rivers, frigid eddies biting at his ankles, a whitewater undertow threatening to drag him below the waves–

“Enjoying our own company, are we?”

Once, Jon might have been humiliated to be caught mid-breakdown, raw-voiced and puffy-eyed, especially by Peter Lukas of all people. Several lifetimes spent in thrall to cosmic horrors have a way of putting things in perspective.

“What do you want?” Jon says with as much ire as he can muster.

Peter hums to himself, starting a slow, back-and-forth pace in front of Jon. “It occurred to me that I’ve been derelict in my duties as far as the Archives are concerned–”

“That’s just now occurring to you?”

“–and, as such, I thought it was high time that I met the infamous Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute.”

“Well,” Jon scoffs, gesturing at himself, “you’ve met him.”

“I must admit, I was expecting something a bit more… hm.” Peter taps a finger against his lips. “Formidable.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” The scathing sarcasm is rendered pitiful by an ill-timed, involuntary sniffle. Jon can’t bring himself to care.

“The state you’re in, you hardly seem fit to work.” A pause. “Have you ever considered taking some time off?”

“A six-months hospital stay has a way of eating up your PTO, oddly enough. I’m told that payroll already has already had to make special exceptions for my ‘unprecedented’ circumstances.” Jon chuckles to himself. “On multiple occasions. Did you know the Institute considers a kidnapping in the line of duty to be an ‘unexcused absence?’”

“I think you’ll find that Elias and I have different management styles,” Peter says mildly. “I’m open to making allowances – particularly since your department can function so smoothly in your absence. Your assistants have proven themselves to be quite capable of working independently – and seeing as your approach to supervision borders on fraternization, I imagine they would be more productive without excess drama to distract them.”

“I’ll take that into consideration,” Jon says acerbically.

“No need.” Jon squints at him, and Peter stare him down. “It’s not a request, Archivist. It’s an order.”

There was a time, not long ago, that sneaking up on the Archivist would have been difficult. Only Helen had consistently managed to ambush him, and that was because she didn’t waste time sneaking – she manifested and launched the jump scare in the same instant, giving him no chance to See her approach. Readjusting to a binocular point of view had been a process, but rarely does he find himself yearning for the panoramic field of vision that had been foisted upon him during the apocalypse.

Occasionally, though, there are moments when 360° sight would come in handy. Too late, Jon realizes this is one of those moments.

By the time he notices the tendrils of encroaching fog, they’re already curling around from behind him, pooling at his feet, ghosting across the back of his neck, affixing themselves around his wrists.

“It’s alright,” Peter says placidly, almost soothingly. “You can let go now.”

Jon shivers as his heart pumps ice through his veins, fingers and toes going numb as he struggles for breath.

No. No, no, no, no, no–

“I am not Lonely anymore,” Jon gasps out through chattering teeth.

“No,” Peter says with an air of nonchalance. Then he smiles, sharp and cold and cruel and the only detail Jon can still discern through the fog. “But you will be.”

___

End Notes:

Daisy: hey siri, google what to do if i suspect my bff has been possessed by the ghost of a fussy paleornithologist Jon: why are you booing me????? i’m right

Pretty sure this is the longest chapter yet? Probably bc of the statement. I could’ve split it into two, but, uh. I like that cliffhanger where it is. >:3c (Sorry for that, btw.)

Quite a bit of Archive-speak this chapter. Citations as follows: Section 1: 122/124/011/007/047/155. The Xiaoling quote is from MAG 105; the Jonah quote is ofc from 160; the Naomi quote is from 013. Section 3: 181. Section 5: 058 x2; 144/130/086/143/121/149/134/144/143/069; 147; 017; 147; 057/160/106/111/067/121/129/098; 155/128/160; 160 x3. Section 6: 170, of course.

I’m taking wild liberties with Pu Songling Research Centre’s whole deal. I’m conceptualizing their spookier departments as being like… actually academia-oriented, instead of “local Victorian corpse with illusions of godhood throws a bunch of traumatized nerds with no relevant archival experience into a basement, what happens next will shock you”. Xiaoling is out here like “our digitization is still a work in progress, I’m sure you know how it is” and Jon Sims is like “digitization who? i don’t know her”. (Listen, he tried once. Tape recorder was haunted, he got kidnapped a bunch, there were worms and things, he died (he got better), his boss used him as a battering ram to open a door to Fearpocalypse Hell – it was a lot.)

Likewise, we didn’t get much info about Sonja in canon, so I’m having fun envisioning her as a certified Force To Be Reckoned With (and a bit of a Mama Bear wrt her assistants). Most of the Institute is leery of the Archives (& especially Jon) but Sonja’s seen a lot of shit and Jon Sims doesn’t even rank on her list of Top Spooky Scary Things.

re: the statement – it’s not clear in-text, but I want to clarify that I’m not conceptualizing Francis Drake as being influenced by the Hunt. Fictionalizing aspects of history is tricky, and I’d feel personally uncomfortable chalking up Drake’s real life atrocities to supernatural influence, even in fiction. In the case of this particular fictional member of his crew, he was (like Drake’s real-life crew) complicit in following Drake’s orders for entirely mundane reasons and was only marked by the Hunt at the point in his statement where he first recounts hearing the Hunt chasing after him.

At some point in writing this chapter, I had 137 tabs open in my browser for Research Purposes and like 20 of those were bc my dumb ass seriously considered writing that statement in Elizabethan English before going “what are you DOING, actually.” If I’d tried, it would have come off as inauthentic at best, if not ridiculous, bc I’m unfamiliar with English linguistic trends of the 1500s, and I’d basically be badly mimicking Shakespearean English, which isn’t necessarily indicative of how everyone spoke at the time, and I don’t know what colloquial speech would look like for this particular unnamed character I trotted out as exposition fodder, and it was probably unnecessary to formulate a whole-ass personal history for him for the sake of Historical Realism for a single section of a single chapter of a fanfic, and… In the end, I decided that this pseudo-immortal rando can tell his life story in modernized English, as a treat (to me) (and also to those of you who don’t think of slogging through bastardized Elizabethan prose as a fun endeavor).

Speaking of research – shoutout to this dissertation that had an English translation of the Herla story in Walter Map’s De nugis curialium, and if you want to read the whole story, you can find it on pages 16-18 of that paper. I feel it’s important for you all to know that IMMEDIATELY after Map dramatically proclaims, “the dog has not yet alighted, and the story says that this King Herla still holds on his mad course with his band in eternal wanderings, without stop or stay,” he goes on to say in the next breath “buuuut some people say they all jumped into the River Wye and died, so ymmv. ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯ anyways, can I interest you in more Fucked Up If True tales?” (Herla throwing the dog into the river wasn’t in the original story though. I made that part up.)

Thank you so much for reading! <3

#the magnus archives #tma #tma fic #long post #tma spoilers #magnuspod

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cherripeach · 3 years

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Chapter 2

Little Match Maker

Summary: Your life motto is "I have the power of god and anime on my side, don't mess with me," and you stand by that with your life. No human, magician, or random creature could ever stop your firm belief in it.

However, getting transported to this world that seemed to turn your already bad luck worse was not what you wanted to be in your life story, but you made the most of it.Making friends, enemies, and disasters, you were in your prime in this world, and so you decided to help as many people as you could flourish, at least what you believed to be.

Prologue 3-5: I wanna take a nap

Chapter Summary: Was everyone in this school an evil bratty child or was it just you?

Warnings: jokes about death(I think) and committing crimes and curse words, some sex jokes (but not the bad ones; middle school boys comments and stuff)

Words: 3.4k

Relationships: Pending twst x reader

Two boys-you assumed-were chasing after the cat, and while neither of them seemed to be very athletic, the cat really was not either. The cat kept bumping into its own fire and having to turn away, or trying to blast fire at the two chasing him and almost tripping both himself and the other two boys. The cat did end up getting chased into a corner after almost tripping the two boys, and the smaller of the two raised up a pen or pencil looking object and screamed the words “Off with your head.” The only thing that passed through your mind was that you need to get out of here.

After the boy screamed, a red light appeared from the top of the pen and was soon directed straight toward the cat. The cat horror-struck backed up as far as he could and even climbed a few inches up the wall to move away from the beam of light heading toward it. The beam smacked the cat into the wall and caused him to fall from his position onto his butt and falter in any movement. Once the light cleared, there was an obvious difference in the cat’s appearance. A red and white collar had shown up around his neck, and the cat still dazed to notice it screamed out, “Nughab! The heck is this thing?”

You mumbled out, “Kinky…”

“Law of the Queen of Hearts Number 23: ‘One shall never bring a cat into a festival.’ You being a cat means you’ve broken the rule. I shall have you leave at once,” Here we have another member of the crowd who also thought the creature was a cat, but apparently, this disappointed child also has the numbers of the rules for something memorized, and that threw you off. He straightened himself once he noticed that the cat was caught within the collar and put his pen away in his coat that you just noticed everyone was wearing.

You surveyed yourself to see what you were wearing and realized that it was the same thing, only leading your mind to one conclusion: “This has to be some kind of cult…” you mumbled the phrase so that anyone close by could not question your thought process, but this school and world just happened to get worse and weirder the more you looked around.

“...I'ma burn this collar right up and... ehhh I can’t use my fire!” You caught the rest of the cat’s declaration, and both him and you were in absolute awe for what the collar had apparently accomplished.

“Hmph!” The disappointed child straightened his back even more and tilted his face up toward the ceiling a little, “You won’t be using any magic until I remove the collar. Just like an ordinary cat”.

“Whh-what? I’m not some pet!” The cat was having none of it. He was clawing at the collar on his neck and pulling it as much as he could just sitting in place next to the wall in his time out corner.

“Don’t worry, I’d never keep a pet like you,” the kid really just can’t help himself can he, “I’ll take it off anyway when you get thrown out.” He turned away from the cat and began to walk back to the center of the room where the sus headmaster in the top hat who for a weird second kinda reminded you of Willy Wonka stood and fumed over the past events.

Once the kid began walking, the other male chasing the cat spoke up, “Wow, as wonderful as ever. Any and all magic gets sealed by your Unique Magic, Riddle,” the male even threw his arms out to match his display of amazement only to pull them pack in a second later to place one hand on his chin while the other held his elbow to his chest to allow the male to mutter some words to himself. The taller male then pivoted around and sauntered to follow the smaller male. Both of them held this formal air covered in arrogance, and you wanted nothing to do with either of them.

The end of their conversation must have halted the top hat headmaster because he straightened himself up and glanced at the crowd only pausing his eye movement when they reached you. He kept both of his eyes on you while he strode over to your wall. Your day could apparently get worse.

“You must do something about this! It is your familiar!” the man made hand gestures to point at you in his furry, and you decided that maybe now is the time you should speak up.

“Sir, with all due respect, stop assuming things,” this man was worse than some teenagers and teachers you have met, so you shut him up, “Please tell me when I told you that he was my familiar,” your flicked your hands and continued, “whatever that is, because I am clearly lost.”

“So it’s not yours?” The man put his hand to his chin and closed his eyes either to calm himself down or figure everything out.

“Yep. Never seen it before it asked me to strip” Please let this man listen for once.

“Ah, um You did.” He cleared his throat, “Anyway, let's get it out of the school. We won't turn you into a stew. For I am gracious. Someone help, please.”

Several of the students crowded around the cat until finally two came out holding the cat who was yelling the entire time. He was a little too desperate to just stay in this school.

You broke off from the masked man’s lecture for a second until another voice joined the conversation.

“That’s not different from usual, is it?” You were lost as one of the taller of the five males from earlier spoke up. He was a half furry, but you had no clue what that was called again and you would rather not know.

“What?” The sun graced everyone with its presence, “Did nobody tell him about the ceremony?” His features turned into a sorrowful, sour look from his normal bright and upbeat feature; he even glanced around at all of the others who surrounded the masked male. You noticed that all of them were the five from earlier, not including the tablet.

“If you are going to complain, you should’ve done it yourself.” Another one of the tall gang of the five males spoke up; however, this one was the exact opposite of the half furry. He was incredibly put together and more breathtaking than anyone you have ever been in the same room in. The male must be the ruler of self care, even if he did give you arrogant vibes.

“Hmm. But I don’t really know anything about the guy.” The sun appeared guilty at his statement.

The people which you forgot about broke out into chatter about a man who was named something like ‘Malaus Drakconia’ or something like that, but you had no clue who he actually was or how to actually spell his name. All of the chatter stopped when another male, much smaller than most of the five males, strolled into the room through the double doors.

“I was correct. I thought he might come but ‘Malaus’ really didn't. It seems the invitation "never arrived" again.” The small male shook his head and sighed gently after entering the room.

The males in the middle all exchanged glances before two emerged: the two from before; the ones that were chasing after the cat.

“My deepest apologies. I promise, we didn't intend to exclude you.” The taller male closed his eyes and appeared apologetic.

“His aura makes it hard to approach him,” The shorter male just can’t stop himself.

You just had to butt in because no one was taking this seriously; you walked up from your wall to meet with the group in the middle, “Yo, dude that’s really not right. I mean what has he ever done wrong to ya?” Some teenagers just weren’t for you, and so you apologized to the new face that entered. “Tell the dude he has my condolences or something.”

The short new face just stared through your soul for the next couple of minutes, not blinking, but he finally did cough and twist away from you to face a group of students. “It’s not your fault child, but it is all right.” He took about three steps. “Members of the Diasomnia Dormitory can come with me… I hope this doesn't upset him.”

You in your brilliance decided to cup your mouth and scream out to the male leading the first group out, “Tell the dude that if he needs someone to talk to, I’m freeee! I hope he feels better!”

You even heard a slight chuckle from the group. And slowly all the groups left; most making eye contact with you, but you just carried on trying to think of how expensive the clothes you had one were; you rubbed the sleeve and found out that they were made of a fabric resembling silk.

Crowley, from what you remembered, sauntered up to you once the room was clear and both of you began to conjure in your head and make a conversation about what was going to happen:

“While I normally would have you leave this school, I do not know where you are from. Would you mind stepping up to the mirror to find out. There is no need to worry. The Dark Mirror will send you directly back from whence you came. Enter the Gate, and picture your home clearly in your mind... “ The male pushed you to the mirror again, and you thought of your home for as long as you could. You even heard him mumble words back and forth with the mirror when you were lost in thought.

However, a surprised noise came out of the man’s mouth and your mind buffered to process everything because both Crowley’s and the mirror’s gaze, if you would even call it that, were stuck on you.

“This is the first time this has ever happened since I became headmaster, what should I do?” You held contact with his weird mask eyes for as long as you could before you swerved your gaze to the mirror. “Are you positive that is where you are from? And that you have never heard of Twisted Wonderland, Night Raven College, anything?” He was moving closer to you at an extremely fast rate causing you to discreetly walk back to your wall.

“Yeah, sir, why would I ever lie about that? All of this seems like a weird movie for me.” You just could not believe how little this “headmaster” or whatever believed you.

“Our best option is to go to the Library and do some research. Come and join me.” Headmaster Crowley twirled around making his cloak follow his mystical movements like some fairy or evil villain and started to make his way out of the room.

You just as confused as before followed after him, wondering if anything in this world would ever make sense.

~~~~

After around an hour of scouring through books in the odd library you were in earlier, you and the headmaster both decided to take a break.

“Can you please believe me now?” You slumped in a chair and groaned as loud as you could for as late as it was and even massaged your forehead, just hoping the man would get your point.

“You are correct. There is nothing about your hometown anywhere…” The male halted his speech and glanced back at the books, “There is also a possibility you are from another world.”

“What a nice thing to say to the tired, lost teenager,” and you stopped your speech to turn to him and point at him, “That you are in charge of.” You could not believe this man, and so you deflated while he carried on with his speech.

“Did you have anything on you when you came here?”

You just shook your head and rolled your eyes out of his view.

“Do you have any identification, like a license for a magic car, name on a shoe... You appear to be empty-handed?”

Another shake and a hand placed back on your forehead, and you noticed that he was probably going to go back into one of his speeches when he stood up taller and paused speaking for a second.

“This is concerning…..My graciousness is limitless! I am a model for all educators.We had better be on our way. Let's head to the dormitory. It may be a bit old but there is a certain charm to it.” Apparently, you were going to stay in a dormitory. Always a new surprise with this man.

And you two were off again through the halls and outside to your new stay in this world, but from how terrible the place was on the outside, this was not a luxury resort.

It was a four or more story house accompanied by a broken gate guarding the house, spider webs on all of the molded dead trees, broken shutters, even broken window, and to top it off just an overall haunted vibe to the place. This was where smart, sane people in life would avoid; this was just the trap for those characters in haunted movies, and you were just hoping to find a peaceful place to sleep in it tonight.

Crowley must have caught your staring at the dorm and ushered you inside, “Right, right. Please come inside.”

You can confidently say that the inside of the dorm was incredibly worse than the outside; the streets might be a better option if you took into account all of the health hazards in just this room alone.

Crowley did not seem to agree, “Staying here will at least keep you out of the rain.”

You hoped to interject, “Isn’t there somewhere el-”

“I'm going back to do more research. Make yourselves at home. Don't go wandering around the school! Goodbye!” This man was going to be the death of you or the reason you commit murder.

The lounge area was terrible: almost everything was broken and covered in dust, including the walls, ceiling, and floor. This area was not fit for a person to live in, and even if you tried your best it might never be.

But of course with your luck streak, Crowley saying that it would rain had to come true. “Are you kidding me now!” You threw your hands up in the air and then grabbed your head and tried not to commit arson. “Nothing is ever going to go my way here, will it?”

Thunderstruck.

“At least you are on my side…” You gazed out the cracked window expecting it to break soon.

The thunderstorm caused more problems in your new dorm than it should have. The building would shake, as would the windows, and it allowed more damage than before. However, it appears that you are not alone with a caterwaul screech from behind you.

“Hyyyi! It’s really coming down!” And located on your broken couch was the cat from before. He was apparently a gift from someone, who probably was laughing at you, for you with how often he was popping up.

“What are you doing here?” You probed in an apathetic tone as you both deadpanned and glared at the cat.

“Gyhaha! You've got this stupid look on your face like a spider being attacked by a water gun! I'll have no trouble sneaking back into school. Come on, come on. If you think getting thrown out is gonna make me give up on getting in, you've got another thing coming!” The cat gabbed just as long as the headmaster.

Your day could somehow get worse, “Honestly, I don’t care. Please don’t cause problems or I’ll kick you out.”

“Hmph. You wouldn’t understand, but I’m a genius who is destined to be a great magician! I've been waiting for the Ebony Carriage to come pick me up. But... But...Hmph! The Dark Mirror just doesn't have an eye for this.So that's why I came here on my own. Not letting me in would be a loss for the world, humans just don't get it.” This cat might be annoying, but the sob story does make you pity him a little. That is if he started acting kinder and not like an annoying pretentious kid.

Now that you look at him, he resembled a small child disappointed that they did not get what they wanted, but you had sympathy for him. He never mentioned a family or had anyone who cared about around him. He seemed lonely. He wanted to get into school which honestly you don’t know why anyone would want to go to school, but people had their priorities.

A water droplet hit the cat, “Nyaa! So cold! The roof is leaking!”

Another drop.

“Fgyaa! It keeps coming! My adorable ear fire is gonna go out at this rate!” He pulled down his ears closer to his eyes and met your gaze.

“Fine, fine. I’ll get a bucket..” You uttered going to look around the building and ignored any more retorts the cat came up with.

You exited the living room and entered a hallway with a flight of stairs going up, and the rest of the house mirrored the living room and outside by how disgusting and hazardous it is. There was even a gigantic spider web spreading the top of the hallway, and the wallpaper was coming off and covered in mold.

“This is a great time for the first kill in a horror movie,” in this situation talking to yourself helped calm you down.

That is until three ghosts appear. All of different sizes and heights, and they look incredibly familiar like from a movie or something.

“Hihihihi…. Ihihihihi…We haven't had a guest in so long...I'm itching for some action. Ihihihihi!” Frozen in your spot, you watched as the ghosts chuckled and floated closer to you.

“Um, sorry, but like…. What?” You became more disoriented as the day went on., and this topped the cake.

The cat was not on your wavelength and followed you out of the living room and into the hallway only to freeze at the sight of the three ghosts.

“Gyaaaaaaaa!!!! G-g-g-g-ghoooooooooooootts!!” The cat bawled before he darted to cling onto your cloak.

The shortest ghost found amusement out of the cat’s reaction, “The people living here got scared of us and left…”

So did the largest ghost, “We’ve been looking for more ghost pals. How about you guys?”

“Dudesss, chill down. We are not here to hurt you.” You tried to placate both the ghosts and the cat clinging onto you, but nothing ever went your way.

The cat leaped out from behind you looking as ferocious as a duckling, “Grim, the Great Magician, isn't scared of some ghosts!!!” and blew fire at the wall, “Punahhh ~ ~ ~ nnn!!”

The ghosts were having fun with the cat as the tall one asked “Where are you aiming?” and the largest one ran around the hallway area chanting “Over here, over here!”

Apparently Grim-the cat- was actually taking this seriously or did not like getting teased, “Shoot! Stop disappearing!” He continued to blast fire in all directions, most not even where the ghosts were.

You were not going to put up with his attitude so you made a deal with him wanting him to either shut up or do his job right, “Grim or whatever, either you get a move on and listen to me or I’ll tell the headmaster that you are here so that a red collar can be placed on you again and get you kicked out on the streets.”

“Ughhhh, buttt.. I’m a genius.” Grim ran around the area but paused as another ghost came up behind him. “Bunch of cowards ganging up on us! Fine,” Grim circled around to face you, “tell me where the ghosts are!”

“To your left!” Helping Grim would never be easy, but you somehow made it work.

“I hit it! Alright, let’s get them all outta here!” Like a child, he bounced over the fact that he did something right.

And like a child you could not wait to take a nap.

~~~~~

um like exams such so there was that, but thanks for reading and I hope you have a nice day! Next chapter should be out around Monday or so.. maybe.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst grim #twst crowley #dire crowley #twst #disney twst #twst x reader

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blankdblank · 3 years

Text

Ash Pt 2

Sunrise again came with a grumble from you at the curious tap of another tiny bird on the other side of the window used to seeing the empty room that flew off in their proud game at another successful wake of the stowaway. Onto your back you rolled and started to get up only to see a body there in a chair a few feet from you. Off the bench you grabbed your bag and before you could blink the fog from your eyes the bag had collided with the face of the Lord Glorfindel, who at the shock of having not expected that simply clasped his hand over the bag he’d been too slow to block. Your gasp let him know you now had a clue on who had been sent to greet you and in the move of the bag his eyes fell on your wide eyes tear stained face with hands clasped over your mouth.

The sudden droplet from his nose however had those hands move to collect said bag that you dug into for a cloth handkerchief that you pressed to the underside of his nose. “That was your face, I am so sorry. I don’t wake up with company.” Tentatively his hand rose and in the security of the cloth a skin tingle worthy brush of fingertips along the lower half of two of your fingers that had his lips part. Though the shock of that was nothing to the cradle of his chin and lean in from you for a moment that had his heart skip for what he couldn’t help but imagine. Though the kiss he expected didn’t come as his head was guided back and to the side then down again, “Your nose doesn’t look broken. I am so sorry,” timid in the center of the ridge of his nose your fingertip tapped in three spots. “I feel so bad I don’t even know your name and I hit you in the face for no reason you were just sitting there,” that had you pause and tilt your head a moment in his dry swallow from nerves he couldn’t explain. “Were you waiting for me to wake up?”

Your head straightened again and he answered, “Yes, King Thranduil requested that I inform you he wishes to escort you to Dale today.” That had your fingers retract from his chin to curl against your chest granting him full view of the rings on your finger. “My name is Lord Glorfindel of the once great kingdom of Gondolin.”

“Am I in trouble?” You blurted out and he had to hold back his smirk behind the cloth.

“Not at all. It would appear you have not been properly welcomed by King Thranduil as most new arrivals usually are. That is all.”

“Oh, a Lord, of all the people, might as well go and punch the Prince for good measure at this rate I’m going with the Nobles here,” you said and to the cold droplet that fell down from your chin you wiped your face with a second handkerchief from your bag, “I must look a state.”

“Not at all. And no fault is taken I startled you,” he said lowering the cloth, “See, stopped already. And further you would not have hit Prince Legolas his reflexes are faster than mine after his guard rounds.” At the unfolding of the cloth his eyes focused on his name embroidered on the handkerchief and he asked, “This has my name on it?”

“Enchanted bag, it does that. If I gave you socks from it they would have your crest on them.”

“Ah, thank you. I shall treasure it, are you prepared for the Public Breakfast?”

“Sure,” you said fumbling up to your feet to shoulder your bag and walk with him after his pivot on his heels to guide you the whole way to the line where he waited for you and went to sit beside you at the table you had chosen. Even if he had wanted to talk the others around you simply burst with their stories they had readied the day prior and were glad to see you grin to yourself and even hints of your full smile in the giggles a few stirred from you brightening the usual expression seen on you considerably and the mood of the hall in doing so.

True to his word however the Lord kept at your side. Up till beside the final wagon King Thranduil was waiting next to in a deep silver velvet robe that touched the path his feet shifted on to face you fully upon sight of Lord Glorfindel, with hands adjusting the folds on the burnt orange wrap draped around his back and the bends of his arms. Right up to his side you went feeling his eyes drop over your embroidered black vest with mint vines that bled into another fold away skirt in mint with black vines and leaves, not too contrary to your pale yellow tunic that had black stitched accents in the ends of your sleeves and the collar.

“Colors like that were you to lay in a pumpkin patch everybody would be fighting to pick you as the most magnificent and tastiest pumpkin of them all, and I am not overly fond of pumpkins so that is saying something.” That was the first thing out of your mouth post curtsy and in the lift of your hand to smooth over your forehead your eyes dropped in a glance at the ground then up again to the sound of his voice velvety as ever while he kept his cool demeanor to not show his amusement with the image of your words that played out in his and the now smirking Lord Glorfindel’s minds.

“Thank you, that is truly kind of you to state my Seamstress will be honored for the compliment of her work. If I may, might I inquire your proper name? I have received several differing accounts on the matter.”

Your hand lowered to rest on the top button of your vest just under your bust, “Jaqiearae Pluto Pear.”

“No title?” He asked in a hint of a verbal nudge sensing that by your dress and jewels alone there was at least some title or wealth involved.

“Not anymore.”

Softly he sighed and glanced to the wagon that was ready to go and he offered his hand you looked to then to the wagon and you said, “Wagon, right.” Onto his hand yours settled in a means of an anchor without any sort of weight in the dip of your other hand to split your skirt to climb the pop down steps with both hands retracting once you were on the wagon and took up and empty spot on the end. Across from where he settled when he had climbed on behind you. To this amusing scene Glorfindel settled the steps in the wagon and helped to close the back door and gave it a pat for the horse to start off that had your eyes shift from the Lord who turned on his way back into the Palace to the start of the path to Dale.

“Your ring has been split,” to him your eyes darted then on your lap your right hand moved to smooth two fingers around the rings and down you looked at his addition of, “Once we have returned today our Smiths would be glad to mend it for you.”

Up again you looked and said, “It’s not broken. This is my betrothal ring and the wedding band. They are meant to be separate.”

The words registered in his mind and he asked, “You are married? Was your husband swept away as well?”

“I was, and most likely with the rest of the island from those waves.” His lips parted and you said, “For now it’s merely beautiful and when I run out of job offers someone would be likely to pay something for it towards my purse to keep me fed.”

“Well,” he said shifting a bit forward on his bench uncertain of which of his hundreds of questions to ask, “What is your husband’s name so I may send that off in case others have been able to rescue him as well.” Right at him with your lips parted you paused and closed your mouth in a stunned moment of realization. “I assure you that there are no kingdoms amongst our allies who would cause him harm should they find him.”

“I don’t remember his name,” you said that narrowed his eyes in confusion. “I can’t remember the last time I heard it either.” You said with eyes drifting off over the back of the wagon.

Again he moved forward now to the edge of his seat with a tentative pat of his fingertips on the end of your crossed knee on his extended hand to get your focus again, “Lady Jaqiearae.” When your eyes landed on him he asked, “Are you experiencing trouble with your memory from a blow to the head during the flood?”

“No,” you sighed and said, “You don’t understand.”

“Explain it to me, I am trying to understand and help you find your husband.”

“Someone cut off his head, even if you found him I highly doubt even if he was found it could do anything to help me now. And if he was able to somehow heal himself he would have no reason to find me aside from locking me away again.”

That had him inhale and his body tense along with his jaw in the retraction of his arm to his knee to clench his fingers around his wrap, “He kept you prisoner?” You nodded and he said to the clear truthful lingering hint of fear in your eyes, “No one is taking you anywhere I can assure you that. Did you find any clue as to who killed him to free you?”

“I don’t think anyone was trying to free me. Everything was on fire, and he was dead when I was freed and, there was just, this wave. And something hit me, on the head, and I’ve never even heard of Dale before but they pulled me out of the water there. And I’ve certainly never heard of Greenwood either, or any of the people who have been named for me while I have been here.”

“Perhaps this should have been handled a good deal better, for your new beginning especially. Normally when new comers are brought to my lands they are fed, bathed and given place in our Refuge Houses where they may stay until they are certain if they would wish to remain here and become a citizen or if they should wish to be taken to another Elven Kingdom, such as Rivendell or Lothlorien.” Both he paused for as if you might recognize those names then continued, “Then should you choose to remain one of our guest quarters could be chosen as your main dwelling, usually chosen near to a friend you have made amongst your stay. Upon our return, once you are fed of course, a tour of a few will be given to you to aid in the choice.”

“How much-,”

“No charge. For each employer a record is taken of each task and a portion of the funds to be pay is kept and noted down for a yearly tax of sorts to go towards housing. And as for our Healers none of their attentions are bound to charges at all. The crown foots any shipment charges for supplies or materials for their ingredients to several rare remedies. And our people grow our food and aid in the raising of our cattle and capture of our fish so those who wish to dine in our public halls are free to do so thrice daily with ample teas welcome to all from the kitchens at any hour. You have my word, no one is going to take you away or try to lock you away again. You are free now, and free to choose where you go.” From there he began to share more on the two kingdoms he had named for you including their ruling families he shared would be attending an upcoming ball that you among every other citizen and guest were welcome to attend.

All the way to Dale you tried your best to absorb all he had shared until he climbed out and helped you down to the ground, his hands folded over his middle in the retraction of your hand to join you to the same shop you had promised to return to. “So, Your Majesty, what are you going to do in Dale today?”

“I am quite curious as to how you have been earning funds. I may just aid in your deliveries.”

“Ah,” you said luring his eyes to you in a quick glance to see if you might be pleased or bothered at the offer to remain near to you for the day.

Broakbem’s shop came into view and outside next to his frog statue you saw the man himself with a basket in hand and a grin that eased across his face, “There you are, Mistress Pear!” His head bowed to Thranduil who made his eyes flinch wider in realization for who it was beside you, “King Thranduil,” to you again he spoke, “We have an order from King Thror and he asked for you specifically to deliver this.”

Thranduil said with a pleased glint in his eyes when you glanced up at him curious as to who and where King Thror might be, “Marvelous, I shall escort you. I am overdue to visit Erebor this month.”

You nodded and gave the Dwarf a grin accepting the basket you cradled to your chest to keep from bumping anyone else and joined Thranduil in a turn to head back towards the gates. Once out of earshot you asked, “Who is Thror?”

Again he caught your gaze in a sideways glance and replied, “King of the Dwarves of Erebor and keeper of the Arkenstone, which joins the seven first born clans of Dwarves who rule various Dwarf Kingdoms all throughout Middle Earth.”

“Dwarves?” you asked a bit softer that ticked up the corner of his mouth.

“The shorter peoples around us, mainly with facial hair and stockier builds usually mid four foot to low five foot range. Not to be mistaken for Hobbits, who never wear shoes as they have overly large feet coated in thick hair who are roughly always shorter than five feet tall. Whereas Elves, with ears such as ours, may be anywhere from the six foot to seven foot range or taller. Mortals, or Men are like the Hobbits and Dwarves mortal, and may reach anywhere from Dwarf to low Elf height range, though those who are half Elven, named Dunedin, can be taller and on occasion granted immortality.”

“How long do they all live?”

In a soft exhale he answered coolly, “Hobbits roughly under a century, Men are similar, though Dunedin can reach a second century on occasion and Dwarves may live to a few thousand years if they are not cut down in battle.”

“So, do Hobbits have Kings?”

“No, they have Thains, Mayors of sorts who simply settle disruptions to the peace. Men, however, Rohan, Gondor and the Easterlings all have their own leaders, while those near Bree have Rangers who mind the peace under rule of the King of Gondor. Who perished not very many years ago, however his Steward remains in charge until his son is old enough to take up his crown.”

“Are they going to be at the celebration you mentioned?”

“No, Elven Kingdoms only for this one. We will break you in to an understanding of these lands before the mortals would travel to my lands.”

“And you know all of them, well?”

“Not every Hobbit, we have a Hobbiton near to my Northern Palace whose Thain tolerates my invitations to trade, Lord Celeborn has one near his kingdom where his mother in law hailed from, their people are quite entangled with the little ones from his half Hobbit wife. However others such as those in the far West like the Shire tend to prefer complete seclusion unless a Dwarf from Ered Luin is called upon for their building and forging skills.”

“The Thain tolerates you?” you asked with a smirk that had him give a hushed chuckle himself. “I cannot imagine what you might have done to bother him.”

“I cut it rather close to their annual tulip festival last year. However I made up for it by sending some of our finest wines and several of our tales of the stars their younglings adore.” He paused a moment then asked, “Do you have children?”

Again you looked up at him catching the glint of fear in his eyes you might have lost a child in that imprisonment or the flood, “It is not possible for me to have had children.”

His eyes remained on you in a tilt of his head in a confusing wave of calm, “At all?”

“I was offered wine upon my arrival and I awoke locked away. I was alone until I arrived here.”

“I am truly pained by your struggles. Should there be a notion of what I might do to aid in any troubles you face in settling in your freedom inform me.”

“Thank you.” Back at the gates Thranduil gave the message to the same wagon that brought you here that he helped you up into again after accepting hold of the basket he then passed back for his own climb inside.

Outside the gates that you had frozen peering up at the statues on either side Thranduil climbed down and took hold of the basket off your lap that lured your eyes back to him. Down you climbed to take the basket back and at his side you walked calmly to a few feet from the bridge over the rushing river that had you step into Thranduil’s side at a flashback of being trapped beneath the water again. Behind your back his arm eased with a rest of his hand behind your shoulder to guide you a bit closer to his side to comfort you from the understandable fear of the river.

The guards upon seeing you and the King opened the gate and allowed you through to find a Dwarf their waiting there to be your guide. Hushedly the King shared about portraits and statues all the way back to the sitting room where you eyed the couches full of Dwarves across from an empty couch. On the edge of the rug you curtseyed and gave the group a flinch of a grin to King Thranduil’s head nod, “King Thror I had intended to remain in Dale today and assist Lady Jaqiearae on her deliveries. As she is unfamiliar with these lands I volunteered to join her on this one as well.”

Thror smirked and gestured his hand for one of the younger Dwarves to accept the basket in your arms you nodded in return to theirs then watched them carry it to a table alongside the wall to Thror stating, “Perfectly understandable, King Thranduil. In fact the main reason for inviting the young Lady was to learn more from our newest arrival as to where we might be searching for other survivors. Please, do sit.” You nodded and moved around the couch that you lowered to sit in Thranduil’s subtle nod that you could sit first for him to settle down after once he had accepted the painted pebble that the little bashful blonde boy possibly no more than two by his size had brought him. Beside you Thranduil settled with careful motions to arrange his robe and wrap to not fall onto your skirt or arm his arm and hands were careful to avoid contact with.

Up at you the boy peered with a bashful grin then darted back to his mother to Thror stating, “Perhaps first, allow me to introduce my family. My wife Queen Niro, our son Crown Prince Thrain and his wife Princess Diaa. Their children are, Princes Thorin, Frerin and Princess Dis and her husband Prince Consort Vili, the little one is their son Fili while my granddaughter is carrying her second child.”

“Congratulations.” You said.

And Dis smiled replying, “Thank you.”

Thror asked, “Might we ask where you hail from?”

“Well I was born in Nunieffe.” Parting their lips, “I told King Thranduil earlier that I’d never heard of Dale or Greenwood or any other land or person I’ve been told of since surfacing in Dale.” Now to a soft inhale you could feel Thranduil’s eyes on you again.

Niro, “Do you have family?”

“I was an only child, however when I was fifteen my father sold me to the King of Ruun.”

Thranduil, still with eyes on you listened as Thror asked, “As a servant?”

“To be his wife.”

Mouths dropped open and Thranduil asked, “Your father sold you? How could he?”

“My father was a tradesman, and he wanted a son. A King from the richest most powerful kingdom in the land came after sight of me on his visit with an offer of 8,000 pieces of silver for my hand in marriage.”

Diaa, “He must have loved you greatly to have paid such a dowry.”

Thranduil sighed and you said, “No, that was our first meeting and he managed to convince my father it would be best to take me right away so I might grow to be Queen and learn over time how to understand and rule over Ruun at his side.”

Thror asked with narrowed eyes, “Did he at least try to form a bond with you?”

You shook your head and answered, “There was a supper prepared for me upon my arrival, where he showed me this collection of glass orbs with scenes inside. One was a castle with a glass lake surrounded by fake grass and flowers, another had some trees and animals, another with a boat and two figures fishing. The rest had winter scenes over mountains, cabins or valleys with odd structures. He told me to choose from the collection my favorite, that I was to treat it as the most important decision of my life. So I chose the one with the castle. I remember he offered me some wine and in my first sip everything went dark and when I woke up he had trapped me inside the orb I had chosen.”

Thranduil closed his eyes a moment to remain silent in his bubbling rage as Thror asked, “Do you know why he trapped you?”

“No, first I assumed it might be a test, or tradition from Ruun. But randomly he would fold his hand over the orb and that would cast everything to darkness, and then he would shake it or toss it from hand to hand. And inside it was far from safe, I would be thrown from wall to wall and I couldn’t stop myself. He wouldn’t stop until I would start to beg him to. Only,” you said to a tear that dropped down your cheek, that had Thranduil move his hand from his lap to gently lay on your lower arm for comfort. “One day I didn’t beg anymore and the game got less fun I suppose. I don’t know what I did, or why he locked me away other than I overheard from outside that each birthday of mine was a countdown to something big. I hoped it may be an age that might be considered adulthood and then I could be free to be seen by the public, but they never said why I was locked away or what he got out of it.”

Niro asked in a frail tone, “How did you escape?”

“I didn’t. Someone picked up the orb and must have dropped it because when it broke I was on the ground on top of it, the glass sliced all up my left side. And everything was on fire, I couldn’t breathe, barely from the smoke. I turned my head and my husband’s body was there with his head a few feet away from it. That scared me so I scrambled to the wall and ran into to a bookcase. And I was going to try to use one of the shelves to force myself up when I looked out the window and, this massive wave was coming.” Your head shook to the drop of another tear. “When the water got in the room something hit me on the head and next thing I knew I was in the river.”

From the third tear that made you notice you were crying in a subtle reach into the pocket of your vest a handkerchief was brought out to dry your face only for Thranduil to ask, “How long did he keep you in that prison?”

Your eyes met his and you said, “Well I just turned twelve hundred and six. That day.”

Breaking off the math you were doing Thror spoke again, “You are truly brave Queen Jaqiearae.”

That had you look at him, “I’m not a Queen, even if you could call me that the kingdom and people I was meant to be ruling are now at the bottom of the sea.”

Niro, “A Queen in exile is a Queen all the same. You shall be treated to your true rank.”

Thranduil spoke again, “So shall my people.” You locked eyes on him again at your side with a kind but firm gaze to assure you he spoke the truth, “You shall be treated to your true rank and given every comfort you were denied for over a thousand years.”

“But you’re King.”

“True,” he said with a nod, “This will not be the first time an exiled Noble has been sent to my lands by Eru. My people have grown fond of you amongst us, you will not lack for friendship soon enough. When we return I will make certain of the spread of the news. You may work all you wish and continue as you have. I repeat again, you are free now, free to choose your path however you wish.”

You nodded and turned your head for the offer of tea for the beginning of a sharing of what else might be intriguing about your former world until the tea had ended and Thranduil guided you up and out at the subtle hint that they had a schedule to return to. Silently you walked with him nearly to the front gates again when you said, “No one is going to believe I was a Queen who was locked up for over a thousand years in a kingdom that was taken by the sea.”

To himself Thranduil chortled and drew your eye at the odd reaction only to have his eyes on you in saying, “Perhaps I should share the names of the islands of our beloved Valinor that were also taken back by the sea, among others here in Middle Earth.” The list grew, oddly a comfort to you, and ended with him saying, “Then there is Doriath. Besieged by the Feanoreans twice. Where I am from, also taken by the sea from what we have heard. It was a long hard path here since the fall of our monarch the second time.”

“How did you keep your people’s spirits up after that tragedy happening twice?”

“Oh I did nothing. My family ran a shop in the markets, once we reached Lindon it was over crowded so we continued our march away from the sea to what would be the Greater Greenwood. Others chose to follow my parents and myself until we met the Silvans here in these woods who took up my parents as their own monarchs. My father fell to war and my mother sailed to Valinor not long ago wishing to find him in the Halls of Mandos. I wished to thank you,” he said with a subtle ease of his hand onto your back welcoming the step into his side to the rail less bridge you had to cross again. “My mother’s horse it has been over a year since we have seen her so content. You got her to run and leap again, truly we had feared losing her to her broken heart. Thank you.”

“Well, I always loved to stare at the horses when I was a child that weren’t far from the shop as they would pass by. I tend to have a special weakness for freckled ones. She shouldn’t miss the sun when lost in the shadows.” The comment had his hand lingering on your back a moment more in a glance of reflection to take in the sunken expression on your face in its draw back to put on a flinch of a smile for a mask to those around you once again. Back to Dale you were driven and true to his word the King remained fixed at your side all day. And while you went inside to hand off the deliveries he took it upon himself to mentally share with each passing Elf you crossed your newly revealed rank. That somehow explained so much to those who had spoken to you so far or at least been near to you at some point that caught hints of a heart breaking past you had been withholding.

“And this will be yours. Well up to your true rank.” Thranduil said upon leading you into the front room of a spacious apartment.

With lips parted your head turned to peer up at the King, “You can’t be serious, this is, how many rooms is this?”

“I am serious,” he replied to your spin in a half circle to count the doorways and hallways. “Twelve rooms,”

“Twelve?! What am I supposed to do with twelve rooms?” You asked with eyes fixed on him again that drew a soft chuckle from the King.

“A great deal, anything you wish.”

“Twelve rooms,” you whispered in another turn and deeper in he led you from the sitting room, study, parlor, kitchen, dining room, bedrooms and baths including a spacious closet that you eyed the various shelves, hanging bars and cubbies you could fill with all your things. The bedroom already had a spacious bed and night tables with various tables about for candle holders and one for a potted plant requiring only few hours of firelight fitting for this windowless apartment with only tunnels in the ceiling mirrored to reflect sunlight from far above in the larger rooms. The sitting room was furnished with the others currently empty.

“This apartment is in the middle of being refurbished, a majority of the furniture was to be traded out for fresher adornments and very fortunate as now you may head the decorations yourself. To match whatever you have managed to tuck away, Lord Glorfindel has shared about your enchanted bag, perhaps you have furniture of your own some of our workers may assist in shifting about to your liking. Even some who would be glad to add your housekeeping to their daily chores. Even a spare undercook who has been aching to have their own kitchen to prepare your meals for you.”

“I can cook, or I’m sure I could learn, to cook for myself, and I can clean.”

With a soft grin he replied, “Then perhaps an undercook who may aid in your cooking lessons until you tire of the help. I shall inform the kitchens. There are a great many eager cooks to be chosen for private residences, so many in fact we rotate a number for my own apartment and meals and those of my son’s.”

“Perhaps, and this won’t cost extra?”

“Not at all.” His eyes looked you over in your curious inspection of another towel closet with spare sheets and pillows that you closed again. “Please do not mind any costs, what you bring in spare tasks and attention is returned by spare chances for those who wish to master those fields they have chosen. If you wish I shall let you test your new bath and speak to the kitchens to compile a list of applicants for you. Our Public Meals are always welcome to you still whenever you wish.” Your lips parted and he said, “A simple nod of heads will suffice in our meetings and partings, Queens lower for no one, with the exception of children on occasion of course. Not in these lands. The bath here is spring fed, similar to those in our public baths for you. You do accept this apartment? If not there are always more to inspect.”

“Yes,” You managed to reply softly easing his concern this might not be to your tastes.

Your head nodded in return for his and smoothly he turned in a stroll for the door to leave you in the apartment alone to fully soak in that it was yours. Into front the doors a sigil of your name would be engraved for any in passing to know to whom it belongs. Good to his word he went to the kitchens where they were already buzzing with the news from all their King had uncovered and shared to those from Dale’s rounds that day.

To their shock a new Queen was among them, one in a great need of healing and protection most commonly understood to be in a great need of trust after all that had been endured. His entrance to the kitchens did not go unnoticed and every body turned to greet their King who stated, “Queen Jaqiearae has agreed to accept the Swan Apartments in the Royal Wing. She has expressed a wish to learn to cook for herself, however until then perhaps an undercook may apply for her daily meals and possibly upon later dates agreed upon lessons. I shall allow you to assemble candidates of those willing to apply and approach Her Highness when you please.”

The eager kitchen staff nodded and in his departure began to buzz again at the exciting news and a dozen of those willing, half for meals and half for the private lessons had begun to speak on when to approach the new Queen for their own try outs for the new job. Though with that came up other jobs yet to be mentioned of a personal ladies maid to care for your apartment and to entrust your clothing was properly tended to as the few pieces they had seen were of fine quality unlike what they had come across in these lands before.

From a bath to the Public Dining Hall you went and slipped into the line with plenty of head nods only to cement the feeling that you were only going to be permanently apart from everyone else here now that you have a title to enforce that. Useless though it may be it seemed to matter something here to these people, including the six who had said they would be up to trying out as your own personal cook and the six who would be willing to offer cooking lessons when you were willing from basic meats, veggies to baking, jams and fruit trays if you wanted.

Pt 3

All –

@himoverflowers, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator, @thegreyberet, @patanghill17, @jesgisborne, @curvestrology, @alishlieb, @jogregor, @armitageadoration, @fizzyxcustard, @lilith15000, @marvels-ghost, @catthefearless, @imjusthereforthereads, @c-s-stars, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore, @mariannetora, @shes-a-killer-kween, @ggbbhehe4455

Hobbit/LotR – @abiwim, @jotink78, @pastelhexmaniac

X Thranduil - @evyiione, @sweetlytenacious25, @tigereyesf, @pastelhexmaniac, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore

x Ash - @fandomsstolemylife00, @lilith15000, @devilishminx328

#Thranduil #Glorfindel #Thror #The Durins #Fallen to Middle Earth #Found in the Library #Escorted by the King #Voicing the Past #Old Titles #Hobbit #lotr

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rohad93 · 4 years

Text

Moonlit Masquerade: Full Circle

Part 12 of The Moonlit Masquerade Series

The first free day they both have together after Luz proposes, Amity all but drags Luz to the market so she can buy her fiancée her own ring. Luz groans as Amity pulls her out of bed at the crack of dawn.

Though it's less pulling and more slipping out of her grip in bed to get dressed and refusing to come back to bed when Luz moans for her to come back and snuggle with her.

"Vuelve a la cama, quiero acurrucarme," she moaned from face down on her pillow.

Amity rolled her eyes even as she kneeled over the bed to press a kiss to the back of Luz's head and rub a hand over her back, trying to rouse her quickly without having to toss her out of the bed as sometimes was the case.

"We can snuggle later, querida."

"Or, and consider this…. we could snuggle now…" Her head popped up from the pillow to look at her sleepily.

"We need to do this now," Amity said firmly even as she grinned at her. Luz groaned, head dropping back to the pillow.

"When you said we were gonna spend all day together, getting up at the crack of dawn to go to the market was not what I had in mind…," she mumbled.

Amity sighed, rolling her eyes fondly as she crawled fully back into the bed and wrapped her arms around Luz, lips pressed against her ear.

"We have all day, Luz. I'll take you to breakfast after and I promise, I'll make it worth your while later." The statement was punctuated by a kiss to her neck as Amity threaded her fingers through her hair. "...but we have to do this now."

Luz sighed into her pillow

"...fine," she mumbled. Amity smiled and pressed another brief kiss to her neck before rolling out of bed so Luz could push herself up only for Amity to toss a shirt and pants at her.

Luz grumbles as she flips back the blankets and starts getting dressed.

"Do we have to?" she asks with a sigh as she changes.

"You don't want a ring?" Amity asks, brows furrowed, and she's in the middle of pulling a shirt over her head, so Luz can't see her fiancée's face, but she knows the slight hurt tone when she hears it, she's intimately familiar with all Amity's tones of voice.

"Of course I want everyone to know I'm engaged to the most beautiful witch on the Boiling Isles, mi amor, but do we have to go to the market before dawn?" She finally pulls the tunic over her head and turns to Amity.

"Yes, the stand I want to go to gets there before the sun comes up and he sells out of his wares by breakfast. We need to go now," she says, turning and walking out of their room, Luz following, grabbing her staff off the hook on the wall as she does.

"Why don't you just buy one for me…?" she asks between a yawn.

"I want you to have the one you want." is the answer.

"Are you saying you don't like your ring?" Luz asks, and she's teasing, she knows Amity loves her ring, she'd taken every opportunity to show it to her siblings and their friends over the past week, but that doesn't stop her from spinning around on the stairs, eyes wide.

"What?! No! It's beautiful, Luz," she hurriedly assures.

"Hey, hey, I was teasing, I know you like it…"

"I love it," Amity corrects. "I just…," she sighs. "I just want to get you something you love just as much, and I haven't a clue where to even start… you don't wear jewelry except earrings…," she says and Luz shrugs.

"Never had much interest in it," she agrees with a shrug, stepping down to the step just above the one Amity is standing on so she can lean down over her. "I'd like anything you gave me, Amity." Luz reminds, cupping a cheek in her hand and leaned in to press a soft kiss against her mouth.

"I know you would…," Amity hums against her lips as she pulls back. "But, please Luz, let me do this?"

Luz couldn't say no to that pleading look even if she wanted to.

"I'm already out of bed and dressed so we might as well." She grins and Amity smiles at her.

The morning is warm and it promises to be a hot day, but they've set aside the whole day just to be together, and no matter the weather, that makes it perfect. Those days were much fewer in between since the rebellion. They were both busy often. They had played such pivotal roles in starting and ending the rebellion that people often looked to the two of them and their friends in the past year. There are always problems to solve and people to help adjust, but not today.

They have plenty of time to spare, so they walk, hand in hand to town. Glad to enjoy this unhurried moment together.

"Have you thought any about what you want to do for the wedding?" Luz asked her.

"I've… had some ideas…" Amity hedges, not willing to admit how much she's actually thought out in the one week since they got engaged whenever she had a few minutes between duties.

But Luz knows Amity. She's a planner, and if there was ever anything she'd be eager to plan, it's their wedding.

"You already have a whole notebook full of stuff don't you?" She grins knowingly and watches Amity's cheeks pink.

"It's not full… just like… half," she mumbled and Luz laughed. "They're just ideas! I wouldn't do any actual planning without you… though…," she trailed off. Luz squeezed her hand.

"We haven't really talked about a date yet, but… I have one in mind if it's alright with you."

"Shoot." Luz smiled at her.

"The 31st of October," Amity says.

"Halloween?" Luz can't help but grin at that. To her great surprise, her first October in the Isles, they did in fact have Halloween, though it looked a little different than in the human realm. No one dressed up as witches or werewolves, except her, since all those things existed here. They dressed up as humans. Doctors and lawyers and just everyday human objects. She'd never forget the two years Gus went as a toaster.

Amity smiled, she had a good feeling Luz would like that.

"Yes, but that's not the reason I picked it, querida. It's the next blue moon," she said.

" The bl- the blue moon!" Luz lit up. "That's perfect, amor!"

"Yeah?" Amity smiled.

"Yeah! There's something… hmm, not ironic, but you know what I mean, like, coming full circle." Luz tapped her chin, trying to think of the right word.

"That was my thought exactly." Amity nodded. "I also know how much you love Halloween." she grinned.

"It's true, I do." Luz smiled. "Though I get a distinct feeling that you're not going to let our wedding be costume themed…," she trailed off suggestively.

"No," is the deadpan answer.

"Fine…," Luz pouts. Amity rolled her eyes for the third time since waking up; forty-five minutes ago.

"So, October?"

"October" Luz agrees. "Could I wear an orange suit?" She tries and Amity laughs.

"If you want… but please don't. Orange is not your color, Luz."

"I know, I just wanted to see if you'd let me."

"It is your wedding too."

"Yeah, but you get kinda controlling when you're in charge of planning things, amor," Luz smirks at her as they walk through the market.

"I…!" Amity's mouth closes with a quiet click. She knows it's true, the first blue moon masquerade she'd had to throw after she'd turned sixteen had been a little tense, not the party, but the planning, she'd been a little hard on their friends and Luz, with her anal-retentive tendencies. Luz described her as "type A" and after she actually explained what that meant Amity had to admit it was true.

"I… am going to try very hard, not to do that. I want us to do this together," she said after a moment. Luz smiled at her and lifted their interlaced hands to lay a kiss on the back of Amity's hand in answer.

Amity pulls them to a certain stall in the market and she recognizes him.

He's large and scaly with four eyes and a tail. The same merchant Luz had bought Amity's broach from years ago. The one she still wears pinned to her shirt, under her cloak.

"Miss Blight, Miss Noceda!" He greets happily as they approach.

That's something Luz is still getting used to, people recognizing and knowing her. They and their friends had been pretty front and center during the rebellion after all.

"Good morning, Mr. Azbar." Amity greets him.

"How can I be of service to you today?" He asks looking between them, all four eyes blinking.

"We're looking for a ring," Amity tells him. He hums and gestures to a section of his wares, where some are sitting in their cloth slots on display.

Luz looks them over carefully. They're all pretty, but nothing she would really describe as her style. They're either too big or too much, more in the style that the upper class of Isles society would wear. Very showy, which once, Luz would have jumped at, but her flair for being bright and loud had settled some with age. She doesn't need to be loud or over the top for people to look and pay attention to her. She's not an insecure teenager anymore. She has the attention of all the people she needs.

She's still over the top at heart, but only with those closest to her.

"They're nice," she finally says. "But nothing really jumps out at me." She shrugs and Amity looks disappointed, while Azbar hums, looking at her thoughtfully.

"I do have something else, it was a special order, but the gentlemen who ordered it was a loyalist and met a rather… unfortunate end last year…" he says, tail swaying behind him.

"Sure, let's see it." Luz nods.

He digs under his stall before pulling out a little black box and pops it open.

"Oh, wow," Luz breathes.

It's a silver band with little scrolling patterns engraved into the sides, but the gem inlaid atop it is obviously the centerpiece. It's a bright plum color, with a vaguely star-shaped white pattern on its surface.

"It's beautiful." Amity agrees.

"It's a plum star jewel." He says and Amity's eyes widen at that. "Ahh, I see you're familiar with the stone, Miss. Blight," Azbar says.

"Plum star?" Luz questions.

"They're quite rare, something about their composition and how they're formed, only on the head, allows them to act as conduits for the natural magic of the Isles," Amity explains to her. "That would be perfect for you actually, Luz, it would probably increase your glyphs powers by letting you more easily draw on the magic of the Isles." Amity smiles.

"It's really pretty too." Luz looks at it with starry eyes and Amity sees how enamored Luz is with the ring.

"How much?" she asks him.

"Three-thousand-five hundred"

"Ay dios mio!" Luz shouts, standing up straight, eyes blown wide.

"For the two of you, however, I would take two. I'm certainly not going to make any money from the dead man who ordered it."

"We'll take it," Amity says, and Luz's head whips to her.

"What, No!" she half shouts at her.

"You like this one, I know you do, Luz," Amity says.

"That's a ridiculous amount to spend on my ring, Amity," she argues.

"How much did you spend on my ring?" she asks, planting a hand on her hip, and Luz pursed her lips.

Amity may not know for certain, but she grew up in the upper classes, she knows what a fine piece of jewelry looks like, and what it costs, and she knows her ring is just that. So she has a pretty good idea, and highly suspects Luz paid more than what she's proposing to spend right now.

"I don't have to answer that question." She crosses her arms and turns her nose up.

"Mhmm…," Amity hums knowingly. Luz huffs. "Luz, you said you'd let me buy you the ring you wanted," she reminds and Luz grumbles.

When they were young, Luz had always been weird about money, she never had any qualms about spending her own, hard-earned money on Amity, but never liked it when she spent money on her.

It wasn't until they were older that she admitted that she just never wanted it to seem like she was taking advantage of the money Amity came from. Which she personally thought was ridiculous, she was quite happy to spend her family's money on Luz. It made her mother angry and she liked to make Luz happy; both wins in her book. Especially so long as her father still funded her and the twins, when they asked, and even if he didn't, Amity would still be glad to work just so she could make her future wife happy.

This however was not funded by her father, this was money Amity had been saving for some time, just for this. Luz had simply beat her to the punch. After the first time they had talked about marriage, several years ago, she had started a separate savings fund just for this, and had been quite diligent in putting into it over that time.

They had worked it out, but sometimes, Luz still got a little skittish about it.

"This is the one you want, I know it is, so please?"

Luz sighed, looking at her before glancing back at the ring.

"Alright, yes. That's the one I want," she finally admitted, and Amity smiled, turning to Azbar, who grinned, showing off a mouth full of sharp teeth.

"Excellent!" He closed the box and Amity spun a finger, a sac of snails falling out into her open palm, which she gladly traded off for the box.

"A pleasure to do business with you both, and congratulations." He nodded.

"Thank you," they both said before they walked down the street.

Amity popped it open and pulled the ring from its box and held her hand out.

Luz set her hand in Amity's and let her slip the ring on her finger. She flexed it experimentally, testing the new weight into her hand.

"Well?" Amity asked.

"It's beautiful, amor," she agreed. "Thank you." She smiled, looking up at her. Amity smiled back before leaning down to kiss her.

"Come on, I promised you breakfast," she mumbled against her lips.

~ ~

Two days after their trip to the market Luz is standing in the kitchen brewing potions when Amity and Lilith come home from the Council headquarters, formerly Emperor Belos' castle, at mid-morning.

"Hey, you two are back really early." She grins at them, and they both smile back, but there's something off about it. "Something wrong, was the council such a pain in the ass you left early?" She cocks a brow as she stirs a large orange batch of something.

"No, we've been digging through some of the Belos' more secret places in the depths of the castle, and we found something yesterday, we've been doing some tests on it and have found it to be in perfect working condition…," Lilith trails off. Amity is biting her lip, which makes Luz frown. She only does that when she was worried or nervous.

"What did you find?" Luz asks curiously.

Lilith and Amity share a glance.

"We brought it home, I think it would be better if we showed you," Lilith said before turning to Amity. "Get Eda."

Amity nods before hurrying up the stairs to the younger Clawthorne sister's room.

"Now you're scaring me…" Luz frowned. "Why is Amity upset?"

Lilith frowned.

"She's not upset, just… anxious, I suppose," she hedges.

Amity then returns with Eda.

"So what did you find in that Bozos' castle?" She crosses her arms.

"Come see for yourself." Lilith looks at her seriously.

She leads them outside and around the back of the house and the second it comes into view both Luz and Eda stop cold.

Sitting there in the grass, it's one golden eye staring back at them, is the portal.

Luz is breathless as the door from her dreams and nightmares looks back at her.

Eda's shock doesn't last as long, but then her worried eyes are on Luz, along with Amity's and Lilith's.

"The portal…," she breathes, finally taking a step toward it.

Amity is twisting her fingers anxiously in her cloak as she watches. Her ring feels heavy on her finger.

The door looks like it has seen better days, it's pieces patchworked together with bits of metal and who knows what. He somehow fixed it after she destroyed it.

"You said it works?" Luz finally looks at Lilith, who nods.

"We've been testing it's magic extensively since yesterday morning, and it works every time," she said. "We brought it back, so you may use it, if you wish." She glanced at a fidgeting Amity.

Luz blinks at that.

Her mother… she could finally see her again, tell her where she's been for the past six years.

Slowly she nods.

"Yes,...I...I need my staff!" She turns around and ran back into the house.

Amity feels like she's on the verge of hyperventilating as she stands there, motionless in the yard. Luz needed this, needed to see her mother after all these years.

But what if she decided she didn't want to come back to the Isles?

What if she decided not to come back to her?

The thought is ridiculous, but the fear remains, bubbling in her chest anxiously.

Luz comes running back with her staff in its holster on her back and she still looks shocked and bewildered, but determined.

"Are you sure you're ready, Luz? You don't need to go right this second..." Eda tells her cautiously, she feels much like Amity but is better at hiding it than the younger witch.

"No… " Luz shakes her head. "but it's been six years, I can't make her wait any longer." Eda is frowning but nods.

She takes a step toward the door but stops to glance at Amity and can immediately tell by the hunch of her shoulders and the way her brows furrow between her eyes as she clutches at her cloak that she's scared. Of what, Luz isn't sure, but her fiancée's apparent discomfort beats out her other roiling emotions for the moment and she moves to her.

"Hey, what's wrong?" she asks quietly, reaching out to take hold of her left hand in hers. Their rings make a quiet clinking noise.

Amity shakes her head.

Truthfully, as soon as she had seen the portal in the dank nether regions of the castle, she had wanted to destroy it and never tell Luz about it.

It makes her ashamed to admit that she probably would have if Lilith hadn't been standing there with her. She and Lilith had discussed this at great length since they had found the portal, and as much as she didn't want to, she had to give Luz the choice, because she loved her; it wasn't fair or right to take that choice away from her.

She had to have faith that the woman she loved would come back to her.

"Nothing, Luz… just…" she can't think of anything to say that wouldn't sound selfish or admit how she feels because guilting Luz into not going would be selfish too, and even if she wasn't trying to guilt her, she knew Luz, and Luz would stay if she thought she didn't want her to go.

Luz seems to understand, at least a little bit.

"Hey, it's okay. I'll be fine and back soon, mi amor," she gently assures her with a kiss.

Amity just nods, and then Luz pulls away and turns to the door. She takes a deep breath and with a final glance around at the gathered witches, she opens the door and a blinding light fills the door frame and lights her silhouette as she steps through and it closes behind her.

Amity takes a shuddering breath and spins a finger and her staff appears.

"I'm going back to the castle…," is all she says, and then is flying off before Eda or Lilith can say anything.

"She's worried…" Lilith frowns, watching her go.

"Me too…" Eda frowns at the closed door.

The moment Luz steps through the other side she's hit by an assortment of sounds and smells that tug at her memory but also assault her senses.

Even standing in the doorway to the rickety shack in the woods, she can hear the sounds of traffic, something almost foreign to her now, and smell the slight unnaturalness in the air from the everyday pollution. She wrinkles her nose at it.

She also feels strange… like she's been cut off from something, it's hard to put it into words.

She pulls a glyph from her pocket and when she tries to cast the simple light spell the paper disintegrates into dust.

Frowning, she reaches for her staff.

She pulls it from her back and gives it a test, her palisman's eyes glow and a few light spells pop into existence and she sighs in relief, not only because at least the magic of her staff works, but because when she feels it's power course through her, she realizes what the strange feeling is.

Being cut off from the magic of the Isles.

Having learned and trained the last six years to use the wild magic that came from the island itself, she had a deep connection to it, going into another realm and cutting herself off from it feels like losing an appendage; like a phantom limb. she can almost feel it and she knows it's supposed to be there but it isn't and she can keenly feel its loss.

She slips her staff back into its holster and walks down the rickety wooden steps of the abandoned house and follows the path till she's standing next to the street and looks around as cars drive past, their engines loud and cacophonous.

She guessed that the human world really was always this loud, she'd just grown used to not having all the noise of industrialization around her all the time in the demon realm.

She turns and freezes.

There it is, the small house on the corner that was her childhood home.

She swallows thickly.

What if her mother didn't live there anymore? What if she moved away after Luz had disappeared?

As she stands there worrying, a car pulls into the driveway and a woman steps out and Luz's heart stops.

The woman is a little older now. With far more gray in her hair, but it's her mother.

She stands there motionless, watching Camila Noceda walk into the house.

Luz squared her shoulders. It was time.

She walks quickly up to the house and stands on the porch.

She thought about this moment countless times over the last six years, and she had always thought she knew what she was going to say or do when this moment came, but now that she's standing here about to make it a reality, she has no idea.

She takes a deep calming breath and reaches a shaky hand up, hesitating only a moment before finally knocking on the door.

It feels like an eternity, but it's probably only a minute at best before the door clicks open and her mother is standing there, looking at her from the other side.

"Yes, how-" she starts but stops as she stares at the young woman standing on her porch, looking so strange in her cloak, with leather pouches hanging off her hips and a long stick with a carved owl on top hanging off her back, but she looks so achingly familiar it makes Camila's heart twist and she tries to stomp down the hope rising in her chest. How many girls had she seen from behind over the years and hoped had been her little girl? Y-yes?"

"Hi, Mamí." Is all Luz can think to say.

Camila sucks in a sharp breath and her eyes glaze over as she shakes her head.

"You… you can't be…," she says shakily, gripping the doorway tightly.

"It is. It's me." Luz smiles, her own eyes starting to burn with tears.

"Luz… I… tell me, tell me something only Luz would know!" she demands but it's more begging, pleading with this familiar-looking stranger to please be who she says she is.

"Something only I would know…," Luz repeats, thinking. "Um, when I was ten you had to pick me up from school because I blew up a glitter bomb in science class and claimed I didn't need science because I had ma…"

"Magic…," Camila chokes and the tears are suddenly pouring down her face. "Luz!" she wails, throwing herself on her, and her grip is so tight Luz can barely breathe, but she holds her back just as tightly, her own tears finally dripping from her face as they sink to a pile on the porch.

They sit there for a very long time, till her mother can't cry anymore and neither can she.

Camila finally pulls back to look at her, eyes red and puffy and she cups Luz's face in her hands.

"You're a grown woman…," her mother sniffles, looking at her so sadly, even as she smiles at her. "You never came home… I looked for so long…" tears are still sliding down her cheeks. "Where have you been, Mija?" she finally asks desperately.

"We better go inside so you can sit down… you're not going to believe me…," she says and Camila frowns at that.

She doesn't believe her; at first.

Luz tells her where she's been and Camila thinks she's gone crazy, until she proves it by doing some spells with her staff and pulls her old phone out of her pocket she grabbed when she went to get her staff, and begins showing her the photos and videos she's taken over the years of the Isles, of Eda, Lilith, King, and Hooty. She carefully avoids the ones of Amity for now. She doesn't want to overload her mother by telling her she's engaged, as though that would be the hardest thing to believe in her story…

Camila sits amazed and silent for a long while as she explains Belos' and having to destroy the portal to save Eda, even though it effectively cut her off from the human realm. She talks about going to Hexside, graduating, and her friends, which makes Camila smile.

Eventually, she starts asking questions and Luz is happy to answer them all. They sit there for hours, talking. Luz gestures wildly as she tells her stories and Camila can see it clearly.

Her excitable little girl, in this older, mature, young woman sitting next to her, and for the first time in years, doesn't feel the hollow ache in her heart that had been present since the day Luz had disappeared.

It's when Luz is gesturing wildly with her hands that Camila notes the glint on her left hand and gasps, making Luz stop.

"What?" She blinks and Camila grabs her left hand and is looking at the silver ring and it's glinting violet, and white, oval stone.

"You're married, Mija?!" Camila all but shouts. She missed her daughter's wedding?!

"Engaged, actually…" Luz grins. Guess she was going to tell her about Amity now. "Just a week ago in fact."

"Engaged! Tell me, tell me all about him!" Her mother is smiling.

"Her, actually," she says nervously. Her mother had known she was bi, but she had been fourteen at the time and this was a totally different thing.

"Tell me about her." Her mother still demands and Luz smiles.

"Her name is Amity… we've been together six years, since that first summer…"

Luz then launches into what she refers to as an epic tale of romance and adventure.

Even if it starts with Amity not liking her very much. She goes through it all.

Their first meeting at Hexside, the covention, Grom, grudgby, the masquerade and so many of the little moments in between up to Luz's proposal last week and then the finding of the portal door.

Camila asks many questions about Amity and everyone and makes faces throughout. Exasperated at so many of her daughter's antics and happy for all her triumphs.

By the end of it all, tears are welling up in her eyes again.

"I've missed so much of your life…," she says sadly.

Luz grabs her hands and holds them tightly between hers.

"You've missed some, but I promise you won't miss anymore." She smiles.

Camila nods but is frowning.

"You're not coming back to stay are you?" she asks and Luz frowns.

"No…" Luz shook her head. "The rest of my family… my friends… the love of my life... they're all back on the Bolling Isles...I've made a life there, besides, we both know I never fit in here… that's why you sent me to summer camp in the first place…"

Camila flinches at that. How often over the last six years had she wished with all her heart that she had never sent Luz away?

"You could have…" Camila starts but Luz shakes her head.

"Mamí, everyone at school hated me. I never told you about it because I didn't want you to worry, but no one wanted to be friends with me. They picked on me constantly. I was never going to be like them, but back home… I get to be everything and do everything I ever wanted. For my part in the rebellion, people respect me, I have friends that would do anything if I asked them and a fiancée who loves me," she says and squeezes her mom's hands. "The Isles are my home."

Camila sniffles but nods sadly.

"You really have grown up, Mija," she says.

"You can still be a part of my life. Now that the portal is working I can come to visit you anytime and you can come to visit me."

"I would like to meet your friends and Amity." She smiles and Luz grins brightly.

"You'll love her!" Luz promised.

Camila tells her about the very hard two years just after she disappeared and all the time she spent looking for her before finally giving up, and it makes guilt swell in Luz's gut, but she knows there's nothing to do about it now. She never stopped trying to find a way, it just never panned out anytime they thought they had a lead.

They talked for hours until Luz realizes the sun is coming up. She's been here since yesterday morning.

"Mierda!" She jumps up off the couch. "I've been here a whole twenty-four hours, Amity is probably worried about me!"

Camila stands, and though the last thing she wants is to see Luz go, she knows she must.

"Come back soon, please, Mija…" she says and Luz smiles and hugs her.

"I promise I'll be back in a day or two, I'll take you to meet everyone."

"I'd like that…" she smiles and squeezes her daughter tightly and walks her to the door.

Luz bounds down the steps and turns to smile and wave at her. Camila waves back, and then Luz is running down the street toward the woods. Camila stands on the porch, watching her go until she can't see her anymore.

She hops up the steps and opens the door and is relieved when she steps through into the demon realm. There was a small fear in the back of her mind that the door might not work.

As soon as she steps back out, into the backyard of the owl house, she can feel her connection to the Isles return, like stepping out of a stuffy house out into the cool fresh air. She breathes deeply and smiles as she runs around to the front of the house.

"Luz, your back!" Hooty stretched out to greet her, wriggling happily.

"I'm back," she grins at him and steps inside.

Lilith is sitting on the couch and looks up when she walks in.

"You're back!" She sounds relieved.

"Of course, is Amity here? I have a lot to tell her."

"No, she left early this morning, she… seemed upset." Lilith hesitates to tell her, but Luz deserves to know.

She frowns but nods. She would have to make up for that. She was gone longer than she meant to be and never meant to worry her.

"I'll talk to her when she gets home,"

"How was it?" Lilith asks curiously and Luz grins.

"Great. We had a lot to talk about but... I think my mom's gonna be okay. She just needs some time to soak it all up I think." She shrugs and Lilith nods.

"It is a lot to take in."

"Is Mom home?" she asks. And Lilith cocks a brow at that but nods.

"In the kitchen."

Luz walks into the kitchen where Eda is standing at their brewing station, working on something.

"I'm back!" she announces, making Eda look up, she looks relieved to see her.

"Hey, kid. How'd it go?" she asks cautiously.

Luz smiles and tells her all about it. Eda nods along, listening to her story.

"I think things are going to be kind of interesting, introducing mamí to everyone and the Isles," she chuckles.

Eda nods and Luz hums, walking over. Eda has been kind of quiet.

"Something up, momma?" she asks, hopping up on the counter next to where Eda is working. She shakes her head, the word stings her today.

"Come on, tell me." Luz nudges her with her foot and Eda sighs, knowing that Luz isn't going to go away until she speaks.

"Lilith had me looking at the seating chart she's helping Amity with for the wedding, had me in the front row, but now that you got your mom back, she should have that spot, kid," she says.

"Huh?" Luz blinks at her owlishly. She can read between the lines. Is that what has her all down, she thinks that Luz isn't going to look at her as her mother anymore?

She has her mamí back, it's true, but Luz isn't going anywhere, and no one, even her birth mother could ever take the place Eda has claimed In her heart, just as Eda could never really take Camila's.

"Your mom should be in the front row at the wedding, Luz," Eda says, not looking up from the potion she's working on.

"You will be." Luz says, "and Mamí will be right next to you."

"Luz, it's ok…," she says quietly, and Luz's frown deepens.

"She's my mom... but so are you." She asserts.

"Luz you don't need to-" Eda sighs.

"You are," Luz affirms, cutting her off and hopping off the counter to stand eye to eye with the older witch. "You didn't have to take me in, take care of me, or teach me magic, but you did, for six years you did all these things you didn't have to. You certainly didn't have to love me, but you did, and I love you. You'll always be my mom, and you'll sit right next to mamí in the front row at my wedding where you belong," she tells her, leaving no room for argument, and for the first time since Luz can ever remember, tears are starting to drip down Eda's cheeks. It's been some close calls over the years, but this is the first time she's ever openly shed tears in front of Luz.

Eda wraps her arms around her, chin on her shoulder and Luz squeezed her back just as tightly.

"I love you too, kid." Eda sniffles and Luz smiled, burying her face in Eda's shoulder as tears stung at her own eyes. She's been doing way too much crying lately.

She pulled back and Eda wiped at her eyes just as the front door opened, and they can hear Amity and Lilith talking.

"Hey babe, in here!" Luz called and a second later Amity is standing in the doorway, gold eyes wide.

"You're back!" A bright smile broke out across her face as she hurried to close the distance between them and wrap her arms around her.

Luz laughed, squeezing her fiancée tightly.

"Of course. I told you, I would be." She pulled back enough to kiss Amity's cheek.

"I know, I was just… worried about you, that maybe you missed your home more than you thought you would… that you might not come back..., " she admits sheepishly. Luz can hear the 'to me' in her words.

"I missed mamí, but my home is here, with you, Amity," Luz assured her with a squeeze.

Amity pressed her smile into Luz's neck and squeezed her back.

Once Amity was thoroughly reassured Luz pulled back and grinned at her.

"She can't wait to meet you!"

"Meet me?!" Amity squeaked.

#Moonlit Masquerade #Lumity #Amity Blight #Luz Noceda #Eda Clawthorne #Lillith Clawthorne #gay #fic #Camila Noceda #the owl house #toh

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