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buildmeafairytale · 4 years

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Demon Boyfriends: Elow &Siphorus

Suprise! I wrote something! What’s better than one demon boyfriend, you ask? Two demon boyfriends, duh. I started this literal months ago, and I’m not going to lie, it's very self indulgent and porny. My praise kink is clear and in full swing. I was going to make one of the characters a hard core brat but he turned soft, what can I say. Anyways, I hope you guys like this! This is a link to my Ko-Fi, everything is appreciated but nothing is expected. <3

Life has been going great for you. Too great, really. You landed a well paying job in a cute small town named Talon Valley. You found the cottage of your dreams in the forest a few miles out of town. It was perfectly desolate and had a garden already set up in the back, as well as shelves that will work perfectly to store your potions. You already picked a great altar space, as well. It was your first time living alone, and you were excited to finally practice your craft in peace.

Except there was no peace, and you soon discovered you were not alone. At first, the misplaced items didn’t phase you. You were still unpacking and you really didn’t know where you set things most of the time anyway. Only after the first couple weeks when things were supposed to be in their places, did you start to notice.

You were a witch, sure. But that didn’t mean you weren’t easily spooked. You didn’t want to make things worse, so instead of doing a cleanse that could anger something stronger than you, you did a few charms and protection spells on yourself. That did nothing to stop the tiny torments. If anything, they increased. Not only were several potions moved, but they were mixed together haphazardly. Then your blinds would open after you had closed them, or your fridge would be left cracked. All harmless things, but knowing someone or something else was doing this was enough to have you constantly on edge. You just wanted to relax, dammit!

You never thought of this side of living alone. During the day, you were living in a beautiful cottage in the lush green forest, but at night it felt as though you were in a haunted cabin in the woods. You really couldn’t take it anymore. You had cried and whimpered all night when you felt you were being watched, and by the time the sun rose you had resolved to deal with this.

You gathered some materials and made your way out of the house. After all, a summoning spell required a lot of concentration and you certainly wouldn't be able to do it in there. You found a nice clearing not too far from your home, and set up. You lit a few candles, did a few incantations, and waited. You were about to give up when, in a puff of smoke, a demon appeared. They were crouched down with blue flames dancing around them, but even still they seemed massive.

As the demon uncurled and stood himself upright, it seemed as though more and more limbs appeared. You counted six arms coming out of him, his whole body a gradient of black to white. His pitch black fingertips seemed as though they were covered in soot, and as you got closer to the middle of his body his skin was more and more milky white. Hooved feet clap on the ground. He had dark eyes and horns like a ram’s curled on the side of their head, with long black hair in between, and he towered over you.

He lowered himself and took your shaking hand in one of his large ones, his pure white eyes staring at you.

“It is lovely to meet you, my master,” his voice is like velvet, and he flashes you his sharp teeth at you before placing a gentle kiss on the back of your hand. “They call me Siphorus. I cannot wait to be of service to you.”

You let out a bleating laugh, unsure what to make of this. You weren’t expecting such a large and powerful demon to come; you weren’t even out of the broom closet and this kind of thing should take years of real practice.

“Um, master?”

He chuckled under his breath, “Yes, master,” he rose, “You summoned me and I am under your command. I promise to fulfil anything you ask of me.”

You ignored his suggestive promise. Smooth as he may be, you were out in the middle of the woods for a more important reason. “You can just call me Lily if you’d like? And well, I sort of need your help with something?”

“Like I said, I am under your command, master,” he prompts you, a clawed finger lifting your chin up.

“There’s something in my house,” you tell him, clearing your throat and putting some space in between the two of you. “Something spooky and it...watches me I think. I don’t know how to make it go away by myself.”

“A powerful witch such as yourself?” he frowns “No matter, I shall play the role of your gallant protector.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Honestly, who talks like that? For someone who looks so formidable, he’s a bit on the odd side. At least he is going to help you.

He starts towards your house, although you aren’t sure how he knows the way.

“Ah yes, I can feel his presence here.” Siphorus opens the door for you with a flourishing gesture.

As soon as one of his hooved feet lands on the other side of your doorway, chaos breaks out. Cabinets are slamming, furniture is being overturned, and the lights are flickering.

“She is MY master! GET OUT!” A voice yells out as lightbulbs start to explode. You let out a scream as glass flies at you, covering your face and burying it in the stomach of the demon by your side. With a wave of his hand Siphorus halts the glass midair, something you probably could have done if you hadn’t been so panicked. You step away from him once again, your face hot. You try to convince yourself it’s from his inner hellfire, but you aren’t too sure.

Siphorus clicks his tongue in a disapproving manner. “Now now, let us not make a mess of our sweet Lilians home, hm?”

An angry hissing sound responds back, things slamming and shaking but nothing as messy.

“This is quite the tantrum. Honestly, show yourself and be gone!” Siphorus calls out, and a figure starts to appear.

White hot flames spiral out in your living room and from within it steps another demon. This one is almost as tall as Siphorus, but not quite. He is lanky, and his skin textured, light colored but red seemed to be pumping underneath, as if it was scar tissue. This one only has one pair of arms, and has no hair. His eyes are cat-like and stare straight at Siphorus, flames around him roaring even stronger.

“GET OUT!” the figure yells, and you flinch into Siphorus once again.

The flames suddenly go out, and you turn to see the other demon looking at you now.

“What,” he paused, swallowing thickly. “What is going on? Did you...find a new demon?” He asked, his voice sounding distraught. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You stand there confused at his words. He doesn’t sound scary at all, if anything he sounds heartbroken. The fear melts away, and you take a step away from Siphorus.

“What do you mean a new demon? This one belong to you?” Siphorus asks, eyebrow raised. You just shake your head, and he heaves a dramatic sigh.

“Of course I belong to her. I became attached to her weeks ago and she brought me home. She was walking in the forest and I felt her energy. It was lonely so I came with,” he hissed these words out, eyes turned to slits.

“She was scared and I had to keep her safe! She was making protection charms and satchels and sticking them everywhere.”

“From you, you nimwit! She didn’t even know you were in the house!” Siphorus admonishes him, “You should have at least presented yourself!”

His face falls further and the demon places himself on one of your dining room chairs, dwarfing it.

“But, she never asked for me? I was never summoned to do her bidding, or had any reason to show myself. I just thought she knew I was here, and would ask me if she needed anything. Since she didn’t ask, I just watched over her.” he sniffles, and you get a knot in your throat.

A pitiful “Oh,” passes through your lips. You move over to him, letting him scoop you onto his lap.

“I just wanted to be a good demon, I’d never had a master that was such a nice witch,” he whines high in the back of his throat, nosing at your hair. You coo at him the way you would a scared puppy, doting on him with attention and sweet pets on his scarred and hairless head.

You then hear a scoff from Siphorus, both you and the new demon turning to look at him.

“What?”

“The two of you are absolutely pitiful, do you know that?” Siphorus asks, baffled.

You stay cuddled up, “Well, wait - what is your name?” you look up into his eyes, his fangs pushing into his soft looking lips.

“Elow, master,” he replies into your hair, still trying to get as close as possible to you.

“Elow, it’s nice to meet you,” you tell him, giving him a sweet smile he readily returns. “Well I’m absolutely fine with Elow staying. And I don’t think we’re pitiful.”

Siphorus sputters. “Well, I suppose we have a bit of a problem, then. You summoned me to get rid of him, and I cannot leave until your summons are completed.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I just don’t feel good about making him leave now, Siphorus.” You tell him, and feel Elows long arms wrap even tighter around you.

“Yes, Siphorus. Please don’t make me leave now,” Elow asks him, eyes wide.

You assure Siphorus you will help him in any way that you can.

“You can stay here until we figure out how to let you go back, of course. I- do you sleep?” you ask them. “I can get some rooms ready for you!” And you scurry off, hoping that the two demons get along.

You aren’t sure how to act now that you have both demons staying in your home. Firstly, you layout some ground rules as far as Elow touching your potions and leaving the fridge door open. He looks so sad after your gentle scolding, so you take some time to comfort him as well. The two of you snuggle up on your small couch and watch a movie. He’s informed you that he has been starved of contact for a long while, and he basks in your touch. You enjoy it as well, and his warmth lulls you to sleep. When the two of you wake, you are covered in a blanket. It’s soft and black, and not one you had seen before. It smelled slightly of fire.

The three of you had settled into a routine. On the days you went to work, you came home to a clean house, and a meal. It was all so domestic, and occasionally one or both of your demons would produce a human glamour and come with you into town. They always kept on sunglasses, though, because they couldn’t change their eyes. You doubt the inhabitants of Talon Valley would mind. Siphorus had informed you that most of the people living here were some kind of supernatural being. As a witch, you fit right in.

So well, in fact, that you had befriended another witch already. She was much more confident in her abilities, and had already figured out a solution to Siphorus being stuck with you.

Coming back from a visit with her, you had mixed feelings. You had a solution, sure, but you had grown so fond of your demon. You didn’t want to let him go, and already felt hollow just thinking about him departing. You creak the front door open while lost in thought and were unprepared for what you were seeing. Standing in shock, you take in the scene before you.

Through the doorway, you can see Elow on top of Siphorus. His head is thrown back, and high pitched moans leave him. You can make out the deep bass of Siphorus encouraging him as Elow bounces on his cock, thoroughly impaled. Siphous is leaning back on one set of hands, with the others on either side of Elow’s hips and face. Elow’s own hardness bobs between his thighs, long and thick. It’s textured like the rest of him, but redder. You feel your own face get hot, and the gasp that leaves your lips is what finally catches your demons’ attention.

Elow is embarrassed and won’t look at you, trying to hide behind a tangle of sooty arms. Siphorus just smirks at you, taking in your doe-eyed appearance. You feel as if your heartbeat is between your legs.

“Isn’t our Elow so beautiful,” he draws out, running his hand along the other demon’s flank. Elow shudders, still fully seated, and you nod. “So beautiful, so good for me. For us,” he purrs into Elow’s ear, his milky eyes still locked on yours. This time Elow actually moans, weather that be from the thickness spearing him open or the words alone, you are unsure. Siphorus beacons you closer, and you feel as though you are under a spell.

With a touch of your magic, the door is shut and locked. Your feet carry you closer to them, and Elow peaks at you, somehow both demure and debauched. He isn’t much smaller than Siphorus, really, but he looks tiny like this. He whispers a “Hi,” into your hand, kissing it gently. You return the sentiment, caressing his face. He squirms and whimpers, and you see his cock jump. “Oh, honey,” you coo, and pull him in for a sweet kiss. One of Siphorus’s hands tangles in your hair, while the other of the set is on Elow’s head, encouraging you two. He encourages you vocally too, his pleased throaty moans making your kiss turn feverish.

“Join us, master,” Siphorus implores you, a hand wandering down your thigh.

Behind the lust you feel for them, a sense of nervous insecurity rises when you go to take your clothes off. You pull off your outerwear, taking your time. Your demons must sense your hesitance, as they pull you between their intertwined forms, Elow at your back.

“Shh master, just focus on my hands,” Elow tells you, ever so sweet. His hands move along your breasts, kneading the flesh there. One rises up, covering your throat. He doesn’t apply any pressure, just holds his hand there. His thumb comes up to brush along your lips, and you take it into your mouth without a conscious thought, sucking and wrapping your tongue around it, an action that draws moans from both of your demons.

“Do not try to hide from us,” Siphorus’s voice is but an echoing growl, teeth pressing into your ear. “We can smell you, master. The air is thick with your want, let us serve you.” From where you rest on his torso, you can feel his hips moving, along with Elow’s hardness pressing against your lower back. You whimper around the thumb in your mouth, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Elow removes his hands, and you let out a pleading moan, not wanting them to stop.

“You have to tell us, master. Tell us what you want, and it’s yours, please,” Elow says, his voice a breath of a whisper.

“Yes, darling, just tell us,” Siphorus echoes the sentiment, and you feel dizzy with want.

“Please,” you breath out, “Please touch me. Take me,” you plead to them.

No sooner do the words leave your lips their hands wrap back around you. You push your butt back onto Elow’s pulsing cock, rolling against it. He whimpers out, and you can only imagine how full he must feel. You use your magic to take your clothes off, not wanting to break the contact with your lovers. Feeling them against your skin is worth any nervousness you may have been feeling. Siphorus captures your mouth in a kiss, and although you may be his master, it is clear who is in control. The press of his teeth to your lips has your hips jerking, and you’re sure they can both feel how wet you are perched on Siphorus’s muscular abdomen.

Siphorus’s hips are moving harder now, meeting Elow’s bouncing ass. A pair of Siphorus’s hands wrap around your hips and in one fluid motion, hovers you on top of his face. Your hands find his horns, steading yourself. He makes a loud, wounded noise at your grip, and Elow moans out at the particularly hard thrust that follows. You take that as a sign to loosen your hold, and pack his reaction away in the back of your mind for another day. You then look down and see Siphorus’s tongue, so very long and pink, seeking out your heat.

He suddenly growls, and flips you around so that you’re facing Elow, and his tongue presses into you. It stretches you and you feel it press against your walls, long enough that it can still curve to press to your clit. The sensations are overwhelming, and you cannot help but rock against them.

You get to watch Elow being fucked, and you meet his mouth in a frenzied kiss. Both of you are being held tight by Siphorus’s hands, being pleasured by him. The hands around Elow are thrusting him up and down, and the peek you get of Siphorus’s member has you clenching harder around his tongue. He laps up the wetness spilling from you as if he is starved, the noises coming from him sound as if he is tasting salvation. Elow acts much the same, drinking from your mouth as if it is the finest wine.

You feel all too much and not enough, and you wrap a hand around Elow’s cock. It’s hot and heavy in your grip, and Elow turns to putty, begging.

“Please don’t stop, please master,” he whines, high in his throat. Incoherent noises keep coming, and you assure him you won’t stop, pressing yourself further onto Siphorus.

“Not gonna stop honey, wanna make you feel good. Such a sweet demon, aren’t you? My sweet demon.” You praise him and his movements turn jerky. The noises leaving him become even more frantic and high pitched. He reaches a crescendo and spills into your hand, covering you in his thick white cum. You don’t stop until he is pulling away from your hand, a whimpering mess convulsing on your other demon's cock. Your other demon, who is now redoubling his assault against your cunt, seems close as well. You watch him tense up and with an animalistic grunt, fill up Elow with his seed. His tongue is still fucking into you, and the visual he and Elow provide is all that is needed to push you over the edge, tensing and jerking away as your climax leaves you breathless.

The three of you pull yourselves apart, you considerably more out of breath than your demons, who are much quicker to recover. Elow is behind you while Siphorus leans upright against the couch, stretching out his many muscles and preening before you. You let your eyes rake over him, and you feel desire bubbling in your skin.

His nostrils flare, and his eyes dig into you even harder, predatory. You feel your heart pound and you’re sure he can smell your want, just as he said.

“Oh, Lily, you think we are done with you?” Siphorus asks you, reaching over to tuck a sweat soaked strand of hair away from your face.

“I hope not,” you whisper out, ignoring how hot you feel your face getting. You gnaw on your lip, and feel Elow stretch his arms out. You lean into them, already feeling breathless.

“C’mere master, please? Can I have you this way?” He asks, tucking you to his front. One hand moves to rest on your throat while the other goes to your leg. You nod eagerly, letting him hoist your leg up as he nudges his member against your opening. He ruts against you before seating himself inside in one lazy thrust. All of your nerve endings are ablaze, and your hands wrap around his forearm, keeping his hand pressed against your neck. He keeps a slow pace, and molasses runs through your veins. The moans that leave you sound desperate, and you watch as Siphorus fists his cock, his other hands tweaking his nipples and moving up and down his body.

You can feel the magic he is putting off, and it’s as if his hands are touching you from where he is in front of you. He is content with watching this time, it seems.

“Deeper, Elow. Give it to her deeper.” Not just watching then, apparently. He is giving orders as well. You moan out as Elow follows his direction and presses deeper into you, an eager “Yes'' leaving his lips. A phantom hand, courtesy of Siphorus, is circling your clit. The slow but persistent pleasure had you throbbing and jerking back into Elows arms, the two of you overstimulated together in the best of ways. More phantom hands ghost over you and go to Elow, who lets out a whorish moan at the feeling.

“Good boy, just like that,” Siphorus praises and nods.

You whimpered and met his milky gaze, “You too darling, you’re such a good girl for us. Such a good little master, aren’t you?” he asks, his smirk downright predatory.

His words pull a noise out of you that you didn’t think you were capable of making. Between his words, phantom hands, and Elow’s deep movements massaging your inner walls, you don’t last long. You feel yourself tense again, sparks flying through your veins as you milk the cock nestled deep inside you. Siphorus is still talking to the two of you, praising you though you can’t make out the words. Elow finishes too, locking himself inside you as he fills you with his seed. He grunts and makes breathy sounds into your neck as he continues to fill you.The warmth of it has aftershocks rippling through you, and you lean your head back against his shoulder as the two of you enjoy your afterglow. He slips from you minutes later, and you feel his plentiful cum running down the inside of your thighs. You should feel a bit grossed out, but all you feel is sated and claimed.

Siphorus must have finished with you as well, since you feel tendrils of his magic cleaning you up. They run up and down your body, prompting you to further melt into them. Your eyes peek open and he is there, smiling and pressing his lips to your forehead. “Shh, let me get us comfortable,” he tells you, before conjuring up a nest of blankets and cushions for you, all with a subtle fiery scent. You and Elow don’t even have to move, all the better since you still very much feel boneless. If Elow’s soft and content noises are anything to go by, he feels the same. Siphorus nuzzles himself in, the three of you tangled together.

“May I admit something, my dearests?” he asks us, answered only with a humming affirmative.

“I- Well, I didn’t have to stay. I’ve been free to leave but I just really, really wanted to stay.” You had not heard him sound so vulnerable before, and you squeeze one of his hands. You’re surprised, but not upset by the news. If anything, it lifts a weight off of your shoulders.

“Pft, tell me something I did not already know,” Elow teases him, his eyes still closed and a smile on his face.

Siphorus sputters, taken aback, but it turns into hearty laughter.

“I��m glad you stayed,” you tell him, kissing him in your half - asleep state.

The blankets and content hum of magic in the air lull you to sleep, surrounded by your loves.

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hxseok-honee · 3 years

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atlas heart || part 49

a/n : "the incantation comes from latin 'protego', 'i protect', and 'diabolica', a declension of 'diabolicus', meaning 'diabolic, relating to the devil'. it is unclear if the translation is meant to suggest 'protection from the devil' or 'the devil protects.'..."

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“Jungkook, will you stop eating all the cookies please--”

“How come Jin gets to eat everything in sight, but I can’t--”

“Because Jin is an insatiable mountain troll with no human manners and six stomachs--”

“Aw, Yoongi, you’re so loving with your words!”

“Shut up, Jin.”

“Kim Seokjin, stop eating the fucking food!” Jimin watches with thinly veiled exasperation as chaos unfolds in Yoongi and Hoseok’s countryside cottage. They’d arrived a few days prior, spending the week together before dispersing for Christmas Day, just in time for the full moon. It had been a chaotic week at best -- verbal altercations were had over stupid things like gift-wrapping techniques, and several small fires had already occurred in the kitchen, mostly due to Taehyung’s ice cream maker.

But somehow, they’d made it to Christmas Eve. And, so far, this Christmas Eve had been spent watching Jin eat all the food as it’s being made and consequently be kicked out of the kitchen entirely by Hoseok. Jimin’s seated in the living room with a perfect view of the chaos happening at the dining table. Y/n’s next to him, reading quietly with her head on Jimin’s shoulder. She’s especially tired today, the full moon just over 24 hours away, so Jimin’s staying close to her.

Namjoon and Taehyung are seated in front of the fireplace, engaged in an intense game of wizard’s chess. Namjoon is beating Taehyung by a landslide, but Taehyung just will not give up, something that makes Jimin smile fondly.

There’s a bang from the kitchen, catching everyone’s attention. Hoseok turns slowly from where he stands at the oven, smiling sheepishly at them.

“I may have put the pie in for too long.” The room is a collection of groans and exasperated laughter, Jin’s complaints overpowering the rest.

“How the fuck do you make a pie explode?! It’s a pie!” Hoseok looks to Yoongi for help, but the boy only shrugs.

“The man’s right, babe -- pie’s not that hard.” Hoseok lets out an affronted scoff, moving to open the window over the sink to let some of the smoke from the oven out. Jimin feels Y/n snicker softly beside him, and when he looks down at her, she’s peering over the top of her book at the scene in the kitchen. She looks so peaceful and happy, even with eyes full of exhaustion. He adores her entirely, and he knows it’s obvious to everyone but her.

Her eyes flick up to meet his then, and, over the cries of outrage from the kitchen about not having dessert, he hears her whisper to him.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Jimin purses his lips, smothering the smile that’s rising to the surface. He only shakes his head, his expression judgmental.

“Not everything’s about you, Y/n, geez.” He laughs when she gives him a hard nudge with her elbow, and he moves to wrap his arms around her and trap her in his hold. She lets it happen, only grumbling noncommittally about being unable to read like this. He presses his lips to her temple stubbornly in response. “You have a lifetime to read -- let me hug you.”

“Alright, it looks like we’re having deconstructed pie for dessert, so everyone come eat!” Apparently, the argument about the oven disaster has ended, as Hoseok’s setting a pie on the table, a giant hole in the middle where it had imploded. Taehyung jumps up from his tragedy of a chess game and runs for the kitchen, socked feet sliding to a stop in front of the refrigerator. Plucking a big bowl of homemade ice cream -- its flavor to be determined -- from inside, he makes his way to the table and spoons a giant scoop into the pie’s battle wound. He gestures dramatically at it when he’s done.

“Problem solved!” Hoseok mimics him, gesturing just as dramatically at his disappointed boyfriend.

“The man’s right, babe -- problem solved!” The group laughs, everyone slowly making their way to the table to eat. Y/n sets her book on the couch, moving to stand, but Jimin stops her. From within his pocket he pulls a vial and shakes it, eyeing her knowingly when she groans.

“Ten seconds of pain, and then you can drown the taste out with some ambiguously flavored ice cream. If it makes tomorrow night more bearable for you, then ten seconds is nothing.” She smiles, taking the vial and uncorking it.

“Did you just admit to being someone who eats dessert before dinner?” She downs the potion in one go, eyes squeezed shut. She doesn’t see Jimin gazing at her lovingly, only to lower his eyes when she’s done. She hands him the vial and takes his hand, pulling him to his feet and toward the table.

“You promised me only ten seconds of pain before ice cream, so move faster, Park Jimin.” They take their seats in the chairs nearest them, Jungkook setting his plate down on Y/n’s other side and moving to join them. Tae, Yoongi, and Hoseok sit across from them, Jin and Namjoon taking the end seats. Namjoon leaves his seat after a moment, moving to pass out silverware and swap the ladle in Jin’s hand for a normal spoon. Jin refuses to give up his spoon of choice, glaring at the boy standing over him.

“Dude, I will fight you on Christmas Eve -- I have no qualms about fucking up the holiday spirit or whatever--”

“Stop.” It comes from Jungkook, spoken with a quiet urgency that halts all activity in the room. He’s standing just behind the seat he’d been about to take, his hand resting on the back of the chair. He ignores their questioning glances, his eyes locked on nothing in particular as he focuses his hearing on the open window. When he finds what he’s looking for, he meets Yoongi’s eyes, alarmed.

“I thought you said you put a barrier around your house.” Yoongi and Hoseok glance at one another, shaking their heads simultaneously as Yoongi looks back to the Gryffindor.

“We never got around to it…” But Jungkook’s stopped listening. And, for all the years of jokes, remarks, and complaints Jung Hoseok had ever made about the boy’s heightened senses, he can say with complete confidence later that Jeon Jungkook is the only reason he’s still alive. Because the only person in the room that’s ready for the unforgivable curse that’s shot though the open window, aimed squarely at Hoseok’s chest, is the boy who’d heard the call for death fall from its caster’s lips.

Suddenly, Jungkook’s across the room, launching his body at Hoseok’s over the dinner table and twisting in mid-air to throw his hand out toward the window. He’d never in his life attempted nonverbal magic -- not necessarily the most advanced of students -- but it’s said that wizards can create even miracles if they’re desperate enough. And this is nothing like the World Cup, when Hoseok had protected him from a nasty stunning curse -- the beam of light headed Jungkook’s way right now, in this moment of literal life and death, has been shot to kill. So desperation is exactly what produces the shield charm that emits from his entire body, exploding outwards and shattering all the windows in the house as it goes. The force of it blows them all back, throwing them to the floor and against walls with cries of shock.

And, while a shield is normally null against a curse so powerful, it seems Jungkook’s done more than just perform nonverbal magic for the first time. He’s produced a physical barrier -- an invisible pane of pure energy separating his enemies from his family. It takes out half of the kitchen as it goes, destroying the far wall completely and opening the house out to the cold night around them.

In the confusion of chaos and rubble, Y/n lifts her head from the kitchen floor, catching a glimpse of the group of people outside the house, all equally disarmed from the display of sheer strength they’d just witnessed. She counts 6 bodies, all donned in dark robes, and she knows immediately that this is a Death Eater attack.

Groaning, she drags herself to her feet, grabbing anyone she can get her hands on and pulling them with her, staying low to the ground. Jimin’s the first to follow, holding onto Y/n for dear life, but he can’t help the way he hesitates when he looks past the overturned dining table, the wood splintered and cracked amidst all the wasted food.

Because there in front of him, right where the initial wave of power had surged out from and disoriented them all, is something that is very much not human. When it rises to its feet, it stands to full height, and Jimin knows that it’s easily as tall as he is. Black fur as far as the eye can see, the end of its ears and tail painted grey -- its body practically ripples with strength as it moves, and it’s from behind a set of sharpened teeth and a massive jaw, so powerful it could probably break Jimin clean in half, that a low growl starts to rumble.

It becomes a terrifying snarl in a matter of seconds, those piercing teeth shining in the moonlight with deadly intent. Jimin can feel that he’s still moving -- that all of this is happening in slow motion as he runs for safety and that no time at all has actually passed -- but he feels his whole world stop, drowned out by the sound of his heart pounding in his ears, when the beast shifts. Preparing to attack, it turns its head at the last moment to meet his eyes, and Jimin sees then that he knows these eyes. He knows the way they look him over with guarded concern and the way they turn away from him as soon as they know he’s unharmed, silently telling him to find his own way out -- after all, Jeon Jungkook’s always made it clear he has better things to do than look after Park Jimin.

Jungkook presses all his weight into his back legs, crouching low for a moment so suspended in time that Jimin doesn’t even see him leave. But then he’s gone, wind rushing past Jimin’s face and blowing debris everywhere as the wolf takes off. After another hard tug from Y/n that pulls Jimin’s focus back to the matter at hand, he only hears when Jungkook finds his first target, the ripping of cloth and the hellish cry of pain ringing in Jimin’s ears like a nightmare.

Tripping over pieces of the ceiling and walls -- the back half of the house essentially crumbling in on itself -- Jimin finds the faces of each of his friends. They’re all there with the exception of Jungkook, who seems almost feral, if the shrieks of death behind them are anything to go by. The group stumbles from the side of the house through a door that’s comically useless at this point, and when they circle around to the back, it becomes clear that there are far more than 6 Death Eaters.

The group that had led the attack has all but been taken out now, Jungkook nowhere to be seen -- but he’s certainly left evidence of his presence there. Jimin can’t tell if these people are dead or still dying, but he doesn’t have time to sort through the discarded bodies to check. Behind the cottage is a field of tall wheat that's surrounded by forest-- a massive expanse of land -- and when they look into this field to the top of a hill not too far away, there’s another wave of Death Eaters lined up, these faces rather familiar to just two of his friends. Jimin hears swearing behind him, and then Hoseok’s pushing past him roughly, only stopped by Namjoon’s hand clamping down around his wrist.

“Don’t, Hoseok! We can’t do this -- there’s too many of them. We have to run--”

“They just tried to kill me, Namjoon! In my own home!” Hoseok whirls around and gets in his face, eyes wild. Jin tenses next to Y/n, one of his hands hovering over his pocket where his wand is. When she follows his eyes, she sees that the line of Death Eaters has started to approach.

They move slowly, as if they have all the time in the world. As if they have nothing to fear, organized and protected against this mismatched group of ambushed friends. She watches as they approach like predators waiting for the kill, and she knows that this is no simple Death Eater attack -- it’s a massacre.

And then, just as silently as he’d disappeared, Jungkook’s returned. Their attackers are given no warning, only registering that the wheat around them is rustling when one of them is violently pulled down into it. He’s gone in an instant, his screams echoing in the night as he’s dragged through the dirt toward the house.

The moment Jungkook emerges at the edge of the field, the Death Eater is flying through the air and crashing into the remains of the house, slung from Jungkook’s jaws like nothing more than a ragdoll. He lands not a few feet away from them, and Yoongi’s jaw clenches when he recognizes the bloodied face of a fellow Slytherin. Turning to lock his gaze onto the line of his old classmates, he pushes past the group and summons his wand from within the rubble of his home with nothing more than the flick of his wrist. It flies from deep within the ruins into its master’s hand with ease, and Yoongi spins it between his fingers casually once he has it.

“I really hope you guys all know how to cast shields as powerful as Jungkook’s -- otherwise, we’re fucked.” The wolf in question falls into line with Yoongi, his whole body shaking from the warning growl forming deep within his chest. The rest of the group follows, facing their enemies head-on.

From Jungkook’s other side, he feels a warm hand press into the top of his head, and he knows it instinctively. He can also feel the cold length of a wand, hidden easily in the darkness of his fur and beneath her flattened hand. Y/n keeps him there for only a moment -- knowing they only have a moment -- and presses her fingertips against his skull as if to hold him back. As if to stall him just long enough to tell him to be careful. And then the moment is gone and she’s wrapping her fingers neatly around her wand, releasing him with a whisper.

“Go.”

None of them can say how long they’ve been there -- every second that passes is another that they could lose their lives, so it feels like they’re there a lifetime. They’ve huddled into a small circle, surrounded completely. Jungkook is mobile, weaving in and out of their enemies at too fast a speed to ever be hit by a curse. He’s taking them out slowly, dragging them back into the darkness one by one while the rest work just to stay alive. Unlike at the World Cup, where every enemy shot fired was red, these beams of lights are all hauntingly green, glowing in the night sky -- a sign that things are different now, death standing only a few feet away in the form of old friends.

Every killing curse fired is met with an equally powerful shield, a wall that shatters the moment it meets its mark. They’re cancelling each other out, evenly matched in a battle that won’t end until someone gets tired -- until someone makes a mistake. The only sounds come from incantations, spoken by those of their group that cannot cast silently.

Hoseok and Yoongi fight much like their opponents, masks of guarded silence -- a reminder that while they’re on opposite sides of the war, they were once very much the same. The difference, of course, is that their old housemates are now murderers without remorse. But that’s not their only problem.

Y/n suddenly stumbles next to Jimin, and he can’t even tear his eyes away from the Death Eater before him to check on her. He can only reach for her with his free hand, gripping her wrist in panic, which she rips from his hold with a groan. She only barely manages to raise her wand in time to block the killing curse headed right for her head. The force of her shield colliding with the curse so close to her knocks her back, and she falls into the circle with gritted teeth.

Jimin steps in front of her, closing the gap in their circle and allowing her a moment to recover inside their circle. But she never returns to her spot, only curling in on herself and gripping at her head with a cry of pain -- she knows this feeling. The feeling of her skull splitting, her body rejecting itself as it turns into something unnatural -- something unhuman.

But this can’t be happening. The full moon is not tonight, something she confirms simply by rolling over in the dirt and looking up at the sky, in excruciating pain. She can see clearly that this cannot be her reality, yet the popping of her spine as it dislocates itself is very much real. Reaching out blindly, she latches on to the first person she can find, her hand clamping down around Hoseok’s ankle and squeezing with all her might. He hisses above her and manages to glance down long enough to see an expression of pain he’d long become accustomed to.

“What the fuck?!” It’s the first time he’s spoken in ages, his attention back on his opponent as he works out in his mind how this is possible. There’s no time to reason through what he knows, however, because Y/n’s teeth are clenching so hard she’s afraid they might crack, her grip on his ankle tightening painfully. Hoseok makes a snap decision then, calling out into the night.

“Jimin, listen to me.” The boy’s on his left, so focused on the shield he’s casting that he responds only once he’s successfully blocked the deadly beam of green light.

“What is it, Hoseok--”

“You have to take her into the forest. Now.” His instructions are muffled by the sounds of a curse crashing into Namjoon’s shield, unheard by their enemies, but Jimin hears him clearly. He also hears the urgency in Hoseok’s voice, telling him there’s no time for questions. “It has to be you, Jimin.”

He knows then what Hoseok’s saying, what he hasn’t had the chance to confirm himself. Y/n’s transforming on a night other than the full moon, and they’re out of time. He calls for Y/n then, reaching back for her.

“Y/n -- baby, listen to me. We gotta go.” There’s a moment of nothingness, only her groans of pain, but then he feels her hand slamming down into his and gripping hard. And then his body is working faster than his brain.

Stepping forward out of the circle and straight for the man that’s been trying to end his life all night, Jimin swings his arm out, bringing a new shield up with him as he goes. It hits the Death Eater from the side, catapulting him through the air. Just as he’s in the downward arc of his fall, he’s caught suddenly, torso trapped in Jungkook’s jaws as the wolf leaps into the air to capture his next target. They crash to the ground not far away, hidden away in the wheat.

Jimin pulls Y/n to her feet, pointing his wand out into the field as he runs for the treeline.

“Fumos!” The effect is immediate, smoke pouring out of his wand and swirling around him in a dense fog. It keeps them hidden as they make a beeline for the trees, allowing them safe passage. Jimin chances a look over his shoulder and sees that the smoke hasn’t passed over his circle of friends, ensuring that they’ll still be able to see clearly and protect themselves.

Y/n stumbles again as they run, but Jimin’s hold on her keeps her going, and she registers that he’ll be there for her transformation. Panic seeps in through the pain, and she calls out desperately for him to stop, her vision leaving her. Jimin can feel her struggling against him, but he tightens his grip and forces her to follow. They’re close to the treeline by now, but it won’t be enough until they’re completely hidden. And, although he can’t see where the wolf has gone with his old enemy, Jimin steps in something wet and everything suddenly reeks of blood, so he knows Jungkook is near. Apparently, Y/n can smell it, too, because she’s struggling harder now.

“Jungkoo-- Jungkook, stop him!” Jimin grits his teeth and stops, turning to face his girlfriend and pulling her forward. She crashes right into him, the force of his sudden movement propelling her straight into his arms. Her eyes are wide open but her vision’s completely blacked out, which Jimin can see in the fact that she won’t look at him. But he doesn’t need her to.

Ducking low, he wraps an arm around her waist and throws her over his shoulder, ignoring her cries of outrage as he races for the forest just ahead. She pounds her fists against his back, practically roaring with fury as she fights him. He only pushes on, telling himself he’ll let her be as mad as she wants later, if they’re still alive.

Once they make it into the forest, Jimin runs only far enough that he feels unseen before setting her on her feet. She’s immediately falling to the ground, crawling blindly away from him and clawing at the dirt in pain.

“Go away! Just go away!” Disappearing behind a tree, she swears at him loudly, looking for any outlet for her pain. Jimin only turns to the treeline, letting her curse him as he surveys the land around him for Death Eaters. All he sees is Jungkook in the distance, turning in circles in the field as if lost.

Jimin watches as the wolf races for their friends, sliding to an urgent stop and turning back again in confusion when he doesn’t find what he’s looking for. He sees when Jungkook’s ears perk up at someone’s call, and his head is turning in Hoseok’s direction. Hoseok’s lips move, giving instructions Jimin can’t hear, but he knows exactly what’s been said when Jungkook’s whipping around to look at the trees.

Interestingly, the wolf hesitates, moving forward before stopping to looking over his shoulder. It’s only a moment, but it’s enough for Hoseok to point out at the forest urgently as he blocks another curse. Jimin can read Hoseok’s lips clearly then as the older boy calls out to Jungkook.

Jimin will die if you don’t go.

The chill that runs down Jimin’s spine at that moment, an omen playing a cruel joke on him, only worsens when he realizes that he’s stopped being able to hear Y/n’s pained gasps. A low whine rings out behind him, and it’s with bated breath that Jimin’s turning slowly on his heels.

Towering over him with an icy gaze locked on him is Y/n -- rather, it’s the part of Y/n that has no idea who he is in that moment. The eyes that see him only see through him, completely empty of anything that isn’t primal. Where Jungkook’s eyes are still his own even in a wolf’s body, these eyes don’t recognize him, and Jimin knows that fact alone will haunt him forever.

Yet, he isn’t afraid of her. He’s only afraid for her -- for the way she’s still curled in on herself, still in pain. He’s afraid for the way she blinks, thoughts muddled and lost, struggling to find herself in the darkness of her mind. He’s especially afraid for the way she finally gives in, losing her will to fight for herself. Her pupils shrink and grow until she’s focusing in on him, and Jimin knows by the way she tilts her head curiously at him that he’s got her attention -- and that’s never good.

When she takes a step toward him, he mirrors it with a step back, and that alone seems to set her off. She moves suddenly, closing the distance between them easily. She leans down until her snout is pushed close to his nose, snarling at him as he stays frozen where he stands. When she raises one clawed hand, he barely has time for a final thought before she’s swinging down at him.

Well, shit.

Suddenly, Jimin’s flying through the air and crashing to the ground a few feet away, rolling to a stop at the base of a tree with a groan -- but he’s in one piece. Lifting his head, he finds that he hadn’t been sliced to pieces by his own girlfriend. He’d been shoved out of the way by a wolf twice his size, the wolf in question now standing where he had just been.

Jungkook’s got his teeth latched around Y/n’s wrist, growling loudly to keep her attention on him. They stand there a few moments, eyes locked in a tense stare-down of dominance. Y/n eventually raises her other hand, claws gleaming in the moonlight, but Jungkook only growls again, a warning. It stops her, as if recognizing this moment, and, although she seems enraged by the display, she lowers her hand anyway.

Ripping her other, trapped, wrist from Jungkook’s jaws, she lets out her own snarl and steps toward him, and Jimin thinks these two might really tear each other apart. But Jungkook’s been here countless times, and he’s still of clear mind, so he knows exactly what to do.

Crouching quickly, he snaps his teeth at her ankles, sending her backwards. She roars angrily, but he persists, snapping at her feet again and again until she’s finally scurrying off into the forest with a cry of outrage. Jungkook watches her go before rushing to Jimin, startling the boy out of his shock.

The wolf sniffs at the air around Jimin, knocking him around with his massive head as he pushes his snout into Jimin’s torso, checking for injuries. Jimin’s lost for a moment, wondering exactly why Jungkook’s expressing so much concern when Y/n should be his priority, but then he remembers exactly what it would mean if he had been caught by one of Y/n’s claws.

Once Jungkook’s done checking that Jimin won’t be turning into a werewolf anytime soon, he’s gone, disappearing after his sister. Jimin only sits there, bruised and battered but alive all the same. Then he hears someone yelling Taehyung’s name in the distance, and he’s on his feet.

Rushing out to the field, he stops at the top of the hill, his breath catching in his throat when he sees the scene down below. His friends are still surrounded, and, although the number of Death Eaters has been severely reduced thanks to the merciless animagus running around, there’s still too many of them. But before he can rush to help, something happens, all too fast to process -- and Jimin has the displeasure of witnessing everything from that hill.

Down in the circle, the rest of the group is fighting for their lives. Many of the boys have sustained injuries simply from their own shields exploding too close to them -- pieces of the ground and debris from the house are thrown around, catching on their bodies in surface wounds they won’t even notice until the next morning.

There’s a special kind of desperation spilling off of Namjoon and Taehyung -- the only muggleborns in that circle -- and it’s making one of them reckless. Namjoon’s keeping his cool, as he’s been in the Order for months now and has had the battle training, but Jin’s having to compensate for small mistakes Taehyung is making out of fear. The Gryffindor’s only a boy, a boy targeted simply for being born. This is the first time he’s ever been faced with his own reality, and he’s terrified.

So when he slips on a piece of rubble at his feet, the only thing that keeps him alive is the fact that he’d moved his head a quarter of an inch to the left just in time. The killing curse flies past him and through the circle, passing Yoongi on the right and hitting a mark just past him -- that mark is the Death Eater that Yoongi had been battling all night.

The boy crumples instantly, the light in his eyes gone. Yoongi watches as he goes, his mind blank as the body crashes to the ground. And then he’s turning on his heel, everything slowed and muffled around him. The Death Eaters have all stopped, equally shocked from what’s just occurred -- after all, they’re just boys, too.

Yoongi hears Jin yelling Taehyung’s name, and he sees Hoseok rushing for him. He watches as Namjoon starts to run to Tae and then stop, raising his wand and choosing to keep guard instead, realizing that their fight isn’t over. Yoongi watches all of it with wide eyes, thinking then that this scene would be very different had the curse hit Taehyung as intended. He spins, staring down at the dead body below him, thinking that this is what Taehyung would have been. This lifeless, empty corpse. And that’s just too much for someone like Yoongi to deal with.

In that moment, the strength of the silent marksman is broken, shattered from within as he fights no longer to protect his own life but those of his friends. In that moment, he proves to be much more worthy than he’d ever thought himself before, breaking through that perpetual tendency to hide himself away — but it comes at a price. Because it’s in that moment that Min Yoongi, for all that he’d tried to free himself of that cursed name, finally gives in to the bloodline he’d spent his whole life denying.

“Protego diabolica!” The spell is cast like the roar of a dragon awakened, enraged -- the first time he’s spoken an incantation in years. It’s ripped from his lungs against his will, uttered with nothing but the urge to destroy, the need to bring pain down on his enemies so that they may never hurt his family again. That dark magic — so forbidden, so evil — follows the command of his left arm, quite literally brought to life by the malice in his eyes and the sweeping of his hand in an arc around himself. And for the first time in the 7 years Jimin had known the shy, self-loathing Slytherin — so guarded from the vulnerabilities of life — he watches from that hill as Yoongi loses control.

The fire that flows out of his hand like water -- icy and unforgiving -- spreads out around Yoongi like a wall of pitch black rage. It passes right over his friends -- they flinch at the foreign magic and its caster, who seems equally foreign to them now. They watch with awe as Yoongi commands the fire, forming a protective circle around them with ease. It almost seems to feed off of his rage, growing with every breath he takes and shrinking with the fall of his chest. He is a snake no more -- a dragon birthed of fire and blood stands in his place.

Jimin watches in pained silence as one of his closest friends loses himself to the war -- but even now, he can still see that Yoongi’s still there. And it’s Yoongi that will have to deal with consequences later, but right now he’s doing whatever it takes to save them. And that includes exploding with anger the moment he spots Jimin still up on that hill.

“Get your ass in here!” The ring of fire seems to swell with his outrage, and Jimin is in no place to refuse. The Death Eaters are still shocked and disoriented by the wall of fire they’re now faced with, and Jimin uses that to his advantage. Racing down the hill, he leaps into the circle, the cold flames licking at his ankles as they let him pass, recognizing him as a friend to their master.

Having seen Jimin’s success at passing through the ring, two of the Death Eaters rush at the wall, unaware of the nature of this dark magic. The moment they make contact with it, the fire senses their intentions, reacting accordingly. Jimin watches as they dissolve into nothing, shrieks of pain ringing out into the air as the fire consumes them. When he turns, he sees that Yoongi is shaken by this, his eyes conflicted as he watches two of his classmates cease to exist, remembering exactly what kind of magic he’s just brought into the world.

But when one of the last Death Eaters attempts to cast another killing curse into the circle, hoping to get through, the fire seems to act not on Yoongi’s command but on his instinct -- and his instinct is to block it. The flames explode outward, concentrating into a wall of protection and destroying the curse. And then they reach further, snaking out to overpower the boy who’d cast the spell, consuming him and his plea for mercy.

There’s only one Death Eater left, standing just outside the circle. Yoongi locks eyes with him, sees the trembling boy staring back at him with fear. They see each other, remembering simultaneously all the times they’d eaten together at mealtimes and suffered together during exam season. They’d grown up together. Just how they’d ended up here, neither of them can recall in that moment, and it destroys whatever innocence they’d had left.

Yoongi finally looks out to the field, his eyes flicking quickly before returning to the Death Eater. The boy hesitates, eventually stepping back. After another moment, he turns, running for his life and never looking back.

When he’s gone, the ring of fire fades, the wall tumbling down until all that’s left is a ring of earth around them that’s been burned to a crisp. Yoongi crumbles then, falling to his knees and staring at nothing. Jimin and Hoseok rush to him, eyes scanning him in concern. They all remain silent, words unable to express what any of them are feeling. Finally, Yoongi lifts his head, still unable to lock eyes with anyone.

“Is everyone okay?” They don’t answer his question, Jin only scoffing in shell-shocked disbelief.

“Are you okay?” Yoongi looks at his best friend, and he knows Jin can see right through him. They all can. He doesn’t respond, and they fall to silence again. Surrounded by bodies and destruction, unable to comprehend what’s happened. Unable to fathom how inexplicably broken they’ve become.

Just when they’re ready to face each other -- when they’re ready to face the aftermath of this night together -- a howl rings out from the forest, pained and haunting. They all lift their heads to stare in exhaustion at the treeline, outlined perfectly by the light of a moon that isn’t full. Yoongi chuckles darkly, shaking his head as he rises slowly to his feet and dusts off his pants before turning to look at what's left of his home with a long sigh.

“This family’s a fucking mess.”

#bts au #bts smau #bts social media au #bts hogwarts au #park jimin #jimin x reader #AHupdate

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americangirlstar · 3 years

Photo

Pleasant View Farms Bed-and-Breakfast - Sims 4

While working on Blaire’s aesthetic for my aes series, I got inspired to make her farm on Sims; while it’s unfortunately never illustrated, it’s the major setting for her story and the books are very good at making it seem like a peaceful, calming place. So I did my best to recreate what little description we got into a Sims build– with the bonuses of the Wedding Barn, a chicken coop and animal pen, and an outdoor dining area based on Blaire’s Family Farm Restaurant.

I had a lot of fun with this– I made myself Makena and Evette’s houses as well, and I’ll be posting them soon!

Notes:

No CC! While it uses several packs, it mainly uses Cottage Living and Dine Out.

Meant for a 64x64 lot. Mine is in Henford-on-Bagley.

First floor of the inn has the reception area, dining room, two kitchens (official and for family use), three bathrooms, Grandpa Ben’s bedroom, two storage closets, a “boiler room” and a stairwell and elevator. Second floor has six hotel rooms for guests, seven bathrooms (six of which are attached to rooms), a laundry room I did my best with as I don’t have the laundry set yet, and another stairwell. Third floor has Blaire’s room, her parents’ room, Beckett’s room, an extra office and windowed study.

I believe Blaire’s room was supposed to be on the first floor in the book, but there was already so much on the first floor and I thought as her room was partially windowed it would make more sense to be on the top floor, so I made the top floor into her immediate family’s rooms with a bonus office; her grandfather’s room being on the first floor is relevant to the opening chapter, so it remains down there beside their second kitchen.

Lot Traits include Chef’s Kitchen (due to Blaire and her mother being very focused on baking), Great Soil (for the family farm) Fast Internet (bc of Blaire’s technological addiction)

The stairwell in the books is a play kitchen for the kids. I don’t have a play kitchen on Sims 4, so I just put a table, chairs and toybox.

Gallery ID: blackwoodsis

build is also tagged under #americangirl and #blairewilson

Extra pics below the cut!

The kitchen (wall color based on Blaire’s second book cover):

Dining Room (hard to get a good shot ugh):

The two types of hotel rooms: there’s four of the first and two of the second:

Blaire’s bedroom (not pictured is her inspo board above the desk):

The barn (don’t let the chickens in!):

Animal pens:

Blaire’s Family Farm Restaurant:

And the farm (three beeboxes included!):

#american girl #american girl dolls #american girls #girl of the year #blaire wilson #sims #sims 4 #sims4cc #sims 4 cc #ts4 #ts4 build #cottage living #2019 #mine #americangirlstar #blackwoodsis

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blackdragonturds · 4 years

Text

“Here” pt. 4!

Reader’s POV

Two hours later…

“ugh…What the hell happened?”

I sat up in my bed rubbing my pounding head. Erron was seated in the chair next to my bed but crawled onto my bed upon hearing me wake up. Sitting down next to me, he places his fingers on my wrist to check my pulse.

“Hey, are you…what the hell? There’s a black crescent moon on your forehead.”

“There is?”

He grabbed the small jeweled handheld mirror off the end table next to my bed to show me. True to his word, a small black jagged moon was on my forehead above my eyebrows in the center. It made me wonder how it got there. But…I kind of liked it. Placing the mirror down beside me, I finger comb through my hair.

“Shang must have done this. Are you doing all right?”

He had his mask off as I finally got to see what he really looked like. I felt something warm spread across my face but he smiled.

“At least you’re awake. I was well…”

“Hm?”

“Well…nevermind. Its not important. You hungry?”

“A little. Why?”

“Well, the Kahn told me to tell you that if you’re feeling peckish that you can join the banquet.”

“A…banquet? I’ve never attended a banquet before…what should I wear?”

Erron chuckled and got off my bed to present to me a gift box with a silk ribbon tied to it.

“The Kahn had his silk weavers make you something nice to wear for it. I don’t like to get all goody-goody with this kind of thing so here.”

I take the box from him, pulling off the ribbon. Inside was a beautifully knit silk scarf and a headpiece made of gold and silver, a delicate silver moon in the center.

“Its…wow…thank you.”

Erron fixes his hair as he reminded me,

“Also, since the Kahn wants you as his soothsayer, well…he would want you to show off your status to the royal court but it’s your choice. I’ll save you a seat at the dining hall.”

I rise from my bed and place my scarf around my shoulders.

“Where’s the dining hall?”

“Well, since you are of high status now you come with me. He did say he wants me to guard your life at all costs.”

“All right then.”

I put on my shoes as he loaded his pistols. The same ones he used to shoot off my restraints in the Outworld Market. I followed him out of my room and he asked me,

“I gotta know…what made you want to leave Earthrealm?”

“Well, you first.”

Erron sighed as he began in a somber tone,

“I left about a hundred or fifty so years ago. I felt that no one needed a guy like me. I didn’t score points with the ladies, I didn’t fit in anywhere, and I easily shot Jesse James in the dick in a high noon draw. I’ll never forget that.”

His warm brown eyes met mine as he asked,

“Now, what’s your story?”

I gulped as I told him,

“Well, I left because my home was invaded by now I assume Outworld. I remember these…men, with long sharp teeth and blades coming out of their arms. Most of them were bald and hideous-“

He cut me off with a question.

“Ah, stupid Tarkatans. They jump at the chance of invasion. So…what were your folks like?”

I thought for a moment thinking of what I should tell him,

“Well, I had a loving family…a baby sister, my little brother, and I was the oldest. We lived in a little cottage my dad built all by himself. I was an introverted kid and well…my parents died when Earthrealm was invaded. I was only five at the time, my brother was three and my baby sister was six months old.”

Erron asked gently,

“What of your parents?”

“They were loving and kind to all three of us. But those creatures slaughtered my family and kidnapped my baby sister. I was helpless because I was just little. I didn’t know what to do.”

Erron was quiet with his response.

“My father was a cruel son of a bitch. My mom hated me and I was beaten almost daily.”

I felt pity pinch me.

“I’m so sorry…”

“Well, It’s in the past and I wanna keep it there.”

“Okay. But I think you’re a nice guy Erron.”

“Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself. Mousey, a bit of a scaredy cat and a bit clueless but cool.”

His brutal honesty hurts but he’s right.

We approach a large wooden door as the sight of the dining hall came to view. Roasted cattle over an open fire, being rotated on a wooden pole, bowls of exotic fruits from Earthrealm and Outworld, a stuffed turkey, even some finger foods. I could smell exotic teas and what smelled like soups. Musicians bang on large drums as other musicians play various instruments. Dancers sway like leaves around the end of the room. Servants of multiple races served guests and court members eagerly as the smells and sounds made my stomach gurgle.

“Oh I’m so hungry! This looks delicious!” I squeal excitedly.

“Well, lemme show you to your seat.” Erron purred.

He led me to a fancy chair next to the end of the long table, and at the head of the table sat Kotal Kahn eating something pink and jiggly. I take my seat as Erron pulls a napkin off the table and laying it onto my lap.

“Thank you…”

Erron took his hat off setting it on the floor next to his chair. I tried to reach for an apple as the Kahn addressed me,

“Please, allow me.”

“Okay.”

He snapped his fingers as a servant came to his side. He ordered the man to take my plate and fill it with food. Erron waited his turn next to me, and soon, his plate came with ribs and some boiled potatoes. Mine had the same portion but a chilled apple with it

“Thank you Kahn.”

“My pleasure.” the emperor purred. As I ate, I could barely contain myself how delicious the food was. I saw D’Vorah across from me eating something like a pork chop and the same pink jiggly stuff the Kahn was eating. She was smiling feeding her slug creature.

The Kahn must be going through a lot to make me feel welcome…

I sipped my wine one of the servants poured for me as the Kahn rested his arm on the arm of his throne looking at me.

“Is the food adequate my dear?”

“Yes, it is thank you.”

“I’m sure you have many questions.”

I nodded putting my cup down.

“So if you’re the emperor of Outworld, why did you pick a slave to be a soothsayer? And what is a soothsayer?”

Koala Kahn sighed popping a few grapes into his mouth,

“Well, an indigo like you can easily feel things most mortals cannot. You perceive the world differently and you can have psychic visions. I figure you would be a great addition to my court.

It began to make sense now. he continued.

“If you were a sleigh beggy you would be an excellent mage.”

I asked cautiously,

“A sleigh beggy?”

Erron wiped his mouth and pointed to a girl with short red hair and beautiful green eyes. She was eating some ham and seemed to be chatting with a fellow mercenary.

“That’s the Kahn’s court wizard Robin.”

“She’s beautiful…” I mused.

Total Kahn agreed,

“Yes she is. Now you, you’re special. And that moon crest on your forehead?”

I touch my forehead as he went on.

“Is more proof you are worthy to serve me.”

**********

Thanks for reading!

#mk #erron black #kotal kahn #fanfiction #fanfic #mkx mortal kombat x #d'vorah #idk what else to tag

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lizzisimss · 1 year

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bestkpopscenariosontheblockbts · 4 years

Text

Got7: Snow White and the Seven Princes

The young princess runs away in horror from the huntsman. He released his hound dogs that here on the search for her. She finds a stream and gets in and to loos her scent from the dogs. She she gets out she keeps running and continuously trips on a rock or a root from the trees. Every time she heard a howl, she ran faster and losing her breath. As soon she finally stopped and hoping that she lost the huntsman and the dogs. She finally caught her breath and leaned against the tree. She felt a strong sharp pain in her leg and looked down to see it bruised. She believes that it happened when she fell and tripped all those times. She looked around her surroundings and realized that she was lost. She knew she need to find a way out. She got back up and and kept going. It was already dark and and she thanked the moonlight to help guide her through the darkness. As she kept walking as it got darker she found an opening and noticed a small cottage and a well.

The princess walks up to the well and and lowers the bucket down to the bottom. She pulls it back and and used her hands to scoop the water. She drinks the cool water and puts the bucket down on the ground. She turns around and looks around the landscape that she enter in. She walks up to the near window of the cottage and sees that it had a table and small kitchen and a fire place.

“Some one must live here.” She thought out loud. “Hello? Any one here?” She yelled out hoping for someone to answer.

There was no answer that she move on to the next item to the cottage. She finds a shed next to a empty horse stable. She opens the shed and sees a pile of straw and decides to sleep on it until morning. She closed her eyes and drifted into a slumber.

It was the next day and the princess woke up by seven loud voices. She looked around a noticed that she was in a warm bed and soft blankets.

“Hyung! There was no way I was going to leave her out there!” A voice that sounded very young was the first thing she was able to hear clearly.

“I don’t care! What if she was a witch?” A grumpy voice shouted.

“Come on Jaebum, that girl looks so innocent just by looking at her.” Another voice that was sounded deep and mature yet it was it was kind.

“Well ask her who she is when she wakes up.” Another voice that was deep but sounded playful spoke out.

“For some reason I can’t help it but she seems so familiar Mark.” The next voice was very gentle kind.

“You felt it to Youngjae? I thought I was the only one.” This voice sounded very much like someone she knew of but she cant remember.

“I’m gonna go check on her. She might be awake.” The last deep male voice said in a cheerful tone and she heard and the sound of footstep came closer to the room she was in.

She got out of the bed feeling the pain in her foot looked at he bruise. She hurried back up from the pain and went to the near a window and used it a mirror and smoothed her dress and hair real fast.

The door opened and she looked at the direction from the sound of it and noticed a man peeking his head through. He notices that she saw him and put his head back to the other side. She giggled at the sight of his action. He knocked on the door and she replied for him to come back in to the room. He reopens the door and walks in. He kept his distance as he got closer. He bows and introduces himself.

“Hello. Sorry for disturbing you. I hope you slept well. My name is Jackson.”

The princess smiles and looks at him and curtsy. “It alright. My name is Y/N. Thank you for letting me sleep here.”

“No problem. There was no way we would leave a lady in the night alone. I hope you are hungry. My friend has made breakfast,” he reaches out his hand and welcoming his kindness.

As she steps forward her foot made her wince and fall hard towards the ground. Jackson swiftly went to her side and helped her up.

“Are you alright?” He grabs her hand and she winced again. “Are you hurt?”

“It’s my leg,” Y/n confessed. She lifted part of her skirt reveling the bruise to the boy.

“Here let me help.” With out any hesitation, Jackson picked up Y/N bridal style. She gasped and was stunned by his action as he walked out the door and down the stairs to the kitchen. As he made his movement she looked at his face and blushed very slowly.

Y/n got very nervous and and tried not to let her nerves show to the man. She never got carried like this before or met a man like him before. Her stomach started to churn as she got more nervous when when she heard the other voices and their volume started to increase.

Jackson brought he in to a the small dining room where six other young men were talking loudly towards each other. Jackson set her gently on an empty chair and place her a plate of some apple slices and a bowl of soft oatmeal. He smiled at her and gave her some water. As soon she was set for her meal, he begin to devour his.

“I hope you are hungry. Please eat as much as you can,” he told her politely.

“Thank you,” said the milady very quietly. As she started to eat the young man on her left place a piece of bread with honey. She looked to the young man and saw his bright sunny smile yet it was so soft it could warm her up. She kept her eyes train on his as if she knew in so well.

“Would you like a piece? I hope you like honey?”

“Yes. Thank you,” Y/N accepted.

“I’m Youngjae. I hope you are well today.”

“I am a bit. But thank you for asking though. My name is Y/N.”

As she nibbled her honey bread. She watched how some of the other men were to busy eating to noticed her presence. Until the she locked eyes with twin mole eyed man at the edge of the table. She wasn't sure if she should look away or would it seemed rude. Before she could say anything the male said a word towards her.

“Sorry if we woke you. I hope we weren’t that loud.”

“No it is alright. I’m fine. but thank you though for your consideration,” she just mumbled.

The male just chuckled at her reactions and decided to introduce himself. “I’m Jaebeom.” As soon he introduce himself the others were doing the same.

“I am Yugeom,” as announced as he winks before drinking his water. “This is BamBam,” he points at the other one beside him.

“And I am Jinyoung,” she turned her head slightly as they young men states thier name. Jinyoung looked at her and gave her a slight smile that welcomes her.

“I’m Y/N.” As soon she said her name she got nervous but tried to remain calm.

“Wait,” said the brown eye one wearing gray and white looked at her. “Y/N? As if Y/N, Princess of Gardenia?

“Yes,” she question of the male that asked her.

“It’s me. Mark. We used to play when we were kids,” he got up to her an knelt to her. “And Youngjae he was there with us.”

“It is you,” Youngjae smiled.

Y/n’s eyes were open wide as she looked at the two men before her and sees the little boys she once knew in the face and eyes. She indeed remember a smaller versions of them from another kingdoms that used to visit her home. Before she had any words come out of her mouth she wrapped her arm around both of them for comfort.

Mark and Youngjae hugged her back to make sure that she felt safe. She let her arms let go and tried not to cry in front of the others. She looked at them both questioned him about his place here. “Why are you here?

“We should be asking you the same question as well,” Jaebeom stated. “We are very surprised that someone actually found our cottage. This place is actually hidden by a cursed forest.”

“Cursed? How is it cursed?” She looked at the men very confused.

“We are banished from leaving here,” BamBam answered.

“Banished?”

“During the last invasion from the dragon that terrorized the eight kingdoms. We all traveled to defeat it. We worked together to bring it down. But it was also a trap,” Jinyoung stated.

“It was a trap and test to find the bravest and strongest men from the all of the kingdoms. We thought we defeated the giant lizard but it was a witch tricking us.” Y/n looked at Yugeom as he continued the story.

“She gathered all of us to get us away from our kingdoms to set them all into sleep slumber and take our magical treasure the protect our people. She took our kingdoms magic and ours”, BamBam says.

“She took all of us and place us here, away from home and powerless,” Jackson added.

Mark look at Y/N, “But how did you get here and how? We thought no one could ever find us. Not even this place.”

“I don’t know. I ran away from home. The huntsman was trying to kill me... But I didn’t know where i was going. I tripped and fell and woke up here.”

“At least you are safe now with us. We wont let anyone hurt you now,” Youngjae squeezed her shoulder.

She thanked them and looked at them all. Hoping that they were right and hope that they are safe here.

=========================================

Hi everyone. I know it has been so long. I’ve been working alot and hard to keep up. But I’ll do my best to update.

-Admin DJ

#got7 scenarios #got7 scenario #got7 fanfic #got7 au #got7 #jaeboem scenario #jackson wang scenarios #mark tuan scenarios #youngjae scenarios #bambam scenarios #jinyoung scenarios #yugeom scenarios

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ladyoutlier · 5 years

Text

Here Today Gone Tomorrow

In which Aziraphale and Crowley are tasked with making a human.

[Read on AO3] | [Chapter 1]

Chapter 2: An Angel and Demon’s Offspring

Rain poured heavily on the shingled roof of the quaint little cottage Aziraphale and Crowley had miracled for themselves. It was a huge stand-out from the rest of Eden with its English aesthetic greatly contrasting the surrounding jungle. However, this was hardly a concern to either of them. Just because they had to take on the role of Adam and Eve didn’t mean that they had to live in the dirt like them. Both the angel and the demon had spent quite enough time doing that in the millennia before proper civilization occurred. And plus, the cottage reminded them of a time they were no longer in.

Crowley was sprawled out on the nice king-sized bed he had summoned for himself when Aziraphale entered the room carrying tea for the two of them. Crowley shuffled to one side of the bed, and Aziraphale sat down on the now vacant side. The angel handed him a cup.

“Quite the day. And here I thought nothing could outdo the past few ones in regards to exertion.“ A rather prominent frown developed onto Aziraphale’s face.

“Definitely makes the top ten of worst days.”

Rain plattered at the window. The two sipped their tea. Sitting inside they could almost pretend everything was normal. That they were in London, and the city was slowly falling asleep for the evening. That outside there were streets and people and Crowley’s Bentley was parked on the curb and that it was just another normal night for the both of them. Ah, but neither of them were good at fooling themselves, especially when the other was involved.

“Do you really think the Almighty has tasked us with bringing humanity into the world?” Aziraphale asked. “I don’t know about you, but I have absolutely no idea how to accomplish that.”

“We’ll figure it out as we go,” Crowley replied. “Try to miracle some clay into a person. If God hasn’t granted us the power to do that, well She’s got no one to blame except Herself for the lack of humans on the planet this go about.”

“Adam and Eve went about it a rather different way.”

“They were also human by default and thus had the proper genetics to accomplish that. Don’t think angel plus demon equals human.” Crowley tried desperately to avoid looking Aziraphale in the eyes which he was quite successful at because the angel too was avoiding his.

“Oh, um, I wasn’t suggesting that. I was merely speculating out loud.” Aziraphale took a long sip of tea which was strangely a lot more alcoholic now.

“Course. Just a conversation of what ifs. Nothing more.”

Another silence. The rain picked up. Not by a lot. Just enough to be noticable. A small rumble of thunder echoed from somewhere far away. The golden light inside the cottage was becoming very cosy. Aziraphale set his drink down on the nightstand and laid down as Crowley was.

“If we ever see the world the way it was again, I wouldn’t mind residing in a cottage like this. It would be a nice change of scenery from the bookshop,” the angel said rather dreamily.

His alcohol/tea hybrid was taking effect much more quickly than anticipated as if it had divine influences to do so. God smiled to Herself as She sipped from Her wine glass.

“Mmhmm,” Crowley muttered, eyes rolling to see Aziraphale. Without his sunglasses on, it was quite difficult to not notice his added attention. “Yes, would be rather charming. I could see you enjoying the country life. Where would you want to go?”

“Not just me. I think I’d like you to be there too, Crowley.”

That was a brave, blunt remark that was most certainly pushed out of Aziraphale by his drink. That’s not to mean that he hadn’t meant it. He did. It would’ve just taken him a few more thousand years to say it on his own. Still, it was more than a surprise to Crowley. Now, who was going too fast?

“Oh, well, um, yes.” The demon’s eyes widened, and he pushed himself up onto his elbows. “Where would we go then?”

“South Downs is quite lovely. Calming and natural like this. Does that mean you’d actually go with me? I know you’re fond of the city life.”

“Angel, if we ever get things back the way they were, I’d go to the moon and back with you. Might even do that anyway.”

Aziraphale’s blue eyes stared into Crowley’s golden ones. The soft, little smile on his lips was warm enough to melt a glacier. The demon was very glad he was already lying down. Strangely, this day didn’t seem so bad anymore.

“I’ll hold you to that. The moon and back,” Aziraphale replied. “Would be exciting to get off planet.”

“Personally,” Crowley said, flipping onto his back. “I think you’re plenty of excitement on your own.”

If the raindrops became a bit fatter after that, it was only because God was crying. It was a happy sort of cry one only has when their ship finally begins to properly sail. No more sandy reefs for the ship to get beached on. No more last minute trips to the dock. Just full on open sea sailing. Aziraphale and Crowley were finally on their way to be properly shipped, and God was glad.

The next morning, Aziraphale and Crowley found a fruit bowl filled to the brim with apples on their countertop. It was not something that either of them had put there, and neither of them were gullible enough to believe the other had. Crowley simply rolled his eyes, picked up the whole bowl, and tossed it out the kitchen window.

“Is he even trying?” Crowley asked, taking a seat at the small dining table at which Aziraphale was eating a pastry.

“Maybe his heart’s not in it. It’s hardly a passion project to do a job that has already been done.”

“Yeah, but I mean, live a little. Throw the apples into a pie or something. Try the poor old woman tactic from Snow White. Hastur really has no creativity.”

Aziraphale finished the last bite of his breakfast and wiped his face. “Yes, well, creativity is one of your best attributes, my dear.”

“‘S really not, but it is a useful one.” He leaned back in his chair. “What’s the plan for today?”

“Thought we’d try your turn clay into people plan as I don’t have any better ideas.”

“It’s not going to work.”

“Likely. But at least it’ll be fun. Similar to making a snowman.”

“Alright then. Let’s go have some fun.”

It was another beautiful day in Eden. A bit on the windy side, but other that that, absolutely lovely. A hundred thousand leaves rustled away in the trees above, and a million different species of birds sang serenades to each other. If one didn’t know just how barren and white Heaven was, one could easily be tricked into believing that Eden was it. Aziraphale and Crowley stood in front of a small riverbank.

“Angel,” Crowley said, freeing himself from the mud which was acting more like quicksand than wet dirt. “Don’t really feel like getting my hands dirty, and I think neither of us are ones for ruining good clothes. Can’t we just draw a face in the mud and be done with it?”

“Nonsense! This was your suggestion after all.”

“Was mostly a joke.”

“And we hardly need to use our hands.” The angel miracled a shovel into being. “Even if this is a rather fruitless endeavor, I still want to give it my all to, at the very least, let the Almighty know that we’re trying.”

Aziraphale began to dig up mud, stacking it into a rather messy column. It looked more like a monster from a cheesy 1950s American horror flick than a human, but the angel continued to work at it anyway. Seeing that Aziraphale was dedicated to this, Crowley grumbled to himself. There were a million other things he’d rather be doing, but all of them involved Aziraphale being there as well. He cocked his head to the side. Guess this is what they were doing today. He miracled himself a set of sculptor’s tools.

Their clothes had gotten more than a bit dirty by the time they were done. Mud and river water practically soaked them. Although both Aziraphale and Crowley had no need to sweat, they both felt like they had done quite a lot of it. But they had gotten their human sculpture done, and the time was hardly past noon.

The body of the sculpture was a bit pudgy but also rather lean, and looked neither obviously male or female as if the person could fall either way if they so chose. They stood shorter than both Aziraphale and Crowley, looking as though they were just coming of age. Their face had a rather contrasting mixture of features. A sharp jawline and cheekbones, but pouty lips and an upturned nose. Their hair was a fury of curls with wisps of straight locks thrown in. And their eyes remained a mystery, shut to the whole world.

If perhaps, the angel and demon had modeled their parts of the sculpture off one another, they certainly were silent about it. Still the resemblance to the both of them was extremely clear. The sculpture was a perfect blend of the two of them, and God definitely noticed. Mostly because She had begun to sober up.

“So what? On the count of three try to bring it to life? That really what we’re going to do?” Crowley asked.

“Well, yes,” Aziraphale admitted rather sheepishly. “Does sound silly when you put it like that.”

“Because it is silly. Would get us both thrown in the looney bin if society still existed.”

“Even if this doesn’t work—”

“Which it very likely isn’t.”

“—I’m still happy to have made this with you. Turned out rather well I think.”

“Just glad it turned out better than Warlock’s Year 1 arts and crafts projects.”

“I hope we would do better than a six-year-old.”

“Oh, your hopes are too high for us,” Crowley replied with a laugh.

“Are they? This may not be on Michelangelo’s level of quality, but he would hardly scoff at what we’ve done.”

“Eh, that’s true enough.”

“On three then?”

“Yeah. One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

The angel and the demon both thought incredibly hard about bringing the mud person in front of them to life. They threw their hands forward, commanding the sculpture to move, walk, breathe, anything. And with the power of Heaven and Hell combined, absolutely nothing happened which was entirely unsurprising.

“Can’t say we didn’t try. Up for lunch, angel?” Crowley asked, letting his arms fall back down to his sides.

“I can’t say I thought it would be this easy. Why don’t you head back, Crowley. Give me a moment and then we’ll have lunch.”

The demon shot him a quizzical look. He took a few steps backwards. A small smile flickered nervously on the corner of his mouth before quickly disappearing. “Alright, yeah. I’ll be back at the cottage.”

“I won’t be long.”

“Course. Take your time.”

Crowley strode off into the wilderness. Aziraphale watched him go until the plant life completely obscured him. The angel released a breath he didn’t know he had been holding and approached the river. A fallen tree laid across it as a bridge. He merely crossed half of it and sat down, his feet dangling inches above the rushing water.

“Um, Lord,” he began. “I know my attempts to talk to You didn’t go too well last time. Found myself talking to Your secretary rather than Yourself. But given the circumstances, I thought I’d try again. I hope You don’t mind the less than professional air to the whole situation.”

Aziraphale waited for a reply, but got none. Still, God was listening.

“Ah, yes, well. Perhaps this whole sculpture idea was rather foolish. Not at all what You wanted from us. And I really do not want to inconvenience You, but I’m at a rather large loss for how to do what You wish.”

Again he left room for a reply from God without the need to.

“As much as I would love to be able to create a person with Crowley, I just don’t believe it is possible with the restraints You have given us. Only You can create a new being after all. Angels and demons, we can only influence them. Crowley and I would just quite like to be able to get back to our lives...”

Together. It was a word Aziraphale didn’t say out loud, but God heard it anyways. The entire riverbank became a bit warmer. The sun shone a bit brighter. The flora spruced up. All small changes one could easily miss. If one was not an angel, that is.

“I—I see. Yes, um, good talk. Thank you.” He stood up rather clumsily from the log. It was simply a miracle that he didn’t fall into the river (actually it was two, but God didn’t feel the need to let him know that).

As Aziraphale walked away to meet up with Crowley, God lifted the sculpture from the river bank and brought it into the ethereal plane with Her. She smiled at Her creations’ creation. Mimicry was the biggest form of flattery. She loved the human the angel and demon had made. Sure, it wasn’t alive, but care and love most certainly lived within it. God tucked its design away with everything else that had ever existed for safe keeping. Maybe there would come a day when She would need it.

Some of Crowley’s modern music led Aziraphale back to the cottage. The demon could not go a day without his tunes, and now with all of Eden to themselves, he could blast them at max volume without the irritation of bothered neighbors and passersby. Their annoyance wasn’t a problem to him. Rather it was their need to bug him about the volume that was. More tasking than the evil was worth.

As Aziraphale approached, “I Want To Break Free” by Queen played:

But life still goes on

I can't get used to living without, living without

Living without you by my side

I don't want to live alone, hey

God knows, got to make it on my own

Aziraphale found himself to the kitchen where Crowley was currently pouring two glasses of red wine. On the island sat a plate of sandwiches made of grilled steak, sauteed onions, and ciabatta bread.

“I don’t know about you,” Crowley said, handing the angel a glass. “But making a mud man really worked up an appetite.”

“Oh, Crowley, you made this?”

“No, I figured out how to make humans when you were gone, and one of them so happened to be a chef. Course I made this. Well, miracled it, but same thing.”

“That’s a real generous thing to do.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t go all mushy on me. We planned on lunch, and it wasn’t just going to show up itself. Kept me busy while waiting for you to catch up.” The demon picked up a sandwich a munched into it.

“Still, I very much appreciate it.”

Before Aziraphale could take a sandwich for himself, the front door swung open, and the familiar face of Archangel Gabriel walked in.

“I came down here to put a stop to the awful noise, but, uh, I see there’s a much bigger issue to address here,” he said, marching into the kitchen.

“Sandwich, Gabriel?” Crowley sneered, taking another bite of his.

“As if I’d take anything a demon offered me, much less gross matter.” The flame from his sword glowed rather brightly from his waist. “There’s an issue with the use of miracles down here. I mean, a whole house? Really? Where’s the justification for that?”

“It did rain last night,” Aziraphale replied.

“So? Don’t see me abusing miracles to get out of it. It’s only water. You’re supposed to be Adam and Eve. At what point did they live in a cottage that I missed?”

“You did say to make improvements, so we did.” Crowley flashed the Archangel a rather wide grin.

“Yes, improvements for the greater good. Not—” He closed his eyes for a moment and took a breath. “I don’t know why I’m arguing with a demon on this. Obviously this kind of behavior is expected from you.” He looked back to the angel. “I just thought there was something left of you, Aziraphale. Sure, you screwed up the End of the World, but there had to be a reason you haven’t Fallen yet. I’m starting to think that it’s just an oversight.”

“Oh, I’d back off real quick, Archangel.” Crowley swept around the island. “You’ll find I don’t put up with your pretentious bullshit the way Aziraphale does.”

“I think you’re forgetting who has a sword here and who doesn’t.” Gabriel chuckled, seemingly unfazed by Crowley’s threat.

“Oh, you can’t hurt us. In fact, I don’t think you have any authority to tell us to do anything. Your job is to guard the Eastern Gate. Not interfere with Adam and Eve.”

“Uh, yeah. Actually, this whole Earth thing might have to go on hold for now. Busy working real hard to get Micheal out of Hell.”

“Wait, Micheal’s in Hell?” Aziraphale asked.

“Thought your demon’s friend would’ve informed you on that after he so smugly informed me about it on the Wall. We are in negotiations right now. We both have people we’d like to see returned to their rightful side.”

“Like Beelzebub,” Crowley replied, leaning back against the island. His eyes remained rather narrowed behind his sunglasses.

“Our main negotiating point. Should really be an easy swap. Of course, when dealing with Hell everything gets complicated.”

“Oh yeah, sure everything’s so smooth Upstairs.”

“As if you have any clue, demon. You haven’t been up there in over 6000 years. Not sure I’d trust your memory.” Gabriel gave a squinty eyed smile. “You know what, both of you run amuck down here. Ruin it if you want. You’re the ones stuck down here. I’ve got a meeting I need to attend to in Heaven, so go wild. Just don’t blame me when the Almighty strikes you both down for your dismal performances.”

Without waiting for a reply, Gabriel left the cottage. A bright white light glowed from the front door and soon after faded, signalling that the Archangel was gone.

“Well, that was something,” Crowley said. “Sandwiches have probably gone cold, but there’s still plenty to have, angel.”

“Ah, yes, lunch,” Aziraphale replied, remembering exactly what they had been doing.

“Yeah, lunch. Couldn’t the bastard have at least waited half an hour before bothering us?”

“I think it was your music that drew him here.” The angel took a sandwich and bit into it. The center was still miraculously warm. God pretended not to notice that.

“Mental note: all it takes to piss off the Archangel Gabriel is loud music. Oh that’s a weakness he really shouldn’t have shown me.”

“I’m sure you’ll make good use of it, dear.”

“You bet I will.”

Aziraphale scoffed and smiled through a mouthful of lunch. It was a goofy look that made Crowley smile back. He was happy the angel was enjoying the food he had made even if it was little more than a snap of his fingers. This whole snippet of a domestic life was quite nice, and made the demon think back on last night’s conversation. Yes, if the world was ever restored, he’d like to live like this with Aziraphale. But in the meantime, this would do nicely.

[Chapter 3]

#Good Omens #Gomens #Ineffable Husbands #Good Omens fic #my writing

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valasania-the-pale · 5 years

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The Last Rose - Chapter Six

Here’s chapter six for all of you. Please enjoy and reblog!

X_0_X

If she closed her eyes, she could imagine she was just like the flowers in the garden, rooted in place for all eternity. The sunflowers she’d known for longer than memory had long since wilted, but the husky remnants remained, despite the spider lilies springing up like weeds in their place.

Move.

The hinges squeaked quietly as she pushed the door open, the key gifted to her slotting with a click into the lock without protestation. Professor Oobleck had been kind, keeping an eye on the old cottage while she was away. She knew that Zwei would be happy with him – they got along better than she could have dreamed.

Dust coated every surface. The living room reeked of old must and decay. Once, it smelled of rose petals and lilac, and sometimes the sour bite of liquor.

Keep moving.

His room was empty. And clean. So was Ruby’s. So was Yang’s. Of course they were. Never did the house sparkle and shine as much as when Taiyang had something to worry about.

She could still see the spots on the wall, ever so slightly off-color where paint and spackle had been used to fill in the holes they’d created as children. There was the dark spot on the rug where she’d spilled grape juice as a little girl, Taiyang never did manage to scrub that away.

And there, the pictures they’d taken together as a family, for the last time. That one of herself, hard at work in the forge creating her beloved weapon. And there…

…

She left the house not long after entering, eyes wet and heart clenching underneath its icy shell. The letters clutched in her hands, unopened. Retrieved from the safe, where she knew they would be. She didn’t have the heart to read them – nor to stay another moment in that place.

Not home – not anymore. Dust, where did it all go so very wrong?

…Where did she go, now?

…

Is home a place? Patch was home, once. I felt safe there. Safe and secure and loved and surrounded by people I could call family. In our little cottage, I could believe that anything was possible, and that the world was just waiting to open up before me the moment I stepped out the door.

It’s not home now. Not anymore. Probably not ever again.

I’ve heard that home can be a person. A bond. That our loved ones are what make a home what it is. Something in that seems right to me. Fitting, I guess. But… where is home for me, then? Is it possible to not have a home at all?

…I’m sorry. I hope I’m not too late. The questioning, the doubting, it never stops. It’s like a disease, and no one has a cure.

So much has changed… and certainty feels like it’s in ever smaller supply.

Ha… Answer me this, if you’re so smart: whether home is a place, or a bond… whatever it is… to where have I returned?

X_0_X

It was like walking through a dreamworld.

Ruby numbly chewed a mouthful of fresh greens, served to her with a flourish by a smiling Ren.

Just like she’d expected, it was delicious. The Mistrallan’s skill in the kitchen was as of yet unrivalled by anyone Ruby knew, and his nutritional acumen was (now) supplemented by a pounded-in knowledge of what actually tasted good, courtesy of Nora.

It didn’t cure her of her daze, but it certainly gave her the excuse she needed to process everything that had happened since she’d left the flight.

At first, she’d been beyond delighted.

How long had it been since she’d last spoken with her friends face to face? How long since she’d last gotten to hear their voices, feel their warmth, bask in their familiar presence?

After prying her redheaded limpet away from her, ribs and weakened arm protesting all the while (“Nora! Air! Need! Please!”), her elation came crashing down around her ears with the abruptness of running headlong into a brick wall

Yes, Ruby; how long has it been since you last came to visit your friends?

‘How long have you been hiding away in Mistral? Running away from your problems? Don’t you think they’ve missed you? After all this time?’

‘Shut up,’ she told that part of her, firmly.

That was beside the point. She’d been dealing with those sorts of doubts for years now; they were secondary to the real revelation.

Nora, Ren, they were here.

She hadn’t seen her friends in… seven years now? It felt like longer.

Ren’s hair was trimmed short, shoulder length and tied back in a stylish ponytail. Nora was as infectiously bubbly as she remembered, sporting a few crow’s feet around the eyes but otherwise untouched by time. Both fit and hale and almost exactly as she remembered of them from before.

More than that, the two were obviously happy.

She could see it in their eyes. Ren’s glowed like lotus blossoms in the morning sun, Nora’s like glistening ice. In every movement, every loving glance, Ruby could read the contentment they held for themselves. Each marker a testament to the life they’d built for themselves here, without her.

She touched Crescent Rose’s folded-up length at her side, where she’d leaned it against her chair. How long had it been? Had they been so happy when she’d left?

Ruby felt like an intruder.

She couldn’t help it. She couldn’t. It would have taken the power of the gods to stop the inevitable conclusions from making themselves.

She should have been at their side from the beginning, growing comfortable in this new city that had sprung up from the ashes of the old alongside them. They had all been a team – family, of a sort. Inseparable. Unconquerable. Loved.

She should have been there – shouldn’t have missed all that time, shouldn’t have run away, shouldn’t have let old arguments fester for so long…

But she had, and still they were happy.

Was… she even needed here? Wanted, even?

They’d been family, but her leaving had severed that connection. Ruby felt the tattered ends keenly, deep within her soul.

The entire walk home, listening to the two chatter on – well, Nora mainly chattering, with Ren contributing in his own sedate way – every rationalization she’d made over the last decade, every justification for missing out on another week, another month, another year of her friends’ lives was shoved into the light and she was numbed.

She was uncomfortably reminded that she’d just left other friends behind, and might not see them for just as long. Maybe longer…

Dust, was there nothing she hadn’t fucked up?

And being the wonderful human beings they were, too excited by her return and too kind to try and peer deeper into her troubled soul, husband and wife were both oblivious to her inner discomfort.

Nora slammed her open palm down on the dining table. “We have got to take you out around the city, soooo much has changed since you were last here!”

“Since so much of the population fled during and after the Fall, a lot of room has opened up for immigrants and entrepreneurs to set up shop and fill in the niches left behind,” Ren explained.

“Like that one lady with the huge boobs and six secret boyfriends down on Fifth street! She makes the best pastries – the way she uses cinnamon is just di-vine~!”

“Nora, that’s uncharitable.” Ren frowned disapprovingly. “She’s only cheating with the one other man, not six.”

“And how do you know that, mister? I didn’t take you for a gossip-monger. Do I need to be worried about the neighbors knowing about my delicates?”

“Only the ones you leave out on the floor for too long. We’ve established that not picking up after yourself is grounds for retaliation long ago.”

“Oooh~ Gonna punish me, Renny?”

“Nora! Not in front of Ruby!”

Ruby… stared.

She had no frame of reference anymore; it had been too long.

The banter, the mischief… she didn’t remember it coming so easily. It was bizarre to see Ren of all people firing back without hesitation, to see the lightness in his bearing, the openness of his expressions... And the loving glances… The joy…

Her stomach twisted in on itself; it was a struggle to continue chewing.

She’d expected a deluge of memory upon her arrival. That she would drown in the prickly, painful nostalgia that would surely rise up to envelop her. She’d expected anxiety, nightmares, residual grief, and whatever else she’d shoved to the back of her mind over the last decade to rear its ugly head, and that that would be the worst of her problems.

Part of her even expected arguments. Surely, they would have words for her for leaving… words that wouldn’t have fit into a letter. Surely…

The last thing she’d anticipated was the disconnect.

Since stepping off the platform she’d been beaten over the head with little else but how unfamiliar it was. Everything was different.

This shop that was once a clothing outlet was now renovated into a flower shop. That storefront was converted to a new set of apartments. The docks were now the lifeline of the city, where before they’d been little more than an afterthought compared to the grandeur of Downtown and the airport.

And though she had felt the eyes on her as she followed her friends back to their home, her weapons marking her as a huntress as surely as the predatory grace she walked with, compared to the familiarity she’d experienced in Mistral, they were not kind. They were strangers’ eyes, questioning the outsider and her purpose here.

Who was she, to walk among these people like she’d earned her right to live here?

Ruby was the intruder in their midst. It was an alien, uncomfortable situation, not felt for so many years...

She was used to at least being trusted in her role as a huntress. She was the Reaper. A guardian. Aegis of the people, fighting for them because she thought it was right, and recognized for that.

That was not something she doubted.

…Was it?

Her eyes flickered shut and she took a breath. No. She wasn’t doing this. ‘You will be okay,’ She told herself, shutting down the train of thought. ‘You just got here. You never expected it to be easy.’

She did not doubt her role. She wanted to help people. That had never changed.

The people just didn’t know that yet, just like they hadn’t in Mistral before she’d proven herself. It would be one of the first things she rectified, once she was better recovered.

If she were to stay here – if she was to continue her work here – she had to have a good rapport with the civilians. She’d need to find contacts. Friends. The people had to know their sentinels, their guardians, as she had to know them.

‘Know the people you’re protecting. You’ll fight harder for ‘em that way.’

“Ruby?”

A heavily calloused hand waved in her face, mere inches from her nose. Ruby jerked back, eyes blinking their glaze away rapidly. “Sorry!”

“Don’t be,” Ren said, frowning. “You seemed deep in thought. May we ask what’s on your mind?”

“Ah…”

Tell them how desperately awkward she felt? That she was in the middle of a crisis of faith? That she had no idea what to do with this strange otherworld she’d found herself within? With these new people? Them?

Nora picked up on her hesitation faster than Ren. “Sorry Ruby,” she said, frowning. “This is probably all really overwhelming for you.”

“We don’t want to overload you,” Ren chimed in.

“Right.” Nora nodded emphatically. “Especially since you’re still recovering and all.”

Dust, she didn’t want them blaming themselves. “I’m fine,” Ruby protested, a pink tint entering her cheeks.

“Pssssh.” Nora exchanged an artfully exaggerated glance with Ren. “Bags under your eyes.”

“Movements kept to the bare minimum.”

“Doesn’t look like you’ve gotten a shower in a few days,” Nora sniffed.

Ren nodded. “You’re free to use ours before you head up to the school if you’d like, by the way.”

“And by ‘if you’d like’ he really means you really should take us up on it because you look like death warmed over.”

“Nora.”

She shoved Ren’s shoulder playfully. “Oh pish! You might be too polite to say it, but Dust knows a lady could use a shower when she’s not at her best. Warm water and a good scrubbing does wonders for the spirit!”

“You guys,” Ruby interjected, thumb fidgeting with her silverware, rubbing a single spot until it started to gleam. “I’m fine, really. I don’t want to put you out, or to make you worry, or…” she paused. Wait. “Do… I really look that bad?”

Nora held up her hand, three fingers extended. She didn’t do much to hide her pitying expression. “Three out of five, honestly. You don’t look awful.”

“But maybe a good soak would do you good,” Ren finished delicately.

“Oh.” Ruby swallowed. Well then. “I, uh. Might take you up on that then.”

Now slightly ashamed (Dust, was it really that noticeable, or— well, they were huntsmen…), Ruby hid herself in her salad. She was fine.

The dressing was good. She half-decent in the kitchen herself after so long cooking her own meals, but she seldom got to experiment with some of the more ambitious flavors she tasted here.

This was fine. Just fine.

And now the other two seemed much more attuned to her discomfort, sharing glances while Ruby avoided their gazes. Were they afraid? Worried?

Damnit she’d wanted to avoid this.

“Soooo.” Nora broke the silence. “Find anyone special while you were in Mistral?”

Her hand paused midway between bowl and mouth. “Um, no.”

“No pretty thing able to keep your attention?”

…She hated small talk. “No, not really.”

‘Please leave it,’ she implored mentally.

Ren coughed, stepping in for Nora. “If I could ask you something, Ruby?”

“Sure,” Ruby mumbled awkwardly. “Go for it.”

“Well,” he glanced at Nora. “You never said in your letter. We figured, after so long, there had to be a reason for you to change your mind… but, what made you decide to come back to Vale?”

“Was it work?” Nora added, head tilting to the side. “We thought you’d taken time away from hunting after your ordeal.”

“Or that you’d had a falling out with someone back in Mistral.”

“But then we found out that Sun was one of the people taking care of you while you were recovering – and couldn’t think of anyone else you mentioned in your letters that you were close to.”

“So…” Ren trailed off.

“What brings you home, Rubes?” Nora finished.

Ruby ground to a halt whilst they spoke, forced to think by the question; one she didn’t have a clear answer for herself yet. There was so much.

Why?

There were too many emotions tangled up within her for it to be simple.

She hoped to discover a new purpose, for one. Padma’s words had stuck with her that far.

Hopefully she’d manage to find some closure with the city she’d left behind so many years before, if she could manage it.

Maybe, if things went alright, she might also quell some of her doubts – some of her shame, the guilt of leaving behind her family for so many years, if that much was even possible after so long.

But…

But telling them all of that; telling them the reason behind all of that – that she’d been torn down to her lowest point in nearly a decade, and that she still didn’t feel anywhere close to recovered – well…

She didn’t want to intrude.

Some of her feelings crystallized. This was a personal journey for her. Ren and Nora were clearly happy. They had lives. A home. Jobs they enjoyed and a family together with their daughter.

All the things they’d ever wanted since they were left alone together as children.

She would not put that in jeopardy.

So, she lied.

“Nothing like that,” Ruby said, carefully.

‘Be confident, be purposeful.’ Those were the first two secrets to a good lie. Ruby took care not to over-act, while also pushing the emotion she wanted to convey into her words.

They were huntsmen, they would see through all but the best. “I thought that after my accident I should come see you all. My recovery’s been pretty slow, and winter in the city wasn’t doing me any favors, so it seemed like a good time. I’ve missed you all a lot since I left.”

The third rule recommended sprinkling in a little truth. She did miss them all. It was good timing to spend her recovery among people she could catch up with after a long time away.

She’d just…

She’d never had that extra push to come back before. All of that was true, except that she’d never stared mortality in the face so clearly, felt it sink vicious claws into her soul and hold tight. She’d never seen it etched so clearly in her wretched reflection before, so much irrefutable evidence of her failure to stand on her own two feet as an adult.

There was motivation, and there was motivation.

They only needed to know the first kind. The second she would hold close, lest it ruin the fragile hope she nursed deep within.

And it worked. Beautiful, wonderful, trusting people that they were, it worked.

Nora smiled softly, dimples showing themselves as she reached across the table to squeeze her shoulder. “We missed you too, Rubes,” she said.

Ren mirrored her, a silent but firm presence, and their hands on her shoulders filled Ruby with a fuzzy warmth at odds with the chill she felt in her heart.

It would be worth it. She would get better and make it worth all the pain and dishonesty.

Not wanting them to question her further and feeling heavy with another new doubt pressing on her shoulders, Ruby quietly pushed her bowl forward, thanking Ren for the delicious meal.

At a simple request, Nora cheerfully directed her up to the bathroom where she began to strip out of her clothes to wash and at least fix one of her concerns for the day.

She did not notice the perturbed glance that Nora shot at her back before the door closed, wondering where the cloak that usually rested comfortably across her shoulders had gone.

When she stepped under the steaming water, Ruby had no idea that the couple was deep in conversation at the table downstairs, meals entirely forgotten and frowns pinching their faces with concern.

While she was busy pondering her own life’s choices, husband and wife were busy asking themselves an entirely separate question.

What had happened to their friend?

X_0_X

‘It’s a wonder Roman Torchwick wasn’t ruling over the city wholesale with this one as his right hand.’

“Seriously not helping right now,” Oscar Pine muttered to the second presence in his mind, rolling his eyes as a split second of warm amusement leaked over.

He didn’t need the distraction right now, thank you very much!

Older, stronger, and debatably wiser than he had been several years ago, Oscar was well-versed in the art of the chase. There were only three tenets one need follow: Don’t exhaust yourself with an ambitious, unsustainable pace, don’t break line of sight, and remember to breathe.

‘Bonus points for minimizing collateral damage.’

“That was one time!”

His mark dashed off down one of Vale’s many dingy alleyways, breaking his second rule temporarily before he made the sharp turn after her.

‘The Society for the Restoration of Vale’s Parks and Services, evidently. You didn’t really have to detour through those freesias, did you? They were coming along so wonderfully.’

Well it wasn’t his fault his pursuit of that particularly slippery thug led through that park, now was it? He’d had to apologize for weeks before the chairman stopped sending him those passive-aggressive letters.

Even no he still got the occasional dirty look from a ‘concerned citizen.’

But of course, he was only doing his job! Never mind the full breakfast, sometimes you had to break a few eggs to make an omelet! Never mind that Vale was a city where those eggs were already broken, rotten, and smelling like a pub dumpster after a Saturday night! No, protect the damn flowers, Oscar.

‘Well, they were particularly pretty flowers.’

He got a laugh from his other half as he cursed under his breath again.

This particular area of the city – formerly a part of the Residential District, now long since walled off from the recovering city – was grey, crumbling, and still suffering from a Grimm infestation.

There were rocks all over the streets from where some random explosion or flying chunk of lead smashed into some building, or where some overenthusiastic huntsman had ripped open the streets. Oscar was forced to detour around several impassable obstacles – each time losing just a little more ground.

It was enough to drive him to distraction. Rock. Rock. Pit. Oh look, there were a few Boarbatusk – better get out of the way before they bowl you over! He was too fast for nuisances like those to catch him unawares, but he just knew that his running straight into them was anything but an accident.

His target, Bianca Corallo, was a wily, mischievous sadist. Just the sort to get a laugh out of him staggering into the middle of a Grimm ambush.

‘You know she doesn’t like being called that,’ Ozpin chided.

“Don’t… really… care!” Oscar panted, sprinting up a flight of stairs after the last glimpse he’d gotten of her fleeing, colorful form.

Unfortunately for him, Corallo was small, fit, fast, and slippery like an eel.

One of Vale’s many, many criminals aspiring to fill the void left behind after Roman Torchwick’s empire crumbled around the rest of the city. She’d risen to power through an ample and often arbitrary application of brutal force, ambitious heisting, and balls of steel.

Unlike most of the scum and scrabbling thugs he usually had to contend with, she was also unique in that she was actually having some amount of success in taking over from her old boss.

Hence, the chase.

He reached the third floor just in time to see the flash of wild, multicolored hair vanish through one of the many gaping holes in the side of the building. Cursing, he pressed himself further, dipping slightly into his aura to soothe the complaints building up in his thighs.

‘You shouldn’t have skipped leg day.’

“Shut. Up!”

Oscar turned his fall into a tight roll, compacting his body tight against itself to disperse the force. Thankfully, the ground was relatively free of rocks. Less thankfully, Corallo was nowhere to be seen. “Fuck!”

‘Do you kiss your girlfriend with that mouth?’

“What happened to you being a wise, immortal being?” Oscar demanded, not for the first time, his mind working overtime. “Did all that go away when you got shunted into permanent shotgun?”

‘I prefer to think that I’m more like the little light on your shoulder, actually.’

“Hilarious. What do you recommend, then?” He didn’t have time for this. He scanned every direction, hoping to catch some sign of Corallo’s passing. Too little dust on the ground to note any footprints, and she was too savvy to leave a noticeable trail through the rubble.

‘I recommend you duck.’ And suddenly Oscar was in motion, Ozpin smoothly taking control like a hand slipping into a glove.

The bullet that whizzed over their head was nothing more than an afterthought as they whirled and set themselves in a solid fighting stance.

Glass shattered above them and they instantly looked up to meet Corallo’s dichromatic, mocking eyes. In one hand she held her parasol – frilly, white and pink like you’d see on some vapid little girl’s doll. In the other, a long cane lightly smoking at the tip, which she swiftly recombined with her parasol to form a single piece.

She tucked her weapon under her arm, giving her hands the space to gesture at him rapidly. ‘ME LOOKING FOR, GEARHEAD?’

“Corallo,” they growled.

‘FLATTERED,’ she signed, fluttering her eyelids. ‘YOU MY NAME REMEMBER.’

Oscar took control back from Ozpin, the rush of sensation barely even fazing him after so many repetitions.

“It’s my job,” he said. His lips curled downwards into a dark frown. “We’ve been through this before. Surrender and I can guarantee you a trial before you are sent to prison. Fail to stand down and I am permitted to use however much force I deem necessary to eliminate you as a threat to Vale’s security.”

Which was to say he’d probably be forced to kill her, if he couldn’t effectively cripple her in some way.

Vale was a changed place from before the Fall, after all. The law didn’t have time to fuss around with criminals when every day was a struggle to fend off the ever-encroaching Grimm. With every day a new vicious scrap for each and every block, the people – and especially the huntsmen – had quickly lost any and all patience for the unnecessary wrongdoings perpetrated by other humans.

With people like Corallo? Oscar could do essentially whatever he’d like.

He had standards though. Standards he anticipated seeing return to the rest of the force, once he could properly weed out the unscrupulous members.

Standards that, unfortunately, made seem like he had his cane shoved up his ass when said aloud.

‘Oscar,’ Ozpin sighed dramatically. ‘We’ve practiced this. You need not sound so stuffy. What happened to all of those action films you’ve been watching with Amaya? Take a leaf from their book.’

Corallo evidently agreed. ‘CAN YOU BORING LESS? ME THINGS BETTER COULD DOING.’

‘Fuck both of you,’ Oscar sighed.

The things he did for this city…

With a tiny flick he set off the beacon at his waist – specific to huntsmen working outside the secured sectors so that backup could be summoned where it was needed within minutes. He just had to keep Corallo distracted until backup arrived. Or take her down himself, if he could manage it.

She caught the motion and shot him a mischievous grin, dropping down to his level, knees bending slightly to distribute the force with a minimum of effort. ‘YOU FIGHT WANT?’

He reached behind his waist and grabbed the preternaturally familiar hilt of their cane, extending it to its full length with an elegant flick of the wrist. He’d practiced for hours to get that just right.

‘Vain.’

‘Ass.’

Complain about his stuffiness when he read their rights, moan about the time he spent trying to work on improving his cool factor, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine. There was no pleasing millennial disembodied soul-companions.

‘Add an extra splash of caramel to our next cocoa and we’ll talk.’

‘If you shut up about my caffeine shots, then deal.’

‘Acceptable.’

Corallo was oblivious to their internal dialogue, circling opposite of Oscar while his body simply went through the motions of tracking her movements.

The benefit of having two souls in one body was, at its most basic, parallel processing. Even splitting some of his attention between the fight and Ozpin, both of them were carefully analyzing their foe, drawing on past experiences, comparing those to what they knew of the tricky crime boss, drawing up tactics and discarding them just as quickly.

It began suddenly.

Corallo’s body shattered with a surge of flashing light only to reappear behind him. Her parasol swept downwards like a bludgeon. Oscar twisted in place, cane swinging up to deflect it off to the side, pulling his leg up and bending laterally to deliver a powerful kick to her abdomen.

Corallo used the blow to disengage. Her aura flashed faintly, dispersing the force with the same ease Oscar would dispatch a mosquito. Her parasol unfurled to drain her momentum – one of her favorite tricks, he knew. He’d thrown her off of several buildings and tried to slam her into plenty enough walls to learn that gravity and inertia meant very little to her.

The world slowed. Negligible damage, for a first clash. They were just testing the waters. They’d done this enough to know each other well, the others’ fighting style. It was almost a “Hello” between officer and kingpin. Did you get enough sleep? Eat a good breakfast? Did you do you warm ups?

‘I’d certainly be disappointed if we died because you skimped on your calisthenics. Oh, what a thought.’

‘Shut up.’

Corallo was certainly up to her usual standards. Even as the watched each other, mirrored predators eyeing the other, her smirk faded just a little. Her eyes gaining the sharp glint Oscar knew so well. The bloodthirst roiling just below her skin.

This time Oscar took the initiative.

Corallo’s eyes narrowed, so slow. Her fingers tightened. Oscar’s footsteps rang with his heartbeat, the world draining of color as his semblance activated.

Time dilation – fitting for a successor to someone of Ozpin’s reputation. Useful for battle, where it gifted him with a great boon in the extra time to consider his options. Sadly, his body was caught up in it as well.

If only – he’d be unstoppable otherwise.

‘If that were the case, I do believe Ruby would be after your head for absconding with her semblance.’

‘She could use the competition!’ Oscar retorted; eyes locked with Corallo’s. He also – ironically – had to be quick. It would be a shame to drain himself prematurely by abusing his ability.

Twitch. Twitch. Shoulders tensing. Her eyes flashed understanding. She knew him. His abilities. What he was doing. She would play unpredictably, just to throw him off. She would block, block again, most likely duck out of the way and disengage. Force him to exhaust himself, not let him get a single hit in.

They’d see about that.

The world resumed its usual pace.

Regardless of his inability to include his body in his semblance’s effects, Oscar was fast. Blisteringly fast. Only Ruby, Ren, and a few very other select huntsmen were capable of keeping up with him when he had his blood up.

Corallo was one of those few.

He swept his cane around, forcing her to contort herself backwards to avoid the strike. Her legs lashed out, he skipped backwards. With a series of incredible gymnastics, she leapt back on him. From the front, the sides, from above. She was a whirling dervish – where he put forth his strength she melted away. Where he defended, she refused to meet him.

In that was she was a wraith. Untouchable. Devious. And absolutely vicious where she caught an opening.

But he was a wall in his own right. He didn’t take everything she dished out, he caught it, pushed, shoved, and redirected. He and Ozpin combined were capable of vast feats of skill – their strength was their mind and the finesse they brought to the battlefield. Unpredictability was met with precision, and for a time they were matched.

They knew to respect her abilities. She knew enough to be wary of his.

Unfortunately, she knew she was on a timer and broke the stalemate with characteristic bluntness, shattering a few dozen feet away and drawing her gun-cane from her parasol.

‘Ugh.’ Ozpin gave the mental equivalent of a scowl. ‘She’d going to make you use it, isn’t she?’

The first shot shattered the asphalt where Oscar had been standing been mere moments before. The ammunition, Fire Dust – he could feel the heat from a dozen feet away. ‘You know, not everyone is happy smacking things around until they give up or pass out, aura or not!’

The second shot whizzed by his head – Oscar didn’t bother wasting energy getting away and bent his head to the side. The heat of the shot made his aura above his ear flare into visibility – protecting him from the burn he’d have otherwise received. He shoved his long coat to the side, hand wrapping around the lacquered wooden stock of his little baby.

‘It is a perfectly serviceable tactic! Miss Xiao Long just corrupted you!’

Oscar snorted and drew his weapon from its holster, appreciating for a moment the satisfying weight in his hand. ‘It’s an extra tool in my pocket. I would think you’d appreciate that!’

The third shot he swatted aside with their cane – his pine green aura flaring at the very tip to avoid detonating the shot on contact. The abandoned storefront it sailed into was reduced to rubble by the shockwave unleashed – Lightning Dust at its finest. In the same motion, he raised his other arm and took aim.

KA-WHUMP!

Corallo shattered away from her perch, now crumbling into assorted cobblestone, shattered glass, and shrapnel. ‘Perhaps… but did you really have to go with a shotgun? It’s so… blunt.’

‘I told you, I’m not trading Fidelis for a pistol!’

Corallo was on him in moments, taking advantage of his reduced versatility now that both of his hands were full, and refusing to let him re-holster and regain his edge.

Her parasol jabbed into his guard repeatedly, the sharpened tip doing work drawing energy from his aura reserves. Each pinprick threatened to bust through and pierce flesh as he was forced to fortify each miniscule spot.

He had his own advantages as well. Devoid of other options beside tossing it aside and opening himself up for a new salvo of ranged attacks, Oscar worked to get every ounce of use he could out of it. ‘Blunt’ or not, a shotgun at close range was a force you had to respect.

More than once Corallo was forced away just to avoid her aura getting perforated with a spray of raw Dust-shot. But after a minute of fending her off Oscar realized with a pause and tightening of his eyes that he could not yet hear the sounds of approaching airships, nor the telltale beep of his beacon alerting him that backup was fast approaching.

‘Where are they?’

His lips pulled into a scowl, and he shoved Corallo away, gaining himself some breathing room.

She flowed with it, coming to a stop with a flick of her parasol and letting it rest on her shoulder unfurled. The motion was just a little too smooth – a little too smug. ‘COMPANY EXPECTING, GEARHEAD?’

‘I have a bad feeling about this,’ Ozpin hummed.

The world greyed. He needed time to think. He was running low on precious aura, but he had the feeling Corallo didn’t intend to freely gift him the moment.

‘Thoughts?’ Oscar asked, mind racing.

He was not long in waiting. ‘She likely predicted this confrontation before she initiated the heist,’ Ozpin mused.

‘Which means she’d also put countermeasures against interference in place.’

‘Most likely. On the one hand it eliminates the probability of her being overwhelmed by superior force. Her favorite kind of fights are personal one on one duels – her records show a dearth of drawn-out, gang-style fights since Roman Torchwick’s demise. Too messy.’

‘And most of her operations involve concentrated, precise heists instead of the kind of multi-level criminal enterprises Torchwick favored.’

The old kingpin’s records pegged him as very comfortable working with his army of grunts and underlings – taking advantage of their numbers and rudimentary skills to supplement his own fairly mediocre abilities. Torchwick’s mind and charisma had been his greatest assets.

Almost the complete opposite of his protégé. She was cunning like a fox and deadly as a striking King Taijitu, but her strength was in her ability to crush her opponents beneath her foot like pathetic insects. She was prodigious among huntsmen – hence why she’d avoided capture for well-on two decades.

‘Indeed,’ Ozpin mulled. ‘She also enjoys fighting you. Much as she enjoyed fighting Commissioner Greyson before he was forced into retirement. Skilled opponents in general appear to be her favored prey.’

Which meant that…

‘And we’ve fallen into the trap.’

The world sped up as Oscar released the spell. Corallo was already sprinting toward him, rapier drawn from the depths of her parasol and glinting polished silver in the bright light of midday.

He was tired. She was fast. He was younger than her, but she had all the powerful vitality of someone half her age. Somehow, despite the multiple hits she’d taken, and all the times he’d drawn the flashes from her aura, she managed to ignore her fatigue and come at him like someone fresh to the fight.

A breath before she reached him Oscar dropped Fidelis and brought their cane up in a defensive posture.

Just in time.

Oscar was forced to draw on every iota of their shared experience as Corallo came at him in a whirling fury.

Unlike before she did not disappear at random, forcing him into constant motion just to keep up with her evasive tactics. Instead she just attacked. Vicious thrusting attacks like before – draining him shockingly quickly of his failing aura reserves – supplemented by powerful cutting slashes that he was better able to parry to the side.

He put in a few of his own hits – the pain of which he could see reflected back at him from her dichromatic eyes – but most of his energy was dedicated to keeping her away, keeping her back, keeping her from turning him into a living shish-kebab.

‘They’re still not coming,’ Ozpin muttered in the back of their mind, trying hard to keep the edge bleeding into his mental voice from distracting Oscar from the melee.

Deflect! Deflect! Oscar lashed out with a lateral kick - ‘Get back, bitch!’ – but his eyes widened as Corallo whirled to the side and seized his leg in a vice grip, ripping him off his feet, and threw him off to the side.

‘Shiii-iit!’

He slammed into a wall. His aura held, just barely, but he had only a moment to process before Corallo was on him and her rapier stabbed forward through his aura and sonofamotherfuckerthatHURTS!

‘Oscar!’

Ozpin took over from Oscar, blunting the sensation of the full foot of cold steel piercing their midsection before it could punch through Oscar’s synapses.

They could even feel the reverberations as the blade struck stone, an ominous hum all the worse for being felt so deep inside. The elder huntsman grabbed the weapon’s hilt – trapping it, out of Corallo’s reach – their other hand dropping their cane and lashing out to seize Corallo’s throat in a chokehold.

They lurched forward – both souls cringing inwardly as the pain in their side flared unbearably – and Oscar blindly joined Ozpin in bringing their weight down on their opponent. Their other hand left the rapier to join the first, and the added strength forced Corallo’s smaller hands to drop her weapon entirely to fight back. They could feel her clawing at their wrists, nails sharp and drawing blood and struggling against the inevitable as they throttled her.

Her lips worked furiously, gasping for air. The nails dug deeper, her unassuming strength showing in the bruises she created on their skin, seeking desperately for a weakness. To exploit. To break their grip. But she found none.

Her eyes flashed – cold, angry, no – raging – a cornered animal fighting for survival.

Some of her strength slackened and they allowed themselves to hope, just for a moment—

‘Almost… there…’

—But all too suddenly the weakness vanished – shifted as instinct gave way to intent. Corallo’s grip changed, her fingers grabbing their wrist like a vice, her abdomen tensing, her legs tucking in against her stomach as she tensed and shoved!

They went sailing over her head to land hard on the ground. Oscar cried out – lancing agony shooting through them as the rapier dragged on the asphalt and ground and cut against their innards.

For a moment, they simply lay there. Their body alive and burning with pain. Their minds a rushing tempest caught along in it. They could hear the sounds of Corallo retching behind them, her heaving, labored gasps. She wouldn’t take long to get back up – unlike them she still had the aura reserves to spare on healing.

Their heart pounded. Their breath was a harsh rasp. Blood soaked hot and thick through their clothes, fast enough for their self-preservation instincts to start flaring.

They had to get up.

Get up.

GET UP DAMNIT.

‘Fuuuuuck that hurts!’ Oscar groaned, rolling to their side and taking a bit of weight off of the blade. He froze again as the burn turned to lightning – gravity pulling the heavier hilt down and momentum shifting the blade along with itfuckfuckfuckSTOPTHAT!

‘Dust, why does this hurt so much!’ Oscar demanded blindly. ‘Is this supposed to be normal?’

‘This is…’ Ozpin grunted. ‘Not… The worst… I’ve gone through… Unfortunately… But quite normal… As far as impalements go…’ He seemed to be recovering much faster from the shock than Oscar. ‘They are… almost universally unpleasant… But at least nothing vital appears to have been hit... This time…’

Fair enough, but that wasn’t much of a mercy right now. He could be grateful for small mercies later when he had time to work through all of this. Time, and the benefit of painkillers. As well as twenty hours of solid rest to regenerate his aura.

And probably a good surgeon.

But right now? He could cheerfully throttle Corallo again in retaliation.

‘Can you take over?’

The older soul did, wordlessly, moving their body inch by labored inch as Oscar retreated into the distant mist of their shared psyche to regain his bearings. He would normally be okay with taking a heavy hit. He’d managed before. Multiple times.

He’d never been impaled before, though. He needed a moment to process that.

Corallo didn’t intend to give them that much, however. Just as Ozpin managed to force them to their knees, they registered the sound of her approaching footsteps and had only a moment to register before she was at their side, her hand wrapping around her rapier’s hilt one last time and yanking it out.

To her credit, it was fast.

Such fine distinctions were – in that moment – lost on the two huntsmen. But it was something. Ever the stoic, Ozpin refused to howl like Oscar wanted, but their trembling increased to a wracking shiver-shuddering.

‘Beep! Beep! Beep!’ Their beacon chose that moment to start registering approaching reinforcements.

‘Great timing guys…’ Oscar muttered, reaching feebly out to their body to start contributing once more.

Dust almighty it hurt but he was prepared now.

Ozpin surrendered the reigns as soon as Oscar had a sufficient grasp of himself to keep from curling up into a little ball once more. Nevertheless, he wrapped their arms around himself – noting distantly the steady stream of hot, sticky blood spreading from the wound. He pressed down harder, hoping to stem some of the flow.

It worked, to an extent. Assuming Corallo didn’t kill them outright, they had a decent chance of surviving the blood loss. That was somewhat comforting.

He looked up and met her eyes, hoping to see some hint of her intentions. She was as unpredictable in reputation as she was a fighter. They knew there was every chance her whimsy might be a boon to them. That there was every chance she would leave them alive, even if just to guarantee a future rematch.

Her smirk was missing. One hand rubbed her throat sympathetically, massaging the damaged tissues even as her aura shimmered over the dark bruises quickly forming. Oscar knew that the damage would quickly be repaired – but the blood that actually caused the discolored spots would take a little longer to vanish.

Aura was more efficient when it wasn’t attempting to dispose of waste material. It took more energy than someone in the middle of combat was normally willing to waste. The fight might have been over, but Corallo didn’t strike Oscar as the type to care too much about such superficialities.

Her eyes never left them.

Ozpin was far better at reading others than he was – such things were never very high up on his list of priorities. But even Oscar could see the wariness etched on her face.

‘You surprised her,’ he told Ozpin.

‘She thought you were defeated. She didn’t expect such swift retaliation.’

‘Her mistake.’

They didn’t have it in them to repeat that feat. Their remaining strength faded with each beat of their heart – each spurt of blood leaving their body and wracking it with pain.

Oscar let their shoulders slump just a little, chin dipping to Corallo in a gesture all huntsmen knew well: ‘You’ve won. For now.’

There was the smirk again. ‘GEARHEAD DONE NOW?’

“You’ve won,” Oscar repeated, an edge to his voice. “Stay and gloat – and get arrested for your troubles – or get out of here. You’ll slip up eventually.”

‘AND GEARHEAD THERE WILL BE. ME SURE.’

He narrowed his eyes but said nothing. She knew him well.

Corallo sniffed – a movement pantomimed to resemble more of a snicker. Though he could see how delighted she was with her victory – her teeth flashing just a little too much, a bounce in her step despite the fatigue she would be feeling – she still kept a fair distance between herself and him.

Ironically, in victory she was less arrogant than before the fight began. Ozpin fed him his own observations: the genuine cheer in her eyes, the imperceptible sway to her hips as she twirled around, her smirk was gentler – no, softer.

He didn’t think Crema had a gentle bone in her body.

It was a good look on her regardless. She was proud, but it was the delightful pride of a student succeeding where they hadn’t expected to. Ozpin knew that look well enough to recognize it on sight.

‘She would have made an interesting student.’

‘Glynda would hate you for thinking it.’

‘True.’ The thought amused Ozpin so much in spite of himself he didn’t quite care. Or perhaps it was the relief; they would live to see another day.

‘Beep! Beep! Beep!’

Corallo’s eyes dropped to his waist, noting the quickening flash of the beacon. Her time was up.

She clipped her parasol to her waist – the better to free up her hands and gave Oscar a mock bow. ‘WAS A GOOD FIGHT. ME LOOK FORWARD TO YOU HEAL. REMATCH.’

“This isn’t a game,” Oscar scowled.

‘NO? MAYBE. BUT FUN!’ She smirked and blew him a kiss. ‘BYE BYE!

She shattered away, her false-reflection dispersing into glistening shards.

The moment hung for a while before Oscar sagged and gingerly lowered himself to the ground. His knees ached and his side had begun to settle into a steady, painful throb punctuated with the sensation of superheated needles sinking in every time he moved their hands. ‘Well, that went about as poorly as it could have.’

‘Cheer up, Oscar. You got a few good licks in.’

‘Thanks. I’m comforted. Really comforted right now.’

‘But look on the bright side, you’re not dead!’

‘I will be once Amaya hears about—’

The air above them shattered once more, and Oscar craned his neck to see what Corallo wanted now, mere moments before his backup arrived.

It wasn’t anything much. Her hands flew, and as he realized what she was saying Oscar groaned.

‘Told you.’ Ozpin chuckled despite himself.

‘Shut up.’ He was so done for the day.

‘AND REMEMBER NEXT TIME, GEARHEAD. MY NAME NEO!’

X_0_X

The airspace around Beacon Tower was crowded with a dozen cranes gleaming all manner of rainbow-hues.

It had once been the pinnacle of Valean architectural achievement and host to one of Remnant’s precious CCT nexi, making it the backbone to modern society, the flow of information between the four kingdoms, and lasting peace.

The Fall broke that backbone, and Vale had been reduced to a crippled kingdom in exile.

The last time she’d seen it, only the floor of Headmaster Ozpin’s office and all below remained – the entirety of the clock and bell mechanisms above it lay scattered across the campus’ grounds like discarded toys. It remained the emblem of Vale city, only then, instead of a symbol of strength, knowledge, and cooperation, it had represented failure. Decay. Ruin.

But now? Rebirth, it seemed, had come to Beacon.

Whining machinery broke the tranquility of the grounds. The gruff calls of shouting foremen echoed off the buttresses and towers and walls that made Beacon a fortress in its ancient heyday. Power tools roared, fastening rivets, tightening screws, welding, splicing, repairing, building.

Construction equipment marred the vast, green lawns of the campus grounds, either filling up corners with assorted dusty bricks and raw material or laying on the grass unused for the time. Discolored patches revealed where some of the pallets had once rested; the earth was misshapen with tracks and ugly holes, and in many places besides the grass was dried out and rotten.

The gardens, which had once been world famous among botanists for the skill and care that went into their upkeep, had been left to seed, and were now overgrown with tough, thorny weeds.

Ruby could even spot a few of the places where marks of the Fall remained visible: there was the spot that a Paladin had crumbled to the ground and crushed a façade. There was the pit where one of the transports disabled by the Griffon horde had crashed. There was the spot she’d carved Crescent Rose into the stone tile path to halt her momentum after an Ursa Major slugged her in the gut, and the scorch mark a few feet further down; where she’d sent herself flying back at the beast.

Beacon tower itself, surrounded by colossal, smudgy, colorful steel cranes – each hard at work lifting up the vital machinery, electronics, and raw material necessary to restore functions to the CCT components left in ruins – seemed to wear a cast of iron, propped up but never quite giving the impression it was fully defeated.

The tower stood tall. Like the rest of Vale, it too was healing.

She ignored Ren’s hand on her shoulder, her hand clenched at her side missing the familiar weight of her scythe – she’d left it behind with her other things – because, despite it all, she could only feel the deep ache within her chest.

Despite it all, it was still beautiful. It was still Beacon Academy.

And all too suddenly, she was elsewhere. Elsewhen. A faded tapestry spreading out before her, the colors muted, the sounds dimmed.

She was running after streamers of long silver-white hair, the splash of scarlet something she was distinctly not used to seeing flare out behind silver-shod feet. “Weiss! Get back here with my cloak! I didn’t say you could—”

“HEY! LOOK EVERYONE! I’M RUBY ROSE! I CAN’T STOP RUNNING AROUND LIKE A CHILD BECAUSE I’M HYPERACTIVE AND LOVE BEING A PAIN IN THE BUTT TO MY TEAMMATES EVEN THOUGH I SHOULD BE ACTING LIKE A RESPONSIBLE HUMAN BEING!”

“I told you!” she shouted back. She hadn’t meant to forget! “I’m sorry for forgetting to tell you about the due date getting changed for our project! Weiss!”

Her prey – the heiress-turned-dirty-thief – turned back to shout over her shoulder. “I CAN’T HEAR YOU BECAUSE I’M TOO BUSY BEING RUBY RO— ACK!”

Ruby winced as her partner went skidding along the grass. That had to have hurt…

She eyed the damage with apprehension. No doubt she’d have to spend a good hour working the stains out of her gorgeous signature cloak…

Oh, and Weiss too.

“Oh Dust, Weiss! Are you okay?!”

The heiress groaned pitifully and spat out a mouthful of turf. “…Ugh… Heels… Were a bad decision…”

Ren gave her a little shake. She’d been rooted in place far longer than the expected ‘dewy-eyed nostalgic glance’ really called for.

“Ruby? Are you okay?”

‘No,’ she thought as the ache in her chest deepened. ‘I’m not okay.’

She’d been seeing ghosts since she walked out of the door, the sights and sounds and smells a threshold into a past that existed only in her memories.

“I’m fine, Ren,” she answered aloud. “Just… remembering.”

The skin between his eyebrows scrunched up subtly. “Do you need a minute?”

She needed a lifetime. “No, let’s go.”

Ruby pulled up her leaden feet and there were no more questions.

Ren led her along, though Ruby could remember very well where she was going. The teacher’s lounge had not moved since the Fall – it was still up the central staircase, a left and then a right, and in the room with the glass panes to the left of the door.

She would never forget it, what with how many times she’d chosen (been forced) to appeal to her professors for help when the workload became too much to handle. For the same reasons, she knew each individual route to the staff’s personal offices as well.

It wasn’t anything a normal student would struggle with. Part of her still felt a touch of shame for that. Beacon was a rigorous institution – far more so than the smaller schools scattered throughout the kingdoms – and mediocrity was weeded out from the beginning.

For someone skipping two entire years of content, though? For someone as young as she’d been, and as disinclined to the mountainous class work?

It had been overwhelming, hence the need to ask for assistance when her team couldn’t buoy her up anymore with study sessions and crash courses in all the material she’d missed out on.

But she was distracting herself.

Ruby was going to meet her professors again.

Her old professors, who were now strangely enough her colleagues.

And what had changed with the older men and women (woman – she’d heard that Professor Peach returned to her native Vacuo after the Fall) she’d looked up to as her mentors? Would Professor Port still be boastful? Was Glynda turning grey? Had anyone thought to give Oobleck decaf? Would they have advice for her?

Everything else was already so different. How could she hope to keep up with it all?

“Ruby!”

Silver eyes widened and she flinched. A new-old doubt flared.

She’d almost forgotten about Jaune. Or, she’d almost convinced herself to not think about him, but now it was too late for that.

There was only one question she had for him: would he still be angry with her?

Before she turned, the memory of their last argument flared.

…He cut her off mid-sentence, torrential blue eyes cutting through her fury like a blade. ‘STOP!’

He turned away from her, leaving her with fists by her side, fury and shock ringing like the burst remains of pounding artillery in her ears. So much she could say – so much she wanted to say; to scream at him until he understood, or until she could make him understand!

He struggled for words, however, clearly disinterested in what those things were, before finally, through clenched teeth, his voice ground something substantial. ‘I can’t—’

His fists clenched, his metal gauntlets creaking.

‘No,’ the last of the control slipped from his voice; a hidden fuse finding hidden fuel. Ruby’s blood chilled as he turned to look her in the eye. ‘Get out… Now.’ His voice rose to a peak, until he was shouting. ‘Get out. GET OUT!’

And eyes wide, her hurt and fury drowned out by fear and shock…

—He’d looked at her like they’d never be friends again—

…and the remainder quickly chilling to the bone, Ruby turned and fled.

It was a physical effort to fight the nostalgia of the moment and turn toward him. Her feet were fastened to the ground. Her blood was cold. Her heart raced; for a moment Ruby feared it might drag her down into a raging sea of primal fear and panic again, and that this time she might not be able to haul herself out.

It echoed: was he still angry with her? Why wouldn’t he be? What possible difference could time make? Distance? It was Ren and Nora, but worse, she couldn’t lie herself out of it she couldn’t this would go so badly she—

She was afraid to have an answer so soon.

It was far too soon – there was far too much, could she even hope to—

She found herself crushed in an embrace.

Strong arms, muscles corded like steel wire, the faintest hint of sweat and apples; the remnants of a day training in the yard, or demonstrating in a classroom.

Ruby looked up to meet the sapphires twisted upwards in a giddy smile.

“Jaune!” she coughed, struggling for breath. “It’s good… to…” Okay, not working. She couldn’t breathe! “You’re squeezing a little too hard, Jaune – too much armor!”

She punched his breastplate ineffectually – it was heavy, polished white steel trimmed with bronze – and he got the message. Her ribs breathed a sigh of relief.

“Sorry! I got excited,” Jaune laughed. He reached out to grab her shoulders, giving them a squeeze. “It’s just been so long!”

“Yeah, it has,” she rasped, eyes wide and fingers clenched as roiling emotions frothed within her. Her eyes were trying to bend the world into the shape of a fish-eyed lens; no doubt in league with her raging pulse.

She fought them back. Now was not the time to break down because her body decided she could have an anxiety attack.

Not now.

‘Dust…’ she growled to herself. ‘Compartmentalize. You’re going to drown if you keep this up…’

Stop. In. Out. Breathe.

Again.

They were staring.

She breathed anyways.

In… Out…

Ruby recovered enough to look back up at Jaune. And immediately her head tilted to the side as she properly looked at him, underneath the gleaming shell he’d encased himself in.

He’d… grown. Not in height – he was a tall man already, towering nearly a foot over her head even with the benefit of heels back in their Beacon days – but rather in bulk. The arms that had been her prison mere moments before were thicker – and covered as they were in polished white plate had all the appearance of a knight snatched straight from the old tales. The same went for his chest and upper waist.

No scars she’d never seen, hair still the same, short, choppy length, and his chin covered in a fine layer of stubble… Her brow furrowed, finding his waist. Crocea Mors seemed to be in fine condition, all of it gleaming white steel contrasted against the softer, decorative bronze crossguard.

Too clean. Too solid.

Everything told her that Jaune was in fine form. Probably hitting his stride as a huntsman and equipped with the best arms and armor Remnant had to offer. Now that he had a daily serving of students to keep up with, and skilled colleagues to hone himself against, he would be more formidable than ever as well.

She saw before her a huntsman ready to meet all the trials and challenges thrown his way, standing leagues above where he’d begun so long ago… But…

Wait. Her eyes narrowed.

Where was the sash?

Her eyes flicked upwards, lips parting slightly to demand an answer, and met his eyes at last.

Cold-cut sapphires.

‘GET OUT!’

The question died in her throat.

He stared back, giving her the same examination. His brow was tight, the joy draining, making way for concern. His lip curling downwards. His eyes on her shoulders, on her waist. The beginnings of a scowl pulled down her own lips. She felt a chill she hadn’t with Ren and Nora.

Something flickered deep inside those sapphires; something dark and wary, yet it was tempered by something else. Something hard, yet strangely hesitant. Like she was staring into the eyes of an animal not yet sure it was ready to approach. To trust.

Cold-cut sapphires, boring into her feeling them on her back as she fled on aching feet. Down that endless stairwell through those crumbling halls – away. Far away. Far enough not to feel those eyes on her any more, never feel those eyes again, the judgement, always staring blue green gold grey brown red go away she could still feel them on her go away go away GO AWAY!

‘Dust!’ Ruby stuffed the rising tide back down. She was suffocating again, her pulse beginning to race, to undo the work of the oxygen she’d taken in.

The questions finally started to pile up, more than just the one.

What could she say? After so many years? She could feel his silence like a physical wall, or a chasm between them. His judgement, the hidden predator in the shadows, his anger. How could she break this… this barrier between them? Had she let the old wound fester too long?

What could she do?

…Fearfearfear go away go away GO AWAY!

…They’d been best friends. Leaders together in their school years and sharing the role in Mistral. They’d seen some of their highest highs, and some of their lowest lows together.

Sometimes she’d felt like she’d known him like she’d known her own team. She’d known what to say to wind him up, make him laugh, frown, sag or smile. And she’d known he could do much the same with her.

What did he see in her now?

“So!”

They both jerked.

Ren stepped between them, putting an early death to their not-a-standoff. “I have no desire to intrude on you two catching up,” he said (too) lightly, shooting Ruby an apologetic look. “I’m sure there’s plenty to talk about! But I don’t believe we should keep the faculty waiting?”

He phrased it as a question, but Ruby and Jaune stared at him in silence until the Mistrallan started to fidget. Given it was Ren they were talking about, that was quite the accomplishment on their part.

Another moment passed and Ren’s smile grew more brittle. He spread his hands, his expression turning just the tiniest bit pleading. “Guys?”

Ruby shook herself. “Right.” Now wasn’t the time to question whether or not her friend was still her friend. Poking that Ursa could come later. “You’re right. Faculty. Gotta meet my new colleagues, right Jaune?”

She hid her hesitation behind a smile, lightly jabbing her elbow into his arm. She pretended not to notice the slight flare of aura as she hit armor and pins and needles shot up her arm.

His aura. A white veil that whorled and danced like light through water. A manifestation of the inner self – the soul – that only flared as a defensive measure.

His smile was just as plastered as her own. “Right.”

Her stomach twisted.

Later.

Ruby pulled her lips wider and twirled her finger. “Lead on, Ren.”

As they fell into line behind Ren, they listened to him comment – at first warily, but with growing confidence – on the current state of affairs at Beacon and how far the repairs were coming along and oh there’s the thing An was going on about! Ruby steeled herself while only listening with half an ear and ignored the confused, intense stare burning into the back of her head.

This was home now. She would make sure of that. Everyone felt uncomfortable and nervous moving into a new home, right? Everyone dealt with these messy, painful emotions when they met up with old friends, right?

The traitorous part of her mind wasn’t so sure.

‘Welcome to Beacon…’

X_0_X

Neo’s throat still twinged with the echoes of faded pain as she stepped out of the shadows behind a few of her subordinates, the faint illumination given off by her semblance hidden away behind a few strategically placed shipping containers nearby.

Those, she’d decided, would always stay far enough to avoid giving any eavesdroppers an easy chance to listen in, but close enough to make her quiet entrances possible. After all, how could she possibly be expected to get rid of one of her favorite pranks?

She stepped between them on silent feet without preamble.

Her lieutenant – a short, meek looking doe-faunus with her lower face hidden away behind a grey scarf – yelped and drew her weapon before she realized just who it was that appeared out of nowhere. “Boss!”

Neo hid her smirk and pretended not to notice the pistol just a few inches from her gut. Appearances and all that. ‘STATUS REPORT?’

“I, ah, sorry Boss! I, we—”

Neo rolled her eyes and whacked the girl over the back of the head.

She’d picked her right hand well enough – she’d never be cut out for combat or intimidation, but when Neo wasn’t fucking with her, she had a sharp mind. Her innocent looks distracted from her cunning, and the ruthless intelligence she had sequestered away for Neo to exploit.

The girl had a terrible stutter though, when she was caught off guard. Woe to be her, it amused Neo to no end.

The girl coughed awkwardly. “Um. Status report. Right.” She straightened. “While you were out chasing down Pine, we completed the heist. During the crossfire with some of the PD we lost one of the containers of Dust, but the rest is already on its way out of Vale to our warehouses down the coast.”

‘TRACKED?’

She nodded. “We’re sure. It was too public an operation to avoid. Do you want us to remove the tracker and reroute the cargo, or let it sit?”

‘KEEP. WE GIVE RIFT NICE SURPRISE. THEY LOOK FOR DUST, THEY FIND DUST. THEY FIND CHARGES, FIND OUT WE TRICK THEM. THEN THEY WONDER WHERE REST IS. FUNNY, NO?’

Rift was one of the many smaller cities scattered along Sanus’ northern coast, nominally under the jurisdiction of the kingdom of Vale. In the aftermath of the Fall they’d enjoyed a long decade of functional independence. The coastal city, situated as it was at the mouth of an inlet and partially dug into a tall, stony mountainside, was an excellent hub for black market activities, being near enough to Vale for the survivors to take advantage of (or flee to), and near enough to Vacuo’s primary shipping lanes to receive a steady influx of materiel and restricted ‘merchandise.’ With the labyrinthine tunnels running deep into the hills, it was also a smugglers paradise.

Neo’s operation had several warehouses in the city that the Vale Council was keenly interested in. Riftan officials, on the other hand, were more than happy to leave them untouched as long as no exceptional cause for raids was given – the underlings she’d set to manage the branch were generous in their donations to the city council, after all.

With the tracker on the cargo, the Vale PD would have their excuse to conduct their raids. They would find it chock-full of smuggled Dust. They would find several IEDs scattered through the warehouse. And Neo would laugh at the collective coronary they would suffer, knowing that they would only discover how much of it was counterfeit days after the fact, while the legit score was far away.

All according to plan.

She profited, Rift would receive a messy reminder that her operations were not to be touched under any circumstances, the Vale PD would be further frustrated and – if fortune was kind, down a few officers – and she could rest satisfied, knowing she’d managed to infuriate Gearhead Pine even further. Four birds, one stone.

Roman would have called it an efficient use of resources. Neo just preferred using explosive stones. It worked either way.

That left one more thing. ‘DAMAGES?’

“We’ve reports of three civilian casualties. One is already slated for release from the hospital, the other two died on-scene. We’re in a bit of trouble with the locals in Slate District; couple of our contacts are saying they’re cutting ties on account of it.”

Neo touched her chin in thought.

Only three? She’d been expected upwards of a dozen when she planned the operation out. The death toll being so low was either good luck or spoke to her underlings’ restraint.

…

Probably the former, now that she thought about it.

Right then. The second tidbit was more important though. Contacts didn’t grow on trees. ‘WHY?’

“One of the women killed was pretty well-liked. Fancied herself a humanitarian. Had some cash from an inheritance she liked to spread around. Doesn’t seem to be more than that.”

Neo cocked her head to the side, running it all through her head and ignoring the wary glances her lieutenant exchanged with the other grunt beside her. Worried she would be frustrated by the setback? That she would take it out on them?

Hmph. ‘FINE. FIND NEW CONTACTS OR GET OLD ONES BACK. WHATEVER MEANS. ME NO CARE.’ Her subordinates had so little faith!

While annoying, those were acceptable losses, and inevitable when her operation slipped up.

Killing important people always created complications. Resentments, grudges, even vendettas if she were especially unlucky – those were the kinds of things she would be displeased to hear about. A few lost contacts was fine. She would lose some maneuverability in the short term, a bit of lost profit, but that would be made up once the Dust sold.

Simplicity itself. A good day’s work – and she got a good fight out of it.

Her hand rose to rub at the tender skin where Pine had throttled her.

A good fight indeed. She’d never in her wildest dreams thought to drag such an immediate, violent response from the polite, by-the-books huntsman. Never.

Honestly, she’d been astounded for just a few seconds before she regained her bearings at the buried rage – the ancient fire glaring down at her – and the iron-hard fingers cutting off her oxygen supply.

The reason was simple enough: Neo lived for moments like that.

She would have never thought to prepare for such an eventuality. It was never in the cards. For just a few moments her blood had thrummed, and she’d felt that ecstatic tingle of joyful life as she threw him off of her and regained the dominance she pursued in a fight.

‘Ah, Pine,’ Neo thought with a soft smirk as she gazed down at the map of Vale spread out before her. ‘You’ll be worth seeking out again. I can’t let you get away from me that easily.’

She refused to let such talent escape her. Nor would she let him cool his heels forever – she’d made that mistake once with the last Commissioner and didn’t plan on repeating it. Allowing Pine to go soft would be like letting an exquisite wine go to waste on a trashy frat party.

In fewer words (and without the hangover); a disappointing waste of potential.

“Boss?”

‘WHAT?’

Weren’t they done yet? She was well aware her lieutenant was still speaking, going over the numbers, the stratagems that would further her growing criminal empire’s prospects in the ripe little gem of Vale, and the double-dealing and underhanded tactics. All the things Neo didn’t give a damn about.

They were all well and good, as far as she was concerned, and they had their place, but she delegated for a reason. Neo was no Roman.

She was happy to leave all of that to her lieutenant and be the unfailingly deadly, terrifying kingpin. After all, who was a bigger target than the lynchpin holding it all together?

That was exactly how Neo liked things to be. Bigger target, better enemies, better fights.

“There’s one more thing, rather unrelated. You asked to be kept abreast of all huntsman traffic in and out of the city?”

‘YES.’ She motioned impatiently for the girl to continue.

“We received reports from our contact in Mistral United Airlines that three have crossed the border into Vale. One is already departed to Vacuo, the second is visiting relatives in the Port District, but the third…”

Neo snatched the memo from the girl’s hands, breaking the seal and scanning over the contents.

Interesting…

‘WE HAVE SOMEONE IN BEACON?’

“Not at the moment. They’re notoriously strict about their security. We’ve been making inroads with some of the construction crews, but Atlas screens everyone working there on account of the CCT.” Her lieutenant seemed more than a little put out by that fact.

That was a shame, but it certainly made the game more interesting.

Ruby Rose – Little Red the Reaper – was here in Vale? After almost ten years sequestered away in Anima? That was news Neo hadn’t expected to see when she’d woken up that morning.

Oh, she’d heard about Ruby. Her reputation as a huntress was as terrifying as it was enticing.

A child prodigy in her field, entered into Beacon by age fifteen against all of her peers. By all means an exceptional student in everything save her academia, and a scythe-wielder at that? Taking up that weapon, one of Remnant’s most difficult to master, took moxie that Neo could appreciate, and further, hope she’d one day encounter again.

After all, their last duel on the Vindicator, for all the tension of the situation had added to the encounter, had left something to be desired for Neo. Ruby had been young, then. Untried. Neo had been able to sense the potential there, but it had been of-yet unrealized. The girl had been easy pickings for someone of Neo’s caliber…

Well, she should have been.

And yet Neo lost, and Roman’s death had been the result.

…Fingers closing around her throat like a vice – she couldn’t breathe she stared up into the green-hazel-gold-flecked eyes of her opponent her enemy and glared she struggled against his hands pulling scratching clawing but she couldn’t breathe and—NO. THINK. She paused. Her eyes narrowed. She seized his wrists and squeezed, bunched her legs up to her chest and SHOVED…

Her lips quirked.

…The girl clung to her weapon over open air, Gryphons swarming below her. She would die once Neo cut her. Maybe she could do it slowly. One finger at a time, relish in the fear growing in the girl’s eyes as she lost her grip and vanished into the abyss of Grimm. Maybe she would survive their vicious swarm and hit the ground – it would be a quick death, at least. Quicker than the alternative.

Roman monologued behind her but Neo didn’t care. The whole world dropped away as she held the needle-tip of her blade at the girl’s throat. It would bloom sweet red when sh— WHAT THE, NO!

The smirk turned to a nostalgic smile.

…Neo clung tightly to her parasol, fending off the occasional Gryphon too stupid to realize she was a huntress with a weapon in hand, falling or not. The Vindicator died above her, and she watched as Little Red rode her scythe like a pogo stick through the air to the ground.

Roman would be dead, then.

She didn’t like the way her heart panged in her chest at the realization. His charming smile, his charisma, the kindness hidden behind the mercenary exterior…

She knew it was there; nothing else could have brought the kingpin around to taking in Vale’s lowest rat. To teaching that rat how to live, to love, to breathe combat. She’d become his hand, but he’d become her reason to live. All of that would now be gone with him…

Alani, her lieutenant, droned on beside her as Neo reminisced.

She owed quite a lot to Roman. Odds were that she would have perished from malnutrition had he not stepped in for the pathetic little mute shivering in the gutter. In retrospect it was quite the unusual gamble for the kingpin to make. She’d been stunted already. She didn’t know how to communicate. Young, and a vacuum for precious lien – at least before she started making her own money. She’d hardly been prime underling material.

But he had. And she grew. And he died. And Neo had Ruby Rose to thank for that.

…It was a tiny grave, unfit for someone as ostentatious as Roman. A simple headstone. “HERE LIES ROMAN TORCHWICK. LEADER OF MEN, FEARED BY HIS ENEMIES, MAY HE REST IN PEACE.” She didn’t know what dates to append to the stone, so she’d left it blank. Let those who found the tiny copse of trees think he’d lived a long and happy life. That he’d been buried in the middle of nowhere because it was actually a special spot for him. That maybe he’d met his first lover here. Or emerged from humble beginnings from a life in the woods.

Something more impressive than the truth. The truth kind of sucked…

Neo sighed.

She still sometimes visited that grave, but not often. She’d long since moved on. The faint grudge she’d considered nursing so long ago faded away with the knowledge that Ruby Rose was far away and suffering her own tragedies.

That was just karma, as far as Neo was concerned.

She had an empire to build and enemies to fight. Life went on.

But now an opportunity had fallen right into her lap, just as she forced her most recent rival off the playing board. That changed things.

Neo lifted her hand and slashed it across her torso. ‘STOP.’

Her lieutenant fell deadly silent.

‘BRING MY GOOD PAPER. AND PEN,’ she ordered.

“Right on it, boss.” The second underling disappeared into the warehouse.

Alani cocked her head nervously. “Do you have a letter to send, Boss?”

Neo had no intention of involving the girl in this, however. ‘INVITATION. NEED TO KNOW BASIS.’

This fight would be hers and hers alone. Oscar Pine? He was a formidable opponent with fewer scruples than Neo had been willing to give him credit for before that day. He was fast and wielded a weapon not dissimilar to her own, and he was still someone she would certainly relish fighting again when the time came.

But the Reaper?

Neo rubbed her hands together. ‘I’m going to have fun with you, Red.’

#RWBY #TheLastRose #Valasania the Pale #My Stories #Ruby Rose #Oscar Pine #Neopolitan #Ozpin

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cupidmarwani-archive · 5 years

Text

Come Into the Water (1/15)

Summary: Sarah, after a mental break, gets a fresh start in a small Northwestern town with a lot of secrets. (AVA/SARAH)

Warnings: Implied past rape, semi-graphic self harm, implied depression

The first box is the easiest.

Sarah sets it down in the middle of the floor and subsequently spends a few long minutes just staring out the slider as waves crash against the shore not too far away. Far enough that the high tide won’t attack her, but close enough for nothing to obstruct her view of the rolling blue under a sky of marine layer thick like the fog over her head. Bringing the box in was easy, putting it down is easy, but she’s suddenly confronted with the fact that she is not on a vacation, as eager as her mother had been to paint it that way. She gets it, in a way. Everyone would like to believe this is just a vacation, herself included. That’s what her old therapist had said, anyways. They’re still going to call every couple weeks, but she’s supposed to be seeing someone new in town twice a week.

All the boxes in the middle are a little harder, but the hardest is the last box because it forces her to confront the fact that everything she owns fits into only six cardboard moving boxes. One of pillows and blankets. One of towels. Two of clothes. One of plates, bowls, cups and silverware. And one of books and trinkets. Six boxes contain her whole life, or at least what she’s managed to salvage of herself. Sarah just looks at the last box, not bringing it in, while the movers supply her with freshly bought furniture courtesy of her mother. A couch, a dining room table, a few chairs, a bedframe and mattress, and a dresser are put in their places. Then the movers bid her a stiff goodbye and drive off, leaving her to numbly look at the box on the front porch in front of her.

In theory, it’s easy. Pick up the box. Carry it inside. Put it next to the others. It’s a little heavy, but nothing she can’t handle, in all honesty. She’d managed to build some muscle a few months ago, and while it’s begun to wither away, she’s still more than capable of carrying in the box. All she has to do is pick it up. Pick it up. Pick it up. Her hands are in her hair, pulling but not hard, yet. Eyes shut. The weight of her body is too heavy on her feet. Sinking into the concrete porch. Pick up the box. She just has to pick up the box. But instead, she thinks she might be crying. Wasn’t this supposed to be over?

The next thing she knows, she’s sitting on top of the box, pulling absentmindedly at the bandages on her forearm. However, absentmindedly has an implication of something peaceful. Habitual and familiar, absentmindedness is pleasant the way so many talk about it. A forgetful college professor rushing into class, a mother spreading peanut butter on her phone, a kid scuffing his shoe on the pavement. This is a different absentminded, the way her fingers dig into the edge of the white gauze and pull at it with fervor. But it’s still absent, still unintentional and without the awareness with which she has taken to approaching a great amount of her life lately.

She finds herself watching the sun fall into the horizon over the waves, and scours her mind for when she got here. It was morning, she thinks. The sun was low in the sky, the fog still drooling onto the land from the restless waves. Now the day has escaped her, and she’s torn open the first layer of bandages on her arm. For this very reason, there are three or four layers of spirals before her skin.

“Sorry to interrupt, but you’ve been sitting there all day.”

Several things happen in the span of one second; Sarah’s heart skips a beat, her hand tenses on the bandages and rips another layer, her feet skid on the pavement in her effort to get up, and she bursts into frustrated tears. It’s too fast, or perhaps simply feels that way to her because the world has gone too fast lately. Breathing is a chore, the only one she seems capable of handling today, and for a few labored breaths, she stares at the stranger in front of her, a kind woman with rich brown skin, downturned eyes, and a low ponytail. She’s the sort of woman Sarah would like to trust.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” the woman says. She extends a hand tentatively, the way one holds a hand to a dog to sniff before they try to pet it. “I’m Maggie, I live next door.”

“Sarah.”

With a deep breath, Sarah forces herself to shake Maggie’s hand. Her voice is as sweet as the caring expression on her face, one of a woman who has spent a lifetime looking after others. A nurse, or a daycare worker, or someone like that. Someone good. It would be so nice to know someone good instead of cutthroat, but the fear is there. She’s sizing Maggie up, she realizes. Trying to decide if she’d be able to overpower Sarah if she really wanted to. It’s a bad habit she’s supposed to be getting out of.

“Let me carry that in for you, and if you want, I’ve got leftovers in my fridge. We can eat together, or you can just take them. You could use them.”

Maggie picks up Sarah’s box, carries it inside, and sets it with the others. Heat sears into Sarah’s cheeks because she knows how it looks. Six measly boxes. Each labeled in neat handwriting, revealing how little of herself remains. She had been more, she thinks, at some point. But a lot of her died in an office packed with books and journals and photos of a daughter who had made it into the world. She is empty now. Her thumb digs into the center of her bandages. It doesn’t hurt, but she’d like it to.

“About dinner-”

“Thank you, but I really- I can’t. Maybe another time?”

“Another time,” Maggie agrees. Her eyes trace Sarah’s face too closely. She wants to die on the spot just so Maggie will stop looking. “If you ever need anything, I’m just to the left, so don’t hesitate to come over. And if I’m not home, my wife probably is.”

“Okay.”

With that, Maggie lets herself out and shuts the door gently, once again leaving Sarah alone surrounded by her miniscule life and furniture she didn’t pick out. She looks around the space and finds herself drawn to the slider again. Darkness edges in above the horizon, and she scrambles forward to close the cheap plastic blinds. They’re not perfect, but they block the window so no one can see in. She gets the kitchen window too and finds the switch for the light in the dining room, one of the only ones the house came with. It allows her the light she needs to tear open the towel box and grab one, a soft bath towel in a forgiving dark red. As of yet, she hasn’t gotten any soap or shampoo, a tooth brush, anything. But she goes to the bathroom anyways and spends a good five minutes figuring out how to turn on the shower and get the hot water she craves going. The crumpled towel earns a home on the toilet seat as she all but tears off her clothing. No laundry hamper yet, either. That’s fine.

The hardest part of this is taking off her bandages to prevent them from being soaked and contracting an infestation of mildew or worse. She doesn’t want to look as she unwinds the cause and peels up the cotton pads, which join her clothes on the floor in a mess Sarah just doesn’t have the energy to deal with right now.

Somehow, she’s staring at it. Most of her arm is healed, a splatter of dark pink skin that has scarred, but there’s plenty only beginning to scab from her most recent attack, if that’s what one were to call it. She doesn’t mean to, but when she’s anxious, caught in her head, upset, existing- she finds her right fingernails digging into the tender skin of her left inner forearm. Cutting her fingernails short, wrapping herself in bandages to protect her arm and its scabs, they’re supposed to help.

She looks at the scabs for a long time before dragging herself into the water and letting it wash over her like it’s washing away her pain. The coating of school and stale white walls melt off of her, spiral down the drain, mesh together to remind her exactly what forced her into this otherwise quaint little cottage. It would be a nice home, had she picked it herself and come voluntarily. Perhaps she’d put art or photos on the walls, which would be painted a warmer color than the current murky dark green-grey-blue.

When the water soaks through her curls to drizzle over her scalp, she comes back to herself. As much as she can nowadays, anyways. There’s a thin layer of plastic sheeting between her mind and body, and no matter how hard she tries to break it, it stands impenetrable. Sarah wonders if it’s for the best. It protects her, at any rate. She’s better off on this side of the barrier, she tells herself, and turns off the water. Going out, she isn’t any cleaner; she didn’t wash her body or her hair- which isn’t even totally wet yet.

Sarah wraps the towel around her, more as a blanket than anything to actually dry herself off. It’s soft, comforting around her. She checks, as she drags her exhausted body into the main area, that all the windows are covered so that anyone walking by can’t see her. So he can’t see her. Sometimes, invisibility feels like the safest thing in the world and she needs more of it than she could ever have.

She lays down on the floor, surrounded by her boxes, although she knows come morning she’ll regret it. It’s only fitting. Regret is the main emotion she deals with nowadays, when she manages to feel anything at all. Her eyes lock onto a little crack where the wall meets the trimming, thin and probably in danger of mold when she’s this close to the ocean. Her mother had said something about keeping the house aired out, but Sarah hasn’t listened to her in quite some time.

By the time she falls asleep, orange has begun to disrupt the sky outside.

Taglist: @bookreader525 @sextonsharpwinhalstead @sarahreeese @bipeteypie

#sarah reese #chicago med #fic #mine #ciwfic

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hurt-care · 5 years

Text

Some more historical hay-asthma fluff with my OC Francis and his lady, Caroline. Set in the late 1800s/turn of 1900s. If you haven’t met him before, you can read my prior fics about him here and here.

At long last, Francis had escaped the choking air of London and settled permanently as the owner of some lands near Plymouth with his new bride, Caroline. They'd been married only a few months, joined in matrimony at the local chapel in late October when Francis' health was at its strongest. They'd settled into a modest but elegant seaside cottage with six bedrooms for welcoming guests and an expansive plot of land around it providing privacy. Most of the time, the home was occupied by just the couple and a handful of staff who worked during the day and lived in much smaller homes down in the nearby village.

The staff always arrived early enough to have the morning coffee and breakfast before they rose at a leisurely hour and took their meal in the dining room. The winter by the ocean had been harshly cold but happy and quiet in the new estate. They'd welcomed Francis' cousin from Leeds for a week-long stay and had entertained a magistrate passing through on his way to France. Now, as the months turned towards spring, Caroline gently instructed the new staff about the precautions to take when it came to Francis' sensitive health. Though Plymouth generally provided relief from the majority of his symptoms, occasional turns of weather could bring about an attack of Francis' severe hay-asthma.

It was a beautiful early June day when Caroline rolled over in bed and reached an arm out for her husband, who lay still asleep. She pressed her lips to his shoulder in a kiss and he smiled faintly in his sleep.

“Francis,” she said softly.

“Mhm?” he murmured, waking to the sound of her voice.

“We're due at the Petersons this afternoon, love,” she said. “Better be up and dressed soon. Thomas says it's about a half hour drive.”

They'd been invited for tea at the estate a few kilometers away at Westhart Cliffs. The Petersons were another young couple and Caroline had been childhood friends with the wife, Lady Amelia. They'd moved to Westhart around the same time Francis and Caroline had taken up their own residence.

Dressed and ready with a gift of plum cake carefully packaged by their cook, the couple climbed into their motorcar and the valet, Sean, took off along the cliffside road.

It was an easy drive down to Westhart with rolling fields on one side and the sea on the other. When they slowed in the approach to the house, Caroline took Francis' hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Ready?” she asked, smiling at him. He had a tendency to be a little shy around those he did not know well.

“Of course,” he said, smiling back at her. “It's tea and conversation and then back home before we know it.”

“That's the spirit!” she teased, clapping him on the leg.

“No, in all honesty I'm quite looking forward to seeing the place. I've driven by before but never been inside.”

They peered out of the motorcar's window as they creaked to a halt out front of the imposing manor's front door. A butler appeared to greet them as Sean put the car in park and came around to open the door.

“Mr. And Mrs. Miller,” the butler said, bowing slightly. “Welcome to Westhart. Lord and Lady Peterson will receive you in the atrium.”

Francis raised an eyebrow as he looked at Caroline.

“That will be lovely, thank you,” Caroline replied, smirking back at her husband as she read his thoughts. An atrium was certainly a divinely decadent addition to a manor home.

They followed the butler through the long, impressive entryway and down a hallway out into an airy room with large glass windows along the far side. Above, a portion of the ceiling was an impressive peak of glass panes that filtered light into the room. A small tea table was set in the centre and nearby stood Lord and Lady Peterson, dressed elegantly in white and linen for summer. Around the room arched large ferns and exotic palms with their leaves stretched towards the sunny windows.

“Thank you for having us, sir,” Francis said in greeting, extending his hand to Lord Peterson as Caroline and Amelia embraced nearby. He turned his attention to Lady Peterson and gave a small bow. “And Lady Peterson, I've heard so much about you from Caroline.”

“Call me Amelia, please,” she said with a cheerful laugh. “I hope she's told you only the flattering things.”

Caroline laughed and gripped Francis' arm affectionately.

“Of course, Amelia.”

“And I've heard much about you, Francis,” Amelia said. “Congratulations on your wedding. I'm so sorry we were out of the country during the festivities.”

“Yes, an odd time of year for a wedding,” Lord Peterson said.

“We love autumn,” Caroline said confidently as Francis stood feeling awkward at her side. The real reason, of course, had been to avoid him being unwell during a spring or summer wedding, but they had not widely publicized that fact.

“I'm sure it was divine,” Amelia chirped. “Should we sit for tea? I'll ring for the service.”

She tugged on a nearby sash to summon the servants and they all took seats around the table.

“Mrs. Miller had told us you ran a successful venture in London, Mr. Miller,” Lord Peterson said conversationally as a maid wheeled in a tea cart laden with goodies and the tea set.

Francis cleared his throat and gave a small rub to his left eye.

“Ah, yes, I did,” he replied. “It was my father's business and I took over when he passed. However, I much prefer the climate of Plymouth and when I asked Caroline to marry me, it was with the understanding that I'd sell that venture. So I've closed up shop there permanently and I've taken on some smaller private clients here and by correspondence. Come winter, I may spend some time in London but only as business requires.”

“Quite right,” Lord Peterson said as the maid began to pour tea into fine china cups. “I myself had some dealings in London but I agree that Plymouth is a much finer place to have a home. We hope to start a family of our own here.”

At his side, Amelia blushed and smiled with a knowing look at Caroline.

“We are quite enjoying our new home down the way,” Caroline chimed in. “I've been busy selecting new curtains for the bedrooms and we're having an heirloom piece sent up from my mother and father's home next week; a lovely mahogany wardrobe that belonged to my grandfather.”

Heh-TSCHPMF!

Francis turned away from the tea table suddenly, shuddering with an explosive sneeze. The Petersons jumped at the unexpected sound and next to him, Caroline bit her lip worryingly.

“Bless you, Mr. Miller!” Lord Peterson said.

Eh-TSGH!

“Goodness, I hope you're not ill!” Amelia chimed in.

Francis flushed with a familiar embarrassment at the situation.

“Excuse me,” he murmured, reaching for his trusty handkerchief and dabbing his nose politely. “No, I'm quite well.”

“These tea cakes look delicious, Amelia,” Caroline remarked, reaching for one the petit-fours from the centre serving tray.

“Our Mary does such a nice job with pastries,” Amelia replied proudly. “This plum cake you brought is also divine. You'll have to have your girl send over the recipe.”

“How are you finding the village, Mr. Miller?” Lord Peterson asked.

“You may call me Francis,” Francis replied softly, tucking his handkerchief away. “I'm finding the people very agreeable, sir. We're due to collect rents next month so I imagine I'll get to know a good deal more of the people but the ones we've had dealings with are very kind.”

He cleared his throat softly and reached to take a sip of his tea.

“We've taken on two lads and two girls from the village in service along with a cook and a valet,” he added. “They've all proved to be good workers so- heh---so...heh-TSGH!”

He turned away to smother another sneeze into his cupped hands.

“Oh do excuse me,” he murmured, blushing again. Under the table, Caroline gave his leg a comforting squeeze as she looked around at the exotic plants and wondered if they were proving irritating to Francis' delicate system.

Lord Peterson did not acknowledge this sneeze but instead nodded approvingly.

“That's good to hear. We have a few lads here from our local village that have also proved very helpful.”

“But our Mary is actually the daughter of our old cook Margaret, from back at my family home,” Caroline chimed in.

Hurh-TSGHHT!

Francis turned away again, convulsing with yet another sneeze. He stayed leaning away from the tea table, hands still poised over his mouth and nose. The reason quickly became evident as he launched into a ticklish fit of sneezes that shook him violently with each wrenching outburst.

Hurhh-TSGHT! Ngh-GSHT! Tsh-GHT! 'GHT! Ehh-heh-GHTTT!

He pushed back his chair, standing and stumbling away from the table with his handkerchief to his nose

“My apologi—ehh-GHHTT!”he choked out between sneezes.

“Bless you! My goodness!” Amelia said breathlessly, astonished at the spectacle.

“Are you sure you're quite alright?” Lord Peterson asked, concerned.

Francis' eyes were now red and swollen and streaming with tears as he sneezed several more times in rapid succession.

Ngh-GHXHT! Heh-tshCHTT! Heh-TSCHT! Tsh-GHT!

Caroline stood and went to his side, putting a steadying hand on his back.

“It's the plants?” she asked softly. “Should I make our excuses.”

“Please,” rasped Francis miserably, snot flooding from his nose. He dabbed it with the handkerchief and then covered it again to catch another ticklish sneeze.

Heh-TSCHXHTT!

“Go wait in the hall,” she said quietly into his ear. “I'll say our goodbyes and have them get Sean to bring the car back around.”

Francis rushed for the door, the sound of sneezing echoing in the hall as he left.

“I'm so very sorry,” Caroline said, turning back to their hosts. “I neglected to tell you the severity of dear Francis' condition. He suffers so terribly from hay-asthma and rose-cold and we can never be certain when he's going to have a bad turn this time of year. He finds relief here in Plymouth but sometimes he still suffers spells. I think maybe your exotic foliage did not agree with him.”

“Oh no!” Amelia cried. “We can have the servants move the tea service into the parlour.”

“I'm afraid now that he's having an attack, it'll be a day before he can fully recover. It's best if we return home for him to rest and take his treatments.”

“I wish we'd known,” Lord Peterson said. “Poor chap.”

“He's so terribly embarrassed by it,” Caroline explained. “If you could be so dear as to have our car brought around, I know he'll want to go at once. It makes such a mess of him, he can't bear to have others see.”

“Absolutely,” Lord Peterson replied, heading off to ring for a butler. “Please offer my apologies to your husband. We would not have chosen this room for tea had we known.”

“It's a lovely room,” Caroline said. “I would have chosen it too. Some plants have no effect on him at all, so we never can tell.”

“I do hope he doesn't suffer greatly,” Amelia said sweetly. “He looked dreadful.”

“It is a rather uncomfortable affliction,” Caroline agreed. “He can scarcely get his breath between all the sneezing sometimes.”

“You are a saint for seeing to him,” Amelia said.

Caroline blushed.

“No, not at all. Though I do feel so terribly bad he suffers so much. That's why we chose to marry in the fall, because this season can be so unpredictable for his health.”

“The car should be coming around shortly,” Lord Peterson said, returning from a conversation with his butler. “Can we see you out?”

“I think Francis would prefer a quiet escape, if you don't mind,” Caroline said.

“Of course,” Amelia replied. “Please, send him our good wishes and we'll have you back for tea in the parlour another time.”

She kissed Caroline on the cheek and Lord Peterson gave a bow and kissed Caroline's hand.

With the farewells said, Caroline rushed to the hall to find Francis leaning heavily against a wall with his handkerchief under his dripping nose. His eyes were swollen and puffy.

“Oh love,” she said softly. “I'm sorry. I had no idea. I've made our excuses and Sean should be out front.”

He nodded wearily and followed her out to the front foyer. Outside, Sean was waiting with the car running and he opened the door for them to climb in. Francis sunk down into the seat with a sigh and gave his nose a short, damp blow.

“Okay, home,” Caroline soothed, settling next to him.

Eh-SGHHT!

Francis shuddered with another wrenching sneeze and then took a shaky, wheezy breath.

“How's your chest?” Caroline asked.

Hurh-TSGHH!Tsh-GHT!

Once he was able to speak, Francis shook his head and sniffled thickly.

“It's okay,” he rasped. “A little tight.”

“Okay, just try to get little breaths,” she coached. “How can I help?”

“You don't happen to have a handkerchief?” he asked. His was nearly completely sodden.

Caroline reached for her own from its usual place tucked into her dress and came to the terrible realization that she'd neglected to bring it.

“I'm so sorry, sweet,” she said.

“It's okay,” Francis croaked, pressing the damp one to his nose again. His poor nostrils were getting red and raw from the moisture.

“Do you want to try to rest?” she asked. “You can lean against me.”

“Maybe,” he said wearily, clearly exhausted from the attack. He let his head rest back against her, closing his eyes. She stroked his hair back from his face and thumbed away a few stray tears from around his swollen eyes. He snorted thickly and coughed a few times, now getting so congested he could barely get a breath through his nose. He leaned forward once more, sneezing thickly.

Hurh-TSGHHHT! Heh-TSCHMFFF!

Caroline felt her stomach pang in sympathy and she rubbed his back as he blew his nose futilely.

But the time they reached their home, he was so congested and swollen and miserable that she had to lead him inside because he was nearly blind with allergic tears. They'd given the staff the day off since they'd planned to be out all afternoon, but now Caroline was alone save for Sean who had gone to put the car away. He'd offered to send for the doctor, but that wasn't yet necessary.

She got Francis up to their bedroom and seated in an armchair with a fresh handkerchief from his wardrobe at hand. He coughed ticklishly and she put a hand to his chest, feeling for the wheeze. For now, it was light.

“Better get your inhaler,” she said softly. He nodded, knowing that the asthma would get worse later in the evening as it always did. “I'll get some water for your face too.”

He nodded again, wiping his dripping nose with the new dry handkerchief and triggering more wrenching sneezes.

Hruh-TSGCHMFFF! Ngh'TSGHHH!

Caroline kissed the top of his head and went to the kitchen, setting a pot of water to boil for the inhaler and gathering a basin of warm water with some cloths for Francis' swollen eyes. With everything balanced on a tray, she went back upstairs to find him slumped wearily in the chair, audibly wheezing.

“It's okay,” she soothed as he coughed and clutched at his chest in discomfort. “Here we are.”

She poured a mixture of medication into the steaming water in the ceramic bulb and held it out for him to inhale. He took a long, slow puff and struggled to keep the vapour in his lungs. Finally, he gave into coughing and she rubbed his back, whispering soft reassurances. He was sweaty-faced and spent, unable to find any comfort. When he finally stopped coughing, he leaned into her touch and sighed.

“You don't deserve this,” he rasped.

“I love you,” she said, kissing his brow. “Every bit of you. Now, quiet. We need to get you well again.”

She sponged his swollen, itchy eyes with a rag dipped in warm water and then gave him a mixture of quinine to snort. He tried futilely to inhale it but he was too congested to get much into his sinuses. Wrinkling his nose, he sneezed into the handkerchief and gave his tender nostrils another careful wipe.

Heh'TSCHFFT!

He was so weary that his eyes were fluttering shut but he could not get comfortable enough to sleep. He stood, pacing the room as he coughed occasionally, bracing himself against his chair or the bed or the wardrobe. Caroline hovered nearby, feeling utterly useless.

“Do you want to try to sit a little?” she asked as he tended to his nose with his handkerchief again.

“It's easier,” he rasped. “Breathing....if I stand....but I'm so tired.”

“I know, love,” she soothed. “Come here.” s

As he passed her in his fevered pacing, she wrapped her arms around him, letting him put his weight into her, and held him as he let his head hang over her shoulder. He coughed miserably and she felt him shuddering in her arms, but she held tight, rocking gently back and forth. He wheezed a sigh and tried to pull away, but she held on.

“Caroline,” he gasped.

“It's fine. Rest.”

Heh-tGXHT!

He stifled a sneeze against her shoulder.

“Caroline....” he said again with more urgency.

“I don't mind,” she whispered, stroking his back. His chest expanded and he pitched into her with another sneeze.

Heh-SGHHHT!

“I need to....the chair,” he wheezed. She guided him over to it and he gripped the top, leaning over the high wingback and bracing against it as he coughed again. She rubbed his back more, leaning her cheek against his ribs and hearing the whistle of wheezing.

She held up the inhaler and he took another puff of the steam. The coughing eased a little and he paused to give his nose a blow, wincing as he did. His nose was glowing red and raw now, completely irritated and tender from all the moisture and wiping.

“Should we see if you can get a little sleep?” she asked gently. “I can get your pyjamas.”

He shrugged.

“Yes, maybe,” he said quietly. “I am breathing a little easier.”

She retrieved a set of his pyjamas from the wardrobe and helped him out of his trousers and shirt into the soft linen bottoms and matching top.

“There,” she said, buttoning the last button on the pyjama top. “One more treatment and then you can rest.”

He took another puff from the ceramic inhaler and then followed her sleepily towards the bed. He sat down on the edge and watched her through swollen, half-closed eyes as she tugged off her dress and he reached to help loosen her corset so she could remove it. When she was just in her bloomers and shift, she climbed into bed and reclined against the headboard, guiding Francis to lay against her chest propped up. He closed his eyes and settled into her embrace, breathing noisily but clearer than before. Soon he was asleep, snoring softly, completely exhausted from the attack. She closed her own eyes, comforted by the weight of him against her and the knowledge that she'd be close at hand if he woke with another flare of asthma in the night as he often did.

Thankfully, he slept soundly and when he did wake, it was to nothing more than some slight irritation around his nose and some residual itching in his throat. They settled down in the bed, reclining further, and fell back into a peaceful sleep once again.

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prairiesongserial · 5 years

Text

Windfield Pass 10

Agnes still needed to find a place to stay the night, and a warm meal, if there was one to be had, but she and Owl needed to see the mayor before any of that. Already, the day was darkening. When Agnes and Owl reached the mayor’s house - a squat little cottage with a prettier vegetable garden than its neighbors’ - the family had already sat down to dinner, or so the man at the door told them.

A holler from the dining room told the man to show them in, anyway. Agnes and Owl were led through the foyer and shown to the table.

The dining room was small, but fine - the table runner was lace, and the table beneath was sturdy, dark wood - this table hadn’t been made in Wyoming. The craftsmanship was too good. Mayor Willin himself was mid-sip from a glass of black-red wine. His wife, Charlotte, sat primly across from him, her shoulders straight as a board. Their adult son and his wife sat at the table, also. Curiously, the table had been set for six, almost as if Agnes and Owl had been expected.

“Forgive the interruption,” Agnes said. “I am more than happy to wait until after you’ve eaten, or come again tomorrow.”

“No, no, nonsense,” said the mayor. Wine dripped down his mustache, and he dabbed it with a lace-lined napkin. “Welcome, and please sit. Yves, please serve our guests.”

The man who had answered the door reappeared with a tea service and began to serve Agnes and Owl. Owl was jittery, more anxious now than she had been during the amputation of a man’s arm. She knelt on her seat instead of sitting properly, then sat cross-legged, then knelt again.

“Now, let us set the story straight,” said Mayor Willin when Yves had gone again. “Marge was here not an hour ago, and she had an interesting story to tell about the two of you, half of it a figment, I’m sure. She is a nervous woman. But then…” The mayor shifted in his seat, almost as if he were uncomfortable. His wife gave him a sharp look. “But then, something makes me wonder. See, Marge’s gossip doesn’t often have more than the barest kernel of truth, bless her. But then our esteemed hunters return from their excursion - days late. Half of them dead. One of them missing an arm, which I hear is your work, doctor.”

Agnes gave him the barest smile.

“And that made me wonder. You see, Dr. Hopper, we didn’t expect you back in Windfield until the summer. But you return here the very same day as our hunting party. You early, they late.”

The mayor idly tapped his spoon against his plate.

“Our hunters are good, honest men, risking life and limb to protect our town. And half of them died, Dr. Hopper. Now, we appreciate all you’ve done for our town, and I’m sure Benjamin Frisk thanks you for sawing off his arm in a public shop. But…” The mayor abruptly stopped tapping his spoon. “But the brave men who survived the mutie attack saw something very strange. The Weeper who bit out their fellows's throats was holding a walking stick.”

Agnes’s blood froze.

Yves returned to the dining room, leading two of the hunters Agnes had seen earlier that day. Without so much as a glance at her, one of the hunters snatched her cane from its spot propped against the table. He turned it over in his hands, testing the weight, then gave it to his compatriot.

“You will forgive me if I doubt your story about Pickton,” said the mayor. “Boys?”

“This is the cane,” the hunter said with undisguised disgust.

“And now, Agnes, please speak. Never let it be said that the mayor of Windfield denied a guest the opportunity to defend herself.”

Next to Agnes, Owl pushed her dinner around her plate. Her face was scrunched up with effort as she tried to keep up with the conversation.

“Here...is the truth,” said Agnes. “In Harehaven, a few days ago, a family approached me. They told me that a foundling had been left on the road - a normal child. Human. A practice that this town has some history with.” She set her teeth. “The Harehaven family didn’t have provisions for an extra child, not with winter so close at hand. The family asked me to take her away and find her a more respectable placement.”

The mayor harrumphed loudly, but gave no further interruption. Agnes continued.

“We were walking toward the pass when we were beset by muti...mutants. We ran south, and at some point your hounds crossed our trail. By the water.”

“But you kept running,” one of the hunters interrupted.

“With mutants that close at hand, so would you,” Agnes snapped. “We forded the river. We had lost all of our supplies, including my cane. The next day, or perhaps the day after, I found it, washed up on the shore. If a mutant happened to find it and drop it again, that is my good luck.”

“Oh, no, I don’t think so,” barked the hunter. “You, an old woman, with a child, in mutie country, with no food, soaking wet, manage to get from the south side of the Boysen to Windfield in, what, three days? It’s impossible. You didn’t take the pass. Marge has it that you met the schoolchildren on their way into town, meaning you came from the south-west, meaning you crossed the damn Wind River mountains - in three days - with nothing to eat - ”

Owl had looked scared when the hunter raised his voice, but now she raised her plate over her head and dumped the little game hen and leafy greens on the floor. She released the porcelain plate - expensive enough to be a family heirloom. Agnes lunged to catch it, but wasn’t quite fast enough. It shattered at the hunter’s feet.

“Owl - ” Agnes began.

“Harehavenkind can go more than three days without nothing to eat, uncle,” she said, fixing the hunter with a hateful stare. “And we don’t need glass plates neither.”

The room was silent. Agnes felt as scared as a cornered rabbit, unable to begin to think of an explanation or apology for Owl. Owl stood up on her chair, nose to nose with the hunter.

“I don’t want to live here. I want to go home.”

The mayor wiped his mouth with his napkin, and delicately set it aside.

“That’s enough of that,” he said, ignoring Owl. “Now, Dr. Hopper, I had hoped you would be more forthcoming, but I understand your reluctance. You have the safety of the child to consider. Here is what I think.”

The mayor waved for Yves to clear everyone’s plates, and he did, hesitating when he got to Owl’s place. He left with the used dishes and returned shortly with a broom.

“I think…” began the mayor, “that the child is a Harehaven mutant which you are moving like contraband. I think you did not wish to meet the hunting party by the Boysen River because you rightly feared the dogs would sniff her out as mutiekind. And I think that you know the location of the Weeper who killed so many of our bravest. And I think...that if you consider the safety of the child...you will help our hunters track her down.”

“Are you threatening Owl?” Agnes said, struggling to keep her voice even. “A child? A child who has nothing to do with…”

“What’s threatening?” Owl interjected, still standing on her chair defiantly.

“Contraband,” said the mayor easily.

“Agnes, what’s - ” Owl said, clearly agitated.

“I can’t help you,” Agnes growled, rising from her seat. “I don’t know where she is. Try the Boysen.”

“She led you through the mountains,” yelled one of the hunters.

“Agnes, what’s - ”

“Prove it,” Agnes shot back.

It was the wrong choice. In seconds they were tearing her pack apart, searching it for any evidence of Selkie. Agnes hadn’t thought she had anything to hide - but she hadn’t been careful, either. One of the hunters held up a lump of charcoal, examined it, and tossed it away. Sachets of herbs and bottles of tinctures piled up on the table, until finally the hunters found what they were looking for.

“What is that?” asked the mayor, gesturing for the object.

Agnes didn’t recognize it, either, at first. Something Selkie had slipped in her bag?

Agnes squeezed her eyes closed. It was the worst thing Selkie could have given her. The mayor held the hunting knife up to the light, but Agnes knew it wasn’t hers. Perhaps Selkie had thought it was, when she was gathering Agnes’s lost belongings after her encounter with the hunters. Or maybe she had just thought Agnes could use a knife.

“It’s Benjamin’s knife,” one of the hunters said. “She cut his fuckin’ arm off while his knife was in her backpack.”

“Forgive me...for taking what help I could find, no matter who it came from,” Agnes said carefully. “If you had faced the threat of death, you might have made the same choice.”

“Our men didn’t have the luxury,” the hunter sneered.

“Then forgive an old woman and child for living. We will leave, and you won’t have to be reminded of it anymore.” Agnes picked Owl up under the arms and held her. Owl was ready to leave, glaring at the other adults in the room. But the hunters hovered close.

The mayor cleared his throat.

“Given the circumstances,” he said, “I think it is more than fair that you guide our hunters to the mutie’s nest so they may exact reparations for their loss. We will forgive your contraband in exchange, though she must leave with you.”

“If I refuse?” Agnes said, heart pounding. She was spitting mad, but her only weapon was her head.

“We kill her.” The mayor daintily pointed the sheathed knife at Owl’s forehead. “It’s not my habit to kill the thinking kind, but nothing about this situation is typical, is it? I mean, the local doctor abetting muties? Facilitating murder? So you see why I’m willing to make an exception.”

Owl’s eyes flashed at the mayor. She wriggled out of Agnes’s arms, and Agnes was forced to drop her. Owl grabbed the broom out of Yves’s hands, who was too surprised to resist.

“What’s wrong with you?” Owl hollered at the mayor, leveling the handle at the broom at him like a sword. A child’s display of bravado, as if this were a pretend game. “That’s for skinning rabbits, and it’s sharp, so you have to be careful.”

The mayor lowered the knife to the table and smiled past Owl, as if she hadn’t said anything at all.

Agnes closed her eyes, gripping Owl’s shoulders hard. All around her, the hunters, the mayor, the mayor’s family - they all breathed with sordid anticipation. Either spectacle, Owl’s death or Selkie’s, would be enough for them. Choose, doctor. Choose which mutie dies. Didn’t that mean that neither of them had to die, if either would suffice?

When Agnes opened her eyes, the mayor had handed the knife to one of the hunters for safe-keeping.

“I’m old,” said Agnes, softly. “Why not…”

“We don’t kill normal folks,” piped up Charlotte. “We aren’t monsters.”

Silence circled the table. Finally, Agnes began to pack all her tinctures and herbs and vials back into her pack.

Windfield Pass 9 || Windfield Pass 11

#story

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artemisnightingale216 · 6 years

Text

Love and What We Do in its Name: Ch 5- Come Out and Play

Authors Note: Plot happens but not really. Haha. Gonna get into some fun stuff next chapter! Please enjoy! Also, if anyone is interested, we’re still looking for voice actors for the audio recordings! If you’re interested, DM either me or @sagetheai and we’ll go from there!

Ottilie woke the next morning in a state of confusion. Before she even opened her eyes, she realized her bed was much too comfortable to be her own and the scent of the sheets wasn’t right. Once they did open, she was shocked to not be greeted by the wallpaper she’d grown accustomed to over the years, but instead a cranberry painted wall. A small gasp escaped her as she quickly sat up and looked around the room.

It was surprisingly large and spacious, possibly bigger than her cottage. There was a kitchenette, sitting area, and king sized bed which she’d woken up in. The kitchenette was simple with oak cabinets, a matching pantry and counter top, covered lights that hung from the ceiling, and a glossy black dishwasher placed into a cubby beneath the counter top. It was separated from the carpeted sitting area by glossy black tiles that resembled obsidian stone, the dark color more easily hiding any dirt that might have gotten on them. The carpet itself was a simple white, but looked soft and plush to the touch. The sitting area was decorated with black and scarlet antique furniture, an armchair to one end of the black coffee table and a matching love seat to the side, the end tables decorated with floral painted lamps that lit up the room in a gentle golden glow. There was an antique writing desk sitting against one of the walls, stationary and an ink well sitting on top, and across from it was a six person dining table with a crystal vase full of flowers centered on it. Along the wall with the desk were two large windows and an intricately carved glass door, white sheer curtains hung on either side of all three, that led out to a rot iron balcony with a tea table and matching chairs just outside the door. The bed was soft yet firm at the same time, which had aided her in having one of the best sleeps she’d had in a long time, with more pillows than seemed necessary and a floral bed set that was nearly the same design as the lamps.

It took her a moment to catch on to where she was as her eyes darted around the room, her heart racing slightly as she slowly calmed down once she had that peace of mind. Once she was sufficiently calm, she flipped the covers off of her and stepped off of the bed, surprised to see that over half of the bed was still made; she’d tried to tell Charlie the night before that it was much too big for her and she would be more than happy with a queen mattress, but her new manager had insisted that she take it, not taking no for an answer. After she fixed the sheets and comforter so the bed was fully made, she put her slippers on her feet and wrapped her robe around her, feeling chilly in her light blue negligee and matching underwear.

She took that time in the early morning hours to look over her room further, not really having had a chance to the night before. Between running all over town with Angel, starting her job, and moving her things, she’d been exhausted and fell asleep as soon as her head had hit the pillow. She was surprised she’d been able to stand long enough to change out of her clothes and put on her night clothes.

It hadn’t taken them long to remove her things from the small cottage. Once all of her clothes, dishes, and the few knicknacks she had were packed away, there had been ample in the trunk of the limo for her rocking chair, which she’d been afraid she’d have to leave behind. Charlie and Vaggie had both commented on her surprising lack of personal belongings, though Angel had been outspokenly happy he didn’t have to help with any heavy lifting, but Ottilie had simply explained that she’d never been one to become attached to anything she didn’t need. When everything was loaded inside, she quickly wrote a note to her landlord explaining that she’d found another place to live and pinned it to the door, leaving an envelope with a bit of money inside there as well as an apology for leaving so abruptly; Angel had tried to swipe it when he thought no one was looking and tried to explain that he was going to give it back to her when Vaggie reprimanded him for it, but none of them believed him. They’d returned back to the hotel within a few hours of leaving and the three tried to talk her into joining everyone for dinner in the dining hall, but she wasn’t sure if she could handle being around so many people at once just yet, so she’d excused herself and simply stayed in her room.

It was truly an extravagant room, much fancier than anything she thought she’d ever have. She would have to be sure to work and more than earn her keep if they were going to have her staying there. Needless to say, her work ethic was never put into question, but that wouldn’t stopped her from giving it her all.

She jumped slightly when there was a knock at her door, not having heard anyone coming down the hall. Assuming it was either Charlie or Vaggie, knowing that Angel wouldn’t be up at a time like this and no one else would have any reason to call on her, she walked over and opened it without hesitation; she should have been more cautious, especially after her encounter with Alastor the previous day, but it simply wasn’t on her mind at the time. She was surprised to find the hall empty, looking up and down it just to be sure. A bit confused, she was about to close the door when she noticed a wrapped parcel sitting on the floor just outside her door frame.

Staring at it for a moment, she picked it up and took it inside. It was light in her hands and seemed to have been carefully wrapped in lavender paper with a blue ribbon tied around it. She placed it on the dining table, debating whether or not to open it; never during the duration of her time in Hell had she ever received a gift before, much less seen one wrapped so meticulously.

Chewing on her lower lip slightly, she gripped the edge of the ribbon and pulled on it slowly. Once the bow was undone, she peeled away the wrapping paper, careful not to rip it. Beneath the paper was a lidded cardboard box colored the same shade of blue as the ribbon. Even more slowly than she’d undone the ribbon, she lifted the lid off the box and looked inside.

Her eyes widened and a gasp slipped past her lips. Inside the box was a pair of womens work boots that were similar in design to the ones she usually wore, but these were without the tall heels that hers had, making them better suited for labor jobs. They appeared to be brand new, as well. There wasn’t a single scuff mark or stitching out of place on them whereas hers had seen many a better day.

She stared at them for the longest time, unsure what to make of them. It wasn’t as if she’d ordered them and certainly hadn’t asked for them, which would have been terribly rude of her to do so, leaving her to wonder where they had come from. Her first suspicion had been Charlie, who seemed more likely to offer such a kind gesture, but at the same time didn’t seem like the type to leave a gift and turn tail away. Her next was Vaggie, the more practical of the two women, but she hadn’t even known she needed new shoes nor did it seem like she wanted to waste any more money on frivolous purchases. Her last thought was Angel, but generosity had never been his strong suit. It was a perplexing puzzle that she was keen on getting to the bottom of and solving.

She was about to put the lid back on the box and place it back outside, not intending in the slightest to accept a gift that was much too generous for someone like her, but she paused. The new and shiny material seemed to beckon her to them, to at the very least touch them just once before she returned them to wherever they had come from. She lifted her hand and hesitated, as if afraid something might happen to them if she so much as touched them. Swallowing her fear, her fingers grazed the boots. They were just as she imagined them; stiff and unused, but not at all worn and uncomfortable like her current shoes. She quickly learned it was a mistake to have touched them because now she found herself wanting to try them on and see if they fit. Against her better judgement, she did just that.

Sitting down on the edge of the loveseat, she took off one of her slippers and carefully placed a boot on her small, slender foot. It slid so easily on. She didn’t even have to force her foot in. The soles felt like a extension of herself, like they had been specifically made for her, and once she laced up the strings they fit her like a second skin. Standing, she found that they were also just her size, giving her enough room to wiggle her toes but not so much that they slid right off of her.

A near overwhelming sense of joy filled her. It was a lovely and well thought out gift, one that she was sure had cost a pretty penny, but she couldn’t possibly keep them. She hadn’t done anything to earn them and it quite frankly baffled her that someone had wasted their time on her in such a way. She was hardly worth the effort, in her mind, at least.

*****

Ottilie carried the box of shoes downstairs with her, the overwhelming urge to put them on already strong as her feet began to hurt. She knew it was going to be a long day, especially since she was going to be doing more than just laundry. Today being the start of her first official day, she would be cleaning the rooms, switching out the towels, and ensuring the guests had everything they needed. Adding that to the fact that she would have to carry everything around by hand did not make her happy. At the very least, she wouldn’t be carrying around sheets and would only be worrying about the towels, having already done them yesterday.

Before heading to the supply closest to collect her things for the day, she dropped the box off at Charlie’s office. She had no way of knowing whether or not Charlie had been the one to give them to her, but it was the best guess she had. Afterwards, she made her way down the hall and rounded the corner.

An overwhelming sense of deja vu hit her as she bumped right into something broad and solid. She was nearly sent falling back again when an arm shot out and caught her around the waist, holding her as if she being dipped in a dance. A large hand wrapped around her rib, sharp claws poking into her side, one swift movement surely able to rip through her clothing and shred into her skin. The sudden contact made her gasp, her body practically limp in their hold as she looked up into familiar crimson eyes.

“You know, you and I really must stop meeting like this,” Alastor chuckled, his eyes crinkling slightly as his smile spread wider across his face. Ottilie didn’t find comfort in anything about him; his smile sent shivers down her spine and his mere presence exuded danger. His ear twitched slightly as she simply stared up at him, still limp in his hold. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? Deer got your tongue?” He raised his brows slightly, insinuating something with the gesture.

The implication wasn’t lost on her and she found herself glancing at his teeth, knowing full well that he could easily do just that. Ignoring the urge to shiver, she met his gaze once again. “No. I just did not find what you said very funny.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “My, my. This little kitten has claws. How charming. However,” he leaned in closer, his back bending until his face was looking over hers, making her neck bend back to keep meeting his gaze, “kittens must remember that dears have very sharp antlers. A kitten might be… impaled, if they aren’t too careful.”

“Perhaps the deer should learn to be more careful. Kittens shouldn’t be blamed for the mistakes of a borish animal,” she retorted, unsure of where the bite in her tone had come from.

His eyes widened considerably at the word ‘borish’. Clearly he hadn’t liked it, not one bit. He was obviously a demon who prided himself on his appearance and the way he carried himself. Though that ever present smile was still there, something stirred in his eyes that didn’t bode well for her. He leaned in closer, getting to the point where the tips of their noses were just barely touching. “I would watch what I say if I were you, little one. I am a patient man with a very long fuse, but even I have my limits. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you… just… yet.” He spoke his last few words slowly as his free hand came up and the tip of his claw ran down the length of her cheek.

She felt her cheeks begin to burn as she watched that hand and felt that claw brush along her skin, any slight amount of pressure likely to slice her skin. She also felt his thumb brushing along the edge of her back, both of his touches sending what equated to a spasm to run throughout her entire body. She slipped out from under his arm, somehow managing not to cut herself on his claw, and stepped away from him. “I-I would appreciate it i-if you didn’t do that a-again. Please excuse m-me.” She briskly walked away, not giving him a chance to reply or do much of anything else.

***

Alastor stood up straight and watched the young maid scamper off, feeling a smug sense of self satisfaction. He’d clearly misread her reaction and realized this as he sniffed the air, not smelling the fear he’d expected. The emotion he smelled was strange, one that he couldn’t place. His smile fell slightly, feeling a bit confused.

If she hadn’t been afraid, then why had she reacted like that, he wondered.

Once she was out of sight, he began to question what she was doing in that part of the hotel. There was nothing really of note, unless of course she’d simply gotten lost. It wouldn’t have been the first time someone had taken a wrong turn in the many halls and found themselves unsure of where they were. Sniffing the air a bit more, he found her earlier scent and began to follow it, curious to see if she’d been going anywhere.

He found himself baffled when he ended up at Charlies office, knowing that she’d gone in there if only briefly. Not bothering to knock, knowing that no one was occupying the room, he opened the door and stepped inside. He glanced around the room, wondering if Ottilie had looked through or taken anything, but nothing seemed to be out of place. He was about to leave the room when he noticed something sitting on the desk.

*****

Even Ottilie was surprised at her own reaction, unsure of her own emotions at the time. True, she wasn’t used to being touched, but she’d never reacted that way before. It hadn’t been from fear, an emotion she knew all too well, or at least not the base of it; she’d have to be a complete moron not to be at least a bit afraid of Alastor. She recalled it being rather strange, how her body had gone into spasms that would suggest she hated the feelings, but she couldn’t recall hating it at all.

She was also surprised at Alastor himself. Angel had touched her numerous times before, though not on a regular basis. Strangers had bumped into her, immediately recoiling at the surprise of her cold skin. Alastor, however, hadn’t even flinched at her lack of heat. His hand had stayed pressed against her, seemingly unaffected like anyone else would have been. She could still feel that arm wrapped around her even know and her cheek was still tingling with the contact.

She touched her face, wondering if he’d managed to cut her during her escape. Pulling her hand back, she found her glove clear of any sign of blood. She checked her smock as well, hoping it wasn’t already ripped after less than a day of having it. A breath of relief left her when she couldn’t find any tares.

A thought came to her. When Angel touched her, she’d always reciprocated the action. When strangers bumped into her, she next to always saw them coming at least a second or two before the fact. Alastor, however, had touched her without her consent or knowledge beforehand. Perhaps her reaction had been because his contact had come as a surprise to her, having not expected or returned the action.

A deep sigh escaped her. She really wasn’t in the mood to be dealing with all of this. She needed to focus. It wouldn’t do her any good to dwell on silly matters. More than likely, Alastor had just been doing something to mess with her. A demon of his caliber probably knew seven ways to Sunday to mess with other people, especially someone who was inexperienced with dealing with such matters.

Her mind put at ease, at least for the time being, she continued on her way to find the supply closet. Vaggie had told her there was one on each floor, so at least she wouldn’t have to carry all of her supplies with her when she needed to go to the next. The only problem was that the closets didn’t appear to be in the same place on each floor. When she went to where the spot where the door should have been, she instead found herself in a pool room. Perplexed, she checked the nearby rooms as well, but they weren’t what she’d been looking for either.

Realizing she had no idea where she was supposed to go, she set off to look for Vaggie and Charlie. It was still early in the morning, so she assumed they’d be in the penthouse and wasn’t looking forward to climbing the stairs all the way to the top floor. Again, she wished she’d put on the shoes, but swatted that thought away; what was done was done and she wasn’t going back on her decision. She was just passing the kitchen when she heard pots and pans banging together. Curious, she opened the swinging door and had to quickly duck down.

An egg flew over her head and exploded into the wall behind her, shell shards and yolk dripping down and onto the floor. Cautiously, she looked back into room to see the kitchen in an even worse state. Flour, eggs, milk, and all other sorts of various ingredients were strewn all over the place, making it look like an explosion had gone off in the bakery section of a market. Pots and pans had been tossed haphazardly, some of them covered in the mess of food all around them. Cabinets hung open with boxes of food hanging out of them, some of the boxes spilling out their contents, and cans were rolling along in disary. Vaggie and Angel were on either side of the island, both ducking down and popping up repeatedly to throw whatever they could get their hands on at each other.

“Why don’t you get out of here with your taco eating, wannabe bullshit?” Angel hissed as he threw a can at Vaggie.

“Why don’t you shove it up your ass? You’ve put just about everything else up there!” Vaggie growled back, her face contorted in anger, and tossed a pan at him.

Angel ducked his head in time to miss it, letting out a triumphant ‘Ha!’ as he popped back up, only to be hit square in the face by another can. “Ow! You can’t just go hitting my bread and butter like that!”

“You’re bread and butter went stale six decades ago!” Vaggie retorted.

Angel flinched slightly and his chin pointed up towards the ceiling so he was looking down at her. “You take that back!”

“I’ll take it back when you-!” Vaggie started before she noticed Ottilie standing in the doorway and stopped, realizing how this must all look. Angel took that that time to snatch up a can in each of his hands and launch them all simultaneously at her. “Ouch! What the Hell!?”

Angel laughed like a mad man as he jumped up and ran out of the room, slipping past Ottilie as she stepped out of the way. “Hey ya, toots! Talk to you later!”

“Ugh! Just wait until I get my hands on you, you oversized-!” Vaggie shouted after him as she gave chase, the rest of her words lost on Ottilie as she broke off into what sounded like Spanish, but Angel only continued to laugh at her threats. He probably couldn’t understand the language any more than Ottilie could.

Ottilie blinked a few times, confused about what had just transpired. Looking back into the kitchen, she noticed a mixing bowl filled with batter, a good deal of it having ended up on the counter rather than its intended destination. There was also a cutting board with a knife and fruit around it, but only a few pieces had actually been cut while the rest sat abandoned. She began to wonder if they’d been in process of making breakfast when a fight somehow broke out between the two, leading her to also wonder if this was a common thing with them.

Letting out a slight sigh, she adjusted her smock, which had ridden up a bit when she’d ducked out of the way, back into place and stepped into the room.

***

Charlie, Vaggie, and Angel came walking toward the kitchen hardly ten minutes later. If anyone within three floors of the main had been sleeping, they certainly weren’t now, the commotion sure to have woken them up. Vaggie and Angel wore looks of guilt on their faces while Charlie looked less than pleased, but not quite angry, at their actions.

“Look, it wasn’t like we intended for it to happen,” Angel pointed out. “Things just kind of… got out of hand.”

“I’d say trashing the kitchen and throwing food at each other is more than getting out of hand,” Charlie retorted, not looking back at him as she continued to walk ahead of them. “This is the third time this week you two have gotten into a fight.”

“Hey, things would’ve been perfectly fine if Queenie over here hadn’t gotten all this schmutz on me!” Angel gestured to his clothing, which had batter splattered all over the front of it. “Do you have any idea how long it takes to get this stuff out?”

“I told you that was an accident! You bumped right into me while I was mixing the bowl!” Vaggie scoffed as she rolled her eyes. She was definitely not taking the fall for this. “I even told you I was sorry.”

“Yeah, and I might have believed you if you hadn’t started laughing immediately afterwards! You don’t just muck up someones clothes and then laugh about it! Appearance is everything to someone like me!” Angel said as he smoothed out his hair, a few pieces of egg shell falling out in the process and making him grimace.

“Than you don’t have much to go off of,” Vaggie gave a half cocked smile as she raised a brow at him.

“That’s it!” Angel shouted as he made a move to jump at her, Vaggie ready and willing to fight him back.

“Alright! That’s enough!” Charlie raised her voice a bit as she stepped in between them, not at all in the mood to have two messes to deal with, her arms spread out on either side of her to hold them back; Vaggie was easy because she wasn’t that much shorter than her, but Angel had a considerable amount of over her and that made it a bit awkward, though thankfully he didn’t try to step around her. Her voice took on a softer tone as she said, “I think we’ve all had enough excitement for today. Let’s just go clean up the kitchen and get breakfast ready before everyone starts coming down, okay?” Vaggie and Angel grumbled an agreement before following her the rest of the way. Once they reached the swinging door, she pushed it open and stopped dead in her tracks.

“Look, I know it looks bad, but-,” Vaggie started as she slipped past Charlie and stepped inside, her eyes finally seeing what the surprise was.

“What’s everyone looking at?” Angel asked as he ducked his head in, his jaw dropping in slight shock.

The kitchen was completely spotless. The fact that there had been a mess of food, pots, pans, and other utensils strewn about never would have been known. The appliances sparkled like never before, looking cleaner than when they’d come out of the box. The tiled floor was sleek and shiny, so much so that they reflected the objects around them, almost looking like a mirrored surface. Any boxes that might have been damaged and their contents put to waste had been removed while the ones that had survived were put back into their proper place, the cabinets now closed once again. The fresh smell of lemons hit them before the food did.

The abandoned fruit had been cut into perfect and evenly sliced pieces where it now sat in a bowl on the island, waiting to be served. The batter had been remade, eggshells and other contamination having left it unusable. It now sat on the counter between the stove and waffle iron. Some of the batter had been placed in the iron and the smell of waffles wafted through the air in a tantalizing aroma while more had been put in a skillet on the stove along with bacon and eggs in two others, the sizzling and popping pleasing to the ears.

Ottilie stood there at the stove, a spatula in hand, which she used to flip the pancakes once the surface had sufficiently bubbled before picking up another to stir the eggs and flip the bacon as well. Angel really shouldn’t have been surprised at the knowledge that she’d been the one to clean up the mess in such a timely, neat, and orderly fashion; he’d seen her clean before, but perhaps not on a scale such as this. Apparently having noticed them out of the corner of her eye, she turned to look at them. “Good morning.” They couldn’t seem to reply, still stuck in their states of shock. “What is it?” she cocked her head slightly, but they still didn’t answer her. A nervous look came across her face and she stepped away from the stove. “H-have… Have I done something wrong?”

That seemed to bring Charlie out of her state and she shook her head quickly to remove the haze from her brain. “No, no! You haven’t done anything wrong!” She got a sense of deja vu, having told her the same thing the day before, but ignored it. “We were just… surprised, is all. From what Vaggie and Angel Dust told me, this place was a wreck. I was expecting it to look like a hurricane went through here, but instead I find it looking better than ever! Plus, you already got breakfast started! This is so amazing!”

Ottilie looked unsure of how to respond to such praise, her visible eye looking down at the floor as her cheeks turned a slightly darker shade of pink and her hands gripping the spatula tighter. “Urm… Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” Charlie said proudly. “If you don’t mind, why don’t you and Angel Dust finish up in here while Vaggie and I go set the table and wake everyone up?”

“I don’t mind at all,” Ottilie shook her head, watching as Charlie guided the still confused and out of sorts Vaggie away. She quickly turned back to the stove, starting to plate the pancakes so the evenly cooked sides wouldn’t burn and did the same for the waiting waffles. “Would you mind getting down a plate and bowl from the cabinet? I need them for the bacon and eggs.” Angel only continued to stare, his mouth still hanging open limply. She looked over at him in question. “Angel Dust?” Still no response. “Did you sprain your jaw again giving someone a bj?”

That seemed to bring him out of it and his mouth snapped shut. “No! I just… wow.” He walked over to the cabinet and pulled out what he’d been asked for. “Did you take some speed or something this morning? I’ve never seen you work so fast.”

“You know I don't do that sort of thing,” she shook her head as she took them from him. “It's not unusual for me to clean fast. I've cleaned your dressing room much faster than this before.”

That really seemed to catch Angel off guard. “Dang girl, you need to slow down.” He took a few of the plates as well as the bowl of fruit up off the island. “Why do you clean so fast, anyway?”

“I…” she trailed off, not sure how to respond, as she followed behind him with the waffles and pancakes. “I'm not sure. It's just… something I feel like I have to do. If I don't work fast…. I feel like something bad is going to happen.”

He fell in beside her. “Hey, nothin’ bads gonna happen to you so long as I'm around, okay? Anyone gives you trouble, you come find me. I don't care who I'm doin’.”

“Don't you mean ‘what’?” she smirked slightly.

“I know what I said,” he replied proudly.

“Angel Dust, may I ask you something?” she said after a moment.

“Need some sex tips?” he wiggled his brows playfully at her.

“Trust me. I probably know just about everything you do,” she shook her head. “It's just… something happened earlier.”

He immediately stopped walking and his head snapped towards her. “What? What happened? Whose ass do I need to kick?”

“No… nothing like that,” she said quickly. It probably wouldn't end well for him even if she did want to send Angel after Alastor; she really didn't want anything bad to happen to him. He looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to explain. “Um… well… nothing bad happened, but…. Someone touched me earlier and… well… I didn't react the way I should have.”

“How did you react?” he asked.

“My body… it sort of… went into a spasm? I'm not quite sure how to describe it. I just remember jerking really hard,” she explained, her eyes downcast towards the food in her hands.

“Huh.” Angel pondered it for a moment, having calmed down since his burst of anger. “Did you hate the feeling when they touched you?”

It was her turn to ponder, thinking back to her emotions during that moment. She remembered feeling confused and nervous at Alastors close proximity, but there had been something more there just under the surface. “No. I don't think I did.”

“Then you probably just wanted to fuck 'em,” he shrugged nonchalantly, speaking as if he were talking about the weather, and the two continued toward the dining hall.

She felt her cheeks burn again and her eyes widened slightly. “No! No, definitely not that.” That couldn't be a possibility. No one in their right mind would want to try to bed Alastor unless they had a death wish.

“Well, okay. Then maybe you're just touch starved,” he laughed at her reaction, unable to hold it back.

“Touch starved?” she cocked her head curiously.

“Eh, it's somethin’ I keep hearin’ the newer demons say. At first I thought it meant they weren't getting laid enough, but then someone told me it means physically touched, not sexually. Somethin’ about being so physically starved for someone to touch you that, when someone finally does, you can't handle it,” he explained. “Personally, I don't see the difference between that and needin’ a good fuck, but that's just me.”

“That's because you never stop having sex,” she smirked again, looking up at him mischievously.

“Damn right, baby! Morning, noon, and night!” Angel said boisterously as he shimmied his hips forward and back, somehow managing to balance the plates and bowl without spilling anything. Ottilie couldn't help but chuckle, her hand covering her mouth to keep from full on laughing at him. “Com'on, toots! Shake them hips! I know you can do it! Work that magic!” If he realized they'd entered the dining room and everyone was staring at him, he didn't seem to care. His eyes met Husks, who wore the same annoyed expression as yesterday and held his head in his propped up hand with his elbow on the table, and he made a kissing motion as he smiled in that seductive manner everyone knew him for. “This can all be yours. All you have to do is say the word.”

Husk stared at him a moment before turning to Charlie and raising his pointer finger as he said, “Check, please.” There were a few chuckles and giggles from around the table while Angel stomped his foot and started to pout, the food nearly falling from his hands.

“Humph. Your loss,” Angel said as his turned his head up, his nose in the air as he placed the plates and bowel down before taking his seat, his arms crossed under his chest.

“Would you stop pouting? It’s not the end of the world,” Vaggie glared at him.

Angel narrowed his eyes at her and glanced towards her hair. “You have eggshells and flour in your bow.”

Vaggie grimmaced as she reached up and frantically batted her hands at her bow, the powdery substance coming off in a thin white cloud and pieces of eggshell flying off only to fly right into peoples faces. A few of them gave her dirty looks as they rubbed at the afflicted area; one that looked like a small female child with short, bright fuschia colored hair stuck out her tongue in a playful manner and flicked the shell back at her. Once she was sure she was clear of any blemishes, she set her glare back on Angel. “Ugh! Why are you so infuriating?”

“Because you make me so infuriating,” Angel smirked as he glared back at her.

“Hey!” Charlie called as the two were about to get back into it again. They turned to look at her, both practically about to jump over the table to attack. “No.” They slowly lowered back into their seats, their cheeks puffed out in with their frowns. She turned once she realized Ottilie was still standing there, looking a bit awkward around things that were completely normal to them. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I almost forgot you were there!”

“That’s alright. I’m used to it,” Ottilie replied as Charlie reached for the plates.

Charlie looked taken aback. “Whoa, wait. That’s not what I meant.” Ottilies expression didn’t seem to change. “Um… Let’s not stand here and let all this delicious looking food get cold! Come, join us!” She took the plates from Ottilie and turned back to the table. “We’re a little short on chairs, but you can take the one next to Alastor! You don’t mind her sitting next to you, right?”

Ottilies eyes widened slightly, not enough for anyone to notice, and her eyes quickly scanned the table before they landed on the red suited demon. While everyone else was fixing their plates and digging in, Alastor was sipping from a cup with a saucer in his free hand, his eyes closed as if he enjoyed what he was drinking. As if feeling her eyes on him, he opened one of his own and gave her a mocking smile as he met her gaze.

Alastor placed his cup back on the saucer and set them on the table in front of him. “Why no, my dear! Not at all! By all means,” he placed his hand on the back of the empty chair next to his and patted it, the tips of his claws tapping it in the process, “have a seat.”

Ottilie tried to swallow around the lump in her throat, but it seemed as deeply rooted there as the fear cutting through her chest like a knife. She took a step back and looked at Charlie, who was watching her with concern. “Oh, no thank you. I’m not hungry.”

“Are you sure? You didn’t eat last night, either,” Charlie said, taking a step forward as if to follow her. “Is something the matter?”

“No, I’m perfectly fine. I don’t usually eat much. I appreciate the offer, though,” Ottilie said quickly, continuing to back away. “I think I’ll just be getting to work now. Please excuse me.”

“Well, alright. Let us know if you need any-,” Charlie started, but Ottilie was already gone, slipping out of the room as quietly as a shadow. “-thing. Gee, I wonder what that was about.”

“If I had to sit next to him, I think I’d run, too,” Husk stated, jabbing a thumb in Alastors direction. He looked over and just barely ducked out of the way in time to miss a fork that came flying towards his head. It soared over him and plunged into the wall, the metal prongs sticking deeply into it. Eyes wide, he sat up and looked at Alastor again.

“Opps. My hand slipped,” Alastor said innocently.

*****

Ottilie was rather happy to be returning to her work. It meant she would be left alone, at least for the time being while everyone was eating. She had no way of knowing if anyone would return to their rooms once they were finished, so she tried to clean them as fast as possible. It only took her five minutes each room to clean the tub, replace the towels, wipe out the sink, remake the bed, vacuum the carpets, remove the trash, and dust the furniture.

She worked barefoot from room to room, putting them back on only when she was out in the hallway, only her socks covering her feet. She couldn’t bring herself to tell anyone the shoes were hurting her feet, especially after finding the shoes outside her door that morning, so she resolved to tell anyone who asked that she simply didn’t want to track dirt into their personal space.

No one appeared to be returning to their room, however. She hadn’t seen anyone since leaving the dining room nearly half an hour ago and she was almost done with the occupied rooms. She thought perhaps when she was done that she’d move on to dusting the furniture and vacuuming the halls. Vaggie had told her both would take an entire work day each, but at the pace she set herself at it would more than likely only take her one. She hadn’t even bothered going to the sixth floor, which she knew to be occupied only by Alastor, already having decided she wouldn’t bother with it today; she now fully understood why it’d been left up to her whether or not she went in there. Who knows what a demon like him had in there.

By the time she finished up in the penthouse, which had indeed been cleaner than most of the other rooms, she’d fallen into a sort of routine. Once she was done with all of her supplies, she would put them back in their proper place in the supply closets and then put her shoes back on before moving on to her next task. Having already replaced her supplies, she walked over to the stairwell door and bent over to pick up her shoes where she’d been leaving them each time. So used to that routine and not even bothering to look down, she didn’t notice that the material clenched between her fingers didn’t feel right. Even when she slipped one onto her foot, she still didn’t notice. It wasn’t until she went to put her foot down that she finally realized something was amiss.

Having expected there to be a heel on her boot, she brought her foot down at an angle so the balls of her foot would be against the floor, but there were nothing there to support it once she went to put her weight down on it. She felt a jolt of surprise and looked down at her boots only to find that they were not her own. She lifted the one she was still clutching in her hand and realized it was the one from the pair that had been left outside her door earlier that morning. Examining the boot now on her foot, she found that it was the same.

Looking around almost frantically, she didn’t see her old boots anywhere. They had somehow disappeared and the new ones were left in their place, practically forcing her to wear them. Now she was considerably confused. She’d left them in Charlies office, clearly intending to return them, and yet here they were.

She began to wonder if this was in fact Angels doing; practical jokes weren’t out of the norm for him, but this simply wasn’t his style; he would have made himself known as the culprit by now if he had. She had a feeling Charlie would have simply confronted her about returning them rather than do such an offhanded thing and she still very much doubted Vaggie had gotten them for her in the first place. Once again, she was left to wonder who had gotten them for her. Now, however, she also left with the question of where her old pair was.

Looking down, she wondered what to do about her predicament. Would she wear the shoes that had been given to her as a gift, or would she return to her room and get her backup pair? In the moment that followed her internal question, she made her decision.

#hazbin hotel #alastor #Ottilie #charlie #vaggie #husk #nifty #baxter #crymini #angel dust #mimzy #vivziepop

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