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yellowocaballero · 4 years

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Continuation of Human Relations (Oh My God, They Were Roommates)

This is a 16k story that’s a bit too short for AO3 but a bit too long for Tumblr that acts as a continuation of my Archivist!Sasha and Immortal!Jon fic Human Relations. I recommend that you read that before this. This story takes place between S2 and S3, and is about Sasha and Georgie’s roommate adventures. I’m uncertain if I’ll continue this and post it on AO3, post it on AO3 as it is, or what, but for the time being I’ll at least post it here.

Serious content warnings for discussion of abusive friendships, gaslighting, discussion of 19th century racism, implied transphobia, and discussion of police brutality. Nothing more serious than what we saw in Human Relations, but it does have a much more explicit investigation of Jon and Elias’ relationship. Rest under the cut. Happy Birthday, @magickko.

EDIT: HAHA READMORE DIDN’T WORK, YIKES.

Sasha dreams, every night.

Nightmares, mostly. Statements given and Statements stolen run endlessly through her head in a scrolling loop, crying out for mercy, as its figures cry and scream. Sasha looks at them through a camera, pushing the button and clicking the shutter again and again and again, searching for that perfect shot frozen in time.

A woman, trapped under a thousand pounds of dirt and crumpling metal. Snap. A woman, chewing keycaps, eyes riveted on a flickering screen. Snap. A woman, lost in her fiance’s grave, pleading for someone to find her. Snap.

A man, eating canned peaches, alone. Snap. A man, swinging an axe with a frantic strength born of terror. Snap. A man, and the look in his eyes, betrayed. Snap. A man, gunshot wound leaking blood out of his chest, eyes rolling in the fluorescent lights. Snap.

When Sasha wakes up she is always surprised to find herself in a guest room, always out of place and out of time as she stares up at an unfamiliar ceiling. Maybe the worst part is those two seconds after waking, where she doesn’t know where she is, adrift in time and space. Then she remembers, and she’s faced with the situation all over again.

Namely, the fact that she was couch surfing in the Grim Reaper’s guest bedroom.

Sasha dreams, every night.

Namely, the fact that she was couch surfing in the Grim Reaper’s guest bedroom.

Georgie Barker wasn’t a mystery, and she’d be the first to tell you.

Of course you’re welcome to stay as long as you need, honey! I always love having Jonah owe me a favor. Don’t worry about the cops and the law, nobody will ever find you here. Seriously, the entire department’s in my pocket. It’s no hassle having you here, it’s a big flat! It’s been years since I’ve had a roommate, this’ll be fun!

The one thing she hadn’t understood was Sasha begging her not to let Jon in to see her. He knows exactly where you are, Georgie pointed out. He knows you’re not actually a murderer, Georgie said. He might be able to help explain some of what’s going on, Georgie hinted. Jon would respect my wishes, but if Jonah really wants him to talk to you, he’ll definitely do it...

“Please,” Sasha had croaked, the uncomfortable morning after she had stumbled into Georgie’s flat. The Admiral wove around her legs, purring up a storm, and Georgie was munching on avocado toast and sipping pomegranate juice. “I just - I just need some space.”

“Why?” Georgie asked obliviously. That was something that Sasha was rapidly learning about Georgie - she didn’t hold back with impolite questions, or her opinion. She seemed to be regarding Sasha’s life as her own personal Youtuber Drama, which Sasha really didn’t know how she felt about. Her life wasn’t a spectacle, but she guessed even the warfare and tragedy of ants were of obscure and strange interest to humanity. “He’s feeling, like, totally bad about framing you for murder. I can tell he super wants to apologize to you about everything.”

Martin’s words echoed through her mind, from what felt like a decade ago: Jon had ruined Martin’s life, but to him it was as simple as a momentary inconvenience. “I don’t want his apology,” Sasha croaked. “I want not to be on the run from the police. I want to go back to my flat. Unless he’s going to make me human again I don’t want any stupid apologies. They’re useless.”

“Hm. Well, you’re free to stay here as long as you need to, of course.” Georgie sipped at her tea. They were sitting around the breakfast table, Sasha desolately shoving eggs into her mouth as Georgie drank her tea that Sasha was reasonably sure was spiked with brandy. Rich people were literally never sober. “It’ll be so much fun, like a sleepover. We can do each other’s nails and talk about boys!”

“My boyfriend thought I was a monster for the past month and now thinks I’m a murderer,” Sasha said flatly.

“Oh, I see.” Georgie tapped her lips thoughtfully. “We have to get you laid, huh?”

“I am literally on the run from the cops.”

“That’s very sexy to some people,” Georgie assured her.

After that, Georgie waved goodbye and swanned out of the house, either going to her studio to work on her podcast or doing some work for her real estate empire or writing a best-selling book or schmoozing with celebrities or attending parties at exclusive nightclubs or working part-time as a bartender just for gossip or devouring souls. Just from Sasha’s one day at Georgie’s flat, she knew that she did all of these things and then some. It was a stunning contrast to Jon’s laziness, or Elias (Jonah’s) single-mindedness.

Maybe you lost the energy to be so productive after your two hundredth year. Sasha didn’t fucking know. Hopefully she would never know. Or maybe Jon just appeared to be lazy, and every moment that he was complaining about being bored he was secretly manipulating world leaders. Maybe Jonah’s dedication to spreadsheets and dress code was a front, and he was secretly pulling the puppet strings of her entire life…

In the empty spaces of Georgie’s spacious flat, it was easy to be paranoid. Sasha lay on her luxurious couch, hands folded across her chest like a corpse, trying not to think of anything, thinking of everything. Thinking of Tim: of his smile, of his scowl, of his cold looks given to someone he had thought was a stranger. Thinking of Martin: his warm smile, his sharp looks.

She struggled to think of other friends, other family members who gave her comfort, but drew up a blank. Her parent’s faces were blurred after ten years of no contact, not so much forgotten as repressed, and her baby siblings were likely unrecognizable to her now. Almost as unrecognizable as she was to them, probably. Tim, her boyfriend who hated her, and Martin, her subordinate who she had almost never had a conversation with that wasn’t about work or Jon...that was it. All the friends she had in the world. She was sleeping in the guest room of a podcast host/Grim Reaper whom she had met once, and that was all she had.

Loneliness was Sasha’s constant companion. In a crowd, in her family, in the world - no matter how many people she had been surrounded by, she had always been alone. She had never had anybody in the world to rely on besides herself, and for the first time in a long time she was achingly aware of it. Nobody who loved her was going to help her. She was alone now.

After an hour of lying on the couch and crying, Sasha desolately watched Netflix cooking shows on Georgie’s gigantic flat-screen TV, trying very hard to think of absolutely nothing at all. She only moved to pet Georgie’s silky long-haired cat whose name she had already forgotten, and even he left quickly once she lost the energy to give him attention.

That was how Georgie found Sasha when she came home: lying on the couch, still dressed in borrowed silk pyjamas, watching idiots on television fuck up cakes. Georgie’s arms were laden with shopping bags, with names of exclusive London boutiques sprawled along the side, her deep black pits of eyes hidden by designer sunglasses. She burst through the door happily, her cat running up to her and winding through her laps as he purred, and easily kicked off her red pumps. She stopped in the doorway of the living room, looking strangely excited.

“Sorry I’m back to late! Utterly bogged up at work, there was a plane crash and I was processing corpses for hours. I had to do some serious retail therapy just to deal with the tedium - darling, have you moved?”

Sasha grunted.

“You look like Mikey Crew threw you off the Shard,” Georgie said sympathetically. “Utterly disastrous. Don’t worry, Aunt Georgie’s here to make you feel better.” She lifted her bag triumphantly. “I bought you new outfits!”

Sasha eyed her warily.

“You get no say in this,” Georgie said kindly. “Chop chop, we’re doing face masks too.”

That’s how, somehow, Sasha found herself playing an unwilling dress-up doll for the Grim Reaper. Georgie had taken Sasha’s casual mention that she had no clothing besides her work pantsuit to heart, and had hit up her favorite boutiques for ‘cute outfits that accentuated her figure and made her eyes pop!’. Or something. Sasha wasn’t much one for fashion.

As it turned out, Georgie Barker had a walk-in closet. Because of course she did.

The looks ranged from Sasha’s usual, as Georgie put it, ‘sexy librarian’ look, to ballgowns, to tennis outfits, to moddish, to vintage, to wintery. It was February, the seasons lingering in British chill, and according to Georgie the perfect solution to this was a mink coat that was probably worth a month’s rent on her flat.

Strangely, all of the outfits fit perfectly - and Sasha knew that her measurements were difficult to find. Georgie took it in stride, clapping enthusiastically each time and suggesting accessories and how to mix and match the outfits.

She would have thought that she was too dead inside to actually enjoy it, but so far as distractions went it actually worked pretty well. Georgie chatted about everything but their actual problems, and Sasha had absolutely no input or choice in what Georgie decided to dress her in, and by the time they had transitioned from nail painting to watching Legally Blonde and eating ice cream from the carton Sasha was actually feeling a little relaxed.

“The musical’s better,” Georgie informed Sasha imperiously as Sasha dug around in her carton for chunks of cookie dough. Georgie was clutching a glass of wine in one hand, while Sasha was contenting herself with ice cream. Best not to drink when she was this sad. “Reese is such a doll, though. Allergic to shellfish, poor dear, but I told her not to let Leo pick the restaurant.”

“What I’m wondering,” Sasha said carefully, teeth cracking into the frozen chunk of cookie dough, “is that half the time when I see you, you’re dressed like a 2008 goth in jeans and t-shirts.”

“Oh, honey,” Georgie said pityingly, patting her hand. “I used to spend two hours getting dressed each morning. I’m never doing that to myself again. You, however, clearly have never had nice clothing in your life. It’s written all over your face. People’ll walk all over you if you always look like you’re straight from a charity shop. We gotta buy you some self-confidence.”

“Thanks. I think.” On screen, Elle flourished and achieved her dreams. Sasha tried not to feel jealous. “It’s not really as if I had a lot of girly sleepovers as a kid…”

“Word,” Georgie said sympathetically. She patted Sasha’s hand again. “Jon was the same way, you know. I can’t count the number of times I’ve had to renovate that boy’s wardrobe. He has no idea how to dress to impress.”

“Do we have to talk about Jon right now,” Sasha groused. “He’s the last person I want to think about.”

“He means well,” Georgie soothed, as Elle Woods proudly proclaimed on television how she, yes, she, was a strong independent woman - who didn’t need a man! “It’s not his fault he’s stupid. He’s just so helpless on his own, you know, he needs girls like you and me to make sure he’s not wasting a decade fixating on obscure Bolivian religious practices or whatever.”

“Helpless? He’s a two hundred year old man.” Sasha spitefully grabbed the bottle of wine from the coffee table, pouring it into a spare glass and drinking it quickly. It probably cost thousands of pounds, but it just tasted like wine to her. “It’s not my job to make sure his little feelings aren’t hurt.”

“Of course not,” Georgie said, but Sasha had the sense she was being calmed instead of listened to. “But Jon’s...you know.”

“I don’t, actually.”

Georgie made an interpretive hand gesture. Sasha stared at her blankly.

“...I still don’t.”

Georgie sighed. “He’s delicate. Jonah babies him, honestly.” She patted Sasha’s hand for the third time, making her skin crawl. “Don’t worry, I won’t let him see you until you’re ready to forgive him. Every woman has the right to some time to herself after a guy fucks her over. You two’ll patch things up, right as rain.”

There was nothing Sasha wanted to say to that, nothing she wanted to think about, and she kept drinking her wine and watching the movie, out of lack of any other options.

That night, she drunkenly tipped into bed, so blasted that she slid immediately into sleep and did not dream. It was the first relief she’d had in what felt like a very long time.

It wasn’t Sasha’s job to fix Jonathan Sims.

It really, really wasn’t. It wasn’t her job to make him feel better, or forgive him, or save him from himself. If Martin wanted to waste his time and energy doing that, then god fucking speed, but Sasha had other priorities. She had been profoundly fucked over and had her trust abused by three different men lately, and she wasn’t going to be the one to patch things up.

Two of them she had no desire to patch things up with at all. Two of them she’d be perfectly happy if she never saw again. The last one...Sasha didn’t know what she felt. But that was nothing new.

That being said, as Sasha chewed her way through hangover medication and an acai bowl the next morning, Georgie’s inane chattering about tricking some celebrity or another into taking her to Hungary for authentic Hungarian food didn’t register nearly as loudly in Sasha’s mind as her words about Jonah and Jon.

Jonah babies Jon. That was what she had said. It...it was accurate, right? It had to be. Georgie had known Jonah and Jon for a hundred years, and Sasha had barely heard one authentic conversation between them. She’d known them for a year, and known Jonah’s true nature for maybe a few days. There was no way Sasha understood their relationship better than Georgie did. It just didn’t make sense.

Finally, she put her spoon down, cutting Georgie off in the middle of her ramble about the majesty of Hungarian food made by genuine Hungarian grandma hands. “What did you mean, ‘Jonah babies Jon’?”

Georgie blinked at her, clearly barely remembering the conversation, before recognition dawned. Then she shrugged, sipping her protein smoothie. Which may or may not be spiked. It seemed as if her solution to hangovers was to just not stop being drunk. “Oh, you know how those two are. Jon swans around the world doing whatever he wants, Jonah holds the fort down at home. That’s why Jon’s fun, you know.” She sighed nostalgically. “Romantic cruises to the Bahamas for two months, we tear up the Bahaman government and start a minor military coup, then we take a tour of the beaches. You haven’t lived until you’ve dug your toes into Bahaman sand.”

That was something Georgie said frequently: you haven’t lived until you’ve done X, Y, or Z. It seemed as if Georgie was very intent on living, and very intent on defining it in discretionary ways. To Sasha, living was simply the act of not being dead, but Georgie was almost fanatical about experiencing life.

“If he’s so much fun, then why did you break up?” Sasha asked, before she realized what she said. “I mean, it’s really none of my business, feel free not to answer that -”

But Georgie just laughed lightly. “That’s just how Jon and I work. We spend a few weeks together in bliss, and then we go our separate ways for six months or a year or whatever. Work’s always taking us different places, and seeing each other all day would make us hate each other. Some people work best when they’re not in each other’s pocket.” She took a long drag of the smoothie before speaking again. “Besides, he’ll always be second in my life to having fun. And I’ll always be second in his life to Jonah. It’s just how we work. It works for us!”

It seemed to. Last Sasha checked, Georgie and Jon seemed to be very amicable despite being exes. Lackadaisical, on-and-off, passionate yet going years without seeing each other - it was a relationship uniquely in the providence of workaholic immortals.

It wasn’t until Georgie had already waved goodbye, making Sasha promise not to spend all day on the couch again, that she realized that Georgie hadn’t quite answered her question.

An image flashed through Sasha’s mind - Jon’s face, as he dared to disagree with Jonah, and was utterly ground into the dust for it.

There was something more to this. Something that wasn’t obvious on the surface, something that was so well hidden maybe nobody even knew it was going on. Or maybe it was deeper than that, more insidious: maybe whatever was going on was so well-known and pervasive that it simply wasn’t spoken about. Not polite, not the kind of thing you say about your friends, not normal. Not in polite company. Not vocalized. Utterly taken for granted.

Sasha walked into the guest room, pulling out her phone from her bag and staring at its blank screen. Holding her breath, she hesitantly turned it on, staring at it blankly as it slowly booted up.

She shouldn’t be turning it on. She was perfectly aware of how, given a warrant, the police could track cell phone location, texts sent and received, everything. She could do it herself. The crushing weight of surveillance, the fear of being found and seen and rooted out, settled over her shoulders like an old, familiar friend. A comforting blanket to wrap herself up in at night: where, even if the fear was terrible and awful, at least it was familiar.

You could get used to anything, Sasha thought. Any behavior, any fears, any horrors or tragedies - anything could become normal, given enough time. A year. A hundred years. After two hundred years, maybe you wouldn’t even recognize it as happening at all.

Like a flood, the text messages poured in. Notifications chimed in a cacophony, as text after text after text popped up on her phone. Missed calls. Emails popped up, notifications from the doorbell camera, reminders from her fucking Duolingo...

Dizzily, Sasha scrolled through the texts. Lots from Tim, as expected, and a few from Martin, as expected. Some texts from her mother, which - which wasn’t expected. At all. Sasha hadn’t even known that she knew her number.

Sasha’s brain stuttered over the Spanish, having been years since she spoke it. Her brain also stuttered over the gratuitous misgendering, which was also blissfully novel yet just as uncomfortable and upsetting as ever. Translated, it was a slightly accusatory question about why the police had been calling them about her whereabouts. What had she done? Had she gotten in trouble?

No matter what you did, the text read, God will forgive you. Just call them back.

Sasha stared at the texts, brain buzzing. She felt sick. Forgive her? They’d forgive her? They thought she’d done it? They thought she was capable of -

Horribly, awfully, tears pricked at her eyes. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe you never really grew accustomed to pain, even if it was felt a thousand times. Maybe some pain you never acclimated to, never scarred over or calloused. Maybe sometimes the more you were hurt, the worse it hurt. The pain her parents gave her - how they cut off contact, the misgendering, the coldness - hurt just as badly at thirty six as it had at twenty six, at twenty, at fifteen, at nine. It had always hurt.

So stupid. Sasha deleted the text messages. She didn’t have time for this. She wasn’t a child. She was thirty six goddamn years old, that was way too old to still care about your parents. To still need them.

She clicked on Martin’s texts next. The first one had a timestamp before the murder, the rest afterwards.

Martin: where are you?? I found Tim (he tried to kill me w/an axe but we’re ok now) and were trying to get out of here. I explained everything to him. We’ll meet you in the archives.

Martin: Police are looking for you. I know you didn’t do it so call me back. Tim’s worried. Jon doesn’t seem that worried...

Martin: Shouldn’t text you anymore. Please be safe & careful.

Jesus. Jesus, she had been terrible to Martin. She was a rotten friend. Sasha hiccuped, rubbing at her eyes. She needed to get him a gift basket. Five. He was a freak, but he was her freak. Maybe.

Finally, almost holding her breath, she pressed on Tim’s messages. There were a lot of them - more than was safe, Sasha distantly registered. The first five were from the same time Martin had sent the second text. She guessed it was right after the police finished talking to them. He had called her slightly before - likely when they found the body - but there were also two texts from two am last night.

Tim: pick up your phone

Tim: pick up your phone are you okay im so sorry

Tim: baby please please pick up

Tim: we need to talk & im sorry & i hope ur safe

Tim: dont text me back

Then two texts from two am:

Tim: to warn you im drunk but im sorry (AND DRUNK) but in my defense im a shitty boyfriend. If you want to break up its fine but id like to make it work but i get if you cant because cops i guess. Bitch tonner wont stop bothering me make her stoppp

Tim: I love you and I wish that was enough.

Sasha rubbed at her eyes, exhausted. She wished it was enough too. She knew it wasn’t. Strongly, like burning, Sasha wished so desperately that she had never met Jonathan Sims. Maybe, in that world, things were okay. She and Tim were happy.

She scrolled through the rest of the notifications. Strangely, she even had two texts from Melanie.

Melanie: Hey, I heard what’s going on. I know you couldn’t have done it. A LOT of cops are bothering me - Hussein and Tonner have called like five times. I think you know them? For legal purposes I’ll say that you should turn yourself in or whatever.

Melanie: oh and Martin said to tell you that Mr. Bouchard’s been asking me a lot of questions about what im doing and my job situation - dunno y tho

That….probably wasn’t good.

No texts from Jon. She wouldn’t know what to do if he had. She doubted he knew her number, or how to work a phone. The last thing she could deal with emotionally right now was an apology. She didn’t know what to do about Tonner or Hussein or Melanie. Those were all problems she couldn’t fix right now.

Really, there was only one problem she could fix right now. She walked over to the door to the balcony, carefully stepping out onto the 20th story balcony. She carefully ejected her SIM card, snapped it in half, looked underneath her to make sure there were no passerby in the exclusive London neighborhood, and forced her fingers to release from the phone so she could watch it fall twenty stories onto the concrete.

She imagined a smash, a crack, but it didn’t make any sound at all. Sasha forced herself to step back inside, leaving the past behind her.

There was a lot Sasha had to force herself to do that day. Georgie owned a few laptops, but she hadn’t given Sasha permission to use any of them yet, and she didn’t want to intrude. Despite Sasha’s own...reservations about her personality, she really was being incredibly kind by letting her stay and trying to cheer her up. She did, however, have a great deal of antique books, and Sasha eagerly cracked open the first edition copies of fiction novels from the 19th century. Was that a first edition Pride & Prejudice? Oh, score!

She wasn’t hungry, but she forced herself to eat. Food tasted like ash in her mouth, but that always happened whenever she was upset. She forced herself to take a shower, impossibly intimidated by Georgie’s small army of hair care and hygiene products, and even cautiously let herself take a bubble bath with a bath bomb. It was...weirdly luxurious, but maybe not surprisingly. Georgie’s bathroom was like the Queen’s, and you could practically swim in the bathtub. It was intimidating and weird and uncomfortable, but Sasha forced herself to appreciate it. How many people got to take a shower in a stall with five different showerheads?

Halfway through the day the housekeeper came in, terrifying Sasha deeply, and she retreated to her guest bedroom to let the woman work. She inspected her newly painted toenails glumly, halfway through Pride & Prejudice, forcing herself not to think about how Jon could have been a background character in the novel. Wasn’t he in his twenties in this time period? Wasn’t that when he and Jonah Magnus had -

Sasha drank more wine, and put on another cooking program. She hadn’t watched telly all day, so technically she could tell Georgie that. Besides, it wasn’t as if there was anything productive to do. No work, which sucked when she was a workaholic. No computer to waste time on. No friends she could talk to without the police investigating her. She couldn’t go outside, again due to the aforementioned cop situation. Her life was her work, and her bosses had just framed her for murder.

Somewhat buzzed, Sasha stole several pieces of intricate stationary and wrote down everything Leitner had told her before he was murdered. It wasn’t nearly as much as she wanted, yet far more than she knew what to do with. Halfway through her notes deteriorated into a bizarre sort of mind map, lists of cases connected together and obscure monsters and figures pointing to each other. Salasea and his endless array of dangerous trinkets, mysterious yet lonely ship captains, Michael and his gently twisting deceit, Gerry Keay and his bizarre heroism, Leitner and his ruinous imprints, Agnes and her desolate fate, and the oft-mentioned yet barely understood man, whose name was whispered by shadowy figures entrenched in the supernatural world, Jonathan Sims…

Did he know? How often his shadow stained her statements? Did he care? Did he know how thoroughly he had ruined her life?

She scoured her memory for hints, writing down everything she could remember of his cameos in random statements. Of Leitner’s testimony, the immortal figure who so easily attained what Leitner and Mary Keay had spent their entire lives grasping for. Was there a hint to his true nature, his true allegiance?

In the corners of the cute stationary, Sasha doodled a small eye. She stared at it, and couldn’t help but fight the notion that it was staring back.

She scratched it out, feeling paranoid, not feeling paranoid enough.

A few hours later, Georgie came home, and Sasha fought the pathetically hopeful trepidation. When she heard the front door rattle she left her room, intending on welcoming Georgie back and proving that she hadn’t been watching telly all day, but she stopped short in the hallway when she heard the loud sound of voices. Specifically, the loud sound of Georgie’s still slightly unfamiliar voice, and the quieter tones of a voice that was far too familiar to her.

“ - if you’ll just let me talk to her, she’ll understand.”

“And she said that she’s not seeing you,” Georgie said firmly. Sasha held her breath, pressing herself up against the hallway wall. Next to her was a doorway that led to the living room, that led to a foyer. If she craned her head she could just barely see Georgie standing in the foyer, arguing with a figure holding a leather briefcase that made Sasha’s heart leap into her throat. “You really did screw her over, you know.”

“I know,” Jonathan Sims whined. “I want to apologize. It’s not my fault. Jonah got pushy again, you know how he is.”

“Ugh, tell me about it.” Georgie scoffed. “Did something happen between you two? Sasha was asking all sorts of weird questions.”

“Just Jonah being his usual insufferable self,” Jon said, so carelessly and casually that if Sasha hadn’t known better she would have believed him. “It probably alarmed her, seeing how that man really is. I’m sure she’s feeling very overwhelmed right now.”

“She really is, the poor dear,” Georgie said sympathetically. Sasha’s hands clenched into fists. “But you aren’t getting past this foyer, honey. I’m sure she’ll want to be friends again once Jonah gets the cops off her case.”

“Martin’s giving me a hard time,” Jon sulked. “Says this is all my fault that the dreadful little wolf girl is sniffing around. It’s not my fault. If my Archivist just let me explain, she’d see that it’s not my fault.”

“That Blackwood boy’s always giving you a hard time,” Georgie sniffed. “I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with him. He’s overly moralistic and doesn’t know how to have fun. You spend too much time with him.”

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Georgina Barker,” Jon teased. He stepped forward a little closer, and although Sasah couldn’t see his face she had the feeling he was smiling. “It’s a bad look on you.”

“Idiot,” Georgie said fondly, “everything’s a good look on me.” She stretched up on her tip-toes to kiss him on the cheek. “Ditch him and come party with me, darling, I’ll show you a wonderful time. Maybe after all of this nonsense blows over.”

“Judging from what I can make out of Jonah’s monologuing, we ought to get our parties in while we still can,” Jon said glumly. He opened his briefcase, passing a manila folder to Georgie. “Give her these. She’ll be getting hungry. Tell her that the top one is from work, and the second is from me.” He hesitated for a second. “You really think she’ll forgive me?”

“If it’s not your fault, then why do you need to be forgiven?”

Jon was silent for a long minute. Finally, he said, “I’ll talk to you later, Georgie. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Georgie said easily, casually, as if she had said it a thousand times, a million times. “Take care of yourself.”

She stood in the foyer after he left, arms folded, one delicately manicured finger tapping against her arm. She eventually turned around, poking her head into the living room.

“You can come out, darling, I don’t bite.”

Sasha guiltily stepped into the living room, crossing her arms defensively. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

But Georgie just rolled her eyes. “Please. My best friends are Jonathan Sims and Jonah Magnus.” She looked thoughtful for a second. “Well. My oldest friends. Anyway, if you’re in the same house as one of those Beholding types you aren’t getting a private conversation. I’m super used to it.” She held out the manila folder, and Sasha cautiously stepped forward and took it from her.

“Beholding types?”

“Oh, you know, you and your lot,” Georgie said dismissively. “Can’t do anything about that annoying little megalomania the Eye gives you. Have fun with lunch, I have to freshen up. It takes ages to get the scent of Jon’s musty old books off me.”

But Sasha was already tuning her out, because in the manilla envelope there were two Statements. They thrummed under her fingers, charged with energy and power and fear, and Sasha could feel herself gripping them. The first one was a classic Magnus Institute Statement, just like she would have read at work, but the second was what looked like a photocopy of a piece of paper. Judging from the ornate script, it was old, and when Sasha’s eyes wandered to the date her eyes widened. July 21st, 1823.

She looked up, already frantically searching for a tape recorder, and immediately saw one sitting on the coffee table. She didn’t think twice about it, already sitting on the plush white couch and setting the papers out. Which one first - oh man, they were both so exciting - her fingers drifted to the one Jon gave her, and she picked it up. That one, then.

Sasha James pressed play on the tape deck, feeling a familiar thrill go through her at the gentle whirring. She cleared her throat.

“Statement of Sasha James, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, regarding a letter sent by Barnabas Bennet to Jonah Magnus. Statement begins.”

And, as Sasha’s blood ran cold, she began to read.

My dearest Jonah,

I hope you are well. It was an absolute pleasure to vacation at your estate this summer. I’ve never had such interesting conversations with a like-minded individual, and since returning to my own estate I have been sorely missing your company. You have introduced a great deal of brightness and acute interest to my life, and without you the luminescence of Heaven does not thrill me. How I wish you were around to thrill me again!

Do not concern yourself - I have maintained my studies. The library you loaned me is of great interest, and I have been spending many a quiet night bent over one of your occult tomes. I have never felt so enlightened. A world is opening up before us, Jonah, one of richness and wonder, and for the first time in many years I find myself excited to rise each morning. I thank our Heavenly Father each day that I was so fortunate as to cross your path. You must remind me to discuss with you the report by Smirke in detail - fascinating! Theoretical, of course, all theoretical - but the concept of classifying the devils that so bewitch man into fourteen unique taxonomies fascinates me. We must discuss it.

Jonah, I trust that this letter reaches you in private, and that you shall not betray my confidence by discussing it with anyone. I have a private grievance I wish to address with you. It is regarding your boy, the one kept so close in your confidence and trust.

I would never hasten to question any of your decisions, for I trust they are made with great deliberation and forethought. But I must question why you keep that boy so close to you. His air is strange and fey. While summering at your estate, I would frequently see him awake at late hours, pouring over some tome or report or another (I would swear that he reads better than I!). I know he’s somewhat of a project of yours, bringing him into Christianity and your charity, which will surely be rewarded etc etc, but I cannot shake my strange trepidation.

If I were to be quite honest, my fear of him.

He always asks questions. Disturbing and distressing questions. And when I deign to answer them, he acts as if he truly understands. Moreover, that he understands more than me - that he possesses some secret knowledge that only he has obtained. I catch him listening at doorways and around corners frequently, and no matter how many times I box him about the ears for it he will not cease. You encourage it, allowing this behavior. Even after I reported to you the pagan rituals which I am confident he is performing, you brush me off. You two are strangely close. I’m simply concerned for you, Jonah. Please heed my advice: that boy is trouble. I fear that he will bring you into trouble also. Do not allow this paganism to steer you away from the light of our heavenly Father. I understand that the occult is of great interest to all of us, discovering the secrets of the world and its many mysteries, but it is only an academic interest. I would never go so far as to partake of these devilish rituals myself, and you ought to dissuade yourself of such a notion also. Do not allow that John to lead you astray.

I wish you most well. I am encountering some trouble of my own - debts and such - but do not concern yourself with them. The situation is well-handled. I hope to write to you again soon.

Yours, faithfully,

Barnabas

...supplemental.

Jon. Why did you show me this?

Is this your definition of vulnerability? Of honesty? What, are you trying to justify your decisions to me? I get it, it’s disgusting. These people were disgusting to you. I can’t know how you feel, but I think I - my parents -

What I mean is, I can’t understand. I can’t imagine how hard this must have been. I understand how Jonah was the only one to… ‘get’ you or whatever. How he was the only person to see how brilliant you are, how much you have to give.

But, Jon - I don’t think Jonah thought any better of you than Barnabas did. He was just better at hiding it. I don’t know, I didn’t know him and I still don’t know him - but you get that the way he talked to you back then wasn’t right, right? You get that it was fucked up, right?

I don’t know. I don’t think you get that. I don’t think anybody does. Georgie’s too close to it, too used to you and Jonah’s ‘quirks’ or whatever. I...don’t know anything Martin thinks, but I feel as if you’d be pretty invested in keeping this from him. But I’m close enough to you to see it, and I’m far enough away from this that I understand. Something’s really fucked up about this situation. I’m worried I’m the only person who sees it. I hate being that person, the person who Sees it all, who knows it all, but is powerless to do anything about it. You understand, right? You understand how much this is hurting me?

I’m not sure you do. If you’re showing me this, trying to show me how hard you had it, how misunderstood you were, just so I forgive you...I don’t. And it’s manipulative, so cut it out. I’m not sure if you’re consciously doing that, I really don’t think you’re emotionally intelligent enough.

But you aren’t dumb, Jon. I know it’s a defence mechanism or whatever to pretend that you are, to act childish, but you aren’t.

Ugh, listen to me. I sound like Martin. Disgusting. I don’t give a shit about this, I’m not your therapist. But you keep on making your problems my problems, and I’m not tolerating that. We’ll talk when I’m not fucking wanted for murder for something you were complicit in.

Get your act together. I don’t forgive you. Statement fucking ends.

As if Sasha’s life wasn’t hard enough, Georgie wanted to go dancing.

“I am literally wanted by the police.”

“The nightclub’s so dark, nobody’ll even see your face,” Georgie promised.

“Shouldn’t I be spending my time working on my conspiracy theory board?”

“Honey, no offence, that thing is so tacky.”

“I hate clubbing.”

“You’ll like the way I do it!”

“I really don’t want to -”

“Tough nuts.”

So, of course, that’s how Sasha ended up shoved into a tight dress, heels, and makeup, pushed into a taxi, and quickly deposited in front of a warehouse looking building. There was a long line out the door, of women with straightened hair dressed somehow identically, yet way worse, than Sasha, all looking very cold. Georgie looped her arm through Sasha’s, white teeth flashing as she grinned widely, and escorted them both straight through the doors and past security.

She, it seemed, was a known quantity. Sasha, who had spent the last year working in a mill to feed evil psychic vampires and the ten years before that locked in academia, which was basically the same thing, was not a known quantity to any nightclub. She had not been clubbing since uni, which was approximately five lifetimes ago.

“I’m still not sure this is a good idea,” Sasha said into Georgie’s ear as they transitioned from the furiously cold February air into the swelteringly hot club. It was dim and smoky, the noise overwhelmingly grating at her ears. After so long in a quiet office, in a silent flat, she could barely handle it.

Georgie said something to her.

“What?” Sasha yelled. “Georgie, I don’t want to be here!”

Georgie frowned at her, and unlinked their arms so she could reach up on her tiptoes and clasp Sasha on the shoulders. “You have been accused of murder! You just split with your boyfriend because of clown trauma! You haven’t had fun in years! You deserve this, queen!”

You know...maybe she did.

Georgie pressed a drink into her hands, mysteriously procured from somewhere, and without thinking too hard about it Sasha downed it in one gulp. Georgie whooped, clapping her on the back, and directed her towards the bar. She flashed her platinum credit card at the bartender, and suddenly Sasha was MVP of the night.

You know, Sasha thought dizzily as she was given a toxic blue drink and pushed onto the dance floor, maybe she did deserve this. Didn’t she deserve to have fun? After the way things ended with Tim, couldn’t she just act like a normal girl and go clubbing with her friends to dance away the pain? She was almost forty, way too old for this, but maybe she could forget for a little bit. She had never had the opportunity as a teenager, not even as a young adult. Couldn’t she do this, before she died?

Maybe women closer to forty than thirty dealt with this with - with book clubs, with sisterhood, whatever. Maybe women closer to forty than thirty were married, had kids of their own. But Sasha was just Sasha, stuck in a literal dead-end job, going nowhere good, and this was all she would ever have.

Maybe Georgie was right. Why not live, before she died? Everybody on earth died - everybody, that is, except for a small group of people who were willing to sell their soul for the privilege. At least maybe this way she could have whatever joy she could fit into her life before all opportunity was lost, and she was lost.

A man sidled up to her, asking for a dance, and she evaded him. But then there was another one, and another one, and Sasha found herself fleeing back to the bar and ordering another drink. Too soon. Way too soon. She found herself digging in her borrowed purse, searching for her phone, wanting to call Tim or talk to him or ask him if they really were broken up so she could have rebound sex with random dudes in bars, but the purse was empty of both a phone and a wallet. That’s right - she had destroyed it. Because the cops were after her.

Next to her, out of the corner of her eye, a man sat down at a barstool. He said something to the bartender and leaned towards her, mouth spilling something obscured by the crush and heat and sound of the club. He seemed to be asking if he could buy her a drink. Sasha shook her head dizzily, confused and lost. Then he leaned in closer, and Sasha could smell the alcohol on his breath.

“Are you sure? I’d like to dance with you!”

Sasha shook her head no again, frantically.

“Aw, come on -”

Then, as if by magic, Georgie was at her elbow. Unintimidating, not more than one hundred and seventy centimeters, with teased hair and sharp black lipstick and eyeliner, she raised an eyebrow at the guy. But there must have been something in her eyes, or a lack of something, because the guy rapidly slipped off the barstool and melted into the crowd, leaving the drink the bartender slid onto the counter behind.

As if she had planned it, Georgie easily stole the drink and knocked it back. She tugged Sasha down, yelling into her ear. “Come with me, darling, let’s check out where the real party is.”

Without taking no for an answer, Georgie grabbed Sasha’s hand and tugged her through the outskirts of the crowd, ducking and weaving between small clusters of people and women dancing the night away. Sasha’s vision swam, details and faces lost in the endless ripple of flashing lights and sound, until all she felt was Georgie’s cool hand in hers, and it wasn’t until they emerged from the choppy sea of people into a small hallway off the main room that she felt like she could breathe. Sasha’s head swam with movement and smoke, and she was barely cognizant that they were in a hallway for a bathroom or something.

But Georgie walked confidently past the bathrooms, into what appeared to be a storage closet. She confidently opened it, halting at the door frame to glance backwards at Sasha. A smile quirked at her bow lips.

“You coming?”

Sasha, slightly intoxicated though she was, couldn’t fight the skepticism. “This is where the real party is? A supply closet?”

“Oh, my dear Archivist,” Georgie said, smirking slightly. “The world is full of far more delights than you could understand. Follow me, and stay close.”

Then Georgie stepped forward, disappearing into the closet, and as little as Sasha wanted to step inside more dubiously supernatural hallways she wanted to be left alone in this club even less, and she ducked after Georgie into the unknown.

The unknown, as it turned out, was another club.

Or, more accurately, a pub. It was a nice pub too, all smoky yellow lights and burnished wood booths. The booths were upholstered in soft and cushy looking brown leather, and the sound where nowhere above a quiet murmur. It didn’t seem to be abandoned, the shadows at some booths deeper than others, but for the life of her Sasha couldn’t puzzle out the faces or figures of anybody at these shadowy corners. There was a single bartender, wiping a grimy glass over and over. He nodded at Georgie when he walked in, and Sasha was forced to wonder how many dubiously physical supernatural bars and hang-outs existed in random back rooms of mundane stores. Were these things just everywhere? Or were there only a few, and so long as you had the right key any door could be an entrance? It was just Sasha’s intuition, but she felt as if it was the latter.

What would, could Georgie open up for her? What power, what majesty? What world of power and control could Jon give her, that Jon was trying to hard to give her that she kept refusing? Nobody was telling her the cost. Nobody was letting her make a decision. She was being swept up in the wake of giants, and Sasha was just trying to keep her head above water.

Georgie was still walking confidently down the aisles, and Sasha stumbled trying to keep up. Finally, she came to a stop in a back corner, utterly secluded with a booth that stretched the entire corner, large enough for seven or more people. Georgie turned to Sasha, smiling broadly, and Sasha tried not to feel intimidated.

“Honey, these are my friends. Girls, this is my new roommate, Sasha James!”

With a flourish, she made a little tah-dah motion, and the smoky yellow lamp above the table flickered on.

The table was crowded with women, or women appearing people. Absolutely none of them were familiar. No - in the corner, there was one person who was familiar. Michael, blonde hair hurting her eyes in curly ringlets, hands in his coat pockets. He smiled crookedly at her, jarring her adrift.

“Uh,” Sasha said, confused. Who were these people? “Hello?”

A short East Asian woman in a white tank top and black jeans scowled from where she was slouching in her seat. “One of those Beholding patsies? Please, Georgie, they’re so insufferable.”

“I like this one,” Georgie said cheerfully. She slid into an empty seat, and Sasha cautiously sat next to her. “Play nice, everyone.”

“You’re such a grouch, Jude,” a woman said, leaning forward and looking interestedly at Sasha. Her eyes were dark and big, her head cocked, giving her an almost insectoid air. “It’s a pleasure to meet you in person finally, Archivist. I’ve heard so much about you. You’re really making waves in our little community.”

“Patsy Archivist,” a tall and burly white woman with cascading brown hair said shortly, taking long gulps of a pint. “What’s impressive about that?”

“I’m impressed with anyone who puts up with Sims and Magnus long enough,” the insectish woman said. “No offence, Georgie.”

“Oh, they’re insufferable,” Georgie said cheerfully. “Have you heard how those two like to socialize? They go to galas. With those awful little Fairchilds and Lukases and whatever. It’s just tragic.”

“Word,” the insect woman said, raising her glass. The rim seemed to be coated in cobwebs, making Sasha feel vaguely ill. “Much rather have a pint at a nice little pub with friends. But we haven’t introduced ourselves, have we? My name’s Annabelle Cane. I’m sure you’ve heard of me in all those little stories you like.”

Anabelle Cane. Sasha swallowed. “Yeah, I’ve heard.”

“A proxy Archivist she may be,” Michael said serenely, “but perhaps our most successful yet. She’s already coming along so much further than Gertrude ever did.” He winked bizarrely at Sasha. “Michael, but you already know that. They and them, if you please.”

Oh. Sasha blinked at them. “Thanks for...saving my life back there. And Tim’s and Martin’s.”

“My pleasure,” Michael said affably. “You’re the most fun I’ve had in awhile. Always nice to have the Eye owe me a favor.”

“They’re just mad they didn’t get to kill Gertrude,” the brunette said evenly. “Julia Montauk. You should know me too, I think. Is it true you killed someone?”

“I definitely didn’t,” Sasha said heatedly. “It was a set-up.”

“Relax, we’re all killers here,” the woman in a tank top said. She scowled at Sasha. “Jude Perry. What the fuck do those old money ponces think they’re doing, installing another patsy Archivist this late in the game? I would have thought that they learned their lesson after that bitch Gertrude.”

“Archivists are quite slow learners,” a woman piped up. She sat in the corner, strangely oddly. Her skin was shiny and strange in the dim light, almost plasticish, and her dark eyes hadn’t moved from Sasha’s face since she walked in. “Nikola. A pleasure, Archivist.”

“Are you guys all…” Sasha trailed off uncomfortably. “You know?”

“Serial killers?” Julia Mauntauk asked flatly.

“Inhuman monstrosities of plastic and flesh?” Nikola inquired.

“Daughters of fear entities that control our every action?” Annabelle said.

“Embodiments of unknown concepts made sentient, forced into a shape that cannot suit them, locked in flesh and fractal prisons, always screaming in endless turmoil, unable to understand the horrors of the concepts of ourselves, always searching for the sweet release of death that can never quite be obtained, because that which does not live can never die?” Michael said serenely.

“Assholes?” Jude Perry said flatly.

“The sexiest Avatars around?” Georgie asked.

How did Sasha’s life devolve to this point.

“...yeah,” Sasha said. “Hey, where can I get more drinks?”

Unsurprisingly enough, the drinks came very fast. Service was excellent when you hung out with eldritch women, Sasha supposed.

The conversion flew thick and fast after that. In Sasha’s experience, joining a new group of established friends meant being ignored for favor of pre-existing dynamics. It was always uncomfortable, and no small part of why she just didn’t join new groups. Tim had never had that problem - he had a loud and persistent personality, the kind that made you pay attention to him. He dominated any room he entered, by force if necessary. It always seemed exhausting to Sasha, but Tim didn’t really seem to have anymore real friends than she did lately. His personality was like an ocean, overwhelming and everywhere, but when his mood turned sour it was just as intense. Gulfs of pleasure, intense pain - it seemed exhausting, to feel so deeply. God knows Sasha didn’t.

But today, in this group, she seemed to be novel. Maybe new fear avatars were a rare enough thing, or at least ones with Georgie’s seal of approval. They aimed a barrage of questions at her, and Sasha did her best to keep up with each one.

How did Sasha know Georgie? Mostly through a mutual enemy. Oh, fuckin’ Sims, right - you guys friends? No, I hate him. You guys fucking? Ew. Right, right, Sims is a giant prude - actually I heard that he doesn’t really - no, Jon decided a while back he doesn’t do that, and we all respect his decision - ew, though, nobody wants to imagine that. So why are you two friends? We’re roommates, mostly, I’m kinda on the run from the cops. Who’d you kill? Nobody. Who’d that old fucker Bouchard kill? Jurgen Leitner, mostly.

“Cheers to that!” Julia said abruptly, raising her glass. “Hate that fucker.”

“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” Annabelle said, downing her own drink and what seemed like an improbable quantity of spiders. She leaned over the table to where Sasha had hastily been stuffed in, beetle-black eyes gleaming. “But really. What are you doing here?”

“As I said,” Sasha said uncomfortably, “I got framed for murder -”

But Annabelle just waved her hand. “No, no, we know that. I’m asking what are you doing here? With people like us, in a place like us? You’re just a sexy librarian. Your highest goal in life was owning your own cottage house one day. How’d you get wrapped up in the tangled web of our world?”

Sasha’s mouth ran dry, her head spinning in a way that didn’t really seem to have anything to do with the alcohol. How had she ended up like this? Who was to blame?”

“Jonathan Sims,” Sasha said dizzily. “He -”

“Didn’t know you Beholding types were in the process of lying to yourselves,” Annabelle said, casually yet brutally. “No, really.”

Sasha opened her mouth, then closed it. Finally, she said, “I guess I just asked all the wrong questions.”

It was a pretty way of dressing up the real answer: that Sasha didn’t know.

Maybe her thoughts were obvious, because Georgie cooed sympathetically and slung an arm around her shoulders. “Cheer up, honey, it’s not so bad. Not everything happens for a reason. Sometimes it’s just your own rotten luck.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jude called, lifting her glass. “I love my fucking life. It’s hookers, coke, and blow from here to Scotland. The life of a woman with power’s a thousand times better than the life of a woman without, James.”

“What is with you people and hedonism,” Sasha muttered.

“Why not?” Nikola asked, tilting her head strangely. “Life’s so short when it’s this long. It’s just bread and circuses, Archivist. We all need...entertainment.”

“Humans are always trying to make sense of it all,” Michael said arily. They were digging their fingers into the table, scoring long grooves in it. “When you know there’s no meaning, no purpose, then everything else just...falls away.”

Sasha didn’t know if she believed that, but she bit her tongue. Instead, she said, “What about those Avatars like Magnus or Raynor? They seem really...driven.”

Georgie giggled, light and airy, and leaned in. “That’s because they don’t know.”

She shouldn’t even ask. She shouldn’t - “Know what?”

Georgie smiled, sharp and wicked. “That there’s no point.”

And that was all she would say on that for the night: conversation after that devolved into parties, restaurants, drugs, and conquests. Maybe the women were right, in their own clearly demented way: that without death there was no meaning, when when there was no meaning only pleasure held any significance. If there was no afterlife, no reward or punishment - which Sasha didn’t believe, but they seemed to - then there was no reason not to do what you wanted. To have fun. To take revenge.

If all Georgie wanted was to have fun, and if all Jon wanted was revenge, then what did Jonah Magnus want? Sasha didn’t know. She had the feeling that if she didn’t figure it out, she wasn’t going to live much longer.

Why had Jonah Magnus done this to her? What was the point of framing her for murder? She couldn’t do her job like this. What’s the point?

Half-drunk, head spinning, she found herself vocalizing this. Somehow, Annabelle Cane had ended up sitting next to her, letting spiders run along her slightly too long and too jointed fingers. Annabelle Cane just smiled at her, jaw slightly slacking open to expose teeth.

“Maybe it’s just to fuck with you,” Annabelle posited. “Why not? Do you think he has another reason?”

“I don’t know,” Sasha groaned. “I don’t know anything. Everything’s confusing and terrible. I could never understand those psychopaths.”

“You won’t make it very far in this line of work if you never ask why,” Annabelle scolded. She paused a second, spider running thoughtfully across her eyeball. “But too many questions damns you just as effectively, I suppose. Hm. Jonah’s quite good, isn’t he.”

“Why me,” Sasha groaned. “Everyone’s trying to keep shit from me, it fuckin’ - it fuckin’ sucks, man. It sucks. Nobody would tell me what’s going on, but I don’t think anybody knows what’s going on. Not even Jonah, or Jon, or - or anyone. Nobody but me.”

Annabelle blinked at her, somewhat curiously, before leaning in. Her perfume lingered in the air, a heavy rosy scent. “Do you know something that Jonah doesn’t?”

“Yeah,” Sasha slurred, world fading in and out. “Jonah doesn’t know that Jon -”

Then the world faded into black, and Sasha fell asleep.

If she had felt too old for this at the nightclub, she definitely felt too old for this hangover. Sasha spent twenty minutes crouched over a toilet bowl, reluctantly shoved the Eggs Benedict in her mouth that Georgie insisted was a hangover cure, somehow, and refused the Bloody Mary that Georgie also insisted was a hangover cure that her Mum used to feed her. The thought of Georgie’s Mum filled Sasha with a deep fear, incapable of imagining somebody who was both likely born in the 1800s and who had raised a hellion like Georgie.

When Sasha mumbled this to Georgie, she didn’t look offended. She just smiled, strangely fond. “Oh, none of this is my Mum’s fault. She was a darling, her and my Da. My childhood was positively idyllic. All things considered, you know.”

Yes, Sasha thought, struggling to imagine 1910s London in her mind, idyllic. She took another look at Georgie, squinting slightly as her head throbbed. She definitely seemed younger physically than Jon, but Jon had a particular way of carrying age about him that had nothing to do with his appearance. “When did you stop aging?”

“I forget, honestly,” Georgie said airly, sipping her own bloody mary. For some reason, Sasha didn’t believe her. “It always takes a while to notice, you know. I suppose, logically, it would be about when I died the first time.”

That, more than anything, alarmed Sasha. “I thought you couldn’t die.”

“Not permanently,” Georgie said, as if this was somehow obvious. “Eat your eggs, they’ll get cold.” Sasha frantically shoved eggs in her mouth, desperate for the story. But Georgie just sighed and propped her chin on her hand, eyes distant. “You know how it is. Small town girl, grew up in North Birmingham, Alabama - back when it was just a tiny little thing, you know. I wanted to be a star. I always did. Scared of dyin’ in the dirt. If I was gonna die young, I wanted to do it where everybody knew my name. So long as they remember you, it’s no kind of death at all, really.” She sighed, lost in memory. “I could sing so good...so I went to Harlem, ‘cause all my friends and I always had dreams of going to Harlem and making it big singing in the jazz clubs. They didn’t get so far, staying at home with their babies, but I did. Wasn’t really made for babies and such, I think.” Something strange emerged in her words, the last vestiges of a Southern accent. “I was pretty, and I could sing, and I took to the spotlight like a duck to water. It was tough, but man - if it ain’t tough, it ain’t worth it. I worked so hard. Like I was working myself to death, almost.”

She trailed off, birds softly trilling outside, and Sasha was silent.

Quietly, Georgie began speaking again. “Got into some trouble. You know how it is. I spent dozens of years wondering if it was my fault, if there was something I coulda done differently, zig instead of zag...but now, I don’t think so. Just my own rotten luck, you know. Put my trust in the wrong people. Had the wrong sentence whispered into my ear.” She shrugged listlessly. “Couldn’t handle the truth. Just another girl who couldn’t handle the limelight, that was what they said. But I was set up to fail. All those jazz clubs were ganger run, you couldn’t avoid it. Every girl in that golden age fell prey to those men, same as I did. I just wanted to feel again. Tried everything once, just to feel something.” She sighed, taking another drink. “Got shot. Got back up. I remember it, clear as day. Must have been 1923. I scrubbed the blood out of my show dress and went back on stage that night, cuz you can’t get a rep as a flake. They said, that day...that day was my best performance.”

She trailed off, Sasha finally alert. She wanted more details, almost desperately, but she kept her mouth shut. She didn’t want to risk putting the whammy on her host, even if she wasn’t sure that she could. If Georgie was being purposefully vague...well, Sasha wasn’t entitled to her pain.

Instead, she said, “I bet you were good.”

Georgie smiled at her wanly, eyes far away. “I was the best.”

They sat in silence for a little while, eating their food, Sasha’s head ringing and mind buzzing. What about this picture was she not understanding? What was so important that she was missing?

Finally, Sasha carefully floated, “I bet you must have met Jon soon after.”

Georgie looked up from her bloody mary, surprised. “Oh, yes. Just a few months after. He must have caught the word on the wind, you know, of that singing girl who got back up after getting shot in the lungs.” She sighed, propping her chin on her hand again. “Saw him in the front row of my club. He was so handsome, and so finely dressed. But there had been something strange in his eyes, you know? Like little marbles, reflecting the lamps. He caught up to me afterwards, and I figured he was just another fan to squeeze dry, but he told me in his funny little accent I’d never heard before that he could help me.” She swallowed, looking away. “That he could help me understand what was happening to me. Why I was having those strange dreams, seeing those strange tendrils. I guess he was right. After I met him, I understood it all. Things moved fast after that.” She smiled weakly at Sasha. “I suppose you know the rest.”

She really didn’t, but Sasha understood the dismissal for what it was. “Yeah. Thanks for telling me all of that.”

“It’s no secret,” Georgie said dismissively. She smiled cunningly. “A hundred years later almost exactly, and what I did to those gangsters was still my finest work. They say that if you pass by an old building on St. Nicholas Avenue, you can still hear the screams. Anyway, I have a meeting with my land development company in an hour, must run, ta!”

On that distressing note Georgie swanned out the door, and Sasha was left alone with nothing but a stack of conspiracy theories, an opulent flat, and bad memories.

Time seemed to move quickly, yet sluggishly, after that. After another day of writing down literally every Statement she could remember off the top of her head and trying to fit them into the weird and seemingly kind of arbitrary categories that Leitner had given her, she had hit a roadblock. She couldn’t remember any more Statements, she didn’t have access to them, and the ones she did remember she either already sorted or couldn’t dredge up enough memory of them to sort them in a satisfactory way. Either that, or the Statement itself was just incomprehensible - Sasha still didn’t know what the fuck was going on with Tessa’s problem. She tended to have a better memory of the ones that seemingly mentioned the Avatars in the background, just because it had been so startling to actually meet them - and a few even mentioned Jon, usually in context of Salasea or any Eye Statement.

When Georgie came home that night, they watched another movie and they both studiously avoided mentioning anything supernatural. Best not to take work home with you, even if Sasha had never quite been good at that.

The next day Sasha did what she should have done in the first place, and hacked into the Magnus Institute server.

It was seriously, comically easy. Sasha had installed a backdoor connection to the desktop of her work computer from her laptop ages ago, and all she had to do was borrow one of Georgie’s laptops and redownload the program. With an easy virtual desktop she was already in. It was somehow satisfying to see all of her work programs pop up on the borrowed laptop, and it was almost a relief to access the Archive drive that connected all of their computers. More importantly, where they all put their research follow-ups and the spreadsheet that documented the debunked, uncertain, and verified statements. It had gotten to the point where if the statement refused to record on the computer they automatically put it on verified, but what Sasha really wanted from that spreadsheet was the one sentence description they had all put for each Statement.

From there, it was much easier. Sasha, sick of the disorganized conspiracy theorist aesthetic, made her own spreadsheet and began categorizing the verified Statements that way. Much more reliable than working from memory.

If only she could actually access the Statements...Sasha’s life would be so much easier if everything could be digitized. The debunked ones were typed up, filed, and recorded, but the verified ones only existed on paper. Couldn’t be typed up, couldn’t be recorded. It was so stupid.

Sasha checked the clock. Eleven am on a Wednesday. They were definitely all still working. Maybe…

It was an invasion of privacy. Did she actually care about that? No. Was she worried about apparently being locked into an employment contract with an...entity of some sort that preyed on invasions of privacy? No, although she felt like she should. Was she concerned that Jon and Jonah were trying to turn into her a conduit of this entity’s power into the world, probably gradually turning her, if not evil, at least into a giant dick? Somewhat.

Words echoed through her mind, and Sasha’s fingers halted over the keyboard. Her powers manifesting differently than Jon’s...her unique skill with hacking…

Well, that was just kind of offensive. Sasha had worked hard for her skills. They weren’t given to her by Jon’s weird god. Also - seriously, a god? It was just a malevolent eldritch entity living in a separate dimension that encroached tendrils into Sasha’s life. There was nothing divine about it. That was just offensive. Sasha was a good feminist, transgender Catholic on the run from the law and didn’t worship false idols.

It was only then that Sasha noticed a folder on the drive that she hadn’t created. It was labelled ‘For the Archivist’. Despite herself, she clicked on it.

It held a few pdfs. Sasha clicked on one curiously, and saw that they were photocopies of statements. No - of Statements. She was already recognizing this one as one of those spider ones. She quickly printed them all out, conscientious of how easily supernatural files corrupted, and quickly exited the drive and the virtual desktop.

It wasn’t until Sasha was already in the kitchen and pulling down a bottle of Jack that she realized what she was doing. She sighed, replaced it, and fetched herself some sparkling water instead. She drank it slowly as she returned to her laptop and logged remotely into the police database, which she already had a backdoor into.

It occurred to Sasha, perhaps belatedly, that if the police found her laptop and the incredible variety of highly illegal programs meant explicitly for accessing secure servers she was probably triple going to jail. This time, for something she had actually did.

All of the hacking had never felt illegal. It had just felt...well, fun and necessary. It had never been about whether or not she should, it had been about if she could.

Was that how it had started for Jon? Collecting household secrets because he had to, so secure the money and influence he desperately needed, because he could, because it was fun?

Whatever. Sasha shook herself. She could have her moral crisis after she was no longer on the run from the cops for murder. This wasn’t the time to be squeamish about something that wasn’t hurting anybody. She knew, as Jon probably did, that just because something was illegal didn’t make it wrong.

It was easy to log onto the police database and check out her own open case. She frequently checked out open homicide cases for fun, but it somehow hit a little different when it was her they were talking about. Incident, Senior Citizen, Offence: First Degree Murder, Location of Arrest: N/A, yeah, yeah, yeah…

One victim, a John Doe. Foul play was suspected...yes that’d be the gunshot wound. No witnesses. Reporting officer’s narrative...Elias Bouchard and Jonathan Sims the Fifth had walked into Head Archivist Sasha James’ office to discuss work with her when they found the body. Both were shocked and called the police...gun found at the scene had her fingerprints and the ballistics matched...suspect still at large. Friends and family had been contacted, everyone denied knowledge of where she was. Suspect had a noted history of mental illness...great…

The officers dispatched had been Alice Tonner and Basira Hussein. Sasha found that strange: Basira had history with one of the witnesses and the suspect, wouldn’t it be unprofessional to send her out?

There couldn’t be that many sectioned officers, Sasha reasoned. Even if the incident hadn’t officially been sectioned, because the police report still existed, as a general rule if something happened at the Magnus Institute it was sectioned until proven otherwise. Even if the murder itself was seemingly mundane.

Out of curiosity, she searched up Detective Tonner’s records. Been on the force for a long time, worked her way up the ranks. Very, very few cases and incident reports for a detective who had been on the force as long as she had. Sectioned, obviously, but even Basira had more official cases than she did. When Sasha clicked on the incident reports, they were extremely spotty and strange. Obvious details were omitted or censored.

Something cold began to creep down Sasha’s spine. She found the arrest records of the latest four people with official records of Detective Tonner arresting them.

Almost all of them had entered custody with bruises, cuts, and in one case a broken limb. They all had records down as ‘resisting arrest’. Sasha felt sick.

There was one case that stopped strangely short. A clear perp, a rapist but one with little evidence, who Tonner had quickly caught. That was where the case ended: the report that Tonner had found his hiding spot, but no arrest, no trial, no prison sentence. When Sasha investigated the perp, she found that he had unceremoniously vanished shortly after Tonner had reported that she had found his hiding spot. A month later, a death certificate had been filed.

Sasha stared at the death certificate, nauseated. This was who she was dealing with. A vigilante, some batshit pig who had obviously decided that the law was best taken into her own hands. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy, but...if anybody looked at Sasha’s case on paper, they’d say the same thing.

And that was just the cases on record. It was the only obvious instance Sasha could see of Tonner having offed someone just because she felt like it, but cops were good at covering shit like that up. How many other arrest records had fallen in the cracks? How many other dead perps that nobody gave a shit about? How many sectioned cases?

God, Sasha was fucked.

She begged off hanging out with Georgie that night, instead staying in bed with the covers pulled tight over her head as if that could ever protect her. Why was Jonah doing this to her? What did he have to gain? If he wanted her to die a mysterious death in the bottom of a ditch, why wasn’t he man enough to do it himself?

Tonner was going to murder her, Sasha thought hysterically, and she was going to pat herself on the back for keeping another monster off the streets.

And Jon knew. The fucking hypocrite. He wasn’t going to help her. Nobody was. But, god, she was so alone…

The next morning, as if she knew, Georgie slipped Sasha a burner phone over the breakfast table as they both robotically ate quiches.

“It should be untraceable, but just know that anybody you call you’re putting at serious risk,” Georgie warned, before her expression softened. “This’ll all be over soon, honey. I promise.”

“Did Jonah tell you that?” Sasha asked bitterly.

“Nah. I just know those two.” Georgie delicately ate a forkful of quiche. “They get bored of terrorizing humans pretty quickly. Now, Michael’s a different story. They’ll terrorize someone for decades. I’ve seen them do it!”

“Great,” Sasha said.

It seemed to be at this point that Georgie realized she was actually making Sasha feel much worse, because a slightly panicked expression crossed her face and she quickly reached out to pat Sasha on the hand. “But I’m sure they won’t do that to you,” Georgie said quickly. “They love you! Jon especially. Jonah’s just on another of his little power trips right now, he’ll get over it. And Jon, like, feels really bad about this whole thing. He’s been super annoying about it, actually -”

“See,” Sasha said, standing up to clear away her dishes, “I would rather handle an enemy who obviously wants to kill me than a friend whose good side I always have to be careful to stay on, who I can’t afford to ever make mad. I guess that’s the only difference left between me and you people.”

She angrily put her dishes in the sink, where the housekeeper would do them, and stalked to what was rapidly becoming her room, slamming the door.

Flopping down on the bed, she stared at the burner phone. Tim wouldn’t be at work yet. They could talk. They could -

Do what? Get back together? Split up? Could he explain, beg for her forgiveness? Did she have to apologize too? Sasha didn’t understand.

That was rare for her. She understood a lot of things, or at least she thought she did. Maybe she had been lying to herself, about everything: that her and Tim were a good idea, that Martin was sketchy, that Jon was evil, that Jon was kind, that Georgie just wanted to help her, that there was nothing that Jonah Magnus would do to her, that she was safe and human and a good person.

God, her capacity for self-delusion was ridiculous. But maybe people needed a little bit of self-delusion to survive. Nobody could live in complete honesty, in full sight of their flaws and shortcomings. You could burn away, living like that.

No. No time or space for fear. Sasha wasn’t afraid of anything. If she kept telling herself that, maybe it would be true. She desperately punched in a number that she didn’t remember memorizing, holding the phone desperately to her ear, her one connection to humanity.

It rung, and rung, and one, and Sasha’s heart thumped in her chest.

Finally, the ringing stopped, and a slightly sleepy voice punctuated the dead air. “Hello?”

“Tim, it’s me,” Sasha burst out, everything she wanted to say to him rushing through her throat and choking her, and she burst into tears.

Distantly, through the sound of her crying, she could hear Tim on the other side losing his shit, and eventually wrangling himself to calmness.

It was almost funny, how they could work each other up like that. Eventually, by the time Sasha had managed to wrangle her own crying, Tim had calmed himself down enough that he was able to clumsily try to cheer her up.

“We’re all fine. Everyone’s perfectly safe. Martin’s gotten, uh, even more annoying since you left, and we’ve technically hired Melanie, which is - not good but it’s funny? Are you still crying? Please don’t still be crying.”

“I’m fine,” Sasha hiccuped. She rubbed at her red eyes. God, she’d missed him. “Tim, what happened?”

The line was silent for a while. Finally, he said, “Is this line secure?”

“Uh - probably? I mean -” Sasha quickly checked herself. She didn’t want to mention Georgie. The less he knew the better. “ - it’s a burner, if that’s what you’re asking, and I’m not the one who bought it.”

“Where are you living?” Tim asked harshly. “Are you homeless? You have to come stay with me, I can -”

“You mean the first place Tonner will look?” Sasha shot back. “No. I’m safe, I’m dry, things are fine. That’s all you need to know.” She softened her voice. “I promise, if it was safe I’d tell you more. I want to see you again. Tim, I - I’m really sorry.”

Tim laughed hoarsely, without humor. “Shouldn’t it be me saying that? I’m the one who thought you were a monster.”

“...yeah, that one’s on you.” Sasha sighed miserably, lying down on her bed, wishing Tim was next to her. “I am, though. A monster, I mean. Tim, I - I’m definitely not entirely human anymore.”

“God, Sash, that’s the least of our problems right now,” Tim said, laughing slightly again. “Can you just tell me what happened? I know you didn’t fucking do it. That dick Bouchard keeps playing dumb and his shitlead lackey keeps on avoiding the Archives. I bet Sims killed that old man, right? He totally did. Martin keeps on saying that his precious Jon wouldn’t let you take the fall for something he did, but I’m not so sure.”

“I...it’s more complicated than that.”

Sasha explained in short order. For once, Tim was totally silent the entire time, letting Sasha dispassionately recite the entire sad story. She finished it at Michael helping her escape, not detailing where she had been dropped off.

Finally, after a long silence, Tim said, “So this is my fault.”

“No, it’s not,” Sasha said harshly. “You were manipulated, same as I was.”

“I’m the idiot who -”

“Yes, you were being an idiot. You should have talked to me, talked to anyone. You should have done anything other than your homicidal partner in crime. You definitely shouldn’t have been buying a fucking black market gun when I know for a fact you have no idea how to shoot. But you tried playing hero and you played straight into Magnus’ hands. You fucked up. Okay? Now let’s try to do better.”

More silence, until Tim sighed. “Can’t believe the Douche’s Jonah Magnus. Explains why Sims is always playing lackey for him. Can’t wait to spill to Martin how his boyfriend framed his boss for murder.”

Sasha chewed her lip, uncertain. She hadn’t shared the details of Jonah and Jon’s conversation too closely - it had seemed private. “See, I’m not sure this is...entirely Jon’s fault.”

Tim groaned. “Not you too! Why is everyone but me and Melanie a fucking Sims apologist?”

“Jon and Jonah are...they’re weird, okay?” Sasha moved to chewing her hair, uncertain of how to describe it. If it should even be described. It seemed so private, so unsuitable to name...but maybe everybody thinking that was how these things stayed perpetuated for so long. “I think Jonah’s kind of, you know, abusive?”

The line went silent again.

“Wow,” Tim said finally, “Martin’s going to be so disappointed his boyfriend’s taken.”

“They’re just friends! I think. I’m like, ninety percent sure. But you didn’t hear them, Tim. They’re really...it’s messed up. Trust me.”

“Jesus, Sash, why are you defending someone who fucked all of us over like this? Sims is a big boy, he’s responsible for his own shitty decisions and the shitty company he keeps.” Tim snorted. “I’ve heard them talk, anyway. If anything, Magnus is the one always giving into Sims and his little tantrums. Jesus, I just want to throttle the both of them.”

“Maybe you need to get over your anger issues and focus on actually solving the problem for once,” Sasha snapped. “Nobody has time for your revenge fantasy, Tim! We need to fix all of this.”

“Which one is it, Sash?” Tim asked coldly. “Was I manipulated, or was it my anger issues and hero complex? Are you going to decide if this is my fault or not?”

Sasha’s heart stuttered in her chest. She didn’t know how to explain to him what she knew - that it was everything, that it was all of the above, that he was manipulated through his anger issues and hero complex, that Tim had been pushed in a direction but he had taken the steps all by himself. But she couldn’t blame him entirely, because Sasha had been manipulated the same way, and so had Jon and Martin and Georgie, and if she started thinking like that then she would have to start hating the whole damn world.

“Tim, are we going to stay together?” Sasha whispered, broken-hearted. “Can we even still be together? I love you. I want you here with me. But there’s so much ugliness that’s growing between us. I don’t know if this can be fixed.”

A long silence again. Sasha wanted to be there with him, to read his face, to see what he was thinking. She had always understood him so well, or at least she thought that he did.

“I love you too,” Tim said finally. “I want to fix this too. I - I don’t know, Sasha. I love you. The thought of you alone, in danger, and not even knowing where you are, is fucking me up. It’s like Danny all over again, Sasha, I can’t handle this. Can we have this conversation again when I know you’re safe?”

“Okay,” Sasha said, and she knew that this was probably the best both of them could do right now. “Are we staying together?”

“...I don’t know.”

“...are we breaking up?”

“...still don’t know.”

“Okay,” Sasha repeated again, and sighed. “I won’t call you from this phone twice. I’m doing the best I can here. I’m safe, I think. Things will be okay, Tim.”

“Sash,” Tim said, “I don’t remember the last time things were okay.”

And neither did she, and they both knew it, and she hung up on him without saying anything further. She lay on the bed, listening faintly to the sound of the housekeeper vacuuming, staring up at the fan as it beat in a steady rhythm on the ceiling.

Was Tim right? Was she reading too much into Jon and Jonah? It wasn’t her job to fix Jon, to puzzle out his weird psychology. Maybe he was just an asshole without a spine,and there wasn’t anything more to that.

No. Sasha didn’t believe that. This was a puzzle that she hadn’t solved yet, and she had the feeling that at the heart of this puzzle was the key to finally keeping herself and Tim safe. She couldn’t abide a mystery, couldn’t trick herself into thinking that the truth wasn’t important. The truth was all Sasha had. She couldn’t close her eyes to it, that awful and ugly reality.

Tim...he had been such a bad idea. But he had always been her favorite one: the way he could always cheer her up, his bright and bold smile, his courage and heart and sensitivity and vulnerability. He had loved her, truly and wholly, for who she was. He knew the ugly corners of her and loved them as much as he loved her best attributes.

Was that still true? Was Sasha turning into a person that Tim just couldn’t love? Was Tim turning into someone that Sasha couldn’t love?

People changed. Sometimes they changed apart. And for some strange reason, Sasha just couldn’t bear the thought of that.

Lying on the bed of a grim reaper, crying like a broken-hearted teenager, Sasha didn’t notice that the housekeeper’s vacuum had stopped running. She didn’t notice the knock on the door, or the creak of the door opening, or the gentle rise and fall of voices. She only heard it when there was a soft knock at her own door, and she was forced to roll off the bed to open her bedroom door.

Standing in front of her, looking nervous, was the housekeeper. Standing behind her was Jonathan Sims.

He looked pretty bad, Sasha noted clinically. Eye bags, even more pronounced than usual, stood starkly under his eyes, and his hair wasn’t as cropped short and styled as it usually was. It had grown out a little, making Jon look more like a tired modern guy walking the streets of London than a centuries old immortal psychic vampire. He was still dressed in a suit, as he always was, but the suit jacket was off and his dress shirt was rolled up to the elbow.

He stared at Sasha, probably registering every minute change in her appearance as she did his, before glancing down at the housekeeper. “You’re excused for the day. Thank you for your time.”

He passed her something - probably neatly folded bills - and nodded at her as she shakily nodded back and escaped the flat as quickly as possible. Jon stepped backwards in the hallway, gesturing for her to come out, and walked back into the living room. Because Sasha was just slightly too prideful to barricade herself in the bedroom, and partly because she wasn’t sure that Jon wouldn’t break into a woman’s bedroom, she stepped out into the grandiose yet cluttered living room with him. He stood in the center, hands in his pockets, looking over the flat with a clinical eye.

“Georgie’s sense of interior decoration is as immaculate as ever,” Jon noted clinically. “She used to spend months getting every house we ever lived in just right. Said it was her job as lady of the household. She had never been a lady of any household, of course, not in the way that Jonah and I had once known - but her fun’s important to her, and it doesn’t hurt anybody important.” He sniffed slightly. “You coming to stay here was for the best after all. She’s been lonely, I think.”

“I’m staying here because I’m homeless,” Sasha said flatly. For the first time, she noticed a small manila envelope under his arm, tucked slightly into his back pocket. “Because of you.”

“I’ve kept your flat for you,” Jon said eagerly, stepping forward, and letting his cold mask fall. In him now was something eager, something almost pleading. Sasha forced herself not to step away. “All of your possessions are intact, and I can get your bank accounts unfrozen easily enough. Once all of this blows over, your life can be right back to normal.”

“Wow,” Sasha drawled, crossing her arms, “how kind. Were you so busy being this nice to me that you forgot that Georgie barred you from this flat because I don’t want to fucking look at you?”

“She’ll get over it,” Jon said dismissively. “She’s been wanting us to make up, anyhow.” He stepped closer again, fluorescent green eyes fixed on her large and warm brown ones, and Sasha fought the tingle crawling up her spine. “Sasha, I really am sorry. Jonah was out of line in what he did. But - but you know, he really does know best. Even if it doesn’t seem so. What we’re doing now, it’s for the best for your development. I promise this will all blow over soon, and things will be better. For all of us.”

“For a subject of a truth god,” Sasha said, voice dripping sarcasm, “you have a unique ability to lie to yourself.”

Jon puffed up, scowling down at her. “That’s ridiculous. I -”

“Does Jonah Magnus respect you?” Sasha pressed.

Jon...hesitated, and they both saw it. Jon frantically tried to cover, quickly saying, “Of course he does. I’m his partner, and we’ve been partners for two hundred years. There’s nobody on earth he respects more than me. There’s nobody he respects but me.”

“Then why does he talk to you like you’re an idiot?”

“He talks to everyone like that.”

“Because he doesn’t respect anyone but you. You just said that. But if he respects you, then wouldn’t he talk to you differently?”

There it is - Jon’s shoulders hunched slightly, unconsciously on the defensive. “Does he give you equal input on decisions?”

“I always give my -”

“Does he listen to them?”

Jon was silent. Finally, slowly, he said, “Jonah was right. He said you’d get like this.”

Fuck. Sasha’s heart sank, even as her jaw dropped in incredulity. She had lost him. “You must be kidding.”

“He said you’d get jealous.” Jon crossed his arms, turning slightly away from her, but what he clearly meant to be a closed-off stance just seemed defensive. “He said that you’d get upset that I’m more loyal to him than to you. What we’re doing now is for your own good, Miss James. You’ll see one day that this - this unpleasantness is helping you grow.”

Unpleasantness? Unpleasantness?! Putting her life at risk was an inconvenience? “I’ll see, huh?” Sasha said bitterly. “Just like you saw? Just like how you changed your mind from this being cruel and traumatic to it being a momentary unpleasantness?” She barked a short laugh, not very humorous at all. “I was there. He called you stupid, he said that you couldn’t trust anybody but him, and he called you an idiot. Are those the words of someone who respects you? Of someone who even likes you?”

Jon stiffened, mouth tightening, and he broke eye contact and looked away. “Don’t concern yourself with the private business between Jonah and I.”

“When you’re having the conversation over a cooling corpse that you framed me for then you’re making it my business, you absolute shitheel!” Sasha yelled, finally losing her temper. “Your bullshit is ruining my life! Your complete inability to stand up to that sack of shit is ruining my life!”

“Shut up!” Jon yelled, seemingly having taken her losing her temper as permission to lose his. Distantly, Sasha was aware of his stupid this must have looked: two fully grown adults, yelling in a living room like children. “You’re a spoiled child who doesn’t know anything! All I’ve ever done is try to help you, and you spit in my face! You’re no better than Martin!”

Abruptly, strangely, Jon stopped short. He seemed almost embarrassed, almost in pain.

And just like that, Sasha knew. “He’s not letting you see Martin, is he.”

For just a split second, Jon’s expression crumpled, but he forced it back into his haughty mask. “I decided that it was best I didn’t waste my time with manipulative traitors.”

“Was that your idea?” Sasha asked flatly, abruptly extremely tired. “Or was it Jonah’s?”

Jon was silent. They both knew the answer.

“If you walked up to Jonah now and told him that you wanted to start dating Martin, do you think that you’d leave that conversation still wanting to do it? Or would you somehow decide, all by yourself, that you’ll end up doing what Jonah wants anyway?”

Jon didn’t say anything.

A strange mix of emotions swirled in Sasha’s stomach. Anger and disgust mixed with pity and sadness. What had Jon been like, before he met Jonah Magnus? Had he been a good person?

But maybe that wasn’t so important. Maybe the question that had to be asked was - what kind of person would Jonathan Sims be without Jonah Magnus in his life?

All at once, the fight seemed to go out of Jon. His shoulders sagged, and he abruptly deflated. He looked down at the ground, ashamed and aware of it. He had always been aware of it. He had just been lying to himself. Maybe it was impossible to live without it.

“I don’t know what to do without him,” Jon said quietly. “I’ve never - I need him.”

“You don’t,” Sasha said, abruptly exhausted. “You want to help me, Jon? You want to protect me and Martin? You can’t do that while staying friends with Jonah Magnus. You have to choose. So long as you stay close to him, you are going to stay within his complete control. That’s what he does. He controls everybody and everything. And you’re letting him. You’re justifying it. You’re doing his work for him. Everybody around him is - even Georgie. There are two people in your life who are trying to get you away from him, and he’s trying to convince you to cut them out of your life. You think that’s a coincidence?”

Jon opened his mouth, then closed it. Weakly, he said, “You’re wrong.”

“I need your help, Jon,” Sasha whispered, and to her shame found her voice cracking. “I need someone on my side. I can do it alone, but - but I’m scared. And I don’t want to. I need help. I’m scared.”

But she knew, even as she said it, that Jon was scared too. He couldn’t reach out a hand to her - not now, not here. Jon had carried around his fear for hundreds of years, pushing it down and pretending it wasn’t there, and it informed everything he’d ever done. Scrambling for power, exerting that power, desperately dominating even as he was dominated - it stemmed from that fear, all of it. And Jonah Magnus kept those flames fanned, because a Jon who was afraid was a Jon who could be controlled.

A Sasha who was afraid, who was isolated, who was trapped, was one who could be controlled.

The realization was dizzying. Somehow, the thought that kept running through her mind was - who’d do that? Who was such a terrible person that they’d go through all that trouble, all of that plotting, just to make someone suffer? Not because they disliked them, not in revenge, not because of any human emotion - but just because it was convenient? Useful?

Because you could?

So this was what power did to a person, Sasha realized. So this was what power and immortality and money and supernatural gifts did to you. It made you someone who Sasha could never hope to understand, whose depths of depravity she could never truly rationalize. To Sasha, who prided herself on knowing people and being able to understand them and their motives - it was almost a relief, almost a blessing, that she couldn’t possibly understand the motives of Jonah Magnus at all.

Jon stared at her, fluorescent green eyes wide, and for just a minute she could see the fear that she knew was there written all over his face. For just a minute, Sasha and Jon were scared together, both trapped in tumultuous waters that they couldn’t control. For the first time Sasha empathized with Jon.

Jonah Magnus was somebody that Sasha could never understand. But Jon was, and for the first time Sasha knew what Martin meant when he said that he felt as if Jon had been a good person, a long time ago.

You can’t understand someone and hate them. Not really. You could be angry, upset, betrayed...but if you really understood someone, backwards and forwards, true hate was difficult to find.

“I have to go,” Jon said, almost dizzily. He shoved the manila folder at her, both of them having forgotten that it was even there in the first place. He glanced at it, frightened and guilty. “Be - be careful when meeting Jude Perry. Don’t take her at her word. I have to go.”

He fled, as if the hounds of hell themselves were snapping at his heels, and Sasha was left standing in an opulent hallway, clutching a manila folder as if it was a time bomb, completely certain that it was meant to hurt her and cause her pain and damage her, completely certain that she was going to read it anyway.

Like Jon - what choice did she have?

But as she stumbled back to her room, as she sat down on the comfortable chair and thumbed on the tape recorder that sat at the desk, the words of Jonathan Sims ran through her mind. His warning. A clumsy attempt at protection. At the very least, a signifier of desire.

Sasha knew, as she sometimes knew things, that Jon had started out somebody who deeply desired to protect others like him. To take revenge, to grab power, yes, but also to spread that precious knowledge and resources around. He had never stopped thinking of himself as one of those vulnerable people, people who society had stepped on and ground into the dirt. Deep down he had just wanted things to be fair, wanted some justice in the world. Jon, at one point, had only wanted to help.

Maybe she wasn’t so alone after all.

“Statement of Sasha James, Head Archivist…”

#my writing #YES I KNOW THIS IS TOO LONG FOR A TUMBLR POST BUT CONSIDER: ITS NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR AO3 AND MY STANDARDS ARE INSANE #jonathan sims #georgie barker #sasha james #archivist!sasha #human relations #tma #the magnus archives #tma fanfic #jonmartin #jason's tims age

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blackhakumen · 3 years

Text

Mini Fanfic #692: Teenagers React to Everyone Losing in Mario Golf World Tour (SSBU)

Mario

Mario gets hit by a Green She'll and turns into his little self on Screen.

Futuba: Wait. (Eyes Widened in Complete Disbelief at the Screen) THAT CAN ACTUALLY HAPPEN TO HIM!?

Ren: We've seen this man get stabbed, detonated, and knocked out many times than any of us can count. And none them ever resulted him into being little.

Lavenza: Perhaps it's the Green Shell's doing......(Place her Hand on her Chin and Starts Thinking) Hmmmmm.........

Futuba: (Turns to Lavenza) Anything on your mind, Lavvy-chan?

Lavenza: This might be hunch, but....How about we try devising a plan? Where we can try hitting Mario with a Green Shell ourselves.

Futuba: That way, we can see if he can turn into a small plumber or not. (Smiles Brightly and Excitedly) That's GENIUS!

Ren: (Has a bit of a Curious Smirk on his Face) Wouldn't mind being a part of that plan myself. I think my throwing skills has gotten better overtime.

Futuba: Mines too!

Makoto: (Immediately Gives the Trio Her Signature Cold Niijima Glare) We are NOT throwing a Green Shell at Mario.

Ren: There it is.

Futuba: (Starts Giving Makoto a Disappointed Pouty Face) Makotooo.....

Lavenza: (Genuinely Shocked and Disappointed) But why ever not, Ms. Queen?

Makoto: Because it's very rude and completely uncalled for. I mean seriously, what would Peach say if she saw you three going through with plan? She would be very disappointed. As I am with you three for even thinking about doing this.

Futuba: Come on, sis! Can't we just-

Makoto: (Stares Piercing her Glare) The answer's no and that's final.

Ren/Lavenza/Futuba: (Straighten Themselves Up in a Bit of Fear) Yes, ma'am!

Lavenza: (Genuinely Surprised) Goodness! I have no idea the Queen could be so terrifying....

Futuba: (Starts Shrugging) That's Makoto for ya. Her glares and motherly attitude are completely outmatched in our ragtag group. You know, besides Haru.

Haru: (Happily and Gently Scratches Under Morgana's Chin While He's Sitting and Purring onto her Lap, Causing her to Giggle Softly Altogether)

Lavenza: I see.... So I suppose nothing could ever try and faze her in some occasions, yes?

Futuba: For the most part.

Ren: (Smirks Like a Love Struck Dork) That's one of the million reasons why I love that beautiful woman after all~

Makoto: (Pouts at Ren) Stop trying to flattering me, Ren-Ren!~ The answer's still no!

Ren: (Chuckles Lightly) We know that already, 'hon~ I just wanted to tell you how much I love you is all~ (Kiss Makoto on the Cheek)

Makoto: (Lays her Head on Ren's Shoulder Once She Begins to Blush) Dummyhead~ (Hugs Ren Afterwards) Love you too~

Futuba: (Puts on a Deadpinned Look on Her Planned) Unless your name is Ren-Ren and try making her blush like a strawberry.....

Lavenza: Fascinating.....

Coco: (Writing Down Somthing on her Notepad)

Tails: Writing down possible theories and methods of any of this makes sense?

Coco: Yup!~

Luigi

Luigi sadly slouches down onto the floor and gets licked by a Boo on screen.

Yoshi: I dunno which is sadder.... Seeing my Luigi being sad or seeing him getting licked by a random Boo.

Pit: (Starts Shrugging Slowly) At least he didn't call himself a loser that time.

Yoshi: Yeah.

Peach

Peach dramatically faints, with heartstrings playing in the background, on screen.

Sonic: ('Sigh') There goes mom being dramatic again.....

Amy: (Happily Resting her Head into Sonic's Shoulder) I feel like you've gotten that from her as of late.

Sonic: ('Heh') Yeah right. Like I can be a drama as well-

Amy: Ice cream on Chili Dogs.

Sonic: (Eyes Widened and Gasps Loudly From his Girlfriend's Sudden Words and Dramatically Points at her) How DARE YOU say those words in front of me!? Your own BOYFRIEND!

Amy: (Giggles Softly at How Adorable her Sonic is Being Right Now) I rest my case~

Yoshi

Yoshi went into his egg in a very sad manner and starts rolling around the area before falling down on screen.

Ann: (Place her Hands onto her Mouth) Oh my gosh! This is so hard to watch!

Shiho: (Hugs Ann's Arm) This is so sad....

Haru: And so adorable at the same time!~

Morgana: (Sighs While Rolling his Eyes)

Futuba: (Raise her Hand) All in a agreement to hug Yoshi later on, say aye!

Ann/Shiho/Haru: (Raises Their Hands as Well) AYE!~

Lavenza: (Raises her Hand as Well) I would also like to join in this event as well!

Dark Pit: (Smirks Smugly at an Already Annoyed Yoshi) Guess who's back on his cuteness bullshit?

Ryuji: (Chuckles Lightly) Yeah.

Yoshi: For the love of...(Gets Up From his Seat) Why does everyone in this room thinks I'm cute?

Ann: Because you are-

Yoshi: Okay. I get. I flutter jump, I turn into an egg, and I admit, I do have a cute face. But for GOD SAKES, I know Kung Fu! I-I know how to drive a car with little to no problem! (Got Out his Trusty Nunchucks) I even learned how to use Nunchucks and everything!!!

Ryuji: Come on, man. You're overreacting.

Coco: Yeah. There's nothing wrong having a little cuteness in ya. (Happily Gives Yoshi a Thumbs Up) I think it suits you perfectly well.

Yoshi: (Turns to Tails) See, even your girlfriend thinks I'm cute, Tails!

Tails: (Eyes Widened at What Yoshi Just Said) Wait.....

Tails/Coco: WHAAAAAAAAAT!!!!!?

Coco: (Starts Blushing Herself) B-B-But weren't not dating! We're best friends!

Tails: (Starts Blushing as Well) E-Exactly! A-And besides.....(Chuckles a bit Lately) I-I'm pretty sure Coco wouldn't really be interested in dating someone as boring as me-

Coco: ('GASPS') (Pouts at Tails) Miles Tails Prower, how could you!!?

Tails: (Taken Aback by Coco's Sudden Change of Attitude) What? W-What did I say?

Coco: How could you say that about yourself!? You are absolutely NOT boring to me at all!

Tails: Y-You think so-

Coco: (Grabs Tails' Hands and Gently Squeezes Them) I KNOW so, mister! You're the most smartest, brilliant, precious little cinnamon roll I've ever met and anyone who thinks otherwise are dumb and stupid!

Tails: (Almost at a Loss of Words) Coco.....

Coco: I mean it, Tails! I don't EVER wanna see you put yourself down like that ever again, you hear me!?

Tails: I won't do that anymore! I promise!

Coco: (Stares at Tails For a Brief Second Before Sighing) Good. (Gives Tails a Loving Hug) I'm glad we come to an understanding. I love you, bud.

Tails: (Chuckles Lightly While Hugging Coco Back) I love you too, Coco. Thank you.

Almost Everyone: (Stares at the Best Friends Hugging Each Other) (Yeah. They would SO be cute couple together.)

Amy: (So CUUUUUUUUTEEEE!!!~)

Daisy

Daisy tries calming herself down before taking one look at the camera and starts angrily stomping and looking away on screen.

Ryuji: Sheesh. Even when she try to calm down, she still gets angry....

Yoshi: That's my mom for ya. Always a low-key bad sport.

Donkey Kong

Donkey Kong starts slapping the ground angrily before a random barrel came down and hit his head, causing him to fall down unconscious on screen.

Yusuke: That has to be a painful experience to go through.

Futuba: Tell me about it. I highly doubt that any normal human could survive a random barrel falling down on their heads.....or their entire body.

Ryuji: I envy that gorilla sometimes....

Diddy Kong

Diddy Kong lazily eats his banana, throws the peel on the floor beside him, gets up, ,immediately slips on the peel and fell on screen.

Ren: Yeah. No. He had that one coming.

Everyone: (Nodding and Completely Agrees to What Ren was Saying) Yeah./ Very True./ Uh huh.

Wario

Wario gets struck by lightning on screen.

Ryuji: (Eyes Widened in Complete Shock) JESUS! Where the hell did that lightning came from? It's not even raining outside!

Yusuke: Perhaps there's more to this universe than we originally thought....

Waluigi

Waluigi starts acting dramatic to losing before falling down into a black hole, that suddenly appears out of nowhere, on screen.

Futuba: Wha-Wha- WHAT!? How is even possible!? W-W-WHERE DID THAT BLACK HOLE EVEN CAME FROM!?

Morgana: (Shakes his Head Slowly) I don't even know anymore, Futuba....

Futuba: Damnit! (Looks Up Into the Ceiling in Anger) NONE OF THIS MAKES ANY SENSE!!!

Lavenza: There's a lot of things that doesn't make sense, Big Sister Futuba.

Bowser

Bowser angrily punches a camera on screen.

Ryuji: WOAH WOAH WOAH! What the hell was that all about!?

Ren: A evil, giant turtle getting mad over a simple game of golf....Kind of sounds a lot sadder when I say it out loud.

Ryuji: Right!? It's just a frickin' golf game! Why do they have get so hell-bent over it everytime they lose!?

Ren: I don't think anyone really knows at this point, man.

Bowser Jr.

Bowser Jr throwing his usual temper tantrum on screen.

Morgana: (Starts Sighing While Rolling his Eyes) Here comes another Bowser Jr's cuteness hour.....

Futuba: (Teasingly Pokes Morgan's Cheeks) Getting jealous there, Mona?~

Haru: (Immediately Pulls Morgana into a Loving Hug) Oh my sweet, little Mona-Chan!~ Please don't be jealous of Bowser Jr-kun anymore! I promise I love you with all of my heart!~ (Begins Kissing Morgana's Cheek)

Morgana: (Starts Getting Ticklish by Haru's Kisses) Haru! Come on! I believe you already! Really!

Lavenza: (Turns to Futuba) What exactly is happening here right now? Is Mona-Chan really jealous of this Bowser Jr character?

Futuba; (Simply Nodded) Oh big time. He thinks Haru thinks that the little guy is more cuter than he is.

Lavenza: ('Gasps') That is crazy talk....(Turns to Morgana) Mona-Chan!

Morgana: (Turns to Lavenza) Huh? What's wrong, Lavenza?

Lavenza: (Gently Grab Both of Mona's Paws) There us no need for you feel any jealousy towards Bowser Jr. While it is true that his overall appearance is cute to look at, you are and always will a precious feline in my very eyes!

Morgana: (Eyes Widened in Genuine Surprise While Blushing) Y-You.... really mean that, Lavenza?

Lavenza: Why, of course I do. (Joins into Morgana and Haru's Hug) I wouldn't be here, telling you this if I don't.

Haru: Lavvy-chan is absolutely right on this, sweetheart. You're a lot more precious than give yourself credit for. So please don't be jealous anymore, okay?

Morgana: (Sighs While Being Overwhelmed by the Group Hug) I'll try not to....(Smiles a Little) Thanks, you guys.

Futuba: (Smirk Softly at the Trio While Silently Taking a Few Pictures of Them ('Heh Heh') Dorks.

Rosalina

Rosalina faints....and accidentally fell down on the Lumas, who were trying to help her up, on screen.

'Thud'

Most People in the Living Room: Oh!

Yoshi: That has got to leave a mark.

Pit: I know. I kind of feel bad for those poor little Lumas....

Dark Pit: They're floating, magical stars with eyes, Pit-Stain. They'll be fine.

Birdo

Birdo angrily shoots eggs at the camera on screen.

Ann: (Really Glares at the Screen) Really?! What is with these people and breaking camera screens!? Do they honestly even know how much those things cost!!?

Shiho: (Simply Shrugs) I guess they really can't stand the fact they've lost a game golf.

Ann: Right!?

Toad

Two Toads tries to cheer up the main Toad by cheerleading on screen.

Ren: Huh. Cheerleading Toads.... That's a new one.

Makoto: It's cute how they try to do whatever they can to support each other.

Ren: I agree. It's also ironic how this is the most normal reaction of losing out of everyone else we've seen so far.

Makoto: ('Sigh') Yeah.....

Nabbit

Nabbit hides under a bag....only to get eaten by a Piranha Plant on screen.

Dark Pit: Alright. I'm about to lose it in a matter of seconds, if someone in this room don't tell me why in the hell does that dumbass thought that having a Piranha in his bag was even remotely a good idea!

Ren: ('Sigh') Yeah. I think we're done here.

..............................................................

Sonic: Sheesh....That was a lot more insane to watch through than I thought it would be.....

Yusuke: Not the most cringe worthy event I have ever seen so far, but it was still rather.... interesting to watch, to say the least.

Amy: I know..... I had no idea they would took golf so seriously...

Ryuji: You're telling me. I mean, really, I can't believe these guys were making a huge deal about losing one single game of golf! GOLF!! Probably one of the most boring sports in all of the frickin universe!!

Ren: Well, knowing Mario and the gang, I'm pretty sure they found a way to make the sport more fun to them.

Ryuji: That might be the true, but that doesn't make what we just saw, any better, bro!!

Ren: ('Sigh') Yeah. It.... really doesn't.

Futuba: (Found Something Interesting on his Phone) Huh.

Pit: What you found, Futuba?

Futuba: (Shows Everyone Beside her Phone) It says here that Mario and the others are hosting an all new golf tournament next month. It's called the "Mario Golf: Super Rush Tournament"

Yoshi: (Takes a Look at Futuba's Phone) Yep. Seems pretty legit to me.

Everyone: (Nodded in Agreement)

Makoto: They're going to embarrass themselves in that tournament, are they?

Ren: I'd be surprised if they didn't.

Makoto: You're gonna record the whole thing, are you?

Ren: (Chuckles Lightly) Oho yeah.....

@keyenuta

@26shann

@princekirijo

@cyber-wildcat

@albion-93

@lovekittynoir

@italian-love-cake

@ma-lemons

@craftyfreakdragonuniversity

@caleb13frede

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hypnoticwinter · 4 years

Text

Down the Rabbit Hole part 9

The line creaks again menacingly, and Peter glares up at the broad webbed piton. “Goddam it,” he mutters.

“Did you say something?” Makado calls from below, and he glares down at her and kicks off, sliding down another seven or eight feet towards the gangway below. Makado, her ranger suit still half-unzipped, her hair still messy, grins at him, and he shakes his head but is unable to prevent himself from smiling back at her.

“This was a bad idea,” he grumbles again.

“You’re fine, you’re halfway there.”

“I don’t think it’s holding.”

“Don’t be such a baby, it’s fine. I made it and it didn’t even budge.”

“You also weigh like ninety pounds, so…”

“Excuse me,” she says, crossing her arms. “I’ll have you know I weigh a hundred and twenty.”

“Oh, okay, so I only have eighty pounds on you instead of a hundred and ten, I’m sure that makes a big difference to the piton.”

“I triple-checked it, you’re fine.”

Peter again glances downward into the Pit and sees nothing but a yawning darkness beneath him; he’s able to tear his eyes away after a moment but when he closes them he thinks he can see the inky, writhing darkness of the Pit’s gullet, not just the mundane blackness of his closed eyelids.

He opens them and pushes off again, sliding down another six feet or so. Again he feels the line shifting and he makes sure he has a good grip on the folding climbing axe Makado had handed him.

Peter is ostensibly qualified to do this sort of thing, but the last time he’s had to rappel down a sheer cliff wall would probably have been seven or eight years ago and he’s understandably rusty. The recent spat of anti-rappelling regulations, both for guests and rangers, made it difficult to even get any sort of practice in, after that guest slipped and died trying to rappel down into a venterial sink to retrieve a dropped cell phone. It had turned out he had been using a normal climbing piton and not one of the special (and expensive) expandable pitons necessary for climbing in the Pit, but even so Admin had been very clear that nobody ought to be rappelling if they could help it. Today, however, was obviously special circumstances.

“You’re not afraid of heights, are you?” Makado asks, and Peter groans.

“No, Makado, I’m not afraid of heights.”

“Are you sure?” Makado teases.

“I’m not afraid of heights, I’m afraid of falling.”

“Don’t fall, then.”

“Mak, you’re not helping.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice instantly softer. “Look, you’re almost there. Two more jumps.”

Peter pushes off and again he feels the rope jostle. “Mak, I’m gonna fall,” he says quickly. His mind is entirely blank; he can feel nothing but a sudden animal fear that feels as though it will claw its way up his throat and burst out of him.

“Peter, it’s okay. You’re close. One more jump.”

He is clinging to the rope so tightly that he can feel it burning against his palms, even through his suit gloves. He can’t make his legs move.

“Peter, you’re fine. You’re totally fine. I’m right here, I’ll grab you. One more jump.”

He pushes off again and feels a sudden wrench as the piton nearly comes free, and his heart pushes upwards into his throat. His face is a rictus grin as every one of his muscles tightens, a desperate instinctive attempt to scrabble to higher ground that simply isn’t anywhere to be found. He hangs there, suspended like a drop of rain, like a thrown rock at the apex of its arc, for what feels like much, much longer than the split second that it takes before gravity grabs him and shoves him back down again. He feels his heart rise up into his throat and he stares upwards at the piton, at the straining flesh, torn already at the sides, that it’s clinging to, and then Makado grabs him around the waist.

“Jesus Christ, you’re fucking heavy,” she mutters, pulling him backwards. He can feel the railing press against his back. “Alright, you’re gonna have to work with me here.”

“Mak, it’s going to –“

“Move your legs up, I can’t lift you.”

Peter manages to hike one of his legs over the railing before the piton breaks loose entirely, bringing with it a spray of venterial blood that falls like a fountain down into the Pit’s throat before the pressure squeezes the cut sealed again. Peter wobbles unsteadily there, perched on the railing, and feels himself tipping before Makado flings herself backwards, arms still around him, and pulls him over the side onto the gangway. She lies there for a moment, breathing heavily, then wriggles out from beneath Peter. “You okay?” she asks, and he nods after a moment. Her eyes flicker over his taut face down to his hands, still clenching the rope. She reaches down and gently disengages his fingers from it and after a moment he lets it drop, and Makado sits up and starts winding it up back into the carrying spool, hitting the release on Peter’s belt to let it fall from him.

“You sure you aren’t scared of heights?” she asks, glancing over at him, eyes heavy-lidded.

“Maybe a little.”

“It’s okay,” she says. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I would have fallen all the way down there and fuckin’ splattered –“

“You didn’t though.”

“Yeah, but –“

“It’s okay,” she tells him again, and then she kisses him. He looks at her once their lips part and a small string of saliva extends between them and Makado laughs and breaks it with her finger. “Up until I was like 20 I was deathly afraid of the dark.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “I slept with a nightlight or with the TV on or anything to make sure there was light. I thought – well, I don’t know what I thought. It wasn’t rational.“

“Fear isn’t, usually.”

Peter leans over and puts his arm around her. She still smells like peaches. “Why do you smell like peaches?” he asks her, and Makado laughs until she has tears in her eyes.

“That’s what you ask me? Why I smell like peaches?”

“I love it, you smell wonderful.”

“It’s my shampoo. Smell my hair.”

He smells her hair, then holds her closer and breathes in even deeper while she laughs and struggles to get away. “You are such a fucking dork,” she laughs, and then Peter runs his fingers through her hair, traces his nails over her scalp, and she cranes her neck backward into his hand. “God,” she moans. “Stop it, we have to go to the Pleasure Domes.”

“We’ve got time.”

“We had time like ten minutes ago, now we have to go. We used up all of our time getting dressed.”

“And whose fault was that?”

“I don’t recall you complaining.”

“That’s beside the point.”

“Do you want to hear the end of the damn story about me being afraid of the dark?”

“Yeah,” Peter says, taking his hand out of her hair. She groans.

“Wait, no, go back.”

“Tell the story.”

“Fine. Jerk.”

“Tell the damn story, Mak,” he laughs. “Commander Kim is going to hit us up on the radio and tell us to stop fucking around.”

“You know what I had to hear to make me realize that there was nothing to be afraid of in the dark?”

“What’s that?”

“My guidance counselor at school said to me that there was nothing there in the dark that wasn’t there in the light, and that made me feel better. So I started sleeping without as many lights, and then finally with no light at all.”

“There’s nothing there in the dark that isn’t there in the light,” Peter repeats. “I like that. That’s catchy.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“How’s that supposed to help me get over a fear of falling?”

Makado thinks about it for a moment then pushes Peter lightly, and grins when he pretends to fall over. “Ouch,” he says. “Oh god, my ankle. Call Commander Kim, we can’t go on, we have to get out of here. Give us some paid leave.”

“Get up,” she tells him, kicking him in the back, little tiny beats with the fronts of her steel-toes. “Get up Freddie.”

“What?”

“Never mind. Come on.”

“Who’s Freddie?”

“Freddie Mercury. It’s a reference. Let’s go.”

Peter gets to his feet, grumbling and complaining, but in a good-natured way, and then Makado throws her arm around him and he puts his around her waist and they march off like that into the dark.

* * *

Incident Commander Kim had sounded audibly relieved when Makado had answered the radio call. He’d told them to go to a different channel and they’d waited there for a moment until he’d gotten on again and briefed them that someone had hit the general alarm on a call box in the Pleasure Domes, so it was probably guests, not a ranger; a ranger would have just used their own emergency beacon. Initial seismic readings had indicated that the Domes had weathered the contractions relatively unscathed; the bathhouse had withstood the crushing pressures easily enough and while a few of the smaller Domes had popped, they didn’t think there was anyone in them at the time.

While Kim had droned on Peter had continued trying to figure out where he’d heard Kim before; the name hadn’t sounded familiar but his voice grew more and more so the longer he’d talked. Plus he had a tiny, nearly indistinguishable sliver of an accent that added a hint of distinctiveness to his otherwise rigorous and clipped tones. He didn’t recognize the name so it had to be somebody from Admin, someone in management, who he naturally wouldn’t have had much to do with.

“We’re not receiving reports of anything larger than macrobacteria in the pools, so you shouldn’t have any trouble there,” he’d said to Makado. Their eyes met and she’d rolled hers at Peter, and he’d grinned. “Just get down there and see what the deal is with those people, and get them out if you can. We’re trying to have everybody out of the park by two tonight.”

“What happens at two?” Makado had asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” he told her. “You have your orders, ranger.”

“Head Ranger,” Makado had grumbled, but the transmission was over.

* * *

“Hey,” he says to Makado, halfway down to the tunnel to the Pleasure Domes. “I figured out where I’d heard Kim’s voice before.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. He’s in HR. I had to go to a mandatory seminar last year and he was the guy leading it.”

Makado stops and looks at Peter. “He’s in HR?”

“Unless he got promoted to something different.”

“And he’s the Incident Commander?”

“Sure sounded that way on the radio.”

“Jesus.”

“No wonder everything was so fucked out there. Everybody else important must have been off for the Fourth.”

“I don’t know if you saw,” Makado said softly, “but on my way up the cliff when I was heading back, I caught a glimpse of another amalgam. They were wheeling it out on a stretcher but it was so big that bits were hanging out of the sheet they’d put over it.”

“You mean…”

She nods.

“Dead?” Peter asks, and she shrugs.

“Either dead or close to it.”

A long time ago, long enough that Makado was still taking care of her sister and hadn’t even heard of Mystery Flesh Pit, and Peter was still a green ranger doing grunt work at the LVC, a couple of guests, twin sisters Beverly and Vivian Green, had stumbled across an amorphous pile of flesh and organs nearly ten feet in diameter, laying there on the floor of the Organ Trail, glistening wetly in the harsh overhead lights. They’d stopped as soon as they’d seen it and Vivian had pulled the slim brochure they’d taken from the LVC and looked through it, trying to identify the carcass they saw ahead of them. Beverly had taken a couple of steps toward it and then the two sisters had had an argument, Vivian telling Beverly that she’d better not move towards it, what if it’s dangerous, and Beverly saying that the thing, whatever it was, was clearly hurt and that they had to help it, and Vivian retorting that they weren’t equipped to help it, they didn’t know a damn thing about biology or medicine and that they’d better head back to that call box and dial it and tell a ranger there was something really strange and hurt down there, and the argument then devolved into a brief discussion as to whether or not people really ever used those callboxes and whether they were properly maintained and whether or not you could get a fine if you used one when it wasn’t strictly necessary, and so on and so forth.

Luckily for the lawyers retained by Anodyne, they happened to do most of their arguing directly beneath a trail camera that captured not only the content of their argument, but also what happened next, when the amalgam creature sitting slopped heavily at the bottom of the trail raised its bloody, dripping, human head and began screaming and begging in a distorted, crazed voice, while raising itself on various limbs and shambling towards them.

Anatomical amalgamation is a strange process that can occur in certain areas of the Pit that are in close proximity to both digestive glands and ballast bulbs; a common fact most visitors are unaware of is that naturally occurring ballast bulbs are dotted throughout the Pit’s anatomy, instead of just being clustered around the location of the Pleasure Domes, so this particular combination of locations isn’t particularly rare. The healing properties of untreated and undiluted amniotic ballast can heal even rather severe injuries, but when combined with gastric acid can produce a strange sort of melting effect that can lead to different creatures with wildly different anatomies becoming combined in strange and unpredictable ways, without actually dying, or at least not dying immediately. Depending on how compatible the two (or more – there really is no upper limit beyond circumstance and basic physics) different biologies are, amalgams can end up living anywhere from a couple of hours to a couple of weeks, although generally most fall into the one to two-day range, and most deaths are generally believed to be due to starvation.

The particular amalgam that the Green sisters ran into was a combination of several pronghorn deer, one or two peccary (or javelina), a small female black bear, and a 38-year-old man who was later identified through dental records to be Gregory H. Wise, an avid hiker who, relatives claimed, ought to have been at his residence in Houston at the time. Later investigation turned up enough bills and mail accumulated at his house to indicate that he had been missing for over a week prior to his discovery at Mystery Flesh Pit.

During the court proceedings, the video from the trail camera was played, which showed Vivian fainting almost as soon as the amalgam became active, as well as Beverly attempting to move her sister but being unable to do so before the amalgam drew close to them and Beverly abandoned her sister and ran to the call box approximately half a mile up the trail. Of the remaining twenty-one minutes of trail camera footage, which showed the amalgam restraining and partially consuming Vivian while she attempted to escape before then withdrawing deeper into the Pit with Vivian’s half-eaten remains, only two minutes were played. Anodyne’s lawyers were able to show that the sisters had disregarded wildlife safety instructions they had been given during the mandatory five-minute video and, thanks to the waiver the sisters had signed before venturing alone into the Pit, were able to get the suit dismissed entirely.

The issue of the amalgam, however, was not so easily resolved. Given the nickname ‘Andre’ by the ranger team assigned to track it down and subdue it, mostly due to its large size and surprising durability, it proved notably evasive and cunning, several times organizing distractions or ambushes to attempt to draw the ranger team off its trail or to separate them so that it could pick them off. Unaccompanied travel on the Organ Trail was suspended entirely for nearly two weeks, an unheard-of event in park history, while the ranger team tracked the creature, and eventually they were able to surprise it and subdue it; however, during transport back to the Lower Visitor Center the amalgam was able to escape from its restraints and it had to be put down; the sordid affair was over and the entire Pit, it seemed, breathed a sigh of relief.

Since then, nobody had seen an amalgam with human components. ‘Andre’ was still whispered about by some of the old guard who’d actually been around while it was active, but over the years it had evolved into less of a historical footnote and more of a myth, a boogieman used to spook credulous guests and trainee rangers. Andre is still out there, went the story, he was never actually caught or killed, he escaped into the depths of the Pit and is still eating and growing. Sometimes at night you can hear his moans and screams, echoing from far away…

Of course, none of that is true. ‘Andre’s’ carcass was brought back to the LVC, then up to the surface in an opaque containment box, and is reportedly still kept there in one of the laboratories for study. Still, in an environment like the Pit, the various strange and inexplicable noises, smells, and reactions of the living environment can give such ghost stories more credence than they deserve.

All this and more flashed through Peter’s head when Makado suggested that she’d seen an amalgam with human features. He shakes his head at her. “This is fucked,” he says. “This whole thing. This park is going to fucking shut down after this shit.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Did you see those ejecta stains? Kim put everything way too close to the edge. I wouldn’t be surprised if people died cause of that, cause they got vomited on.”

“I saw Bruce with an acid burn,” he says, and Makado starts.

“Was he okay? Could you tell?”

“It was bad but he was alive, they were wheeling him into a hospital.”

“Okay,” she says, sounding like she’s trying to convince herself. “He’s probably okay then.”

“Christ. Let’s get to the Domes and get out of here before any more shit happens tonight.”

They make their way along the gangway in silence, and then pass into the fleshy walls of the Pit. The corridor widens, enough to fit three abreast or for one of the utility carts to ride down if need be, and Peter and Makado spread out, Makado in front, Peter several feet behind. She looks back and grins at him halfway down but they stay silent, letting the groans and creaks and flexes of the Pit fill their ears.

The convulsions are continuing below their feet but they can identify them now as the familiar quake of peristalsis, the gullet continuing to crush and grind and contract against the slipping LVC.

Once they’d forced open the door to the walkway that once lead down from Bronchial to the LVC they had stood there, staring down at the mangled metal, down through the crazily canted grating, down at the gigantic lozenge shape of the LVC, slipped sideways and far, far downwards in the gullet than it ought to be. The lights inside were dark and above they could see a thick reinforced bundle of wires and cables, thick as a tree trunk, dangling against the Pit’s throat and leaving a blackened, charred scorch mark where it brushed against the flesh. “Jesus,” Makado had breathed, and Peter had agreed with her; it felt like a violation, like an attack; the LVC’s stabilizing arms, mighty hydraulic plates and pistons and buffers, had laid limply, half crushed, like unconscious limbs. As they watched the flesh of the gullet had convulsed again and the LVC had slipped further down, only by a couple of feet, but it was still slipping, was still being consumed.

The walkway to the Domes judders beneath their feet and Peter reaches out for balance, grips onto the railing; Makado puts her arms out to steady herself but rides out the shudder. That wasn’t peristalsis, that was some other twitch or tic, some bundle of muscles perhaps miles long convulsing deep below them, the effects ricocheting upwards like falling dominos until it reached them. It stops or at least quiets after a minute or so, and they share a guarded look, both of them wondering the same thing – how much worse is this going to get? Is the Pit going to fall back asleep or wake up? What the hell would it even mean if it did wake up?

As they approach the bathhouse, a smaller rounded structure designed as a staging area for visitors entering the baths, with lockers, showers, and so on, they can hear the familiar wet slopping sound of the rhythmic waves of ballast lapping against a pool. They look at each other again and Peter grins.

“Wish I could take you to the Domes under better circumstances.”

Makado barks out a short laugh then remembers herself and covers her mouth. “You already had me once tonight,” she reminds him, “don’t get greedy.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I need you on point, cut the blood flow down there,” she says, glancing meaningfully at his groin, and now Peter is the one stifling a laugh. He takes out his pistol and checks it, again not needing to, but the routine action makes him feel a little better. Makado observes, one sardonic eyebrow raised.

“Nothing other than macros down here, remember?” she says.

“Yeah, well, I trust Kim about as far as I can throw him, so…”

“Me too,” Makado agrees. She checks her own pistol and for a moment there’s nothing but metallic clicks. Makado looks up. “How many extra magazines do you have?”

“Three, you?”

“Two, I don’t have enough room on my damn belt because I’m so skinny. Can you give me one?”

“Then I’ll have two.”

“You’re bigger than I am, you only need two.”

“What am I supposed to do, just punch the copepods?”

Makado laughs again, quieter this time. “If there’s a copepod in there we’ve got bigger problems. Come on, give me a mag.”

“I’ll trade you a mag for a stunner battery.”

“You’re really going to trade, not just give it to me?”

“Unless there’s something else you’d like to trade,” he says, waggling his eyebrows at her, and she rolls her eyes, a grin spreading across her face. She stretches up and punches him in the shoulder.

“You’re ridiculous. Let’s go.”

“Hang on,” Peter says. “Call Kim and ask him for a position update.”

“Can’t we just go and stick our heads in and then walk back?”

“You’re the one who wanted to get involved in this in the first place, let’s not half-ass it now.”

“Yeah,” Makado agrees. “Kim seems to be doing enough half-assing for everyone.”

They call Kim, there on the edge of the bathhouse, the sound of ballast still lapping in the background. He picks up eventually, sounding harried; it takes ten minutes for him to get a status on the signal they’re supposed to be tracking, but he gets it to them eventually, and then they sign off and enter the bathhouse. It’s in disarray but not so much so that something might be in there, lurking and waiting for them; it seems, to Makado at least, like just the ordinary sort of panicked mess that would result if the convulsion alarms went off while people were still inside, some half-naked, some still showering, and so on. The lights are off but the emergency lighting seems brighter here, due to it being tighter quarters. They walk slowly through the bathhouse, clearing corners as they go, checking the showers – someone left one of the showers on and the water is seeping out into the tiled floor of the lobby – but they’re empty.

They regroup, finally, at the entrance to the stairs down to the lower baths, the Domes below level four that Makado was never able to get promoted to. She looks at Peter and he looks at her; the elevator is clearly out of commission, they can peer clear down the shaft and see the breaks in the line from where it was squeezed too tightly by the flesh surrounding it. They’re thinking the same thing – if someone is injured they won’t be able to carry them up the twelve or thirteen flights of stairs to get them to safety, not to mention the actual journey up and out of the Pit. Kim had told them that an emergency venterial crew was going to be widening a route into the Pit but had been unable to give them more than a general timeframe on when it would be ready for use. Peter and Makado had planned to make their way out through Bronchial again if they’d had to, but after the incident with the rope and piton, they’d probably have to take an even longer, more circuitous route to get there, one that probably would be difficult, if not impossible with who knows how many injured people in tow; they had medkits and hypos that could help but neither of them were trained to deal with real serious injuries.

Makado glances at Peter again and bites her lip; he looks resolved, his jaw set in a hard line, but she can see how tired he is just from the subtle slump to his shoulders, the cast to his eyes.

The way Kim had phrased it, he’d made it sound like it was just a quick check; then after Makado had said they were in the area and could make it down there quickly, he’d told her that seismo had confirmed at least four or five people stuck in a Dome; he couldn’t say why, or if they were hurt, but surely they were – if they weren’t, they would have been able to make their way up to the bathhouse at least…right?

“Hey,” Peter says, nudging her out of her reverie. “You good?”

“Yeah,” she says. “I’m sorry I –“

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says. “We can help. You made the right call.”

“But –“

“No buts. Let’s get this done.”

And with that, Peter grins at her, his teeth glinting a dull red in the e-lighting, and they vanish down the darkly litten stairs, deeper down the rabbit hole.

* * *

“Oh, Jesus,” Makado says, stopping at a landing, one hand clapping loudly to her forehead. Peter turns, peers at her uncertainly.

“What is it?” he asks, and Makado shakes her head.

“I have a killer headache all of a sudden.”

“Mak,” he says, pointing. “Your nose.”

Her eyes ice with confusion as she raises her hand to her nose. She draws it back and her mouth drops open slightly when she sees the blood on her palm. “Shit,” she says. “What the fuck is –“

“Fuck!” Peter groans, and Makado jumps.

“What is –“

“I’ve got a headache too now.”

They stare at each other for a moment. “What the fuck is going on?”

“I don’t know,” Peter says. He takes a knee, his eyes swimming. It feels as though his head is splitting in two, and his eyes are watering so badly that he can barely see the medkit he’s rooting through. He hears a loud crack and looks up to see Makado holding a test canister in her hand, snapped in half to activate. Her eyes are fixed on the little glass readout; he can see her lips moving as she counts quietly to thirty. He tosses her a gauze pack and she holds it to her nose, not taking her eyes off of the canister. She shakes her head finally.

“Nothing chemical, the air’s breathable.”

“Then what the fuck is –“

Something clicks inside of Peter’s head and he stops talking. Makado looks at him. His eyes are bleary and unfocused; he can see two of her and it’s only with difficulty that he can make the images resolve themselves. She’s looking at him, eyes wide with concern, the gauze pack already turning pink with the absorbed blood. “What is it?” she asks. “What’s wrong?”

Peter isn’t able to put his finger on it. “I don’t know,” he says. “Something’s wrong, something isn’t right.”

Makado laughs, loudly. Her lips are drawn back in a fake smile but her eyes are just as bright and alert and worried as they were a moment before. She freezes. “I didn’t do that,” she blurts. “I didn’t laugh, I didn’t –“

Peter realizes what feels wrong. He hasn’t had a conscious thought for two minutes now. He tries to think of something but finds that he can’t. His mind is utterly blank. He opens his mouth to tell Makado this but he can’t. She reaches out and clings on to him. Her legs aren’t working properly; one of her knees keeps bending and she isn’t moving it. Something else is, someone else in her head is pulling the levers.

Gradually over the next five minutes the feeling passes from them. Makado’s limbs stop twitching to themselves and the rictus grin that had drawn back her lips departs from her, and slowly, as though from a great distance, Peter can feel his headache fading and his thoughts returning. Makado raises her head from where she was cradling it in her hands; Peter can see the dried blood all down the front of her face cracking like desert soil as she licks her lips. She makes a face, experimentally, as though she isn’t sure her muscles will obey her.

“You good?”

She blows a breath out. “No,” she says. “I’m scared. What the fuck was that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Have you ever felt anything like that before while you were working here?”

“No, never.”

Peter rises to his feet finally. He holds a hand out, and Makado takes it. Her face is pale, or at least paler. “Let’s get this done,” he says again, trying to smile, but it’s forced and Makado can tell.

“What if that happens again?”

“More reason to get it done quickly.”

They make their way slowly, haltingly, down to the Salus bath. Middling potency, medium popularity. Its main benefit was that, aside from the main bath, Salus is the biggest. Plenty of ogling going on while the park was open and not in the process of tearing itself apart. At the same time, not potent enough to send anybody into any potentially dangerous paroxysms of lust, except for maybe the most excitable of psyches, but that’s the human element, isn’t it?

Makado can smell it before they get there, a thick stench of rot and decay, almost sweet. She looks at Peter and can tell from his face that he knows it’s going to be bad. Ballast doesn’t have much of a smell to it naturally; a faint, faint odor of vanilla, something of a filmy organic taste. Nothing like the thick smell wafting down the padded, gentle corridor at them like it’s a real thing, walking at them with balled fists, ready to do harm.

“Jesus,” Makado says again, and Peter, eyes watering, draws his pistol and holds it low by his hip. With one finger he works the slide backwards enough to see the gleam of the cartridge in the chamber and then, faintly reassured, holds his hand over his mouth and nods to Makado, and she reaches forward and pushes the door open and Peter enters the bath before he can reconsider.

The bath is large enough that the emergency lights leave a little to be desired, darkness crabbing itself into the corners as they push inwards, Makado’s hand resting on the butt of her pistol, her eyes wide, jumping like roulette wheels, checking angles.

Peter frowns. “Red eye,” he says.

“Whole rye,” Makado says automatically, drawing closer to him. He reaches out blindly for her, palm open.

“Give me your flashlight.”

She slips it to him without questioning. She can see what’s caught his attention; the Dome’s roof has ruptured and a steady stream of something is pouring from it, trickling downwards and splashing onto…something. A big, clustered, huddled something, hunkered there as though it were waiting for them, there on the far side of the pool. Peter clicks the flashlight on; the beam flashes upwards, illuminating the ceiling, and he shifts it to cover the bloody tear in the ceiling and they both can see the tell-tale off-yellow color of gastric acid pouring in. Makado feels her stomach clench reflexively.

“Shit,” she says.

Peter brings the flashlight down further, tracking the stream. “Stop,” she says. She can feel panic in the back of her throat. “Stop, Pete, let’s go, we need to fucking leave, this isn’t going to be good.”

He brings the beam down further and for a moment neither of them can comprehend what they’re gazing at. Its lines and form is so alien that their minds refuse to process it, but then the flashlight traces along a horribly human face, mouth contorted in a silent scream, eyes open, reflecting the light, but unseeing, the face half-covered by a drooping belly, red and wealed with acid burns and the telltale white scarification produced by ballast healing. The bodies melt into each other and into less human ones, ones that must have fallen through from the gastric bulb above when the roof tore open. Peter can see furred hindquarters melting into feathered bodies, slender and red and dripping, struck through with human fingers, the fingernails elongated like taffy.

Makado turns away and then bends double and throws up. “Oh fuck,” she says before another retch misshapes the words. Peter winces. He is still playing the flashlight’s beam over the sheer expanse of the thing, trying to comprehend it. He shines the light square in the face of a young woman, her head lolled over to the side, her neck protruding from the groin of what must have at one point been an elderly man, wrinkled and leathery and drooping, and when the light hits her eyes she blinks. Peter almost drops the flashlight.

“Mak,” Peter says, his eyes glued to the dripping-red figure rising from the corpse pile. It rises and rises and rises, thickening, a forest of limbs sliding from the pile, human and animal and invertebrate and insect, he sees wings and fur and eyes, he sees inside-outs, beating hearts fixed as though stapled to the blinking head of a deer, a big whitetail, half of its rack buried in the fleshy side of the creature.

“Goddam it,” Makado says thickly. She’s still turned away, she hasn’t seen it. Her hands are quivering.

“Mak,” Peter repeats. An arm the size of a trash can plops wetly on the floor and its thousand fingers twitch, and he sees a bear wrapped in it, in the ribcage of a wolf and the ropy intestines of a fish, cast across it like a net. It spreads out like an elephant’s foot but it holds and it hoists the amalgam upwards until it towers above them, even from across the Dome, and it opens a thousand eyes and looks at them a thousand ways, dull glassy fish eyes and serrated insect eyes and rotating avian eyes and pronghorned bovine eyes, slit eyes, cat eyes, and round wild knowing human eyes, blue and green and brown.

“What?” Makado asks, looking up finally, and then she sees it and she stills, the moment stills, the air stills, even the ballast stills, slopping softly against the lips of the pool, but quieter, respectful of the tension of the air, cautious of it. The world holds its breath.

Peter feels Makado raising her hand to her face next to him and he feels his mind going glassy again, like everything has just shifted out of focus. He looks at her and sees that her nosebleed is back, the thick trail of it already making its way down the dimpled curve of her lip, looking like nothing more than paint in the flickering red e-lights. Her eyes are bright and she can see the fear in them. Then as one they turn and sprint towards the exit to the hallway while the thing behind them half falls half shuffles towards them, and it does not roar or scream or shriek but its thousand mouths open and in a thousand voices it asks them calmly, in hoarse whispering tones, in conversational voice, in a commanding tongue, all at once, a whining undertone of animal moans and cries and calls, to stop, to come back, to help it, that they can’t leave it here like this.

Continue with Part 10

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#mystery flesh pit #writing #novel #alt lit #spilled ink #caving #disaster #michael crichton #thriller #melting #horror

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

Text

Survey #350

“let’s play a love game, play a love game / do you want love, or you want fame? / are you in the game?”

Who was your first good kiss with? Jason. Would you kiss this person again? I know I fucking would and I hate it more than I could possibly express. Name something that is on your bedroom wall? Lots of artwork, mostly of meerkats. What accessory do you want in your bedroom? I need another desk to put stuff on. If you could paint your walls any color what would it be? Something pastel. Maybe like, peach. Soft and warm and would really bring light to the room. What does your phone case look like? It's just this boring purple one that came with the phone. What do you take the most pictures of? My camera roll says my pets, hahaha. What is the point of Twitter for you? Liking Mark's shit lmao. What does your planner look like? I don’t have one. If you get into an argument what is it usually about? My anxiety, I think. What are you always in the mood for? Ummm probably a car ride where I can control the music in the passenger seat. It is very, very rare I'll turn that opportunity down. What’s the last emergency you dealt with? I don't really know; I'm thankfully not in these situations very much, especially when you're cooped up at home. I probably haven't been actually engaged in an emergency since I had to call 911 for my mom before she found out about her cancer. She was basically immobile from agony in her abdomen. Do you have a son? I'm perfectly happy without a son, or kids period. Are you married? No. Have you ever worn a suit? I haven't. Have you ever had to call 911? Twice for Mom. How many keys are on your key-ring? Just one for the house. What’s the last thing you created? An RP post would count as art creation, I'd say. Who are your closest friends? Sara, Girt, and uh... Well, they might be it as far as friends I consider truly close to me. I have a few other people I consider good friends, but we're just not like... on that "close" level, you know? Lisa is maybe another, and Lyndsey perhaps, both WoW friends. Are you ready to have a family? I hate that "have a family" tends to mean get married and have kids, which I'm guessing is what you're implying. If that's the case, no, given I don't want kids and am not fit to get married right now. I'm not even with anyone. I'm content right now with just living with my mom and my two pets, who are children well enough to me. Have you ever taken a DNA test? No. Do you have a family cemetery? No. Would you say you have a high sex drive or not so much? *shrugs* I think it's pretty normal. How do you feel about swallowing pills? What do you mean how do I "feel" about it? I just do it if I need to. What animal is the scariest in your opinion? Some kind of bug, probably. Giant centipedes creep me the fuck out, for one, and I've heard their bite is incredibly painful. I've also always been very afraid of Australia's funnel web spiders since watching some show on Animal Planet when I was younger; I think it scarred me for life, aha. And let's not forget the murder hornets. No thnx, rather die. :') Have you ever questioned your sanity? Way more than once, my friend. How do you feel about people wearing fur coats? Are you for or against it? I am VIOLENTLY against it unless it is for survival in extreme climates and you don't have access to other material. That aside, there is NO way you could possibly convince me that it's okay to wear the fur of something once living on yourself for ~fashion~. What’s the worst thing a friend has either done or said to you? Let's not go here. What’s fake about you? Like extensions, fake nails, botox etc. Nothing. If you got the chance, would you audition for a reality show? No. Have you ever gotten into a Facebook fight? Haha, yeah. Favorite flavor of jelly bean? Probably watermelon or strawberry. I'm not a massive jellybean fan. Do you use Tinder? If yes, have you ever met up with someone you matched? I've never tried it, no. What book/movie has made you cry the hardest? Either The Notebook or Titanic. Something you feared as a kid but don’t anymore? Thunderstorms. What’s your skincare routine? I don't really have one. Just wash it with water in the shower and then use a washcloth when I feel the need. Would you rather have a snake or a tarantula as a pet? I want both, but I prefer snakes. What is something you are NOT looking forward to? I both am and am not looking forward to my second Covid vaccine because it's notoriously worse than the first; the only bright side to it is that after the potential side effects blow over, I'm job hunting. What do you usually do right when you wake up? Check the time on my phone. Would you rather eat your pizza cold or hot? Hot, but I like both. Who taught you how to swim? Dad, I think? Can you do push-ups? No. Do you like Doritos? Yesssss. Who is the closest friend that you live by? I don't know. Have you ever banged your head against something? I've had two concussions before, so, y'know. Have you ever jumped on a trampoline? Yeah, I loved that as a kid. Do you like watching scary movies? Yeah. Has anyone ever told you that you have a big butt? No, considering I have like no ass, rip. Has one of your friends ever tried to "hook you up?" Ugh, yes. Do you prefer landmarks or street names when being given directions? Landmarks, by a mile. Although, I'm super bad with directions, so it probably wouldn't really matter much. Do you read the prologues in the beginnings of books? Yeah, you got to. Does your house have more than one fireplace? No. What was your favourite gym class moment? The one and only thing I liked about gym as a kid was when you took one of those rainbow tarps and made like, an air bubble underneath to make this awesome dome everyone sat in. Ya missed out if you didn't do that. Do you think that ocean boardwalks are fun? Yeah. Do you dread when people ask you to sign their yearbooks? Not at all; I was always flattered, knowing they cared enough to want mine. Apple Jacks: yay or nay? I looove those. Do you have a favorite Scooby-Doo movie? Haha yeah, I think it's the second one? Such iconic scenes. It's the one with the Mary Jane girl that Shaggy liked... oh, jokes that went over your head as a kid. Who were your last 3 Facebook messages from and what do they say? I'm too lazy to list the convos themselves, but the people involved are my friends Chelsea and Ian, as well as a friend's mother. Do you turn your phone off at night when you go to sleep? No. It's always on vibrate, and I just turn the brightness way down. What is the sexual orientation of the last person you talked to? She's straight. What’s your favourite hairstyle on the opposite sex? Don't you fucking dare laugh, emo hair is A++. Has anyone ever played a prank on you? What happened? Not a big one, no. Do you like the Silent Hill movies? Do I?! I love the first one (though for a while I wasn't very happy they swapped the lead role from Harry to his wife), and while the second is literal trash story-wise and it's ALL over the damn place, I still enjoy it with just how much I adore SH as a whole. What movie scared you the most out of any other movies? The Rite, because the concept of being raped and impregnated by a demon is fucking horrifying to me. Have you ever wanted to be on American Idol? When was this? Nah. Name 5 things you don’t believe in. 1.) "Everything happens for a reason;" 2.) karma; 3.) destiny/fate; 4.) psychics, fortune tellers, all that; and 5.) luck, at least in the sense of someone having set "good" or "bad" luck. If you could have any friend that you’ve lost back, who would you pick? Probably Megan. If you have pets, who normally puts food and water in their dish? Me for both of them. Do you organize the pictures on your computer into different folders or are they all just under “My Pictures”? I have folders. Do you think if someone is in a relationship, that it is acceptable to have sleepovers with other people of their preferred sex? Eh, nah, that feels a bit far to me. I am very firmly for friends still being able to hang out even if they're each other's preferred gender, but a sleepover sounds a bit too intimate, even without sharing a bed. Would you shoot a gun if given the chance? If you’ve shot a gun before, how many different types of guns have you shot? No. I'm very intimidated by guns and nearly shook when I merely handed a friend his (not for anything bad, he just carried it with him when he goes out), and I've got noooo plans of holding one again unless my life depends on it. Do you feel uncomfortable sharing things like artwork or poetry you’ve written? Is it because you don’t think it’s good enough to show off or because it’s too personal? You. Have. Zero. Idea. It's for both reasons, and it's far more severe in person. Online, I actually don't mind much, oddly enough... I can't quite pin down why. Do you have any siblings you absolutely despise? Why do you despise them? No. Do knives scare you? Is it from watching scary movies? Knives scare me like five times more than guns. Scary movies have nothing to do with it, though. They're just so sharp and the idea of being stabbed by one is terrifying. As someone with a history of self-mutilation too (not with knives, but I've thought about it and once planned to slit my throat with one, but Mom stopped me), they just make me incredibly uncomfortable to the point I can barely hold a "real" knife to just slice food. Have you ever climbed a chain-link fence? Many times. What is your LEAST favorite Disney animated movie? That I've seen, uhhhhh... I don't know man, there are way too many Disney movies lmao. Who was the last person’s house you went to besides your own? My sister's. On YouTube, who are two people you find hilarious? I'm just counting GameGrumps as one, and then you can't forget Shane Dawson, regardless of the controversy. He probably made me laugh more than any other YouTuber. Do you shave your pits? Yeah. Do you know anyone who has been on life support, and survived? I don't think so. Besides the USA, what is your favorite country? I'm not nearly informed enough about foreign countries' politics and laws and mannerisms to have a favorite. Would you rather go to Europe or Asia? Europe. Would you rather go to Africa or Australia? Africa. Would you rather go to Mexico or Canada? Canada. Do you think emo/scene hair is attractive? I love emo and scene hair, don't @ me, it's cute as fuck. Have you ever seen a ghost orb picture? Lots, actually, at one of my old houses that I totally know was haunted. Do you think abortion should be illegal? NO. You would NOT end abortions. You would end SAFE abortions. Do any of your pets have strange habits? Explain? Venus, my ball python, is extremely odd with food to the point I sometimes worry about her, but she's always been this way and is healthy, so I guess it's nothing really worth fretting over. Anyway, when I place her rat in her terrarium, she gets excited first and will pretty much frantically examine her surroundings, like slithering around everywhere, and even when she has clearly found the rat (she'll even prod it with her snout), she usually won't immediately eat. She just like... sits there and has to continue to verify for ten minutes that it's food. I know it's thawed perfectly, btw. So anyway, THAT'S weird... As for Roman, dear god, that cat's just weird, lmao. Especially in the morning, he's very hyper and will bolt around the house sometimes, he "plays" with nothing all the time, he "meerkat"s at nothing that I can nothing, etc. etc. etc. He's a weirdo lol. Have you ever told an extremely inappropriate joke? Oh god, I said something really inapprops once when my friend Chelsea startled me. I won't be repeating it lmao. Who in life have you felt the strongest need to protect? Sara, I think. Who have you most feared in your life? My dad. He doesn't scare me anymore, but he did. What was the quickest friendship you ever made? Oh idk. What is the worst word anyone ever used to describe you? "Martyr." And not the kind that dies for their beliefs. It hurt me so badly to know someone thought of me that way, and I'll probably never let it go. If you have any pets, were they adopted from the humane society? No. Roman is one of the billion kittens born to the cats my sister's in-laws have, and Venus is from a ball python breeding business in Florida called The Gourmet Rodent (they sell f/t rodents too, obvs) Do you like home design, like picking out paint colors and furniture? Not really. My grandmother though, whew, that was her calling for sure. Have you seen any of the old James Bond movies? Nope. List all of your features that you have ever gotten compliments on: My hair, my eyes, my tattoos, my hands, I think my nose, my dimples, my smile, and my boobs lmao. Have you ever been in a hot air balloon? And if not, would you ever want to go in one? I haven't. I think it'd be kinda cool, but they seem too easy to fall out of, and I'm afraid of heights. I'd probably go in one if given the opportunity. Do you have any stains on your shirt currently? No, but there are two small rips. It's just an old tank top. Do you listen to local bands? No. Not that I'm opposed, I just don't know of any I really enjoy. Do you watch YouTube videos often? Many, many daily. Do your parents fight? Do they even talk at all? They're divorced; they used to fight a lot when they were together. Now they only talk if they have reason to. Have you ever watched a movie that's in a complete different language, so you had to read sub-titles? No. Do people with yellow teeth disgust you? Dude, fuck off, no. My teeth are kinda yellow, and I'm extremely self-conscious about it, so seriously fuck this question. You never know for sure why someone's teeth may seem yellowish. Do you drink alcohol on New Year’s Eve? Usually a drink or two. Do you wear rings? I always have two on, yeah. Are you hungry right now? No, I literally just ate a breakfast bowl. Have you ever tried smoking a cigarette? No; I haven't the slightest interest in doing so.

#survey #surveys #questions #lyrics: ''lovegame'' by lady gaga

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lolmyeyebags · 4 years

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Tempting. But nah, I’m good. Unless? ;)

Summary: You find yourself attempting to swindle a witch. Naturally, it doesn’t work out and she casts a curse on you. How were you supposed to solve this curse before seven days?

Warnings: No smut but it’s basically an intro to a smut series; a prompt?

Word Count: 5,538

A/N: Oneshot? Series? We’ll find out in the next episode of-

Ao3 Link

This is her place, right? You’re sure this is the place you agreed to meet up on. You’ve double checked, no, triple checked your messages with the witch you met on bledit, Tituba. You’ve been to her house before but never in the dark. With your paranoia, you could only imagine how mortifying it would be if you were to arrive in a random demon or witch’s home, knocking on their door, and possibly being eaten or roasted alive. According to her message, you were at the correct destination... which was in the outskirts of the devildom, in the middle of the night.

At least, it felt like nighttime. Since the devildom had no sun - excluding Lord Diavolo’s private beach - your body had to adapt to the climate change and learned to tell time in a different way, and by that it meant you relied on your gut feeling and occasionally, checked the time on your DDD.

The gravel crunched and shuffled with each step you took, and with each step, your gnawing anxiety grew stronger. Please, there’s no way this is the wrong house. Although, maybe it was since it was pitch black and you were a powerless human in the night - ok - get a grip.

You know, maybe this wasn’t your brightest idea. I mean, what if you died in the most embarrassing way? What if a creature of Devildom decided to make you their food, feed you to their offspring, and leave your naked and mutilated body to be found. That’s just… no, you’d rather not think about that. You'd simply pass away if you let yourself die looking crusty as fuck.

Though, you wouldn't have found yourself in your little nighttime adventures if you'd just get a grip and master lucid dreaming the normal way. If you just had enough patience and practiced in a neat and timely routine, you would’ve mastered lucid dreaming and the ability to shift into your ‘desired reality’ as those clickclock creators instructed.

But who were you kidding? You know your dumb ass could never have the patience and consistency to do that. That’s like, some normie type of shit. And you? A whole ‘nother breed. Those foolish little clickclock creators have no idea that you were basically y/n and have a main character complex. What? Don’t look at me like that, me. We’re built? Different.

“Lucid dreaming isn’t that hard, it requires patience and understanding, yeah right,” you mocked the various clickclock creators and sent a pebble flying to a pile of rocks. “Stupid clickclock, stupid lucid dreaming, stupid hard and unobtainable 2d waifus and husbandos.”

All you wanted was to lucid dream once! Just once is enough. You wanted to open you eyes to an animated world and see your beloved 2D characters materialize right before you. Of course, you know it wasn’t all that possible to do in real life. I mean, if even the hardcore otaku himself hasn’t managed such a feat, how could you - the lowly human - accomplish what Mr. The Lord of Shadows couldn’t do for centuries?

And yeah, he’s the Lord of Shadows alright. If you learned anything from your writepod addiction in middle school, it’s the ability to spot a poorly disguised fan fiction based off of celebrities in real life from a mile away. Although, it did surprise you to find that the great author of the legendary TSL series was THE Simeon himself.

I mean, Simeon? Hello? The holiest of angels? That was a shocker.

OOF! You face planted into something soft, almost like a jello cup you’d eat in the summer. You were snapped out of your thoughts as you fell on the prickly leaves, ass first.

“Oh, what the fuck?” You balled your hands into fists and attempted to rub the disorientation away, and standing at a good 6’10” was quite possibly the tallest being you’ve ever laid your eyes on - and the most amusing to make fun of.

The witch fixed her gaze onto you, “you’re late.”

You felt a swirl of emotions wash over you. I wonder how you were going to torment her into casting a lucid dreaming spell on you. Or better yet, have her teach you how to shift realities with her witchy powers. Oh! Or even better, blackmail her into sending you off into a parallel universe in which your favorite anime are real and you were the all mighty ruler of that world, giving you the powers to switch dimensions and warp your realities with a snap of your fingers.

A grin tugged at your lips, “what’re yOu looking at Cocksucker69?”

The witch, Tituba, pressed her lips into a tight lipped smile and hissed, “I thought I told you to not refer to me as that, xXdiavoloismybitchXx.”

“I—“

“Did you forget what followed after you endeavored to bring me humiliation in public? Forget the way those demons turned around, their jaws slack with shock as I uttered your bledit username, exposing you as bledit’s most notorious troller, and all of your-“

“YES! I mean no! No, I haven’t forgotten. You right, my bad,” you shivered at the memory and shook your head.

It was as if it happened yesterday, because it did. It wasn’t the wide array of emotions the demons bore that bothered you. It was the fact Tituba emphasized your username, while you were in the entrance of RAD, no less!

You were one of the two only human exchange students and that made you quite a celebrity in the school. The demons knew that! They weren’t fools. Your username probably struck a cord that inspired a string of gossip and rumors to spread, that would no doubt reach Diavolo. You couldn’t bear the thought of reliving the wave - no, tsunami - of embarrassment that washed over you. No, it felt more like it drowned you. Like damn, that witch really had it out for you!

“Right so,” with a cheshire grin, you prod her arm with your elbow, “where were we?”

She groaned in exasperation.

“Child, you are accelerating my expiration,” the witch brought two fingers and pinched the space between her eyebrows, smoothing out her wrinkles, no doubt caused by you.

“I’ll behave this time, I swear! Scout’s honor!”

“Despite my knowing of my inevitable regret, I’m obligated to continue,” the witch pushed her door open and ushered you in. You stepped inside and a fresh crisp breeze licked at your cheeks. You sighed in content, welcoming the verdant ambiance of Tituba’s cottage.

The lace of your shoes became undone in a second, and in the next, you soared in the air and flopped unceremoniously on Tituba’s sex pit. It wasn’t an actual sex pit though. It was simply an indentation on the wooden floor that Tituba renovated into a conversation pit, which turned into her designated sleeping area, thanks to your persistence.

Pillows, throw pillows, plushies, fluffy blankets - if you had to choose a place to sleep for eternity, it would be Tituba’s sex pit. Your eyes widened in delight as it settled on the long shape of the body pillow you gifted Tituba as an apology gift… After you fell against her cauldron she was using to ferment blood moon water. It spilled all over the floor and became ‘unclean’ as she called it.

“Oh!!! The Barbatos body pillow I gifted you! I knew you still love me! You tsundere simp, you~!”

Tituba met your waggling eyebrows with an unamused stare. “Get to the point, MC.”

Just the slightest, you dipped your head, narrowed your eyes, and put on the biggest smirk you could manage - your signature Robbie Rotten face you always wore as you plan to blackmail her.

———♦︎———♦︎———♦︎———

Yeah, the transactions weren’t as smooth as you thought it would be. Sure, maybe you tried to manipulate Tituba via sabotaging her date who she was talking to through the cinder app. Well, you didn’t try, you succeeded. And as a result, you were put under a supposedly ‘excruciating’ curse that even Solomon himself couldn’t break. ’Supposedly.’

“Heed my words, MC. If you are unable to find salvation by the seventh day, you will meet your demise, devoured by a great and powerful hellfire, subject to—“

“Yuh, I’ma dip, I have to binge my new anime I’ve been obsessed with - bungee street cats - peach out!”

———♦︎———♦︎———♦︎———

What type of curse, spell, whatever it was, was it though? You couldn’t help but ruminate over Tituba’s warning.

...

Nah, she’s just playing with me. She’d never! Right? Even if it was a curse, a prank if you will, what would it be? Were you cursed to break out? An irrational fear of yours you shared with her? Is is that you fear you’d be subject to an embarrassing sequence of events that’d take you out? Fuck, if it was something embarrassing, you’d simply pass away. You had enough with the second hand embarrassment you got from awkward anime characters. You weren’t about to live through your own embarrassment. That was just... too cruel.

Nothing strange or unusual has been happening so far. It was just the normal you, the pure, selfless maiden going on about her life with the seven demon brothers. Sure, it should’ve made you feel better but it only unnerved you even more. Fuck! What exactly was the curse? Maybe you shouldn’t have cut her off and dipped. You felt a thin layer of sweat slowly creep up and you brought a hand up to fan your face. Damn, was it hot in here or was it just your wet ass pussy?

♪ Yeah, yeah, yeah. Yeah, you fucking with some wet ass pussy. Bring a bucket and a mop for this wet ass pussy. Give me- ♪

You were snapped out of your thoughts when a firm grip made contact with your shoulders.

A strangled cry left your lips as you doubled over. Fiery ropes of erotism enveloped your body. It was as if every nerve, every vein in your body was coursing with raw pleasure. You felt a blush come over not just your cheeks but your entire body as you locked eyes with the classroom that you disrupted with your lewd… sound.

The professor coughed and proceeded to point to the diagram of a demon, angel, and human anatomy, explaining what the three species have in common and what they don’t.

Your bottom lip sought comfort in being chewed by your teeth. With your head hung and your hair slightly covering your face, you followed the hand on your shoulder to its owner.

My, just how mortifying could it get? It was fucking Simeon. His cheeks were dusted pink and his lips were caught in an ‘o’ and his eyes were filled with surprise, then worry.

“Simeon, I,” your eyes were downcast, refusing to meet his gaze, “I-I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s come over me.”

What the fawk. This is the worst day ever. Now the image of a little lamb you assumed Simeon had for you would be replaced by a horny, hormone monster.

Stupefied, Simeon sat still, staring at you.

Fuck! This is so awkward! I should probably explain that I didn’t mean to release a porn star moan just because he touched my shoulder! I mean, he’s an angel and this is just the worst fucking thing oh my gosh...

And with that, your dumb ass found yourself rambling to Simeon in great, excessive detail of your meeting with Tituba. Even going as far to expose your usernames and directly quoting yourself and that wretched witch.

“Oh my,” he lifted your chin with his fingers and you stiffened, resisting the urge to sing a song of the pleasure that coursed through you. He frowned and studied the way you reacted to his touch. He probably didn’t intend to almost send you into your first orgasm buuuut hot damn. Please, Simeon, stop being so breathtaking with your exposed shoulders.

Hold up. Shoulders? What the hell, just how far did you fall? You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain and you became the villain. You were literally a prime example of why dress code conduct in the human realm prohibited shoulders from being shown in school. Who would’ve thought?

“Not to worry, MC, counseling little lambs in their times of need is our job, after all.”

Fuck, why is he such a gentleman. You felt like putty from his touch alone and your thighs found itself squeezing together as a response to his touch.

“S-Simeon, please,” you grit your teeth and muster all of your willpower to not moan. Continuing with your impromptu explanation, you say, “it’s just, whenever I find myself bumping into anyone, it feels almost uncomfortably good. Like, pleasurable? I don’t know how to explain it but,” your chewed on your lip. “I don’t know how it came to that considering I’m literally as pure as anyone could get but I feel extremely overcome with lust for some reason.”

A husky timbre sang in your ear. “Oh? Is that so?”

Fuck. No no no! You hit back the urge to moan and doubled over in your seat, balling your hands into fists in an attempt to regain yourself.

Who-? Who fuck is this evil? You come back to your seated position and find yourself face to face with Solomon. His eyes were twinkling with pure mischief.

How in the world did you forget that Solomon sat right next to you? Directly to your left, no less. How much did he hear? Knowing him, he probably noticed your state of distress and took full advantage of it, listening in on everything you ranted to Simeon.

“Ah,” he stifled back his laughter, “so you weren’t kidding?”

You pressed your lips together in a tight line, bringing your hand up and preparing to smack a bitch until you realized you’d probably double over again from the skin to skin contact. “Ugh, you’re lucky I can’t strangle you.”

Well, you’re fucked.

“Aww, you shouldn’t be like that, MC!” Solomon brought a hand up to his chest and frowned. “After all, since a powerful witch like Tituba put you under a curse, you’d benefit from having The Greatest Sorcerer on your side.”

You groaned and slid down your chair, covering your face in equal parts shame and annoyance - only for Solomon, of course. Simeon, however, deserves the whole world.

“Little lamb, I think you should head over to the House of Lamentation early,” Simeon advised. You met his sympathetic gaze and felt a wave of relief wash over you. Truly, he was an angel.

“Can I really do that?”

“I’ll walk you over to the nurse’s office if you’re scared,” Solomon cooed. His lips brushed against the shell of your left ear and his fingers strummed along the small of your back.

“F-Fuck,” you whisper screamed and clutched your body, as if you were holding yourself down from the oncoming shockwaves his mere actions brought upon you.

———♦︎———♦︎———♦︎———

You found yourself in the common room, back at the House of Lamentation. You sat down on the rightmost part of a loveseat, welcoming the warmth of the fireplace and the sound of wood snapping and cracking against the fire. Fucking Solomon. That sneaky rat bastard. Who gave him the audacity to act like Hugh Hefner, when at best, motherfucker was Voldemort.

It was a wonder how you got here safely, really. Considering that you weren’t the best at keeping yourself composed when you were under pressure. Maybe you were born with it? Maybe it’s Maybelline.

Ding! Your DDD vibrated against your back pocket. Shame coursed through you as heat pooled in between your legs. Even from that? Really? To think you were acting more like a crusty, musty, virgin than Levi.

Who was it that texted you this time? Your face fell as you read the banner on your DDD.

Solomon.

Great, you wonder what he has planned for you this time. Taking a deep breath, you click on the notification.

———♦︎———♦︎———♦︎———

Solomon: This is so funny. Guess what kind of curse you’re under.

MC: ...MF. Get on with it!!!

Solomon: It’s a fucking curse of temptation, charged with eros.

MC: ...

Solomon: ...

MC: Say sike rn. Please. I’m begging you.

Solomon: Then beg.

MC: ...

Solomon: LMAO

MC: You can break it right?! It’s just a fucking horny curse. It doesn’t seem that complicated

Solomon: Stupid hoe. Did you not pay attention to Unit 1 of Incantations?

MC: TF?? Who do you take me for? That was like the first week I was abducted. Ofc I was tryna convince myself I was just high or something or like I was in a weird ass dream

Solomon: ...Well, the simpler and more direct a curse is, the harder it is to break. Obviously, complicated curses are more susceptible to flaws and mistakes. And it’s just your luck because the curse Tituba placed you under is lined with malicious intent.

Solomon: Didn’t you say she only spoke a single sentence when she cast her spell on you?

MC: Oh fuck.

Solomon: LOL! Literally. I could break it in a day or two if it was any other witch. But this is Tituba we’re talking about.

MC: Her breed? Different >:)

Solomon: ...

MC: Ok! I’m sorry. Please, go on oh great and powerful one.

Solomon: Hold on, I’ve only just figured out what type of curse you’re under. Give me a few hours and I’ll head over there and explain it to you once I’ve solved it.

MC: MAKE IT QUICK. IF THE BROTHERS FIND OUT, I’M GOING TO PASS AWAY FROM EMBARRASSMENT

Solomon: dO YOU WANT ME TO SOLVE IT OR NOT?

MC: I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Please, take your time oh, Solomon the Wise. But come quick! Please

———♦︎———♦︎———♦︎———

“LOL! You’ll never guess what happens in chapter 22 of Being An Old Man, I Thought It Was Too Late For Me To Have Kids With My Wife Sarah But God Blessed Me A Son!”

“You wouldn’t dare! I haven’t reached that part yet! You wouldn’t use such dirty tactics to distract me.”

“Abraham has to sacrifice his-“

“NOOO!”

“Levi, MC, please,” Satan sighed and lowered his book, meeting your sheepish grin and Levi's scoff with an unamused stare.

The common room was full of life. Satan sat right across from you, engrossed in another one of his nerdy books and Asmo sat beside him, humming a tune as he painted his nails - for like, the third time this week. Mammon sat right next to him, fixed on his DDD. You could barely make out the layout of the akuzon app. Stupid mammon, he’s already on another online shopping spree despite having more frozen bank accounts that even Lucifer himself could count.

Speaking of Lucifer, you turn your gaze to him as he sat on the armchair, smack down in the middle of the two loveseats right across from each other. He just came back from another meeting with Diavolo and was sorting through his papers.

What in the name of Christopher Gray... how could one man look that stunning after being holed up in a meeting for five hours. Your dumb ass would step out of the meeting looking like you haven’t washed your hair in years.

Beel sat to the left of Levi. He chewed on a stick of bat jerky and was watching some video on his DDD - probably about working out or food - and Belphie laid by himself, curled up right in front of the fireplace with his head resting on his cow pillow, knocked out cold. Or well, knocked out warm.

It was almost strange how calm the ambiance was. You felt a spike of anxiety churn at your stomach. Why do you feel like something bad is going to happen?

“Hey, pay attention normie! I’m about to beat your high score in subway swimmers!” Levi stick his tongue out in concentration, deft fingers swiping away at obstacles and collecting grimm as he ran away from the kraken security guardian.

“Oh no! NOOO!” You clutch your DDD, just in time to watch your character collide with a bed of coral. Your face fell at the words displayed on the screen. ‘Save me!’

“No, I ran out of keys,” you groan and threw your DDD at Levi, crossing your arms.

“The only reason you’ve been able to keep up with me all this time is because of all the money you’ve spent on keys, MC!”

“Hey!” You scoff, “you’re making me feel like Mammon!”

“Oi! I don’t spend that much money!”

Without missing a beat, Satan quips back, “Only because Lucifer confiscated Goldie from you - again.”

Beel nodded his head. He took the last bite of his bat jerky and hummed in agreement.

Ding! Dong!

Lucifer raises an eyebrow, “Who’s at the door?”

Shit. You forgot how the brothers don’t exactly hold Solomon in the highest regards.

Nervously laughing, you answered him, “Ah, that would be Solomon.”

Feeling his scrutinizing gaze, you look up and lock eye contact with Lucifer. His eyes narrowed and you feel yourself growing hot under his gaze. Not that he was turning you on, no. You never liked this kind of attention on you. I mean, who’d openly like to get gawked at?

As if answering your question, Asmodeus gives you a playful smile. “Oh? Solomon? I didn’t know you two were close.”

“Uhh, well, it’s-“

“Oh! Solomon! I’ll get the door!” Levi snapped out of his trance and pressed pause on his game. Thank goodness Levi and Solomon bonded over TSL. You couldn’t imagine any other brothers welcoming him inside if it weren’t for his connection to Levi.

Belphie began to stir from the commotion. He brought himself up to a sitting position, rubbing his eyes. “What’s going on?” He yawned.

“MC.”

You turned your attention to Lucifer who looks more daddy than ever. His arms were crossed and his eyebrows were pressed together in disapproval. His frown was only the cherry on the top. “Would you care to explain why you invited Solomon over?”

Fuck. Please stop being such an alpha male for once. Images of his physique towering over yours flooded your mind. His hands would pin yours right above your head, rendering your arms useless, and his strong legs would encase you in a cage like hold. Then, him being Lucifer, would say something clever and sensual at the same time, and you'd melt under his gaze.

Wait. UGH! Snap out of it!

You opened your mouth to respond to him when Solomon beats you to it.

“I’ve figured out the exact curse MC has been afflicted with,” and with a smirk, “and how to relieve her of it.”

Shit. Oh shit. He really wants to watch the world burn, huh? You grimaced, bracing yourself for the onslaught of questions from the demon brothers.

Satan’s glare directed at Solomon disappears and is replaced with concern, “a curse?”

“No! It’s not fair! You’re supposed to be my Henry for all of eternity! You can't be cursed!”

“Hey MC! Just what kinda things have ya been up to? I’m s’posed to be protecting you, ya hear?”

“Poor MC! She looks so stressed! That's sooo not good for your skin!”

“Can’t she just sleep it off?”

“MC,” Beel frowned and you returned his concerned expression with a small smile.

Lucifer slammed his hands on the coffee table, it was like thunder just went off inside of the house. “Enough!” His brows were bunched together in a glare and his arms were crossed. “Solomon, would you care to explain the kind of curse MC is under and who the identity of the caster is?”

Your jaw fell slack and you gave Solomon your best ‘please no’ stare you could muster. Your hands were collected in front of you like a prayer.

Solomon only smiled and a chill ran up your spine. That’s not how a smile is supposed to look. No, a real smile would be if your eyes shrank, forming half crescent moons, with wrinkles in the corners. No way. Was he really…?

“If you don’t mind, Lucifer, I’d like to get MC’s approval before continuing.”

Confusion. Yeah, that’s the best way to describe how the brothers reacted. Complete and utter confusion.

———♦︎———♦︎———♦︎———

She signed defeatedly, “fine. Do your worst.”

Is that idiot really going to tempt me into unleashing as much chaos as I could possibly muster? Which is… a lot. I mean, I am known as The Great Sorcerer.

Though, she looks so tempting when she’s so defeated - so small and weak, pathetic, even - it only brings me more amusement. Now, I wonder what route I’m going to choose this time. Should I play as the devious sorcerer? The kindhearted and forgiving human friend of MC? Who am I kidding? Both! Yeah, that wasn’t even a question. I almost laughed out loud. Man, I really am a genius.

I cleared my throat, unwavering as I felt the collective gaze of the demon brothers fall upon my being. And a lustier one from emanating from Asmodeus. No surprise there.

Choose your words carefully, Solomon. You gotta be on her side.

“MC has been afflicted with a curse of temptation, charged with eros, by Tituba the witch. It’ll continue to affect her over the course of seven days, subjugating her to extreme heat that will boil her from the inside out lest she finds relief. She has until the clock strikes midnight on the seventh day.”

Perfect.

A furious blush cascaded over Mammon’s features. He was the first to break the silence. “O-Oi! You’re kidding right?”

“Wah!” Asmo crooned. He gave MC a half-lidded smile. “My my! Now isn’t this a wonderful turn of events~!”

Satan elbowed Asmo on his side. “That’s enough with the teasing, Asmo,” he lectured.

“Oh, don’t give me that, Satan, those bright red cheeks of yours aren't fooling anyone.”

“A-Asmo!”

“Whoa! This is just like the anime I’ve been watching! I Attempted To Manipulate A Great And Powerful Witch And Now I’ve Been Cursed And The Only Way I Can Break Out Of It Is For Me To Kiss The One I love!”

Beel gave Levi a frown, shaking his head at his antics despite the pink that dusted his features.

A glee of joy overcame me as I watched everything unfold. Lucifer looked as if his eyes were about to pop out of its sockets. He was torn between maintaining his stunned gaze onto me or onto MC, whose probably attempting to curl up into a ball at this point.

———♦︎———♦︎———♦︎———

Y’know what, I really am going to smack a bitch. And by that, I mean Solomon and how that sneaky bastard carefully chose his words to bring forth a reaction like… well, like this.

You were so engrossed by the chorus of reactions harmonizing with each other, and focused on morphing into a ball of shame, you almost forgot about Belphie. That was, until he placed his hand on your calf, coaxing you out of your ball. He gave you a kind and sympathetic gaze. His lips were set in a small frown, his eyebrows downcast.

It happened in only a few seconds. You were filled with equal parts horror and pleasure because he didn’t know that simple touches like this could affect you to such a degree. Couldn’t blame him though, he was the only brother that didn’t react in such an inappropriate way to your predicament. And he didn’t even seem amused by it at all.

You, however, well... His warm touch, placed on your calf only sent you into overdrive. “N-No! Don’t touch me!” The absolute lewdest, cry - followed by a moan - escaped your lips. Your body shivered and as if on cue, an overwhelmingly hot fire washed over you. A deep, unyielding fire. It fucking sent you, and the brothers.

“Ah,” Solomon laughed, “I may have forgot to mention that during this period, MC’s senses will be hightened tenfold. If not, possibly more. I figured that’s what the extreme heat stood for and this just proved me right.”

“F-Fuck,” you breathed. Shit, fucking get a grip, MC! You’re in the middle of the brothers and stinky Solomon who’s thriving off of your suffering. Scowling, you sent him a middle finger.

You caught yourself staring at Belphie. His eyes, which were filled with sympathy was now clouded over by something else. It darkened, and you saw his pupils blown wide, threatening to devour the bluish violet color that surrounded it.

“I’m sorry, Belphie, I should’ve told you before,” you murmur.

This was it though. This is the day you die. Cause of death? Embarrassment. Yeah, that’s right. Like a fucking sim dying because it peed in front of the other sims in the club, probably because you kept on cancelling their whim to use the restroom.

“I can help you find relief.”

Pause.

Your moth fell agape at Belphie’s suggestion. Did he really just suggest that? To you? Do you pretend to be Helen Keller? Do you become Jared, 19? There’s no way you could say yes, despite the temptations you’ve felt, longing for sexual touch. After all, your first kiss happened such a long time ago. And even then, you broke it off after a brief moment because you found yourself unwilling to make a fool of yourself. Ha! You, accepting Belphie’s proposal. What a long shot. You were definitely prepared to pass away before you could make an even bigger fool of yourself in front of the brothers and Solomon.

“B-Belphie! Hey! Get your hands off my human!”

Satan and Beel were at a loss for words. To your surprise, so was Lucifer. And Levi, you could only assume, is passed out next to you on the couch after hearing your cry of pleasure.

“Guys, uhh,” you scratched the back of your neck, “it’s okay. I’ll just accept my fate and boil over by the seventh day.”

Right! I saved them from the discomfort of being obliged to help me relieve myself. Plus, that was sorta awkward. I mean, if it happened to someone I didn’t harbor any feelings for, why should I have to help them get laid or something? This was only fair.

At your words, Lucifer was roused to take control of this discord. “Absolutely not. As the eldest and trusted advisor to Diavolo, it is my duty to-“

“Oh, come on Lucifer! Don’t give us that! Just admit you’d be more than willing to help our little MC out in her predicament,” teased Asmo.

You fidgeted in your seat. How were you going to explain to the brothers in a logical manner that you’d rather die than admit you’re an inexperienced virgin that could rival Levi himself?

Oh no. You were too late. Solomon caught on to your trepidation and released a dramatic gasp, “MC, don’t tell me,” he paused, for dramatic effect, “were you not kidding when you claimed to be pure? Are you actually a virgin?”

You smiled like the calm before the storm, the waves pulling back before the tsunami crashed. It was the way the earth stilled before the meteorite connected. “I’ll take that as my cue to pass away.”

You closed your eyes and pretended you were in a place, free from embarrassment. Ignoring the gasps and murmurs from Mammon and Satan (and Levi who woke up after passing out), the hums of approval from Asmo and Belphie, the way Solomon stifled back his laughter, and you couldn’t hear it but you were guessing Beel and Lucifer were completely speechless.

“MC, you can’t just close your eyes and pretend we aren’t here,” Satan coaxed, "we're not going to let you perish because of this curse."

You cock one eye open and nodded, ruminating over the different ways you could respond to his infuriatingly rational comment. “I can try,” you maintained your smile and sat cross legged on the couch, meditating into the astral realm. That's where your soul was, of course, after you died from the embarrassment.

“Oh honey,” cooed Asmo, “we only want what's best for you. Plus, I could practically taste the desire oozing out of you.”

“Asmo!”

———♦︎———♦︎———♦︎———

This was going to be a long night. Solomon bid farewell to the brothers after chatting with Lucifer, discussing the curse as in depth as he could without revealing the little snippet of information he decided to keep for himself. The rest of the brothers went back and forth with MC, trying to convince her to think over her choice and the severity of the curse but with a pride that could rival Lucifer’s, she rejected it with a shake of her head and kept her arms crossed. It took her a while before it dawned on her - the brothers would not yield until she gave them a satisfactory answer. Defeated, she told them that she would consider it.

It was getting late.

The brothers returned to their rooms and MC followed not long afterwards. The House of Lamentation was filled with a different tension tonight, one unlike any other.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #swd obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me solomon #obey me simeon #obey me fanfic #obey me fanfic x reader

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razorblade180 · 4 years

Text

Sunshower 10

[1 of 2 parts]

Ilia:You see them yet?

Sun:Nope.

Ilia:Honestly, Neptune has blue hair. He should stick out like a sore thumb.

Sun:We’re on an island with every faunus trait imaginable. Doesn’t everyone sort of stick out?

Ilia:You have a point. Can’t see him, neither of us have the skill to smell him…

Sun:I mean I kinda do.

Ilia:What?

Sun:Smelling. My nose is slightly keener than most. Not by too much though.

Ilia:Hmm, the more you know.

The two continued to walk along the increasingly crowded beach; their hands still together. Ilia led the way with a brisk walk that would’ve been too much for Sun if it wasn’t for his longer stride. He knew she walked fast but he never realized just how fast until now.

Sun:Uhhh in a hurry?

Ilia:What?

Sun:You’re bobbing and weaving in between people like a madman. My arm might as well be a limp noodle now.

Ilia:Sorry, just really focused on finding those two.

Sun:.....

Sun:Is being alone with me weird?

Ilia stopped dead in her tracks and turned to him. Sun wasn’t prepared for that reaction and couldn’t stop moving before being mere inches away; to the point he had to look almost directly down to see her. She looked into his eyes a bit panicked. A tint of red growing across her cheeks.

Ilia:N..no! That’s not why! Things are a bit awkward for sure but I don’t want to think-

Sun:Woah! Hey, I wasn’t being serious. Just trying to break the ice and all.

Ilia:....*squeezes hand*

Sun:Ow!

Ilia:Apology accepted.

???:Well look who finally decided to party!?

Sun and Ilia finally break eye contact and look towards the water to see their runaway friends. Judy waved enthusiastically as she approached them with Neptune behind them. The boy looked a little pale from what Sun noticed. It wasn’t long before Sun looked down and realized Neptune was walking barefoot. His feet were covered in sand. Wet sand.

Judy:Hey guys! Where y’all been?

Ilia:Looking for you two! What happened to meeting up by the boardwalk!!?

Judy:Oh yeah, both of you were taking your sweet time so I was showing goggles here a good time. We were enjoying a nice little walk by the ocean.

Sun:Nice huh? *looks at Neptune*

Neptune:Y...Yep. Totally nice and c...calming!

Judy:? Uhhh are you getting cold?

Neptune:I just need a minute. I’m fine. Probably need some food.

Judy:Oh ok. If that’s the case then Ilia and I can get some food real quick while you boys find a good spot to sit.

Ilia:Can’t we all go together? I don’t feel like losing anyone in a crowd again.

Judy:Well you’re definitely not losing one of us it seems.

Ilia wasn’t sure what Judy meant by that. Then, it hit her. She looked down and saw that she was still holding onto to Sun. Ilia looked back to see an intrigued look on the cops face and an even more invested look on Neptune’s. Sun acted quickly and shook his hand free and began explaining. Ilia wasn’t sure why but feeling him let go kinda...stung? She hadn’t noticed how cool the air actually was until he had let go.

Sun:Right Ilia?

Ilia:Hmmm? Oh! Uhh, yeah. What he said…

Judy:Gee, how convincing. Anyways,if you really want to all stick together that’s fine I guess. Just the four us. Getting food together. In pairs. At a party. Like a double-

Ilia:Sun and Neptune, stay here close to the ocean. We’ll be right back. *walks off*

Neptune:Wait! Get me away from the wa- and they’re gone.

Sun:Did Judy seriously manage to get your feet in the water?

Neptune:Dude, I can’t look like a wimp here. Especially in front of them. Judy is so cool!

Sun:We know a lot of cool people. None of them can get you in the water but me. You’re going all in this time.

Neptune:Pffft it’s not like that. *red*

Sun:If you say so “goggles.” Heheheh

Neptune:Oh so we’re teasing now? If that’s the case, what’s up with you and Ilia?

Sun:Nothing!

Neptune:Judy and I saw you two staring at each other and holding hands like if vows were about to exchange vows.

Sun:You’re ridiculous.

Neptune:Yeah okay. So what’s going on man!?

Sun:Literally nothing. We talked, got on the same page, and now we’re cool. Friends at a party that are having a good time is what’s happening.

Neptune:So it’s not awkward?

Sun:Of course it’s awkward! It’s only been like a day. Things are still fresh. Not to mention a bit….

Neptune:Sexually charged?

Sun:*red* I didn’t say that.

Neptune:Didn’t need to. I’m sorta a pro when it comes to these things.

Sun:You’re a virgin…

Neptune:I meant being uncomfortable ya jerk. I’m gonna let that comment slide though. Your brain is probably preoccupied with other thoughts right now. *smirks*

Sun:Shut up. Can we change the conversation?

Neptune:Sure. Oh yeah, how did hanging with Yang and Blake go?

Sun:Sigh...can we go back to the first conversation?

xxxx

Ilia:.....

Judy:*smiling*.....

Ilia:Please don’t.

Judy:That Sun fellow seems nice. Definitely cute.

Ilia:I said please.

Judy:We are in the middle of a food truck line. Gotta kill time somehow.

Ilia:Silence?

Judy:You’re no fun. Come on, something is up. They didn’t make me a cop for nothing.

Ilia:Funny, I thought they were just understaffed and needed bodies.

Judy:Ouch...cutting a little deep there. I’m only trying to see how you’re doing. Makes filing your reports easier.

Ilia:What does my love life have to do with my parole?

Judy:So he’s a part of your love life?

Ilia:I...no. Fuck you. You know my type.

Judy:Oh you’ve made it apparent multiple times. Does that mean I should expect to be spending the night? Again?

Ilia’s ears turned a bit pink as she felt Judy’s had touched the middle of her back. Quickly she grabbed the fox girl's hand and looked at her. Judy stuck her tongue out teasingly as they moved up in line.

Judy:The fact that you’re so defensive speaks volumes about something.

Ilia:Why is this so important to you?

Judy:It isn’t really. I’m only trying to satisfy my curiosity. You, Sun, and even Neptune all seem to be acting a bit strange. Surprisingly, Goggles knows how to keep a secret. Even when he’s controlling his fear of water.

Ilia:He told you about that?

Judy:No but every time he let out a small gasp when a wave touched his toes told me all that I needed to know. Looks like you made a good friend. Not surprising; your judge in character is typically good.

Ilia:That’s rich coming from my parole officer.

Dan:Next customer- oh...hey...

Ilia:You’re working at the food truck? Don’t you wanna party?

Dan:I like money, and don’t care much for people.

Ilia:Relatable.

Dan:We have burgers, hotdogs, and a variety of drinks. Also fries.

Judy:You know...probably should’ve asked them what they want-

Ilia:Two hot dogs and two burgers. All with fries. Iced peach tea, iced mango tea, and blueberry lemonade. Give this slacker water.

Judy:Hey!

Ilia:She’s buying as well.

Dan:Okay.

Judy:What!?

Ilia:It’s only right. All this free community service doesn’t do well for my bank account. Also the oldest should always pay. It’s only right.

Judy:*grabbing wallet* You’re lucky that I think you’re endearing.

Ilia:Cool. Dan, make that water a Coke.

Dan:On it.

Judy:Okay so I know that’s my favorite drink, but does that mean the other drinks you ordered are their preferences.

Ilia:Maybe.

Dan:Yes.

Ilia:Can you not?

Judy:You were paying that much attention to them huh?

Ilia:I’ve known them for a bit.

Dan:She’s seen them order it once.

Ilia:Dan we’re going to fight.

Dan:Or you can take your food now. *puts tray down* Enjoy the party.

Ilia:Thanks.

She reaches to grab it but Judy cuts her off and takes it. The two begin slowly walking back towards the water. Ilia can’t help but look at Sun sitting next to Neptune and laughing about who knows what. Sure he was admittedly cute; she wasn’t blind. Not to mention he was nice, but there needed to be more than that. Still,she couldn’t shake off their night together. Her heart pounded thinking about their conversation on the roof. It was so...liberating. So comforting, the way they confided in each other. Not to mention his tears. He actually cried for her. That was more unexpected than what came after.

That warmth. That mix of fear, comfort, and excitement. It was...new? Definitely different, but not bad; definitely not bad. Her face began to heat up thinking about what she could remember from their heated exchange. What was his take about his experience? Did… he enjoy it? Why did she care? What was this ache that hit the pit of her stomach every time she looked at his face.

Ilia:Judy?

Judy:What’s up?

Ilia:What if...something did happen? Something that wasn’t bad but isn’t exactly good either? What would you do to explain it?

Judy:That’s extremely vague but...I’d try to figure it out. Word of advice, your “type” is just like everything else in your life; it can grow and evolve. It’s even possible that you never really figured it out in its entirety. Take it from me, you never stop learning about yourself. Ilia you are young and at one of the best, if not the best place to party in Remnant. Have fun and take your time.

Ilia:Wow, that might be the most grown up thing I’ve ever heard you say.

Judy:Hehe, you’re not the only one who’s been doing some growing lately. Times are changing. Don’t stand still.

She hands Ilia the tray and winks as she nudges her a step forward.

Sun:*blushing* Dude I don’t need this.

Neptune:Anything happens at a party dude.

Sun:Except for that, unless I want it to.

Neptune:Or you’re drunk.

Sun:Shut up! I don’t need a-

Ilia:We’re back.

Sun:H..Hey!

Neptune:Gasp! Blueberry lemonade!

Ilia:Yep, got you a burger too, and a mango tea for Sun.

Sun:You actually remembered that?

Ilia:Is...that weird? It’s only been like a day or so.

Sun:I know that. I just didn’t think….never mind.

Ilia:O...kay? Everything cool?

Neptune:He’s still a little burnt out from his conversation at Blake’s place.

Judy:Oooo what’s that all about?

Sun:Nothing really.

Neptune:Everything actually. A little bit of a romance problem.

Sun:Basically I sort of thought there was something between us and maybe there might’ve been? Doesn’t matter now; she’s home with her girlfriend Yang and it’s gotten to me a tad bit.

Judy:You look like you’re doing well.

Sun:I got into a drunken argument with Yang and almost broke a guy's arm. Yang and I made up tonight but then I left the house right afterwards. Being around them right now is sort of…

Ilia:Numblingly irritating. Not in the fun way either. *bites hotdog*

Sun:I was gonna be nicer than that but, yeah. That’s sort of what I’m feeling too.

Judy:To think Ms. Belladonna had three different people gunning for her heart. Is that why I saw you completely hungover Ilia? Drinking your sorrows away?

Ilia:Something like that.

Judy:Tough break. I see how you got to that point but personally, I would’ve tried something different. The best way to stop thinking about one person is finding yourself around others.

Neptune:We all were sort of disjointed last night. A plan was in motion but it all crumbled.

Judy:Ah. Still, heartbreak and booze is dangerous. I would’ve just gotten laid.

Hearing that almost made Ilia choke. How was Judy tiptoeing around so many land mines by accident!? Sun was able to keep his composure but just barely. The two remained silent and continued to eat while Neptune was trying not to laugh. Looking at either one of them could be fatal. Pretending that he’s only being a shoulder to lean on for one and not the other was challenging. He could tell both were quietly screaming “help” in their own ways.

Neptune:(Guess I should do something.) You wanna dance Judy? (Why did I say that?)

Judy:Huh?

Neptune:Dance, everyone is partying around us. I’m feeling better and music is blaring. So let’s dance. Unless you’re scared.

Judy:Not at all. Let’s all get up and enjoy the festivities in a few minutes. Imma let this food settle real quick. After that, the fireworks should be about ready to go off in about another hour. Sounds like a good way to wrap the night up since a certain someone put a time limit on being out.

Ilia:You’re lucky I didn’t go back home the minute I didn’t see you all waiting for me.

Judy:Whatever. You’re happy you came. Now let’s party!

Judy hopped up and took Neptune’s hand then ran off towards the crowd of people. The poor boy barely had time to grab his lemonade. Sun Ilia couldn’t help but laugh at how easy it was for Judy to get Neptune doing whatever the fox faunus wanted. It was a good thing that Judy wasn’t the kind of person to take advantage of others.

The laughter quickly ended when the two realized that they were alone again. They looked at each other at the same time and didn’t do anything but stare for what felt like hours of uncomfortable awkwardness. A couple more seconds passed before gears finally started turning and they ran to catch up with their friends. Being alone was too much right now.

Though Ilia was reluctant to come out, she was actually happy she did. It took a little time but she was getting in the spirit of things. Neptune was still an atrocious dancer but Judy didn’t seem to mind one bit. He actually looked like he was getting a bit better at it if Ilia squinted hard enough. Sun found himself dancing a ton. The boy went from one dance partner to another; whoever was up to it.

Ilia was no exception. Eventually he ran buy and took her by the hand to move closer to the center of the party. He probably started with others in order to hype himself up she thought. Surprisingly, it went well. There was a bit of anxiety whenever they started but nothing major. She was having fun and he was too. It’s like what Judy said, it’s a party. Not having fun would be tragic.

The night continued with splendid music, food, laughs, and exactly one bottle of beer. Ilia caved a little on her self imposed rule. She needed a bit of liquid courage to the edge off. Thankfully Judy was there to make sure “a little bit” was exactly what Ilia got. Now all four sat comfortably on two benches. watching the dazzling fireworks display. All of them in pretty good spirit and exhausted feet. Sun had planned to sit next to Neptune but Judy dashed those plans quickly. Now he was next to Ilia. It wasn’t as weird as before yet he couldn’t help but feel his heart race a little. There wasn’t much room to sit so being a few inches apart was unavoidable.

Ilia was too busy watching the fireworks to really notice. She’d finally gotten swept up in the moment. Sun watched her gaze at them in peaceful bliss. Each one that went off made her eyes grow bigger; her skin constantly changing colors with them as they lit up the night sky. She wasn’t the only one changing colors though. Sun could feel his face getting red the longer he looked at her cheerful experience. Something about it was so….calming.

He would’ve stared at it for hours if she hadn’t tuned to him by chance and he was forced to act like he was watching the sky the entire time. Unfortunate for him, Ilia isn’t stupid. It was strange. She felt kinda happy he was looking at her for whatever reason. This initiated both of them trying to steal glances from one another. A game that didn’t go unnoticed by their friends.

Judy:I could be wrong but do I see a different kind of fireworks happening between those two.

Neptune:I wouldn’t go that far. Sparklers for sure. I hope they know it isn’t the most subtle thing either.

Judy:Not likely. But enough about them. So, tonight has been fun. Getting any fireworks between us Goggles?

Neptune:*red* That’s...I...your are definitely something bright and fiery.

Judy:What does that make you?

Neptune:Burning up and melting helplessly.

Judy:Hehe, I’m that intimidating? I know I tease but not that much.

Neptune:Pretty sure I’m over thinking a tad bit. A surprise date is, well, surprising. Trying to make sure it goes well.

Judy:Yeah I did kinda spring this on you. Well for the record, I’ve been enjoying it. Question is, are you more concerned about it going well or ending well?

Judy leans in closer with a devious smile. Neptune didn’t comprehend the words they spoke for a couple seconds but immediately got the message moments later. The realization noticeable from the blush on his face.

Neptune:Oh I...that wasn’t my intent...well it crossed my mind. Not that it was the only thing I was thinking! I thought of plenty of other stuff besides you. Physically I mean! You’ve been on my mind all night. That...sounded weird. Was-

His adorable rambling was cut off by their finger pressing against his lips. He wasn’t joking about burning up. Poor boy got to the touch.

Judy:This is the furthest you’ve gotten with someone hasn’t it? Be honest with me.

Neptune:More like it’s the first time in a long time that this felt more than just an act. This feels...real. In a sense. Like I’m not going through the motions.

Judy:Tell me Goggles, how do you want this night of yours to end honestly? Cause I can tell you how I want it.

Neptune:I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t love for us to spend the entire night together, but I’d also be really nervous about it the entire time.

Judy:(He’s so cute when he’s trying) Say, why don’t we continue this conversation back at your room? Talk more about the things we currently want, and see what goes from there?

Her voice was low and like silk. She looked at him with such a playful yet honest desire as Judy’s finger trailed off his lips and down to his chest. Nervous wasn’t enough to describe Neptune’s current feelings; he didn’t even trust himself to speak at the moment. All he did was nod. After that, Judy took his and stood up eagerly. This night gave a lot of information about Neptune and it was checking off a lot of the right boxes. Ironic for someone who’s spent a lot of time trying to not be put in one. Neptune wasn’t exactly sure how things got to this point so fast. Parties are a thing of mystery. He wasn’t going to chicken out of what this night might hold for him and mentally tried to psych himself up before leading the way. He didn’t get far since….

Sun:Uh, where are you guys going?

Neptune:(Oh yeah, I’m supposed to be helping them. Gods damnit….) we were…

Judy:Fireworks are almost over and even though the party will probably rage on for several more hours, I think I’ve had my fill. So Neptune and I are going to his place and get to know each other a little more. Hope you don’t mind?

Ilia:What!? Is this an all night thing or what?

Judy:My, my, that’s a bit of a personal question don’t you think? Who’s to say really?

Ilia:Don’t get cute with me. At least go to your place. Sun needs a place to sleep.

Sun:Oh hey I actually didn’t think of that. Thanks.

Judy:No can do. My place is a mess and there’s sensitive files out that shouldn’t be seen by civilians.

Sun:Are you making that up? You wouldn’t actually leave something like that out right?

Ilia:She’s a workaholic; not to mention a clutter bug. There’s totally something left out on her coffee table right now.

Judy:And my bed, couch, probably the sink. His place is nicer.

Ilia:But-

Judy:If you care so much about Sun sleeping somewhere nice then take him to your place.

A massive firework shot up and lit the entire area with dozens of smaller ones. in a grand finale. There it was, the stinger to this entire night. Completely overshadowed by what Ilia just heard. Suddenly all the anxious, awkwardness, and butterflies in her stomach came rushing back. That one beer threatened to even come back up for a split second with how hard her gut dropped. She wasn’t facing Sun but she knew he was definitely feeling the same. Judy was playing dirty. What happened to taking things at your own pace!?

Ilia:That’s-

Judy:You have a futon if I remember correctly. Not to mention a bunch of pillows. He can sleep there and you sleep in your room. No fuss, no muss. Unless, there’s some reason that’s a bad idea?

Ilia:*mentally taxed*....

Sun:...I could go back to my room at Blake’s?

Neptune:Dude...

Ilia:But you don’t want to be there.

Sun:Yeah. Doing something that you’re not comfortable with and ruining their night sucks as an alternative. So I’ll-

Ilia:You’re coming home with me.

She said crossing her arms and giving him a look of dissatisfaction. The others stood quietly. They weren’t expecting the sudden shift in attitude.

Ilia:Seriously, I thought I told you that you have to stop drawing the short straw for the sake of others all the time. You don’t think I’d feel guilty putting you in a position where you’re miserable?

Neptune:She’s right. Be a little greedy for yourself sometimes man. No need to always bite the bullet.

Sun:I…*scratches head* my bad.

Judy:Well if that’s settled then we’re all set. Ilia, don’t worry about community service tomorrow. Take a proper morning to unwind. Leave the paperwork to me.

Ilia didn’t get the chance to respond before Judy left with a flustered and nervous Neptune. Once again, her and Sun were left alone. Only this time it felt like they were back on the pier. Ilia rubbed her arm and try finding anywhere to look that wasn’t his face. That stupidly endearing face.

Sun:So you wanna party a bit more before heading back?

Ilia:I think Judy robbed what energy I had left. We can start heading back and talk on the way.

Sun:Okay.

That might’ve been the plan, but it did not happen. Not exactly anyways. They did indeed leave behind the festive noises and laughter to finally turn in for the night but talking felt impossible. Sure there was plenty they wanted to say, but they never managed to find the words for them. Instead they walked as quiet as death itself on the way to Ilia’s house. Each with a thousand unspoken thoughts on their mind. Sun contemplated on if this was a good idea while Ilia tried her best to remember just how clean her house was. She’d never have a guest. Not even Blake. Ilia’s home was her escape from the world; her little piece of sanctuary in the chaos she called her life. Now she was about to share it.

Part 9

#sun x ilia #ilia amitola #rwby #rwby sunshower #neptune vasilias #sun wukong #rwby ships #rwby sunspots #this chapter was so long that tumblr said no #if this gains traction fast then the second part will be up fast

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bumblebeezandhoney · 4 years

Text

How To Collect Stardust

Genre: Fluff/Strangers to Lovers/Slow Burn/Courtship/Faery AU

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Summary: Taehyung teaches YN how to collect stardust.

A/N: YN is Your Name. I know most reader inserted stories are in second person but I had this feeling I needed to write this in third person. Apologies if it sounds awkward. Hope everyone is healthy and safe.

Chapter 1

YN was bored.

She stood aimlessly in her kitchen. Migrating to her bedroom for a change of scenery, the poor thing found herself restless and uninspired. Self-isolation had never been so difficult. Seeing as there was nothing to do in her bedroom, YN sluggishly walked to her living room, dragging her feet against the plushed carpet which was cleaned twice this morning.

YN had tried reading, painting, cleaning and even cooking but soon stopped for she feared she would run out of things to do for the rest of the day. It was only 1pm of day 42.

Frankly put, she was miserably bored and was in desperate need of company.

What was the saying? Misery loves company and...boredom? That sounded about right.

Boredom was like quicksand, she mused. The moment it touched you, it was nearly impossible to shake off. You found yourself sinking and sinking and sinking, until you were sucked into the pits of boredom with no hopes of escape. Where you die of boredom.

Or, thought YN to herself, boredom was more like a vampiric spirit that attached itself to you and sucked all feelings of enjoyment in doing anything. YN didn’t want to do anything but she also didn’t want to do nothing.

And so at 1:03pm on day 42 of self-isolation, she made herself comfortable in her balcony chair outside with her pink cactus of two months sitting snugly in her lap. Her plant, baptized Cactimus on day 12 of her self-isolation journey, was her great and only companion.

Being that she was on the second floor of the apartment building and facing the woods, YN didn’t have the best or worse view. She couldn’t see the top of the trees and she couldn’t closely admire her ground floor neighbor’s garden gnomes and faery doors. The area was deserted. YN stared blankly ahead and began counting the number of squirrels to pass by the time.

Six squirrels later (was there some kind of family reunion?) YN saw her first human of the day. He was strolling leisurely, stopping on occasion to pick up a rock or a fallen leaf.

“Is he carrying a wooden bucket?” she murmured to Cactimus as she furrowed her brow.

First-human-being-of-the-day was indeed carrying a wooden bucket, similar to what children would bring to the beach.

YN scoffed, amused at the idea.

The young man had long black hair and was dressed snugly in a red cardigan and dark brown slacks. He was too far away for YN to make out his features. Barefoot and without a care in the world, he swung his wooden bucket in one hand and in the other hand…was that a toy shovel?

YN burst into laughter.

That got the man’s attention. He stilled and turned to the sound of laughter.

YN stopped laughing.

“How on earth did he hear me,” YN whispered to Cactimus. Her heart quickened when she saw him approaching.

She leaned forward, feeling equally uneasy and curious.

Upon closer inspection at the nearing figure, YN was stunned to realize how good looking the young man was. Her heart quickened for a different reason.

“Six feet!” she blurted to the approaching stranger when she saw he wasn’t going to stop. Was he planning on climbing up her balcony??

The handsome man stopped. He cocked his hip to the side, stared up at YN and smiled.

“Is this six feet? Looks more like seven,” he teased, his voice deep and low. A shiver ran up YN’s spine. The man took a giant step forward.

YN didn’t know whether to laugh or frown. She settled on frowning.

“What are you doing? We’re supposed to be social distancing,” she reprimanded, her actions betraying her words as she leaned further to get a better view of the man.

“We are social distancing. Unless you decide to jump down from your balcony. Sadly, due to the circumstances, I won’t catch you, as lovely as you are. Or should I say I shouldn’t catch you,” quipped the handsome man.

YN couldn’t stop the small smile on her face even if she tried. She would always welcome a flirty, witty man’s company. She was starved for real life conversation and compliments.

“What’s your-” hesitated YN.

“-name?” finished the young man.

Feeling shy, YN looked down at Cactimus before glancing at the stranger again.

“YN,” she said before realizing she was speaking too softly. She cleared her voice and said louder, “YN.”

“YN YN or YN? Either way, a very beautiful name,” said the young man cheekily.

How did he hear me the first time, she wondered to herself.

“Whatever you like. What about you?” YN said with a laugh, eyeing him with interest. “I’ve never seen you around.”

“You can call me Taehyung,” Taehyung answered simply.

YN nodded. A second wave of shyness hit her.

Taehyung stared intently at YN. She suddenly felt awkward – at not knowing what to say and at having a terribly handsome man standing in front of her balcony staring at her. It was odd to say the least.

YN coughed into her hand, her eyes darting before landing on his again. He was still staring.

“I’m on my way to collect stardust. Would you like to join me?” he asked slowly, as if his invitation carried great significance.

YN didn’t know what to think of such a strange request. She blinked, hoping she heard wrong. Was he a little…touched?

“Uh…I’m sorry, what?” she asked in disbelief.

Taehyung smiled to himself and shook his head to then turn and walk away. YN stared at his retreating back in bewilderment. That’s it??

A sudden urge to sneeze came to YN. She achoo-ed three times in a row. With watery eyes she looked up to see Taehyung was gone.

YN could only laugh, shaking her head.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The sun was warmer the next day. YN was seated in her chair basking in the sun and fresh air. It was 12:55pm on day 43 of self-isolation. A long-forgotten book and iced peach drink lay beside her. In what she hoped was a languid manner, she glanced around, her eyes searching and wondering.

“Hello.”

YN startled. For the briefest of moments, she felt a puff of hot air tickling her left ear. She whipped around but found no one.

“Hello?” she called out tentatively, wondering if she’d receive a response.

A car honked in the distance.

YN sighed and grabbed her pink companion.

“I’m going crazy, aren’t I. To be fair, I’m only going crazy if I talk to no one and I hear something back,” she mused to Cactimus, lightly brushing imaginary dust off the plant.

“Hello,” said a deep, clear voice from below her balcony.

YN nearly dropped the cactus in surprise. Heart in her throat, she quickly glanced down to see Taehyung standing directly below her balcony.

“Oh hello Taehyung,” she said, a strange feeling settling on her tongue as she said his name. She couldn’t say she didn’t like it. It almost felt as if cotton candy was melting into her tongue. The sensation was gone as fast as it came.

And was it her imagination or did he shiver at the sound of her saying his name?

What an eccentric man, she thought.

“Hello YN…or is it YN YN?” said Taehyung with a smile, as he shook his hair out of his eyes.

YN responded with a smile and a shrug. She filed away the fact it was the second time Taehyung asked for her name. She would ponder about that later.

A moment passed between them as YN studied him. He was barefoot again, this time dressed in a flowered dress shirt with pink dress pants. There were so many questions YN wanted to ask. Where were his shoes? And his bucket and shovel? Why was he back?

And why was he holding a bouquet of yellow roses?

As if reading her mind, Taehyung glanced down at the bouquet in his hands. He raised the bouquet as if he had the mind to give it to her.

YN didn’t know what to do. Hesitating, she reached down to accept the roses. Just as YN was about to grasp the bouquet, it fell from Taehyung’s grip. Their hands touched. His hands were long and strong, his fingers ghosting over her wrist before cradling YN’s hand. Just as fast as it happened, he let go. Warmth blossomed in YN’s palm and chest.

A giddiness overcame her. She had the strongest urge to do something – laugh, dance, sing, cheer!

“Oh no,” he said, the faux surprise in his voice sounding ludicrous to YN’s ears.

“You did that on purpose,” she said, wanting to laugh.

“I did not,” Taehyung replied, his eyes twinkling. If she was a lesser woman she would have swooned.

“Yes you did,” insisted YN.

“You could come down and retrieve them yourself,” he suggested.

“Are they for me Taehyung?” countered YN bravely. Taehyung’s ears turned bright red.

He opened his mouth, thought twice about it, spun around and started briskly walking away. For the second time, YN stared at his retreating back. The man was near running away by the looks of it.

“Where are you going?” she spluttered. Had she scare him off?

She sighed, resting her hand on her cheek. Feeling a pinprick on her cheek, YN glanced down at her hand – the hand held by Taehyung – and saw the shiniest, brightest jeweled ring on her middle finger.

“What!” she exclaimed, not believing her eyes.

A cluster of yellow stones circled the golden band. YN brought her hand up in front of her. She had never seen anything so bright, so clear and so yellow. Suddenly remembering the fallen yellow roses, she peered below the balcony. There was nothing there. She looked up.

Taehyung was gone as well.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N: Tada~! Here is my attempt at fluff and slow burn. I had horrible writer’s block for the past week and then this lovely, sweet, soft, pure story came to me out of the blue. I have a soft spot for faeries and I hope I do this story justice. I will try to keep each chapter at least 1k words. I know it’s not a lot but I’m trying to get into the habit of writing more frequently. Enjoy! Please let me know what you think <3

#bts x reader #taehyung x oc #taehyung x y/n #bts fluff #bts slow burn #bts fairy #taehyung fluff #taehyung fic #taehyung fanfic #bts au #bts au fic #bts soft #bts fanfiction #taehyung x you #bts fae #bts scenario #how to collect stardust

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alicedopey · 4 years

Text

The Enslaved Witch

(moodboard by @tephi101 )

Genre: (Slight) Romance

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing: Draco X Reader

Words: 5116

Warning: Some violence

Summary: Orphaned, you find yourself between the clutches of your stepmother who took everything away from you..even your wand.

A/N: This was written for @tephi101 Dark Disney and Other Fairy Tales writing challenge. It’s been a long time since I’ve written something for Harry Potter. Hope I won’t disappoint.

Life used to be good on you. Born in a wealthy family, raised by loving parents who would catch the moon for you, becoming one of the most successful students at Hogwarts in your year – well you did not count Hermione Granger since she was in Gryffindor and not Ravenclaw.

Life was good, almost surreal…even if coming from a pureblood family had its flaws. You family had always been respected until your father married your mother, a muggle. A simple muggle he had met during one of his trips around Europe. Your mother was this sweet and clever lady coming from a wealthy French family. She was lovely, delicate and very beautiful.

Your grandparents did not care. They would not accept the idea that a muggle would be part of their family, let alone thinking that one of their grandchildren would have muggle blood running through their veins. They cut out your father from the family. It was really difficult for him but he always claimed he loved you and your mother above all. And that was enough for all of you…

Then everything abruptly stopped when the second wizarding war started. The life choice of your father made him an easy target for the Death Eaters. He was a traitor – and traitors had to be killed. But they did not kill your father. No. They attacked your mother; your sweet, innocent and defenseless mother. Devastated and scared, your father took you with him and fled to France. He managed to find himself a good situation thanks to your mother’s connections, far away from the storm that was going on in England.

Soon, he met someone. A certain Madame de Lecharlesse, widowed with two daughters around your age. She was cold but nice and she even managed to convince your father to go back to England a couple of years after the war. Going back was a blessing though you had troubles living in your old house without the presence of your mother at the beginning. You were trying to stay positive now that you were back in familiar grounds. Maybe you could go back to Hogwarts and finish your studies to find an interesting job and start anew.

It was never meant to happen. All of a sudden, your father got seriously ill and it was not long before he passed away. Things took a dramatic turn, then. Lady de Lecharlesse revealed her true face.

She made you leave your old bedroom to go and live in the attic, stole all your possessions and clothes to give them away to her awfully spoiled daughters and more importantly, she took away your wand, stating that you had no right to use magic since you were no pureblood. You became a real servant in your own home. No one could help you since you did not have time to reach any acquaintances when you had come back. It was only you and your horrible fate, now.

“Y/N!”

You closed your eyes and tried not to let out the sigh so eager to leave your lips. Things could turn ugly when she was vexed.

“I’m coming, Mother.” You replied softly.

Your stepmother was standing in the living room, waiting for you with her two daughters at her side, like minions.

“There you are! Have you finished your morning chores?”

“Yes…”

She squinted her eyes. “Yes?”

Again, your eyes closed and you fought the strong will to sigh. “Yes, mother.”

It hurt to say the word. There was nothing of a mother coming from her, quite the contrary.

“Don’t act so ungrateful after everything I’ve done for you.”

Like what? Giving away your bedroom to her daughters? Turning you into a slave into your own house? Merlin knows there was no reason to be grateful for that.

“I need you to do something for me if you wish to go to that ball tonight.”

Her daughters gasped outraged while your eyes widened at her words. Since she got this owl about a ball for single witches and wizards, you had restlessly asked her to let you go there. As a single witch, you had every right to attend that event and meet a lovely man who was looking for a wife.

To say you were surprised she finally agreed to it was an understatement. She had claimed you were not witch enough and that no wizard in their right mind would be willing to add you to their lineage.

“Mother!” Odette cried. “You cannot let her go over there with us. “It would be an insult”.

Francette did not add anything but frowned as if to show her agreement with her sister – or maybe it was disagreement.

The mother raised her hand and the complaints died instantly. “Y/N will be able to go if she succeeds in doing what I will ask of her.”

Your stomach churned at the thought. You knew whatever she would ask would not be pleasing for you to do. Her daughters seemed to share the same train of thoughts than you because two smiles appeared on their faces.

“Odette needs a room of her own now. I think it is time to clean the spare room nobody is currently using.”

The spare room. The room where all of your mother’s belongings had been stocked.

“Of course, by cleaning I mean getting rid of everything.”

This time, you closed your eyes to prevent the tears from falling. It was low, extremely low. She knew what she was doing.

“I’ll do it.” You answered in a whisper.

Her eyebrows perked up. She clearly was not expecting that reaction from you. Nonetheless, she composed herself rapidly and what appeared to be a soft smile pulled at her lips.

“Very well. The room will have to be emptied and cleaned before we leave tonight. Of course, you will do everything the muggle way. No magic can be trusted coming from you. Moreover, you will have to find something decent to wear for the occasion.”

Of course. “Yes, mother.”

“It seems we have come to an agreement, then.” She dismissed you with a wave of her hand and you left in a hurry.

Cleaning up the place was harder than you had thought, especially without a wand…and because you took your time to look at every piece before putting it away. It broke your heart to throw away all of your mother’s things. Those were your last memories of her and you held on to them dearly. That awful stepmother of yours was very well aware of that, she wanted to break you. Why? Because you had muggle blood in your veins – that and the fact that you were the last human being alive in your family. Her last barrier to get all of the money…money that she was already enjoying more than she should. There was one thing bothering her though. She could not get your part of the gain unless you gave it to her willingly or that you suddenly disappeared. In order to do so, she was trying to push all of your buttons but you would not give her the pleasure to leave everything behind in her clutches. All of this was rightfully yours. She had destroyed a lot of things already, you would not let her destroy this too.

You admired your mother’s beautiful gowns and wonderful sketches she used to love drawing in her free time and from what you remembered, she was quite gifted. She had made several portraits like the one you were looking at with tears in your eyes. It was a representation of the three of you in the garden. You were probably 8 or 9 at the time but the memory of this joyful was still vivid in your mind. Throwing it away was out of the question so you decided to hide it in your tiny room in the attic. Same for the beautiful peach gown worn by your mother. It could perfectly fit for the bachelor ball. Yes…

The clock struck 7:00. It was time. You rapidly gathered the mask, the dress and the matching shoes. Then you ran to the attic to get dressed. The dress clung perfectly to your body. Tears came to your eyes. You could almost smell her floral scent.

“Y/N! We’re waiting.” Of course, inspection time!

When you entered the spare room, the three women were inspecting everything closely to search for something you would have left behind….and to give them a reason to punish you. Lady de Lecharlesse noticed your presence and looked up at you. If she was surprised to see you wearing something else than your usual rags, she did not show it. Her two daughters ware gaping at you, though.

When you looked at their attire, you did your best not to smile. There were wearing awful dresses, way too tight for them and the colors were so bright you blinked. But of course, they thought they looked amazingly beautiful.

“I have to admit you did well.” Your stepmother stated softly. “Looks like you will be able to go to the ball after all.”

She took a few steps towards you. “What a lovely dress you got, there. It was your mother, wasn’t it?”

“Y-yes…” Where was this going?

She leaned over you and you fought the urge to step back. Something was definitely off.

“You probably found it here.” She turned towards her girls and winked at them. “When I specifically told you to get rid of everything.”

She faced you, wand in hand. Something clenched in your stomach, a strong fear possessed all of your body. “You disobeyed and for that…Diffindo!” She screamed, pointing her wand at you.

As soon as the curse hit your chest, your dress was torn apart and you found yourself in undergarments in the middle of the room. You looked down at the tatters of the gown, then up at their satisfied smiles and felt a burning rage boiling in the pit of your stomach.

“You had no right to do that! I – I was just…”

The back of her hand collided with your cheek. “I have every right, you ungrateful brat! Don’t forget who you are talking to… Consider yourself for not being punished more. I don’t have time to deal with you right now…” She was so close to you, she was almost spitting on your face with every word coming out of her mouth. “You will remain here tonight, you do not deserve to mingle with respectful wizards.”

She turned to her girls again. “We are leaving.” They quickly went downstairs. You heard the pop of their disapparition and nothing.

Only the silence, you and your destroyed dress – you mother’s dress, the one she was so much fond of. Tears blurred your vision, soon your legs gave out and you had to kneel down on the floor. This life you were living was not a life. What did you do to deserve this? You had been a good daughter, a good student, a good classmate…it was not fair! Huge sobs were now coming out of your mouth, tears were heavily rolling down your cheeks, dampening your underdress.

You did not know how long you stayed there until something wet touched your cheek. Something different than your tears…it was the snout of a dog – a golden retriever to be exact.

“Oh!” You squeaked before scratching its head. “What are you doing here? How did you come in?”

The dog let you pet him…or her, after a verification. It made you feel better in some way. For once since a long time, somebody was nice with you. Tears leaked out from the corner of your eyes. The dog whined and licked your nose, making you giggle. She wagged her tail and took a few steps back, as if to leave. Instead, she sat down and what was a dog suddenly became a middle-aged woman in front of your eyes. A woman you knew well.

“Alba!” You gasped. “How did you…I did not know…”

She slowly made her way towards you and embraced you fiercely. “I am an undeclared Animagus.” She explained. “Merlin, it feels so good to see you.” She hugged you tighter and abruptly released you. “How thin you have become! What have this one woman done to you!”

“You know?”

She gave a sad nod. “I’ve been watching you for some time but I can’t do anything. She is a powerful woman who knows how to pull the right strings.”

True. She could destroy Alba in a nutshell. From what you could remember, the lovely woman was a widow trying to raise her three children with the salary of a healer.

“We don’t have much time.”

“Much time for what?” You asked, frowning.

“You wanted to go to the ball, right?” She smiled. “I can help you but I am on my night shift so we need to be quick.”

“But…how?”

“Magic, of course!” She looked at you up and down. “I could easily fix that and your dress would be back in a second.”

“No…she will know. I can’t go with this dress and I’ll have to wear another mask as well.”

“You are right. I hadn’t thought about that…well, never mind that. I could make you a different dress.”

And she did. Two flicks of her wand and you were wearing a luxurious dark blue dress with matching mask and shoes. You had no time to appreciate her work, she took your hand quickly. “Let’s go, Y/N! Hold on tight!”

---------------------------------------------------------------

Draco was gritting his teeth. He did not want to be here but his mother had insisted. She desperately wanted him to find a suitable wife after the Grengrasses had turned them down. In spite of what his mother was saying, the Malfoy family did not seem to have any power left. It had become a disgrace for everyone now, on both sides. Draco was left with the desperate ones…just like those two ugly French girls with the most annoying voices. Plus, their mother was even worse. There was no way he would find a suitable wife here.

“Draco, no woman will come near you if you keep glaring at them this way.”

“Mother…” He sighed exaggeratedly. “This is useless. They are not interesting, or interested.”

“It’s because you need to pay more attention.” She squeezed his shoulder and left him with his dark thoughts to go and socialize, or at least try to. Paying more attention….to who? To what?

“Remember…two hours.”

“Yes.”

Draco’s head turned in the direction of the voice. Maybe he should pay attention to the lovely girl in blue. This one did not look like a monster, or an idiot.

Alba disappeared in a pop. Someone cleared his throat and caught your attention. You looked up at him and your eyes widened.

“Draco Malfoy.” He extended a hand that you took: warm, firm, definitely not what you would have assumed.

“And you are…?”

“My name won’t tell you anything.” You retrieved your hand.

“Your face does though…and I never forget a face. Have we met before? Maybe you went to Hogwarts?”

You tensed a little. How much could you tell him without revealing your true identity? “I did go to Hogwarts, I was even in your year but I doubt you noticed me.”

Draco watched you through squinted eyes. “You’re right… I don’t remember you from Hogwarts, but you really seem familiar.” He shook his head. “Care to share a dance or two?”

You hesitated for a second or two but ended up nodding. Some dances could not hurt.

Draco gently took you to the dance floor. The moment you started dancing, you were in sync. Once dance turned into two, three, four…You were finally feeling free and relaxed – and wished it would not stop.

“Do you want to take some fresh air?” A breathless Draco asked you.

“It would be a good idea.” You followed him as he led you through the crowded room. Walking, you could feel a strange sensation on your back. When you looked up, you realized your stepmother was glaring at you. The urge to run and hide was deeply strong but you remembered you could not show any sign it was you. She seemed to be mad some other girl was attracting one of the bachelors at the party. You avoided her stare and held on Draco’s hand tighter until you reached the garden.

The fresh air cooled down your face and you took the time to enjoy this simple and natural feeling until Draco tugged on your arm in order to invite you to sit down next to him. Your cheeks flushed under his stare and you looked down at your feet.

“You still don’t want to tell me your name?”

“My name won’t give you anything…I’m no one.”

He raised your chin gently with two of his fingers. “What should I call you when we see each other again?”

You smiled at that. “Because we will see each other again?”

“I’m certain we will”. Draco answered confidently. “So, you said you went to Hogwarts. Let me guess…Ravenclaw?” He assumed, looking at your dress.

“Yes, a very wise Ravenclaw. Th best student in her year.”

Draco rolled his eyes at your answer. “I was the best student in my year…well, after Granger.”

You noticed he said “Granger”, not the “M” word. There was still hope for him. “I was the best Ravenclaw.” You answered softly. “I guess I was not better than you, which is why you don’t remember me.”

Draco tilted his head. “Your eyes though…if only I could…” He tried to touch your mask but you stopped with your hand.

“That’s not how it is supposed to work tonight. This is a masked ball because we are supposed to learn from each other. Why don’t we enjoy it while we can and we’ll see where it leads us?”

He intertwined his fingers with yours and leaned over your, letting his lips graze yours in the softest of kisses.

The clock struck, breaking the magic between the two of you. You gently pushed Draco away and stood up. “I have to go.”

Draco stood up as well. “What? The party has just started, you can’t leave.”

“I have no choice, I’m sorry.”

He tried to stop you but you avoided his hands and ran inside. You managed to lose him in the crowd and found your way back to the center of the ballroom. Alba was already waiting in a corner and the two of you dis apparated as you saw Draco looking for you everywhere.

Alba and you apparated in your ancient mother’s room where the rags of you dress were still on the floor. You looked at them but a smile pulled at your lips. “Thank you for tonight, Alba.”

“If only I could do more…”

You smiled again, a little bit sad this time. “I think you’ve done more than enough.”

You persuaded her to undo her magic. Everything should go back the way it was. The only thing you kept was the mask that you hid with the painting you had found earlier. Alba promised she would come back and find some way to help. You knew the poor woman would not do much but that was enough to comfort you in a way. For once, you did not feel alone, it almost gave you strength and hope.

----------------------------------------------------------

A few days after the ball, things were highly tense in your household. Everyone was talking about the famous girl and the fact that Draco Malfoy was eagerly looking for her. He was even visiting everyone to get some information about her.

Madame de Lecharlesse was not happy about it but Odette and Francette were excited at the thought of him visiting them. For your part, you could not help feeling stressed. If he recognized you and rejected you once he would have discovered your true identity, your stepmother would make your life a living Hell, even more than now – if such a thing was possible. On the other hand, your heart secretly hoped he would not be bothered by your blood status. During the ball, he seemed to have changed a bit. He was not the Draco Malfoy you used to hear about at Hogwarts. There was a slight chance…

Kneeling down on the floor, you pulled on one of the planks and extracted your ball mask from your little hiding place. This mask was the only reminder of the party, the only reminder of him, your only fond memory since the death of your mother.

“What is this?”

Gasping, you let the mask fall on the floor. You tried to pick it up but your stepmother snatched it away. She started at the object in her hands, then at you. Her eyes widened.

“You little…Petrificus Totalus!”

The curse hit you before you got a chance to escape. Your face hit the planks with a loud thud. Your stepmother came near you and turned your body with the help of her foot so that you were facing her.

She looked at you maliciously. “Did you think you could fool me, girl? You will never see him again and once he is out of this house, I will personally deal with you for disobeying again.”

She put the mask in her pocket and left, locking you in. You listened intently to her footsteps dying down. The only sound echoing in your ears was the heavy beating of your heart.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Draco came into the house with a deep frown on his face. He was standing in front of those ugly sisters again. It was definitely the wrong house, but they might give him some information. They looked like professional gossipers.

The house was huge and very nice, yet so cold at the time…just like Malfoy Manor. Something was off with this place.

“Please, sit down.” The mother told him with a fake polite smile. She was holding a tray with cups, a fuming teapot and some biscuits. No house-elf or servant in sight?

“I heard you were searching for a very special girl…maybe one of my daughters?”

Draco snickered. “No. I remember your girls, it was not them for sure. I mean, they were not wearing blue.” He added when he noticed the scowls he was receiving for his comments.

“Besides, she is British and went to Hogwarts. She even said she was a Ravenclaw.”

“We do not know many people here. I’m afraid we won’t be able to help you, Mister Malfoy. But if we get any piece of information, I can assure you we will tell you right away.”

That was his cue to leave. The mother seemed eager to get rid of him and he was too happy to take advantage of it because the way the two sisters were watching him were giving him the creeps.

He rose from the sofa and admired the house again. “How did you acquire this house?”

“It was my late husband’s. He lived here with his first wife before the war.”

Her tone triggered something in Draco’s guts. She was clearly hiding something.

“You were leaving, Mr. Malfoy?”

“Yes…” Something was wrong, he could tell but he was in a hurry to leave this creepy place so he shook his head and followed the mother. She walked him to the door that she almost slammed in his face. Weird. Really weird. He had many other places to visit though, so he made the decision to ignore his instinct and left.

On the other side of the door, Madame de Lecharlesse swiftly but calmly left the room to go upstairs. She found you in the attic, still rigid on the floor.

“Enervate!” Your body relaxed and you instantly crawled backwards in front of her fury.

“Did you think you could play me, girl? You were forbidden to go and you disobeyed again… Crucio!”

Pain. Pain everywhere, that is what you were feeling. Your body twisted under the torture and you let out pitiful screams. She had already used this spell on you when you had tried to rebel but the anger she was feeling right now was intensifying it. She truly meant to make you suffer.

“And to think you could fool the Malfoy heir as well. What? Did you believe he would fall in love and marry you? An impure like you? How could you think that you would stand a chance? You are worse than filth! You had no right…”

“I had every right! Every single woman had the right to go.”

A deep and raw anger possessed you. You were tired of being treated this way, you did absolutely nothing to deserve that! You would not cower before her this time, even if it was the last thing you would do.

Another painful curse hit you, worse than before.

“Every witch had the right to go. You are no witch!”

“I…am…a witch.” Pain had made you breathless, burning your body all over. “I am…a better witch than you, better than your…despicable daughters. You do not deserve…ARGH!”

A blood curling scream erupted from your lips. The pain was becoming more and more excruciating. But you would fight, no matter what.

“How dare you!” She gripped your hair and tilted your head backwards so that you would look her in the eye. “After everything I’ve done for you. I could have let you die in the dirt but I kept you, I offered you a shelter and food.”

“You stole everything away from me!” Tears of rage and pain were rolling down your face. “This is not your house. Nothing is yours here. You are the usurper.” You spat in her face.

“Mother?” Francette and Odette were standing at the door, watching their mother with pure fright for once.

“We were alerted by the screams.” Odette explained. “What is happening here?”

“This one…” She gripped your hair so hard you winced. “…is the mysterious girl Draco Malfoy met at the ball.”

“That’s impossible.” Odette screamed, offended. “There was no way she could have found an outfit so fast. Besides, she wouldn’t have looked that good.”

“And you know what is worse?” Your stepmother replied as if she had not heard her daughter. “She dares insulting us.” She pulled on your hair again. “Well I am done with you, girl. I should have done what I wanted to do in the first place: getting rid of you.”

“I will never let you have my house.” You managed to scream through your state of pain. “I’ll kick you out…”

“You won’t be here anymore to do it.” She made you stand up by pulling your hair. “Girls, go to your room.”

“Mother, maybe we should just all calm down.” Francette softly intervened. She had always been the more responsible one and the one who did not make you suffer that much. “She has been punished enough now, there is no need…”

“I said, go to your room.” She answered sharply. They were so scared that they had no other choice but to obey. Francette gave you one apologizing look before following her sister.

Madame de Lecharlesse gave you a hateful stare. “Back to our business.” She pointed her wand at you. “Impero.”

The curse hit you on full force and made you feel as if you were floating.

“Walk now. Downstairs.” You were too weak to resist so you followed her orders and made your way downstairs.

“Open the door.” The light made you blink. “Come on, follow me.”

She walked ahead of you, leading you through the gates, then the forest and up a hill. Your insides clenched when you managed to understand through your foggy mind what she was about to make you do.

“Go up the hill.”

Your steps reluctantly carried you on the upper spot of the hill. A furious wind blew on your face.

“Very well…now, jump.”

Something on the back of your mind was telling you not to but it was not strong enough. You walked over the edge of the hill, ready to jump and face your fate when a strong arm sneaked around your waist and pulled your backwards.

The curse was suddenly lifted and you woke up from your daze to find yourself in the arms of Draco Malfoy. Your stepmother was on the floor, unconscious. You looked at Draco, utterly lost.

“Told you I could not forget a face…and your house seemed familiar.” He answered your silent question. “I remember now. There was a picture of you and your family in your house after your mother’s death in the Daily Prophet. I knew something was wrong the moment I came into your home but I couldn’t explain it. When everything came back to my mind, I came back. I spotted you and leaving and I silently followed. You’re Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N.”

You silently nodded and started crying. Draco comforted you, rubbing your back as huge sobs were wracking your body. You were finally safe.

A few days later, your stepmother was locked up in Azkaban, waiting for her trial while her daughters had gone back to France.

You were slowly but surely getting acquainted with your home again. Alba was a great help as well as Draco who was currently hanging the famous portrait your mother had drawn on the wall of your living room, just above the fireplace. When he was done, he leaned back to admire his work.

“I have to admit your mother was talented. Muggle paintings are boring but they are quite pleasing to the eye.”

You smiled at his comment. Draco Malfoy complimenting something a muggle had made…who would have thought? Certainly not you, especially after everything you had heard about him at Hogwarts. The war seemed to have changed him a bit, regarding some aspects.

He did not care about your blood status or your family history. Narcissa did not either and she was constantly trying to bound with you, telling a lot of stories about her son… who was mostly embarrassed but would not dare saying anything to his mother.

You loved that. It was nice to share those family moments with them. Your heart deeply missed your parents but Draco and Narcissa were making you feel like a human being again.

You admired your wand on the coffee table. Tears came to your eyes as you remembered the moment you held it again. Never had a “lumos” felt so strong and powerful. You were a witch again, a woman with a future ahead of her thanks to your savior, your very own Prince Charming: Draco Malfoy.

Tagging (please tell me if you want to be added or removed): @naaladareia @gearhead66 @tephi101 @therealcalicali @mzliterarydreamer @captstefanbrandt @mblaqgi @peaceisadirtyword

#writing challenge #dark disney and other fairy tales writing challenge #Harry Potter #fanfic #draco x reader #draco malfoy

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