#Sullen Waltz

[dawn-moths]

"Epitaph"

Undertaker x Female Reader

word count: 15,900+

(requested by @anxious-chick // After running into the mysterious guest known as “Undertaker” at several of Rachel and Vincent Phantomhive’s weekly parties, the two of you eventually take an interest in one another, even if your part in that begins as somewhat reluctant. However, over time, as you grow more comfortable around one another, you find perhaps there's a reason you two were destined to meet, starting with the fact that he's the first one to show you physical touch isn't something to be afraid of.)

disclaimer/content warning: 18+ content! minors dni! plot heavy in the beginning (sort of slow burn) with smut at the end, loss of virginity, best way i can describe this is like a one-sided reluctant acquaintances to lovers lol, bittersweet ending, some mentions of drinking/alcohol.

*ao3 mirror*

***

The cemetery beyond the mortuary was empty at this time of night, the small, early morning hours just beginning to creep over the horizon, staining the dark velvets of night with a fine veil of ghostly greys, the moonlight breaking through the thick shield of clouds overhead. Through the latticed windows of the kitchenette, silver beams slipped through the glass to lay on the cool tile floor, the table by the sill where you used to sit and read your mystery novels now overgrown with houseplants.

It was all he had left of you— ferns and pothos and calatheas.

Houseplants, and the loop of your hair that was preserved behind the glass of his mourning lockets.

Out of the countless bodies he’d seen through death, tended to and prepared to be placed perfectly in their eternal resting place, you had been the most beautiful and the most heartbreaking.

It had been years since he’d shed even a single tear over one of the deceased— decades— maybe even over a century— but for you, after all this time, he guessed he still had a few lingering shreds of humanity left in his crypt of a heart after all. No matter how far he tried to bury his grief, his mourning, your passing had finally been the thing to unearth it.

Standing before your headstone beneath the kitchen window, facing the direction of the setting sun, your favorite time of day, tracing the letters of your name with his sullen chartreuse gaze, slivers of emerald slipping through the gaps of his curtain of silver bags, he just let the tears fall. If anyone else had been around to see, they would’ve never believed the funeral director was actually crying over one of his corpses.

But you had been so much more than just a body, once upon a time. It haunted him to think one day he might be the only soul left to remember you’d even existed at all. But then again, those were all memories he still held dear. He could recall them as if they’d occurred only yesterday, could see the curve of your profile from across the room, feel the way the dip of your waist fit perfectly into his palm, hear the lilt of your laugh, able to amuse you with anything he said if he really wanted to once he’d finally deciphered your sense of humor.

Those days were over for you now, but he could still relive pieces of them, their echo reverberating through his mind as soon as he plucked the first string on one. No matter how melancholy the tune, the melody was still just as sweet.

Strolling away from your resting place, venturing further into the garden of graves that lay beyond, he began to hum a quiet song to himself, one he’d heard time and time again back when you two had first fallen into each other’s orbit. Despite the sadness, it made him smile. He wished he would’ve asked to dance with you sooner, danced with you more, once he’d finally gotten the chance.

He could almost feel the waltz welling within him, doing a turn and imagining your hands clasped with his, twirling you gracefully, allowing you to unravel just far enough to give the illusion of breaking away only to return to him, wearing that mischievous smile he so adored.

How he longed to revisit those nights in more than just his memories— the mysterious gatherings, the lavish parties, no matter what menagerie of wealthy, well-bred guests were in attendance, his interest always locking in on you.

But even he couldn’t have guessed, back then, that he would’ve ever grown so attached as to weep for you once you were dead…

***

It had all began at one of the Phantomhive’s illustrious, notorious nighttime banquets, each and every guest hand picked and carefully curated, placed strategically within the mansion’s hosting perimeter, down to the seating arrangements at dinner and the order in which the carriages arrived to deliver you all home at the end of the event.

The first few times you’d been invited, you hadn’t a clue why you were there. Because what could Vincent and Rachel Phantomhive possibly want to do with a local news column writer such as yourself? They’d barely spoken to you upon your arrival, too busy mingling with the more important guests, but as you’d awkwardly skirted the corners of the room, the neglect had given you the opportunity to do what it was you were best at.

Survey the crowd.

People watch.

Discover the strengths and weaknesses of your fellow party-goers all while remaining anonymous and tucked away into the shadows.

It was how you’d quickly began to rise through the ranks of the journalists at your press department, sniffing out mysterious stories and the savage truths behind them before anyone else even had the chance to pick a direction to start in.

To yourself, you thought it just made you a good journalist. To others, it made you dangerous.

And if anyone besides the hosts of the evening knew just exactly how lethal you could become with a pen and notepad in your hand, they’d all be anxiously vying to convince you they weren’t like other arms dealers and black market traders or any other less-than-ethical variety of underworld rat skittering through London’s secret mazes.

But that had all been a part of Vincent and Rachel’s plan. Have you stir things up just enough to have the vermin scatter, then all they’d need to do would be to divert them towards the trap.

By the fifth time you’d accepted their ominous invitation— why you kept returning despite the uneasiness it all gave you, you weren’t sure, other than your innate curiosity and just so happening to have most nights free from your busy work schedule— your hosts had finally found it appropriate to introduce themselves to you personally.

Even before you’d begun attending the parties, seen the infamous Phantomhive’s with your own eyes, you’d heard the rumors— not just of their wealth, but of their beauty as well.

Rachel and Vincent both bore striking appearances. They had this air about them, something you just couldn’t put your finger on, that made you both weary and trusting of them on sight. Like a siren singing from a rock near the shore, they lured you in with their elegant charms, but get too close and you’d find yourself drowning.

“Ah, there she is,” Vincent had said as he and his wife gracefully approached you. “The woman of the hour. Welcome, welcome.” You gave them a respectful courtesy, bowing your head and clutching your skirts, hoping to hide how your hands had begun to shake, your nerves getting the better of you.

“Thank you for having me,” you replied, trying to sound actually grateful instead of skeptical. You were going to keep your confusion to yourself, just let it go and enjoy being able to attend while it lasted, but then something inside you decided against it and you asked, “But— and excuse me if this is out of turn— why, exactly, have I been invited…?”

Rachel and Vincent both laughed and, for a moment, all air of intimidation seemed to disappear from them. Until they’d looked at each other, then looked back at you, smiling like cats who’d just caught a mouse and intended on teasing the poor creature for a bit before sinking its fangs down into the rodent’s throat.

Vincent leaned in, close enough to make you flinch, close enough to raise a slight heat into your cheeks. “Because, my dear journalist…” he’d whispered, “Rachel and I have a very important favor to ask of you.”

The favor in question, as it turned out, was more so a job. The Phantomhive’s couldn’t be discovered as double agents or else their entire cover operation would be blown, so naturally they sought out second hand services. But your willingness to spy on their guests for them didn’t come for free. They’d never even dream of inferring that you work without compensation of some kind. So, in exchange for your services, they were willing to put in a good word for you at the top newspaper in all of London.

“Just take your pick of the columns,” Rachel had said with a sly wink. “Any one your heart desires, do this for us and it shall be yours.”

At first, it almost seemed, and felt, too good to be true. But you were tired of getting stuck with the inane, mundane, and oftentimes completely domestic stories handed off to you by the other men at the office. If you came in with a headline worthy story, it was always one of them who got to claim it, making you do all the work only to sign it off with their name, as if any one of them could ever even hope to be half the writer— half the detective— you’d been with half the time in the game.

It was tempting, though, what was it they said about temptation again? Something about surrending to it in case it never came your way again?

Perhaps that was the reason you’d been so inclined to accept their offer in the end. Because, if they really were the sirens you suspected them to be, this opportunity felt like a liferaft tossed out to sea. You’d already made the mistake of drawing too close to the beast. Now all you could do was grasp onto the first thing that could help you escape the icy waters unscathed.

So, from there on out, every event of theirs that you attended you made sure to stay diligent, deceptively demure as you shied away from the thickest crowds, wearing clothes that looked nice enough to blend in but not so extravagant as to be the center of attention, your hair fixed into an elegant, albeit modest updo, always seeming to be holding a glass of whatever alcohol was being served that night that never found itself empty. Although, unlike most of the other guests, that wasn’t because the servants kept coming around to refill it. You had to stay focused, so, raising the rim of the crystal to your lips, you merely pretended to drink, yet another way to blend in.

However, despite the fact your eye for booking someone as shady or salacious was a very sharp, very skilled one, there had been one guest that, no matter how hard you studied him, how carefully you watched, gave nothing— absolutely nothing— away as to why he belonged in the room among the rest of the guests.

You were supposed to be the secret outlier, you thought, and the man’s presence haunted you from one week into the next. By your second soiree as a spy, you’d already gathered ample information on the ones you’d deemed guilty, still keeping a watch on the others out of the corner of your eye while you continued trying to dig a deeper hole for the rats to fall in, but at the end of that night drifting around the manor like your own kind of phantom, you still came up empty on your mystery man.

Until the very end, just as you were about to head out to the carriage arranged to take you home.

“I must say, Vincent,” his gravelly voice sounded from a little further into the main foyer, the remnants of a laugh fading off the end of his words, “If the Queen knew her watchdog had such a sense of humor, I think she’d prefer to take you on as her personal entertainer instead.”

You stopped, pretending to search your purse for something as you listened in.

The Earl let out a devious chuckle of his own, going on to reply, “Yes, but if I did that, then who would be around to entertain you, Undertaker?”

You clasped your purse shut with a muted click and continued towards the carriage. For tonight, you had all you needed. And though it was just a title, barely even a name to know him by, the moment you got home and scribbled down the ten letters of Undertaker onto your growing web of information gathered from these parties, you could already sense that he was the key to the biggest mystery you’d been faced with yet.

***

Though you couldn’t see his eyes through the thick silver curtain of his hair, from across the room you knew— could practically feel it as a fresh wave of chills spiked up your spine— that Undertaker was staring straight at you. You stared back, lips slightly parted as your next breath caught halfway up your throat, his silent acknowledgment of you making you feel suddenly naked, vulnerable under his recognition.

He offered you a mischievous crack of a smile, all teeth, and a playful, waggling wave of his black-nailed fingers. You felt your cheeks heat, feeling startlingly self-conscious, though not entirely sure why, and turned to excuse yourself to the nearest washroom to collect yourself.

Staring down your reflection in the mirror, you reminded yourself why you were here. To investigate. To uncover. To expose. Not just for the promotion that had been generously promised to you, but for the sake of the common good as well. Or, at least, that’s one of the stories you’d started telling yourself to make your duplicity to all the people who you’d pretended to enjoy the company of a little less guilt-tripping.

Besides, the Phantomhive’s also knew you couldn’t resist a cause where injustice was being done, and while it sort of made you sick to watch this group of miscreants chatting and laughing like they’d never harmed the orphaned or the sick or the poor week after week, you knew, in the end, their evil would not prevail.

Resolute in your mission here once again, you exited the washroom, intending to migrate back into the lion’s den, when all of a sudden that familiar, bone-chilling voice sounded from behind you, making you flinch.

“You know…” Undertaker began, who’d been leaning against the nearest wall before pushing off with one shoulder to lessen the gap between you, the layers of black fabric he wore lightly billowing behind him with each heel-to-toe step. His arms were crossed, and his shadow began to creep over you, seeming as if it could swallow you up at any moment. But still he wore an amused grin like he was about to tell a charming joke and was simply awaiting the perfect moment to deliver the punchline. He continued, “The guest list of these parties changes every week, yet, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, there are only ever two who get invited every single time…”

You had noticed that actually, keeping the little tidbit of information close to your chest, sometimes purposely acting like it was your first time attending such a gathering if you noticed the roster was entirely fresh, but he was right.

The only other person besides yourself who graced the Phantomhive manor on a weekly basis, other than the Phantomhives themselves, of course, was the silver shadow known as Undertaker. The man had been nearly as elusive and calculating as you had thus far, but now, it seemed, he wished to show part of his hand.

Undertaker cocked his head to one side, seeming to study you through the shaggy fringe concealing half his face like a mask, and said, “Sort of odd, don’t you think?”

And it really wasn’t his sudden and unexpected presence that had caught you so off guard. You were used to potential targets confronting you, whether to try and scare you off from a possible story they were at the root of or convince you there was nothing to see here. This, however, was different. Because the increased pounding of your heart and the sudden loss for words didn’t seem to be out of fear, but, perhaps, out of the kind of flustered intrigue that comes with finding a stranger very, very attractive.

“I, uh…” was all you had time to say before Vincent Phantomhive was approaching from down the hall, seemingly with something urgent to discuss with Undertaker, giving you a smile and a nod as if to say keep up the good work before he and his guest continued down the hall and disappeared around the next corner, all that black fabric fluttering in his wake.

You spent the remainder of the night distracted, off your game, growing frustrated with yourself and with him for having your thoughts interrupted by that shining scar that cut diagonally across his pale face, the lilting hum to his tone that had indicated something you didn’t even dare explore, even within the confines of your own imagination, and all those long strands of silver that looked like threads spun from moonlight.

Needless to say, you didn’t gather much intel that night, and you were honestly just counting down the hours until it would be time for you to go home. But as each guest departed, one after another, their carriages formally announced to be awaiting them, something else strange and rather off-script happened to you.

Normally, you were among the middle group to say your thank yous and goodbyes to the hosts before exiting through the grand entrance, heading down the curved double staircase before being whisked away back into the grey-toned city. But tonight, after watching the last of the guests thank the Phantomhives for their glittering hospitality and departing the manor, you found you were the final guest that remained.

You, and, much to your dismay, surprise, and general curiosity, Undertaker as well.

You were sure your carriage would be pulling up any moment now, and so you hung close to the doors to search out the horse pulling it through the dark. You hoped this served as an indicator you wished to be left alone with your own thoughts, but, alas, that looming shadow of a man who’d suddenly and quite unexplainably taken an interest in you was hovering by your side again like a crow waiting for you to drop some crumbs.

“Do you think it’s true?” he unceremoniously prompted, voice hushed to a low, sultry whisper, making the thin hairs on the back of your neck rise with suspense.

You cast him a glance over your shoulder, trying to act indifferent and completely unbothered. “Do I think what’s true?” you asked, an edge of irritation splicing through your forced boredom.

Undertaker breathed out a knowing chuckle, something from beneath his wide sleeves clinking and chiming together lightly before he applied more pressure to silence it. He then cleared his throat and said, “This place, they say it’s haunted, you know.”

“And?” you pressed, and though you were trying to make it seem like you couldn’t have cared less, your skin was crawling with the anticipation to know more, more, more.

“And,” he mimicked, leaning in a little closer to you, testing to see how far you’d let him invade your personal space, “do you think it’s true?”

You turned to face him, scrutinizing him now, a crooked mask to hide your true intrigue, wanting nothing more than to reach up and gently push his bangs away from his eyes just to discover what color they were beneath the curtain that so carefully protected that information. You wanted to trace the lines of his scars, especially the one wrapped around his neck like a collar, a chain, a reminder of something horrific he’d once endured, and learn the story behind every single mark.

You wanted to learn his name, his true one, not just his job description or whatever morbid title Vincent had given him as part of some kind of inside joke they shared.

You opened your mouth to say something— what, you weren’t entirely sure— but just then, the feeling in the air seemed to change, an energy charged in the small space between your bodies, the scent of a storm carrying on a breeze, an invisible electricity sparking through you, lacing through your bones and frizzling your brain.

“They say sometimes you can feel them touch you,” Undertaker continued, and for a moment, just a mere hair of a second, you swore you could see a glint of light shimmering from behind his bangs, a flash of emerald here and then gone again before your eyes could even register the color. “They say it’s heavy, and cold as ice, like a stone lifted from a freezing sea, the sensation coming and going as quick as a breath in a winter’s breeze…”

The first time his pale, cold hand had brushed against the dip of your waist it had already been too late. His long, lithe fingers had lingered there for but a moment, just long enough to allow the shape of his touch to drape itself upon your body, the memory of it a thrilling, frightening thing. But when you’d flinched away, drawn in a sudden, sharp gasp under your breath, he retracted. Still, despite the new distance put between you two, he wore that mischievous smile, his broad shoulders shivering with the containment of some kind of mean laughter.

It was then that your carriage arrived, the Phantomhives’ butler announcing this to you, but just before you could turn and leave, Undertaker said, “Remember, miss journalist, sometimes the answers to our biggest questions are found in the things we can’t see…” as he slinked back off into the dark, leaving you standing in the center of the foyer alone.

If you hadn’t seen Vincent interact directly with him just earlier that evening, you would’ve deduced that he was the very spirit he’d warned you of, but then, about halfway home as the carriage traveled over the country’s uneven terrain, you realized something even more terrifying.

You’d never told him you were a journalist. The Phantomhives had assured you that no one besides themselves were to know, lest your cover and this whole operation they’d gotten you involved with be blown.

It kept you up at night, his words, his scars, his touch. But now you had an entirely new mission, one that was all your own.

And that was to discover just exactly who, or perhaps, what, this man called Undertaker truly was.

***

Some time passed before there was another party, what with the celebration of the Phantomhives’ sons’ birthdays and the Christmas holiday falling a little under two weeks apart. But, with the arrival of the New Year of 1885 quickly approaching, you weren’t surprised when you received yet another one of the crisp, cream and gold colored invitation cards in the mail announcing a grand celebration event at the manor.

This would be the biggest crowd you’d hidden amongst thus far, though, surely, you thought, the Phantomhives didn’t intend for you to be working too hard on such an occasion? Besides, you’d already turned in the extent of information you’d been able to gather on their people of interest. As far as you were concerned, this case, or at least your part in it, was closed. They’d already assured you they’d hold up their end of the deal as soon as you chose your desired position at the new press company you’d be working at come the new year too. Now, all you had to do was sit back and relax as the hours ticked down until midnight.

At least, that’s what you would’ve been able to do if not for the incessant appearance of him.

All night, Undertaker seemed to trail you like a shadow. No matter how many times you tried to slip out of one room and into another unnoticed, tuck yourself within a new crowd, folded between different nobles, it was only a matter of minutes until you looked over and saw his pale figure swathed in layers of black. A few times, he even dared to give you one of those cheeky grins and teasing waves, as if tormenting you was his most favorite game, and every time you met the gesture with a huff of a frustrated sigh and a swift turning on your heel, heading off to pick at the many food options set up around the different rooms or grab another drink as a servant carrying a tray of them passed by, not pretending to sip this time but actually allowing yourself to indulge.

But you should’ve really known by now that showing your back and trying to ignore him was probably your worst bet at actually being left alone. He was like a naughty child, continuously doing that which would get him the most reaction or attention, despite the consequences. And, like the tired parent who would do just about anything to get the child to behave, you eventually caved in and gave him exactly what he wanted.

“What?” you asked, walking right up to him where he was leaning against a wall, your arms crossed and attempting to wrestle your features into a look of grim displeasure rather than fluster-fueled nervousness. It was like a spell had suddenly been released into the air once you two were standing face to face, your prior agitation slowly but surely melting away until all you could focus on was the way his silver hair caught the dim light and those scars that just barely peeked out from his collar and curtain of bangs as if too shy to properly say hello.

“Good evening to you too, miss journalist,” he sarcastically greeted, though you detected no hint of malice, merely an air of teasing charm. Instead of irking you that time, the sentiment made your cheeks heat. You pretended to cough and look away, hoping it wasn’t showing too clearly on your face. He gestured to the party encircling you both, an endless, overlapping barrage of laughter and conversation filling the room, and asked with a slight raise to his voice, “What a wonderful way to ring in the new year, don’t you agree?”

Frankly, you realized you were still far too sober to be in this situation right now, but when you searched the room for any more of those silver trays holding flutes of bubbling liquid, you found, for once, there were none in sight.

“Listen,” you said, lowering your voice despite the loud chatter that tried to drown it out, clearly still in the investigation mindset despite your earlier resolution to enjoy a night away from work, “let’s just stop with the smalltalk. Off the record, why don’t you just tell me what it is you want and why I have to be a part of it?”

When he found it appropriate to laugh at this notion, one of which you were sincerely serious about, you found yourself flaring more towards anger than intrigue. “What’s so funny?” you hissed, suddenly wanting nothing more than your own shadow to hide inside of when you glanced around and noticed a few other party-goers trying to listen in on your conversation. You were used to coveting and collecting gossip, not being the source of it.

But Undertaker seemed largely undisturbed by the growing sets of eyes landing upon your shared corner of the ballroom, flicking one black-nailed finger beneath the hem of his fringe to wipe away a tear of amusement before replying through a chuckle-laced breath, “You are, my dear. Simply hilarious.”

Wanting to turn and stalk away from him again, you resisted the urge, now determined to beat him at his own game, the rules of which you still weren’t entirely clear on. “Oh, so you like jokes then?” you baited, a smirk beginning to curve up on your lips now. “Well why didn’t you just say so? How about you and I make a deal then?” At this, Undertaker’s expression turned comically inquisitive, regarding you with a new kind of focus, his silence prompting you to continue. “If I can tell you something funny enough to make you laugh before the end of the night, you leave me alone after that.”

“And if you lose?” he posed, beginning to circle you until it was your back towards the wall instead, a hunter closing in on its prey. “What do I get if I win?”

You took a moment to think about that. You didn’t have much to give, if you were being honest. So you made the mistake of asking him, “What do you want?”

The smile that carved across his pale features then sent another one of those cold, electric shivers down your spine, and instantly you regretted allowing him so much freedom in choosing his prize. Tapping his chin with a finger as he pretended to sort through his options, he quickly and proudly settled on, “How about you have dinner with me?”

Aghast, you truly didn’t know what to say. Wanting to play it cool, not show how ridiculous the idea seemed to you when stated so shamelessly out of the blue, your throat bobbed with a particularly hard swallow and your voice shook slightly as you began to say, “That’s really what you want?”

Undertaker nodded, his smile not faltering. “That’s what I want.”

Not happy with the consequences but still clearly up for the challenge, you steeled your expression and agreed with a semi-confident, “Alright then. All I have to do is make you laugh before the clock strikes twelve,” and then I’ll never have to be bothered by you again. Should be easy, if he thought you were so hilarious without even trying.

However, as you searched the far corners of your mind for a joke or anecdote you thought would knock him out on the first try, you suddenly found your temporary confidence dying like an ember fading out in its hearth. You resided in the world of logic and facts, not entertainment and tomfoolery. You had a sense of humor, sure. Someone in your line of work had to, once in a while, lest they go mad when constantly being reintroduced to the bleakest parts of humanity.

Finally, you recalled a particular story that you’d nearly cried at upon hearing the first time, you’d laughed so hard. Surely, this was the one. You remembered it perfectly too, only, the further you ventured into telling it without so much as a twitch of a smirk appearing at the corner of Undertaker’s lips, the more you began to sense that you’d been lured right into a trap.

“Amusing,” he stated, monotone and mocking you. “But if you want to win, you’re going to have to do a lot better than that.”

You stood there, staring at him, seething, knowing this had all been according to his plan all along. You figured you could always just find a moment to slip away from the party and into one of the carriages already lined up outside before the new year rang in, perhaps voiding this odd and informal little contract you two had entered into together, but a part of you also knew that, whether a week or a month or a year from now, you’d find yourself faced with him again some way or another. Perhaps it was better to just keep trying even if only to prove to yourself you’d fought instead of running away.

“Oh, don’t worry,” you taunted, some of your indignance slipping through the vengeful grin spreading across your lips, “I’m just warming up.”

Undertaker tapped his wrist, miming where a watch would be, if he wore one, and said, “Tick tock… Only five more hours till midnight.”

And thus the game began.

***

Every hour that passed, with every attempted joke that was told without the desired reaction, the more dejected you began to feel.

And now, with less than half an hour to go, you’d already accepted your imminent defeat.

There had been a few times you could tell he was seriously having to hold back, the promise of a chuckle choked out behind his teeth or a burst of a laugh strangled somewhere deep in his chest before it had time to rise from his lungs. He had a lot more self control than you would’ve originally given him credit for, that much you couldn’t deny, but it almost seemed the brunt of his amusement came from how each attempt you made became more desperate, some of the words leaving your mouth shameful enough to make your mother faint had she been around to hear you say them, digging up the darkest, most shocking lines you’d ever uttered in your entire life.

You were a few drinks over the limit of caring if any of the other ladies in attendance that night heard you saying such depraved things in public, and to a man you barely even knew on top of it all, but one thing was for certain.

Undertaker was cracking.

You’d nearly gotten him on a few of the last ones, suddenly grateful for all the horrid things you’d heard the men exchanging and laughing about in the press office— another place you were used to acting like a shadow within. Though, even if you felt like you were maybe getting closer to winning, your dignity would lose regardless. You felt as if you were stooping to some unacceptable level you’d normally turn your nose up at, behaving in such an undignified way, yet the itch to prove him wrong and reclaim your pride was hard not to scratch, and right now there was only one way to do so.

“You know,” Undertaker said, only fifteen minutes to midnight, “I will admit, you’re really starting to make me regret entering the mortuary field and wishing I’d gone into journalism instead. Do your colleagues truly say such audacious things?” Just then he nearly made himself laugh, though you figured that wouldn’t count.

By now, you had a few cards left to play, having saved your best ones for the final hour, just in case, though that bank had nearly run dry. You had one last ridiculous tale left up your sleeve before you’d truly have to hang your head and admit defeat, and for a moment, you let hope get the better of you. It truly seemed this would be the one to best him, and as you loudly and, thanks to the several glasses of champagne flowing through your veins, very confidently delivered the perfect punchline, you counted the seconds until he’d inevitably burst with laughter and be forced to forgo his mission to unexplainably irritate you.

But he swallowed it down, dousing it with his next and final gulp of champagne, having drank nearly as much as you throughout the night, probably more, yet somehow unaffected, and as he sighed out a satisfied exhale, sans the expected howl of laughter, your expression of victory crumbled down to forlorn.

“Are you kidding me?” you confronted, clearly fed up— with him, mostly, but also with yourself— before you began stammering out a mess of jumbled syllables proclaiming how this entire thing had been rigged in the first place.

“Technically there’s still a few minutes,” Undertaker reminded you, nodding towards the grand clock adorning the mansion’s foyer. “Though if I were you…” he leaned in, so close his lips were practically pressed against your ear, his breath tickling the side of your exposed neck, “I’d just count myself lucky you didn’t wager a kiss at midnight in the case of your defeat.”

Between the warmth of the alcohol and the dizziness those words had just washed over you, you feared for a moment you might faint, your posture suddenly swaying before Undertaker instinctively reached out to help steady you, both his palms pressed firmly to your waist, reminding you of the night he’d tried to spook you with ghost stories and gotten a little too close for your comfort.

Only this time, you didn’t flinch away instantly. Instead, you allowed his hands to stay there for a moment, staring up at him with perhaps the softest expression you’d worn all night. You felt your mouth opening, though again found yourself unsure what you would say, when suddenly, faster than you were ready for, the chorus of counting down the seconds until the new year filled the room and startled you back to reality.

You pulled away from his orbit, smoothing down your skirts with your sweaty palms, and turned your gaze to the smallest hand on the clock, barely mouthing the numbers of the countdown until it was only ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two…

“Happy New Year!” Undertaker chanted, shouting out with the crowd but looking straight at you, as if the celebratory words were meant for only one person in the room. He raised his empty glass your way, wearing one of those sinfully sly smiles, and said, now only loud enough for you to hear, “How’s next Friday at seven sound, hm?”

You could barely understand what he was talking about. You were already too far gone. All you could remember at that point was the sinking feeling of dread laced with a familiar sense of excitement, as if you’d just been the key witness to a very important event and now had the chance to give the first testimony of the case.

But isn’t this what you’d wanted all along? A way to get closer to him and uncover whatever it was he was hiding— because you knew he was hiding something.

Your initial intrigue had never really faded, no matter how much you’d tried to convince yourself you loathed him, that he was insufferable, more trouble than he was worth. But, then again, if it was answers you wanted, it should be easy for you to get them.

You’d always been good at solving mysterious events. How would solving a mysterious person really be any different?

***

You’d upheld your end of the bargain and joined Undertaker for dinner, which had been stranger than fiction but a rather good story to file away for your personal collection. Much to your surprise— and perhaps slightly to your disappointment— things had started and ended with dinner. Just dinner. You’d tried to pry, tried to get him to open up, learn more about him, but somehow he always found a way to seamlessly direct the topic of conversation back around to you.

You’d decided he maybe wasn’t so bad afterall, had even agreed to do it all again sometime. 

But now, a year later, there were no more parties. 

All that had been left in the wake of the once pristine and lively Phantomhive manor was ash and the crumbing, scorched remains that had outlasted the fire. Not even the children had survived, and though you’d only seen them a handful of times as their nanny had led them up the grand staircase by the hand to put them to bed just as the first batch of guests were beginning to arrive, it still made your heart twist with the tragedy of it all.

At least they’re together, you tried to console yourself as you stood before Rachel and Vincent’s graves, your previous hosts reduced to nothing but a matching set of stones sticking out from the cold earth. You wouldn’t exactly have considered them friends, per se, more so something closer to employers, but you couldn’t help it. You’d grown more attached to them than you’d originally intended.

“Do you think it’s true?” a familiar voice suddenly asked from right behind you, making you jolt and turn to face him. You’d already known it was Undertaker, yet, as you tried to meet the glimpse of green you’d once caught shielded behind all that silver, you still found a part of you was surprised to find him standing in the same graveyard, as if having completely forgotten he was, after all, a mortician. 

“Do I think what’s true?” you asked, a slow wave of deja vu rolling through your mind.

“That humans really go to a better place after they die…?” The way he said it, gazing almost longingly down at the tombstones as they lay still and heavy on the frost-laced grass, made you start to see him in a new light. He was holding a shovel in one hand. You realized he’d probably been the one to dig the ditches and then bury the couple six feet deep.

Instead of giving him an answer though, you instead turned your view back to the graves, reading their names, their dates of birth and death, and then, carved beneath the proof that there were indeed people sleeping beneath the slabs, the matching epitaphs marking the smooth stones.

“Potentia Regere…” you repeated, more to yourself than anyone else. “What does it mean?”

Stabbing the shovel’s sharp tip down into the ground, Undertaker simply stated, “Power to rule…” It was the Phantomhive’s motto, in a sense, the latin words appearing on the family’s coat of arms. You were just about to make a comment about how surreal it all seemed, the fact that something that quickly had become so commonplace in your weekly schedule was now no more, but then the gentle clinking of a mysterious sound you’d heard before interrupted your reminiscence.

“What is that?” you asked, searching for the source. When Undertaker gave you a confused look, you clarified, “That sound? I’ve heard it around you before…”

“Ah…” he answered, a small, sad grin cracking on his lips. Then he pulled a brassy strand of several lockets from beneath his coat, the mementos chiming together more aggressively as he dangled them before you. “That would be these.”

As if requesting permission to take a closer look, you shyly cupped your hands out before you, allowing him to settle the chain into your palms for further investigation.

“They’re beautiful…” you sighed, inspecting each one individually, reading the names spelled out in neat cursive scrawl, the different shades of the hair tied into simple loops and pressed beneath the glass. Some of the dates engraved went back far before you were born, and, though his age often presented itself as ambiguous, definitely far before Undertaker could’ve been in this business. Though, instead of inquiring about this curious detail, the journalist part of you always hungry for answers, for the truth, you just swallowed and said, “There’s so many…”

In reply, Undertaker offered, “Well, I’ve known the Phantomhive family for a very long time.”

You handed the lockets back to him, watching as they disappeared back between the many folds of black fabric, and then the two of you stood in silence before the graves for what felt like a long time, the only sound the quiet whisper of the winter breeze.

Without even realizing, you found yourself crying, crystalline tears welling in your eyes, sparkling on the edge of your lashes, and then rolling down your cheeks in pairs. You tried to stay quiet, as if that alone could hide the emotion from the man standing directly beside you. And he wanted to reach out the moment he’d seen the tears welling, toss his shovel to the side and pull you into his chest, just let you cry into all his dark clothing until you had no more tears left.

But he remembered how you’d flinched the first time he’d tried to touch you, withdrawing from his proximity as if it were a plague. So instead, he settled for reaching for your hand, which was clenched into a fist and trembling by your side. That time, you didn’t pull away. Just shot him a sort of terror-struck look before your gaze softened and you used your free hand to cover your mouth, catching the first sobs that escaped through your lips, even giving his hand a squeeze as if to help ease your own pain.

Sensing that, perhaps this time, his touch was actually offering you some comfort, he decided to chance gently pulling you into his side, one long, slender arm snaking across your shoulders and back, hand rubbing up and down your arm as your body continued to shake with sorrow.

“I don’t even know—” you began, voice cracked and broken as you sucked in panicked, gasping breaths, “why I’m crying. I mean— they were— I was— it’s just—”

I know, he wanted to say, giving your shoulder a light squeeze, hoping the message was still delivered despite being unspoken. I know, you’re in pain right now.

And I’m sorry.

Human lives were so fragile. The only thing more delicate were their emotions.

Once you were finally able to catch your breath and calm down a little, you seemed to register his touch and quickly, albeit much more elegantly than before, distance yourself from it, clearing your throat as you settled your stance across from him, unable to meet his eyes— or at least the space that they should’ve been— that time around.

“I suppose we won’t be seeing each other quite as often anymore,” you noted, trying to force a smile, but it just came out crooked and sad. “I know we didn’t start off on the right foot but…” You paused, feeling yourself wanting to hold the rest of your sentiment back but then forcing yourself to say it anyway. “I guess what I’m trying to say is I’m glad we both skirted the edges of those parties before.”

Now you allowed yourself to look up and offer him a new kind of smile, this one bittersweet and almost apologetic. And he could feel you already trying to sever the invisible tie that loosely stretched between you two, the purpose of your shared proximity suddenly gone and therefore pointless.

You were just about to turn and bid him farewell when he spoke, more urgent than you’d heard him yet. He said, “Would you like to join me for some tea?”

You considered him, as if this were another one of his games, a riddle to solve. “Wha— Now?” you asked, as if it were the most preposterous proposition anyone had ever presented you with.

“If now suits you,” he said, trying to regain some of his composure, pulling his coat tighter over his shoulders as the wind picked up. “I can’t say it’s as grand as the Phantomhive manor, but where I live isn’t too far from here.” He smiled again, soft and soothing, as he continued, “Though, I can promise the quality of the tea is just as refined.”

It was his last ditch attempt at making a joke in the current situation and, over the more personal time you’d spent with him, you’d come to gain a new appreciation for his dark sense of humor, so you gave a timid nod and said, “Alright then. Lead the way.”

He dropped the shovel and started walking, you trailing beside him over the stone spotted hills.

***

Undertaker’s living space was indeed a far cry from the luxurious, spanning halls of the Phantomhive manor. It couldn’t even really be considered a house, as far as you could tell. It was, in all honesty, a mortuary practice that just happened to have a small kitchenette and an even tinier bedroom hidden behind a curtain in the back. You supposed it made sense when he’d said he didn’t live far from the cemetery, when that was his workplace. But you didn’t care right now. The tea in the mug between your palms was hot, the aroma sweet as the steam rose from the surface of the liquid, Undertaker generously leaving the small jar of sugar cubes on the table before you to scoop in to your preference.

He was sitting across from you, your legs nearly intertwined under the cramped table, Undertaker more relaxed while you just tried to stay within your own personal space. Again it occurred to him, your aversion to physical touch, and he took a moment to study you, as if tracing the features of your face beneath the thin black netting of the mourning veil or the intricate lace detailing of the collar of your dress— black, to match him for once— could uncover your truth to him, your past.

“Been to a lot of funerals in your time, I imagine…” you commented, suddenly overwhelmed by the pressing silence, the steady ticking of the wall clock unbearably awkward. “If I may ask, what made you choose this line of work to begin with?”

Undertaker took a sip of his own tea, which tonight was bitter and black. It would’ve surprised you to learn he usually stirred several cubes of sugar into his tea, no matter the strength or blend of it. Looks could be misleading, this you knew first hand from all the undercover work you’d done, as well as the many apparently innocent faces that had turned out to be gruesomely guilty. But also, on the opposite hand, some people really did show you exactly who they were right from the start.

You were starting to think maybe he was nestled somewhere in between.

“It’s a solitary kind of life…” Undertaker replied, masking loneliness under a grin. “I suppose, at the time, I was suited to it.” He gave a shrug as he raised the cup to his lips again, like that answer didn’t pave way for a hundred more questions.

“At the time…” you repeated. “Meaning, not any longer?”

You weren’t even sure what the purpose of that inquiry was. Normally, every question you posed was carefully chosen, hand-picked in order to serve a specific purpose that would paint a broader picture of the overall story.

Undertaker’s picture had so far just been one big canvas filled in with black, a few streaks of silver, and a flicker of green. There was no clear shape, no clear narrative, but suddenly, by slipping into something a little more specific, something to fulfill your own personal curiosities rather than that of straightforward facts, it was like you’d decided to take your own brush to an artwork you’d only ever been an observer of.

You were not a painter, but sometimes even an inexperienced hand could craft a masterpiece.

Undertaker’s smile didn’t falter, but something in the lines of his figure tensed, as if you’d shone a light into all that darkness expecting a gruesome beast, only to find there was something vulnerable living inside after all. Something genuine. Something lonely. Something you could relate to.

“How about you answer me something…” he began, pitching his weight slightly forward to lean closer to you over the table, his chin now resting in his palm. “You don’t like being touched…” At first, he said it more as an observation than a question. Then, after allowing discomfort to fill you during the pause, he concluded with a curious and perhaps even slightly sympathetic, “Why?”

At this statement, you felt yourself stiffen. Undertaker didn’t so much as flinch, just continued to consider you as if you were a puzzle he was trying to solve, working through every angle before making his first move. After a while, with you offering no answer or comment to this, he added, “If you’d rather not talk about it—”

Your throat bobbed with a thick, dry swallow, as if you’d just been caught for a crime you’d tried desperately to cover up, like the word GUILTY was branded into your forehead. Your mouth opened and closed and opened again, some excuse or alibi withering and dying on the tip of your tongue. Then you said, “It’s not that I don’t like it, I just…” You were absentmindedly toying with a piece of frayed lace off the hem of your sleeve, searching for a believable story to tell him that wasn’t a complete lie, but also wasn’t the entire truth either. But then you sighed, defeated, and looked him in the eyes, that glint of emerald peeking through, and admitted, “It’s just hard for me. I’m not used to it, it’s… complicated.”

The legs of his chair scraped softly against the uneven hardwood as he leaned in even closer, his arm draped over the surface, palm facing upwards, beckoning you to reach into it, to give him a chance. You glanced from his hand, a scar crossing over the love line etched into his alabaster skin, then back to his face, wishing you felt brave enough to take his invitation, wanting to, but finding the fear of physical contact swelling inside of you like a balloon that was one breath away from bursting.

It was so hard for you to trust. It always had been. Had only gotten harder since you’d entered into your current line of work, all of humanity’s ugliest sides revealed to you on a weekly, sometimes even daily basis. But what did you do when you got scared while chasing a story?

You felt the fear and you did it anyway.

So, hesitantly inching your hand closer to his open-faced palm, merely hovering there for a moment, as if trying to figure out whether this was some kind of trap or not, you finally allowed yourself to make contact, fighting the urge to pull back upon the first flinch of his fingers beginning to curl around your own.

Once his hand had completely closed around yours, it was as if all the tension gathered within your frame burst like a firework, the glittering embers giving way to something uncharted. Something new, and slightly nerve-wracking, but pleasant all the same, once you actually allowed yourself to enjoy it.

Undertaker stroked his thumb along the top of your hand, his long, cool fingers brushing delicately against your soft skin, and you felt your next exhale stutter, eyes threatening to well with tears for an entirely different reason now.

“Perhaps I can show you…” he said, the words merely a whisper on his pale lips, “that there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

When you met his gaze then, it was like seeing him for the first time, both of his emerald eyes on full display, as if he’d just decided you were worthy of his trust, to know and keep his secrets the same as he seemed so intent on knowing and keeping yours.

There was still a small part of you that wanted to protest, that had the urge to pull away and put as much distance between you and him as possible. But that voice sounded like it was coming from the bottom of a well now, distant and unintelligible. What took over was a voice you’d never heard before, one you didn’t even think you had, and all it was telling you was to allow yourself to fall. That he would be there to catch you when you did.

***

Your breath hitched before his fingers even made contact with your skin, eyes fluttering closed, like you thought not seeing would make accepting what was about to happen any easier.

“I’ve got you…” Undertaker murmured, the cold press of his palm finally reaching your cheek. He gave you a moment, patient with you while you allowed yourself to relax against his touch, your gaze slowly opening and glancing up to meet his eyes. Being this close, you came to realize they weren’t just green, like you’d originally thought, but laced through with a webbing of ambers and golds, a thin ring of teal rimming the edge of each iris. You’d never seen eyes like that before, dangerously entrancing, enticing, and it once again resurfaced the notion that the question wasn’t necessarily who he was, but what.

“See?” he smiled, not a hint of malice or mischief tucked into the corners of his mouth that time, only gentle reassurance. “I’ve got you.”

You placed your hand around his wrist, grip light, just to let him know you wanted a little more time to let this sink in. He was right. There was really nothing to be afraid of. Only, your quick-fire heartbeat still seemed to want to convince you otherwise.

There’s nothing to be afraid of, you kept repeating in your mind, nothing to be afraid of.

You let your view of him slip shut again as he slowly moved his fingers further back to lightly comb through your hair, finding the pin that had been holding it in place and pulling it free, your locks spilling down from the tightly wound coil of a bun that had been perched at the back of your head.

He’d never seen you with your hair completely down, every Phantomhive party that you’d attended making sure to tie it back, keep it out of your way, so you could stay focused on your job and not find yourself fiddling with it. He gently combed his fingers through it, disturbing a few loose knots, smoothing it down and laying it over your shoulders after removing the veiled hat from its place on your head.

“Such a shame…” he remarked, voice still low and soothing. “You’ve been hiding such beautiful hair all this time.” You remembered his mourning lockets, the different shades of strands that had been encapsulated behind the glass. You wondered if anyone would ever grow to love you so much as to always keep a lock of yours on their person. The notion made your lonely heart pulse with a dull ache.

Letting out a stuttering exhale, you now set your view upon the cascade of silver that framed all those black clothes of his, the strands almost sparkling under the low light as they shifted from white to grey and back again depending on how he moved. What you wouldn’t give to be able to carry a strand of it around, secured in a locket and resting against your heart, like capturing a sprinkle of stardust to call your own.

“Can I…” you began to ask, trying to swallow down the slight tremble in your voice as you gingerly reached one shaky hand forward. “Can I touch your hair as well?”

At this, Undertaker let out a silky hum of a chuckle, his long fingers finding the nape of your neck and resting there as he replied, “But of course.”

You let your fingertips brush against the silky silver, threading your fingers through and lightly dragging them down, not a single tangle or knot to be found. You wondered how long it had taken him to grow this much hair, how often he must have to brush it to keep it so pristine, how many others had admired or envied it the very same way you were now.

“Would you like to come closer?” he asked next, catching you a little off guard. You let your hand fall back to your lap, his returning to rest on his knee, and your eyes filled with uncertainty. Then he added, “Only if you’d like, of course.”

You scanned his form, unsure exactly what he meant by come closer, though, based on the way he was sitting, you could only really think of one possibility and the mere suggestion alone was enough to make your cheeks heat and your head spin.

The embarrassment must’ve shown on your face, because a quiet laugh trailed after his next exhale as he assured you, “If that’s too much for you you’re still welcome to sit by my side…” And then, knowing you had a habit of accepting challenges, he added on, voice sultry and only slightly sinister, “Though, if you’re worried about your skirts getting in the way, I’d gladly assist you in removing them and—”

“Oh, just hush for once, will you?” you cut him off, growing a little indignant and far more flustered than before. Even so, you still found yourself standing, eying his lap wearily as you approached, both hands curled into tight fists around your skirts, lifting them a little as you went to settle over the tops of his thighs, having to take purchase on his shoulders for balance halfway through assuming this position.

You’d never been this intimately close with another body before, not since you were very small and your mother had scooped you up in her arms and carried you off to bed, your little legs lightly wrapping around her waist and not wanting to let go, wishing she’d let you sleep in her bed to help keep the nightmares away.

But now, being at this age, in this body, and feeling the press of him as you relaxed with your legs straddling his hips, things were much, much different.

His hands brushed against your waist, hovering there before finally settling, giving you time to adjust to the foreign touch. “Is this alright?” he asked, his voice a mere whisper. “If you need more time, I can—”

“No,” you interrupted, your voice also quiet, forcing your gaze back up to his, as if to defy your hesitance. “No, this is fine. I’m fine.”

“You know,” he murmured, his lips pressed close to your ear, his breath fanning featherlight over the shell of it, and you could practically hear the way he was suppressing a smirk, “I must say, it really is a surprise how a woman as striking as yourself has gone this long without being spoken for. So which is it? Too particular to find the right partner or too spoiled by being overwhelmed with choice?”

You coughed out an abashed chuckle. “No, nothing like that…” you said. Then, falling more somber, “It’s more like… Being alone has just always been so much easier. I don’t have to answer to anyone. I don’t have to pretend. I get to do as a please whenever I please and…” You flashed him a guilty look. “I guess I never saw myself as the marrying type, so…”

Undertaker stared at you, all that chartreuse alight as if finally seeming to uncover what he’d long been looking for. Then his expression softened and he said, “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Before you had time to think up some kind of rebuttal or rebuke, his fingertips were tracing the hem running up the side of your funeral dress, the dulled touch registering on your hips, then your waist, through your clothes, sending a gentle, ebbing wave of chills over your flesh, a delicate ghost of a gasp just barely sighed through your lips. His other hand came up to caress your neck, thumb brushing tenderly across your jaw, your cheek, allowing you time to decide you enjoyed it and sink deeper into his palm, the cool touch of his skin helping to soothe you.

And then, before you knew it, he was kissing you, taking the rest of your breath away as the hand that had found your waist began to roam, the careful path of his contact curving around to the small of your back, up towards your shoulder blades, your collar bones, down your arm to find the sensitive skin of your inner wrist, brushing against the faint thumping of your wild pulse just to feel the life humming from inside of you.

What surprised you even more was that you were kissing him back, leaning into the warmth of his mouth, chasing his tongue when he playfully tried to pull away, testing to see if you’d follow, if you’d try to seek him out once you got a taste. He let out a low chuckle, putting only enough space between your lips to look you in the eyes, see the way your pupils had blown wide with lust all from some simple touching and kissing alone.

“I wonder…” he murmured, that lilt of mischief stitched back into his tone, “if the other men who attended those parties ever fantasized about having you like this…” He then lightly took your chin between his lithe grip, slowly turning your view to face an old, dusty mirror perched against the wall, exposing the reflection of you straddling his lap, his hands touching you in a way you’d never let another man touch you before, and you felt your entire body catch flame, molten embarrassment welling from within the pit of your stomach and flooding up towards your head, the sudden, stifling heat making you dizzy with desire.

Undertaker sighed a puff of a laugh against the side of your neck before his lips found your throat, sucking a light bruise there, making something within you flutter, arousal flaring to life before settling to a slow, steady roll. And despite wanting to look away, shame halfway to choking you, you couldn’t tear your gaze from the view of your two bodies intertwined like this.

All this time, you’d thought it would be scary, being this vulnerable with someone, giving up that kind of control, but it wasn’t. It was like floating, rising from your body and leaving all the worry behind, allowing your world to become merely yourself, him, and the small, dimly lit room.

It was simple.

It was nice.

And, for once, everything just felt right.

But as his kisses became more messy, more urgent, and his hands were reaching under your skirts to knead at the bit of bare skin available on your upper thigh, his eager fingers hooking under the hem of your stockings, you felt yourself tensing, slipping from the moment as the fear of moving too fast flashed across your thoughts like a lighthouse beacon— just quick enough to warn of the oncoming danger that would befall you if you ventured too close to the rocky shore.

“Is this alright?” he asked, slowing down a little then, and you swore you heard something almost insecure flicker in his voice.

You took in a deep, grounding breath, nodded, and said, “It’s alright… I’ll tell you if it’s not,” and that was all the validation he needed to continue, his cool palms a relief against your heating skin, hands continuing to knead at the plush of your upper thigh, though a little more gently this time, fingertips nearly brushing against where you ran most hot and needy for him, causing a broken whine to escape your throat. Undertaker wondered if you’d ever heard yourself make those kinds of involuntary, beautifully obscene sounds before, if you’d ever pleasured yourself late at night once you finally found yourself alone, or if even the idea of that had been too much for you to bear.

He intended to introduce you to each and every one of your lovely, lustful notes tonight, wanting to discover just exactly what he could do to elicit specific moans or whines. You’d be upset with him if he told you his plan, surely, yet still, he couldn’t help himself.

Similar to how you couldn’t deny yourself a challenge, he had a habit of overindulging himself with his games.

“Wait…” you murmured, pulling away from the cradle of his chest just a fraction. “I want you to…” You swallowed, finding a lump in your throat that stuck like a dry pill, afraid to say what rested on the tip of your tongue. You looked at him through your thick curtain of lashes, almost feeling like you could cry again, so many intense emotions to face in a single day mixing together in your head. “I want you to take my clothes off…” The last half of your request all but withered and died into a pathetic whisper by the time it left your mouth, averting your gaze then.

Part of you expected Undertaker to tease you for your request, to try and rile you just to see the adorable look your face made whenever you were mad at him, but he didn’t. Instead, he hummed out a satisfied note, beginning to strip you of the many layers of your funeral attire one by one until all you were left wearing was your silky underclothes and stockings. He went to remove those as well, but you stopped him before he could, growing bolder in asking for what you wanted when you suggested he let you undress him first.

Unlike you, this was not Undertaker’s first experience with sex. It was, however, the first time he’d allowed someone to see all his scars in the fading daylight, usually preferring to hide them behind the shadows herded in by nightfall and the dimly candle lit rooms of London’s most high-end pleasure houses.

But he supposed this put you both on more equal ground, so he didn’t mind. Plus, he hardly thought you’d find them newsworthy enough to go around sharing to anyone who might ask. He also supposed, like you, he had some things that were complicated to explain too…

“Kiss me…” you sighed, your hands lightly settling back on his shoulders as you now stood mere inches apart, breathing in each other’s oxygen like the thick opium smoke that wastfed though the East End.

That time, neither of you seemed to hesitate. Hitching one of your legs up, a big palm splayed under the back of your thigh to keep it in place over his hip, Undertaker had your back pressed to the wall, the hard length of him that seemed to be growing more impatient by the minute nudging further into you until he couldn’t help but grind against your lace-clad core, pulling one of those delicate, delicious whines from your throat, swallowing it down into his own mouth and trading it for one of his choked-out groans as he pressed his erection even harder against you, both of you hungry— starving— for one another’s bodies by now.

You hadn’t even realized your hand had migrated down between his legs, just barely beginning to cup the bulge of him in your inexperienced little palm, until you felt him twitch beneath his underwear, suddenly gasping and going a little rigid with uncertainty again.

He was kissing you deep, the fervor of it all dying down a little once he sensed your hesitation. “Go ahead,” he panted, holding your chin between his fingers, searching your gaze, pleading with it. “Touch me. It’s ok…”

So you did.

You attempted to stroke what strained through the thin fabric until he just couldn’t take it anymore and reached under the waistband himself to free his cock from its confines, hissing through clenched teeth once it was in his hand, soon passed off into yours.

Truthfully, you were only half sure of what you were supposed to do. You’d heard some of the few ladies you’d grown close to occasionally share— or perhaps overshare— some of the details of their marriages, sex lives included, and whether they were bragging or complaining or just making a comment in jest, you’d picked up bits and pieces here and there throughout the years.

Whatever you were doing though, you seemed to be doing it right, because before long, Undertaker seemed to be losing any composure or control he had left. He braced himself against the wall with his forearm, hunched over you as a thin sheen of sweat began to break out over his pale skin like glazed alabaster, grunts and growls and groans slipping from his lips while you gripped him in your palm, hand sliding easily along his velvety length as more and more of his pearly pre-cum gathered and began to drip down the shaft.

“Fuck—” he swore, and for a moment, you feared you’d hurt him in some way, pausing and looking up at him with an apologetic worry tugging at your features. But then he was smiling at you, chest still heaving with labored breaths, but wearing a glow of pride. He’d meant it earlier when he’d said you kept finding ways to surprise him, but this was on an entirely different level. If he hadn’t already known what you did for a living, he would’ve guessed you hailed from one of London’s aforementioned brothels, the ones that only served the elite or those tied to them.

Though he was sure you still had some things to learn, he was glad he was laying claim to you first.

He’d be lying if he said he’d ever be willing to share you with anyone else after this.

“Don’t look so afraid, my dear,” he cooed, slowly beginning to guide you towards his tiny bedroom nook, your eyes locked on him, trusting he wouldn’t let you trip as you walked backwards, holding his hands to help steady you. “We’re only just getting started…”

Before you knew it, the backs of your knees were hitting the edge of the bed, you collapsing back to the mattress as Undertaker climbed atop you, all that silky silver hair creating a canopy around you as he admired the way you looked splayed out beneath him. It was too bad you were a fragile human, your years so numbered when compared to the countless ones he’d already lived and the countless more he’d experience long after you were gone. He wished there were a way he could keep you like this forever— so beautiful, so his—  but he knew that living souls weren’t as easily frozen in time as things like mementos and photographs.

If only he’d met you a few decades from now. Perhaps by then, he’d have found a way…

Before he could dwell on it for too long though, he became distracted with removing more of your clothes, the last shred of his lost somewhere along the short distance from the kitchen to the bed, and seeing you fully exposed to him now, presented in your rawest, ravishing state, it took his breath away.

He’d seen many bodies in his life, living and dead, only a handful of them on both sides that he’d truly considered stunning. But yours…

Yours was nothing short of divine. 

He wanted to touch every inch of you, learn your figure in a way he’d never forget. He wanted to know that, even long after you were gone someday, he’d still be able to remember the exact shape of your breasts, the raise of your ribs as you drew in breath and the dip of your waist, the soft curve of your tummy and the plushness of your thighs.

He wanted to be able to rewatch this night over and over again in his head, rewinding the film reel until it frayed, each and every frame already burned into his memory.

“Hey…” you spoke, quiet and concerned as you reached up to cup your little palm to his jaw, tracing the line of the scar that cut diagonally across his face by his cheek. “Is something…?”

Before you could utter the word “wrong”, Undertaker cradled his hand over your own, sinking closer into your touch now, soaking in its human warmth, and smiled for a moment, attempting to mask the melancholy behind amusement. “Are you sure you still want to do this?” he asked you, and it was then that any and all lingering uncertainty you had went out like candle flame swallowed by a strong breeze. You nodded, told him you were sure.

A part of you was still scared, but not of him. Just of the unknown.

Feel the fear and do it anyway.

You were choosing to trust him, but once you’d made up your mind about it, there was no going back. That’s just the kind of person you were, the kind of person he’d discovered you to be.

So, trying to help you further relax, he continued to reintroduce you to his touch, discovering the places you liked best and paying special attention there, earning more of those sweet, lilting mewls and whimpers that he’d quickly become so addicted to, until it came time for him to explore the most intimate parts of you, preparing you for what was to come.

“You’re beautiful…” you swore you heard him sigh, your pounding heartbeat drumming in your ears and drowning out the quieter sounds. As soon as he so much as brushed a teasing finger through your soaked folds, still careful to be gentle with you, you let out a choked cry, gripping his biceps for support, needing something— anything— to anchor yourself to.

“Just relax…” he said, voice low and soothing as he applied a little more pressure, spreading your growing slick further around, marveling at the way your sensitive little bud was already pulsing in pleasure, tight hole fluttering in anticipation. But you took a deep breath and tried to follow his instruction, allowing your body to sink further into the mattress. Praising you as he began to massage slow, skillful circles onto your clit, he said, “Just like that… So good, my beautiful girl…”

And then that thick, sticky heat was filling you from the inside again, threatening to spill out. It was unlike anything you’d ever felt before and you didn’t want it to stop. For a moment, you wondered if this was all somehow some sort of very vivid dream, a fantasy, fearing you’d wake up to find you’d never even gone to visit the graves at all. But the way the sensation gripped you, body and mind and soul, was telling you otherwise, every nerve alight with the intensity of it all.

Warning you what he was about to do next might be a little uncomfortable at first, Undertaker slipped one of his slender fingers inside of you, causing you to wince at the slight soreness the sensation provided, but as he slowly pumped it in and out of you, helping you get used to the feeling, eventually you were wet enough that he could insert two, the stretch from his fingers alone causing a small squeak of pain to escape your throat, but still you didn’t want him to stop.

As he began to carefully scissor his digits inside your tight cunt he continued working on stimulating your clit to distract you from the discomfort. The mix of pleasure and pain was almost enough to put you over the edge, your back arching off the bed and your neck craning as you felt the coil winding tight within your core threatening to snap. Gasping out a curse, legs trembling as the crescendo crashed over every nerve in your body, you came undone for the first time that night, the high that filled your veins mixed with the fading adrenaline making your brain melt into a hazy, sated state.

He was whispering something to you then, pressing gentle kisses along your forehead, your temples, your nose, your jaw, as his sweet sentiments were lost amidst the thumping of your pulse between your ears. You exhaled a shuddering sigh, eyes fluttering closed, feeling as if you could drift right off to sleep. But there would be plenty of time for rest later.

Undertaker still wasn’t done with you yet.

Sliding his thick cock between the dewy petals of your folds, he guided you back to the waking world, being the most tender he had with you yet. “Are you still doing alright?” he murmured, brushing a few stray strands of your hair away from your face and behind your ear. He was gazing down at you like he couldn’t even believe you were there, with him, like this, the angel he’d lured into his underworld.

You gave a feeble nod, gasping when you felt the tip of his cock catch on your fluttering little hole. In all truth, you weren’t sure how he was going to fit. You just hoped he’d prepared you well enough, though knew the first time would be the most trying.

“Just breathe…” he instructed, interlocking his fingers with yours, your hands pressed into the mattress on either side of your head. “Take as much time as you need. Just relax…”

As the first inch or two fought its way into your tight entrance, your body reflexively tensed to combat the pain. The stretch of him took your breath away, fragile, sensitive skin feeling as if it were about to tear to allow him more room, teetering on a razor’s edge of arousal and agony. But he was talking you through it, whispering reassuring praises into your ear, waiting until he felt your body adjust to him, rigidity melting away as he continued to pepper featherlight kisses across your skin, letting you squeeze his hand as hard as you needed to until the sensation subsided.

Inch by inch, he worked his way deeper, and when you needed him closer, needed his chest pressed to yours to feel the stuttering beat of his heart, he obliged, scooping you up to straddle him again, both of you upright, face to face, him helping you begin to bounce lightly on his cock.

As the pace began to pick up speed, nearly every thrust into you had one of those melodic moans or lilting whines clawing their way up your throat, mouth remaining agape with silent cries as you felt yourself once again approaching that steep edge. With your head thrown back, neck exposed to him, Undertaker took the opportunity to suck a few more bruises into the column of your throat, his teeth grazing your racing pulse, choking on his next growl as your cunt clenched around him painfully tight.

He gave one more harsh thrust upward into your wet heat, feeling you come undone, glistening arousal staining you both, before forcing himself to pull out, finishing no more than two seconds later as his warm, sticky seed spilled over your stomach and thighs, mingling with the sheen of your pleasure as it mixed between both your bodies.

Both of you were panting, shallow, ragged huffs fanning against each other’s skin as you slumped over him, completely spent, and he wrapped his arms around you, keeping you close, never wanting to let you go.

He’d have to, eventually, but for now, he allowed himself to pretend you couldn’t be touched by things like disease or disaster or death, erasing your mortality from his mind, even if it were just for the duration he’d have you in his arms.

Suddenly, he was speaking your name, a gentle breeze of syllables leaving his lips as he rubbed soothing circles against your spine, coaxing you back to consciousness. Without lifting your head from his shoulder, all your limbs heavy, blood flowing slow and sweet as if your veins had been filled with honey, you nuzzled further into the crook of his neck and breathed in his scent.

His question barely registered to you, causing you to mutter out a sleepy, “What…?” which caused him to quietly chuckle, feeling the light mirth rumble through his scarred chest.

“I said,” he repeated, “Are you feeling alright?”

You felt more than alright. You felt fantastic, but not in the loud, excited, energetic kind of way.

More like waking up after a long, much-needed sleep, still floating off the edge of your dreams, feeling tired but fulfilled.

Once the high faded, you were sure you’d feel the soreness, a dull ache already beginning to pulse between your legs, but you didn’t necessarily mind.

It would just be another reminder of him and the time you’d spent together.

And, truthfully, there was so much you wanted to say then. Like how you’d never thought you’d be able to connect with someone in this way, feel completely safe in their hands, even feel— dare you say it— loved.

But instead, all you managed in reply was, “I’m ok…” before you felt sleep swooping back in to claim you.

As you drifted off that time, you briefly wondered what a life with him would be like. If you’d eventually have to learn to call this curious place home, a cemetery sprawled across your backyard, a closet full of funeral clothing. Or if perhaps he’d be willing to trade some of his darkness for the pale light of your apartment, if he’d remember to water your flowers while you were at work and leave scraps out for the stray cats that came begging by your front door.

And if those within your circle— the ones who were always badgering you about when you were getting married or if anyone was currently courting you— would be surprised if you told them that, yes, you’d started seeing someone despite the numerous occasions you’d written off such partnerships as just not for you…

They’d surely have some opinions on the matter, and that would even be before they saw him standing at your side.

But let them gossip, let them talk, you figured.

You didn’t care what people said, what they thought. You just wanted to be able to see him again, to be with him again, and for a little while, at least, discover all the things fear had once convinced you that you’d never get to experience for yourself.

***

A few years after your first night spent with him, having had many more in all the time between, fate had called you away, choosing to relocate further up north once your mother grew ill, spending her remaining days by her side. Once she was gone and you found yourself back in funeral blacks, for some reason, you’d decided to stay. You’d written Undertaker, of course, and for that first year apart the back and forth correspondence had been quite regular.

You awaited his letters with a childlike giddiness, excitement unfurling its wings within your heart whenever a black envelope sealed with shining silver wax appeared among your mail, already beginning to tear it open before you’d even gone back inside from retrieving that day’s delivery from the mailbox down the hill from your late mother’s home, the house you now called your own.

You’d sit down to write him back the moment you finished reading the last word of his looping cursive scrawl, elegance and sharpness somehow occupying the same space.

But then, after so much time away from London, away from the life you’d grown so accustomed to, you’d found yourself growing lonely. Only, this time, instead of the dull ache your former solitary life had nurtured within you, the pain was now a knife’s stabbing edge, carving a hole out in your heart until it nearly became too much to bear.

Until you’d eventually met someone. Another man whose hair was just beginning to grey at the temples, yet nothing like Undertaker’s silver shine, and whose eyes were a deep forest green, not the startling chartreuse of your former lover’s gaze. 

Six months later, you wrote back to London to inform Undertaker of the wedding that would be held in the spring. He’d congratulated you, though was glad it was only on paper— if he’d been forced to fake a smile and sweeten his words to you in person you would’ve known it was a lie, seen the heartbreak etched onto his face as obviously as one of those jagged, shining scars— and after that, the flow of the letters slowly came to a halt.

You had ten beautiful years with your husband until death’s kiss touched him, leaving you a widow and, once again, alone.

By then, the north had become so small, its claws closing around you until it began to resemble a prison, a cage.

You fled, returning to London, unsure whether you were running from things you wanted to forget or towards a flame you thought you might rekindle.

But in all that time away, you’d gotten married. Perhaps it was unfair to assume Undertaker hadn’t done the same.

However, once you found him, grateful the funeral parlor was still right where you’d left it nearly fifteen years ago, you entered the shop, expecting to be greeted by a man who was all at once familiar to you and also not, surprised to find him just as you’d left him like an image out of an old photograph.

You’d expected time to have touched him, run its fingers through his hair, turning silver to ivory, leaving the first signs of laugh lines cupping his smile and crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes, similar to the ways it had begun to touch you. The sight should’ve brought you comfort but instead you found yourself feeling…

Uneasy.

The years had passed for Undertaker as quickly as the season’s had changed for you. But as you inched, slowly but surely, towards the winter of your life, there wasn’t even so much as a veil of frost creeping in to cover him.

Somehow, he had remained exactly the same, no matter how many days, weeks, months, or years went by.

You’d planned to smile and say something like, “It’s been a while, so I understand if you don’t recognize me,” but what came out of your mouth instead was a gasp and, “You’re—” before Undertaker stopped you.

“—Just about to sit down for some afternoon tea,” he filled in, his grin widening as if he’d been expecting you. And then, before you even had a chance to process the theories that were beginning to blossom in your brain, each one more ridiculous and paranormal than the last, he asked, “Would you care to join me?”

Your mouth hung open, any and all remaining questions dying on your tongue, a few sputtering squeaks catching in your throat before you closed your lips, cleared your throat and said, “Alright then.”

The time you spent sitting at that little table, legs nearly intertwined once more as you sipped at your cup of Earl Grey, two cubes of sugar stirred in, made you feel like no time— not years or over a decade— had passed at all since you’d seen him last.

Nothing had changed— truly nothing. Not his looks or his humor or the way being around him just made you feel calm.

He’d been in the middle of regaling some amusing tale to you from while you’d been away when all of a sudden you realized your eyes were welling with tears. His bout of laughter died down to a stark stoicism once he noticed, leaning forward, reaching out to rest his hand over yours, the familiarity of his cool touch only making more tears race down your cheeks in shimmering pairs.  He asked, “My love, whatever is the matter?”

You choked on a sob, gave his hand a squeeze. “I just missed you…” you admitted, trying to smile, though it just came out crooked and sad.

With his other hand, fingers partially warmed from holding his cup of tea, he lightly brushed away your tears, rubbing the back of your hand with the pad of his thumb, soothing you until your sobbing subsided.

Then he said, “I’ve missed you, too… In more ways than you can even imagine.”

You felt a new wave of sorrow threaten to wrack through you. Something akin to guilt. To shame. To mourning the life you could’ve had if only you’d come back sooner. If only you’d stayed.

“But please,” he continued, gazing upon you with concern now. “If you’re weeping on my behalf, don’t. Now that you’re here, we can just pick up where we left off… A human life is only so long, after all…”

You looked at him, half confused, half afraid, and he almost told you then. Told you that he wasn’t like you, wasn’t burdened with the fragile shortness of a mortal life. But he didn’t.

He wanted you to ask first. Wanted to hear you say the words you’d been wondering since the very first night you met.

And you would, eventually.

But for now you just wanted him to hold you while you finished your tea and try and make up for so much lost time.

***

Twenty years later, you were unmarried, plagued by the illness that had claimed your mother, and had long given up tracking down shocking stories to fuel your own morbid curiosities.

But you were not alone.

You’d remained in the funeral shop, though made several more cozy additions to its decor over the years— a couple little houseplants dotting the windowsills, your mother’s cookbook placed up in the cabinets of the little kitchenette, lace hems and embroidery on the pillowcases fluffed upon the freshly made bed.

This place had become home before you’d ever even made the decision to stay, though perhaps that was more due to Undertaker’s proximity than anything else.

Even as your joints grew stiff and your movement became sluggish, your hair greying and your eyesight failing, Undertaker still remembered to remind you how beautiful he thought you were, how much he loved you, how you’d always be his most favorite girl. He’d dance with you by the light of the moon, leading you in a lulling waltz as he hummed out a melancholy tune. He’d carry you to bed when he found you sleeping in a chair, whatever mystery novel you were reading open face-down on your lap.

To experience love in this way was the greatest gift either of you had ever received, the devotion binding at times, yet there was still one last secret you had to uncover before you didn’t have the chance to anymore.

It wasn’t until you were nearing your life’s end that you finally asked him, “What are you?” and he actually gave you the truth.

“So you’re the dark cloaked figure who comes to guide souls into the afterlife, are you?” you joked after he’d given a surprisingly detailed explanation of what he was— what he’d been, before he’d defected— and what he’d continue to be no matter how long he tried to hide behind the mask of the eccentric funeral director. You coughed out a weak chuckle from where you lay tucked into bed, reaching out to run your rigid, wrinkled fingers through his long silver locks. Dreamily, quietly, as if only to yourself, you muttered, “I should’ve known…”

“I wanted to tell you…” he admitted, “Before, I mean…”

“No,” you said, “it’s better you didn’t. I don’t think I would’ve understood back then. I wouldn’t have been able to handle it.”

Now, with your death so imminent, learning his identity actually made the thought of your final breaths more comforting. Because you now knew dying would feel like falling asleep in the arms of a lover, gentle and safe. Protected. Cared for.

And when that fateful day finally came to pass, it was Undertaker who claimed your soul, wanting to be the first and last person to lay their hands on it, not intent on allowing any of those dispatch drones to touch it with their sharp tools and sterile indifference. 

He dressed your body, laid you in your coffin, and dug your grave. Though it wasn’t in the cemetery among all the other headstones. It was right outside the kitchen window, where your houseplants continued to grow, the sun rising to shed its soft golden light upon the room through the eastern window and bathing the place in deep amber as it lowered below the horizon in the west, your favorite place to sit and drink your morning tea and read in evenings.

Losing you was the hardest thing he’d ever done, but whenever he was feeling lonely, he’d wander out and look down at your name etched into the smooth, pale stone, read your dates to himself, reciting them like a prayer.

You had been so much more than just an epitaph, once upon a time, but at least now Undertaker could come visit you as often as he liked, and tucked beneath his coat, pressed safe behind the glass of his lockets, was a strand of your hair, a piece of you he could carry with him for the rest of his days.

***

(A big thank you to @anxious-chick for your request! I hope it’s ok I sort of took your concept and ran a marathon with it lol, but once I started developing some plot I just got really into it and couldn’t help myself haha. Thank you for being so patient with me as well, I sincerely hope it was worth the wait.

Anyway, thank you to everyone for reading. I’ve been wanting to write for Undertaker again for a long time and I’m glad this opportunity presented itself. Hope everyone has a good day and remembers to be kind to themselves. See you next time <3)

[aereasrage]

Notes on The Favorite pt. 2

summary: as requested, i elaborate on the relationship between daemon, rhaenyra and alicent’s daughter!reader (but mostly rhaenyra and reader sorry😭) (links: part 1 /part 2/part 3 /part 4/ part 5/ notes 1)

cw: rhaenyra kinda preys on your mommy issues, manipulation, mentions of parent/child incest (but nothing actually occurs), platonic yandere, some…interesting undertones between these two sisters.

Rhaenyra was occupied with her own matters and her own miseries, too much so to truly be invested in the rearing of her youngest sister. She'd never spoken to the girl alone but she knew her eldest was fond of her. That was why she offered a betrothal in the first place, when she was shot down, she felt for her son but reconciled herself easily to the fact that having a relationship with her sister was simply never to be. Alicent guarded you like a hound and if not her, then Aemond. It was abundantly clear that her being around you would only be another point of contention in an already volatile family. After the night at Driftmark, she accepted that there were to be no mended fences and she, who had already been suffering the fallout for years, retreated back into minding her own children. The distance was final and irreparable.

She viewed Jace's obsession with you as a youthful infatuation which would fade with time as he realized the position they were all in. She was mistaken. Jace, at a tourney for your birthday, nearly killed himself trying to crown you Queen of Love and Beauty. And the boy didn't even have shame about it, he seemed proud when she confronted him. He was languishing in bed, bandaged and delirious, he could only grin when she spoke of you. She could not get through to him for the first time.

Daemon, in turn, went to Baela about the matter thinking that surely his daughter would have something to say about her betrothed's behavior. A wish to break from this betrothal in the face of such insult. Mayhaps, even, a wish for him to be thrown from his horse sometime. But what he found was not his daughter scorned but a steadfast image of her mother, her eyes betraying a certain thrill. "He has not insulted me, father. He is taken with another, but I have been taken before, mayhaps just as much." He hadn't known how to respond to such a revelation. Oh, the curse of having a daughter who was just like her mother. He'd never know how to be a father to her. He should have advised her then but all he could do was be somewhat…pleasantly surprised by the depth of his daughter's similarity. She had gained so many wants and nuances right under his nose and he'd not known until then. She’d developed a fervor toward something that she wished for.

So, they left it be and watched with a precognition of doom when you married Aegon, your mother having to hold your hand as you said your vows. She waltzed you away from the feast and Daemon noticed that you were nodding on your feet from one cup of wine but thought little of it until the queen did not return to the event to continue entertaining congratulations. Jace was sullen and Rhaenyra was in his ear, trying to cheer him, not having noticed the state you were in. Later, the two would compare what they’d seen and heard. Daemon would crassly, half jokingly suggest something between you and Alicent. Rhaenyra would propose that her son might have already had you and your mother, though remaining silent, sought irrefutable proof of your duty to Aegon so as to be certain of the cleanliness of all their reputations. Though, that never accounted for why she didn’t wed her eldest daughter to her eldest son. It was distasteful for you to be wed to him, Rhaenyra thought and it made something in her feel uneasy.

And when the first dark haired child was born, there was no surprise in it happening (mayhaps there was actually even a bit of relief) but rather how casually it was handled. Daemon and Rhaenyra surely had eyes just as well as Alicent but there seemed to be no commotion about the fact that her grandchild was surely sired by Jace. Rhaenyra didn’t have any desire to stir trouble but Daemon surely did and he made jokes whenever the family was gathered in one place. “My grandnephew bears such a resemblance to my other grandnephew, it seems my brother’s blood runs strongly,” he’d said smugly to Alicent as he came upon the three of you in the garden. He couldn’t help himself, the jokes were not toothless but he wasn’t serious about brooking any trouble. He even found you worthy of some credit given how firmly you seemed to have planted everyone’s heads up your arse.

The couple found it eerie how your mother was always hovering over you, Daemon would have liked to know how you got out from under her long enough to fuck his stepson. Rhaenyra had heard she’d even been in your chambers during your first night with Aegon. And it seemed her madness translated to the rest of the family. The image of piety all day long, your siblings always calling after you, always wrapped up in you so much so that they seemed not to even realize how their nephews and niece so resembled a certain prince outside of them. Not even your lord husband seemed to care or notice that all your children took after Jace, it was peculiar. The oddest part about it was that it felt sincere for most of them, when Alicent had told her that the children looked the way they did because of whatever nonsense she spouted, Rhaenyra truly thought she seemed as though she believed it herself. That was what frustrated and baffled her more than anything. She loved the girl so much she’d even gone blind.

In a way, it was perhaps a good thing for her cause that all Aegon’s heirs were sired by her son, although it made clear an upsetting double standard. If you’d been so endeared by her son, to some degree, you’d have no choice but to have sympathy to their cause. They could make something of that. And perhaps both of them would find out why their children were so enamored with you.

When she was finally able to separate you from Jace, she had you in her chambers, staring at you like a hawk, circling around your form. She didn’t intend to give you hell or be a nightmare of a goodmother but it was life and death, she wanted to know who you would be loyal to. If she’d have to keep you as a prisoner or a sister. You didn’t shrink under her gaze yet. You were always somewhat intrigued by your big sister. Such attention was paid her, such fuss. Her arrival in each room was like an event unto itself. Whispers carried on the wind about her. Your mother talked about her all the time. Maybe it was part of the reason you had your children the way you did, to pull some of your family’s focus back to yourself. She was your mother more than she was Rhaenyra’s enemy, after all. You envied Rhaenyra, you admired her. You were kin to her and so unlike her at the same time.

“I have always wondered how your mother had the audacity to ignore how much your children resemble mine,” She murmured, her eyes wide, pupils dilated and dark as she stared at you. She remembered also how her own children had been treated and that brought a flare of anger she was quick to quell. “They say the red keep is in a frenzy because of your absence. Do you long to return?”

Yes…and no. It was complicated. “I long to stay wherever we are safest.”

She smiled to herself, mirthlessly. “You would be safest a year in the past. Answer me this…you wear our colors, you have had my son’s children, but would you put an oath to me? Over your lord husband? Do you have that much love of my son if not of me?”

She startled you by taking your hands in her own, you hadn’t been anticipating her to touch you. You had never been so close to her, now that you thought of it. It felt like a domineering gesture, as though asserting that she could do anything to you. “I expect that I won’t have to keep you here as a hostage,” she murmured, catching your gaze. “Am I right in assuming?”

“I do love your son…” you hesitated, trying to think of some sly thing to say. You were trying to ride the fence as long as you could and she had cut through to ask you directly your position. She was full of hateful memories of the red keep when she looked at you, barely contained and her patience worn very thin. She had in her hands a potential tool and she wanted to be certain of what using it would entail. You didn’t know her well enough to be certain she wouldn’t harm you if she didn’t have the heart to hurt your children, you needed to tread lightly. “As I love the rest of my family.”

“Does your husband know his children don’t carry a drop of his blood?”

“No, I don’t believe so,” you admitted easily, it had been nothing to lie to Aegon. He was happier for it and what did it matter when it was you he loved and wanted rather than babes who need care they cannot return to him? “I’m not faithful to my husband in that way, I admit. And if this war comes to have his head, then I can only pray for him. It is his war to fight and win or to fight and lose. But I ask that you spare my mother and sister their fates, then you will have all my loyalty rather.”

Rhaenyra deliberated for a moment, letting go of your hands abruptly and stepping away from you a few paces as her eyes surveyed you closely from top to bottom. “If I have my way, they’ll not need to be harmed,” she said, finally. “There will be more bloodshed if you seek to betray me than if you do nothing. I can promise it.”

You, the very jewel that the rest of her family sought to keep away from her, in her grasp finally and looking at her as though she were about to eat you. She hadn’t known she wanted this but somewhere deep inside, now that she had you alone, she felt a certain modicum of satisfaction. You were…delicate, frightened, perhaps more willing to obey than she’d thought previously. A conquering desire overtook her caution and anger. Pull you away from your mother and your other siblings…what could she turn you into? Her own? …yes, mayhaps the endeavor of it would please her.

She hovered ever closer and reached out, twisting a lock of hair around her fingers. She’d wanted to see how you’d react to a softer touch, a more intimate, motherly gesture. She’d wanted to know how to felt to do so as well. Your breath hitched at the semblance of touch which reminded you so much of your mother. You hadn’t meant to lean into it but it was reflex and a need for a mother who was not there with you. More disconcerting was the fact that your sister smiled softly at your reaction. “Give me your word and I’ll give you mine,” she commanded but in a softer tone she reserved for her own children.

She had you in her grasp. She was beginning to understand why your mother had held so fast to you. You nodded, struck dumb by intimidation and mild admiration, “I swear I would never betray you. On their lives.”

She smiled softly and you couldn’t keep yourself from feeling a strange sort of pride at her approval. She was to you what you were to your lady in waiting at the red keep, the one who adored your every movement simply because you were the princess and she couldn’t believe she was in your presence, at King’s Landing. This was your illustrious elder sister and to be near her…was it the fact that your father favored her so much that made you feel as though her presence were greater than it was? Was it all the whispers? Either way, you had a latent desire for her smile, for her to look at you and speak to you.

“No undue harm will come to Alicent or Helaena, I will not harm them so long as they stay only as figures of this war.” Her words were careful, sly, even but even that much assurance made you sigh in relief. “You’ll stay with me, with us, until the war has reached an end.”

She liked that idea more than she should. Liked the thought of her half-sister, apple of her stepmother’s eye trailing her skirts more than she should. She enjoyed the thought of having you.

[highdefhoetry]

Just for the night.

cw: nsfw!! female reader, lots of sexual tension and buildup, casual sex/hookup, premature ejaculation, oral sex (vaginal), blowjobs, penetration (brief vaginal fingering & penis in vagina), spanking, biting, light breast play/nipple sucking, cumming in mouth, missionary and doggy style, creampie, unprotected sex, alcohol consumption, no use of (y/n)

summary: a wayfaring group of pirates come into your tavern while you're on the clock, and a certain swordsman catches your eye.

author's note: i JUST started watching one piece and i've only made it to the reverse mountain arc, this fic takes place sometime in between arlong park and loungetown!

It had been an interesting night at work. The town was throwing some kind of festival, quite common during this time of the year, and the bar had been nonstop busy ever since your boss had opened the doors. You lost count long ago of how many beers you’d poured, how many wooden kegs you’d refilled, how many plates of piping hot food you’d served, and how many times you’d avoided unwanted groping from eager hands. You’d earned some good money, though, which almost made it worthwhile. 

The most interesting part of the night, however, were the new faces who’d shown up earlier that evening. A ragtag group who claimed to be pirates had come into the tavern for a drink and a good time after getting wind of the local festivities, joining the celebration that had begun a couple hours ago. The self-proclaimed captain of the weirdos, a rubber man donning a straw hat and flip flops, had joined some of the patron in a meat eating contest and was currently on his way to beat the reigning champ. His navigator, a young redhead with a charming smile and big, bright eyes, was schmoozing some poor bastard who was too drunk to notice her slipping his wallet out of his pocket. Then there was the blonde Frenchman, a casanova type who was hitting on a few of your giggling coworkers. A cigarette dangles from his lips, which he ashes on the floor. 

Truly, they were the definition of a motley crew.

It’s now halfway through your shift, and orders have died down considerably. Most of the patrons are passed out at their tables while others are being carried home by their companions. The tavern is still pretty lively, but you manage to sneak away for a moment and catch a breather. You pour yourself a cup of water and take a sip as you watch the chaos unfold. 

As you continue looking around, silently observing the chaotic scene, the sight of sea green catches your eye. You notice a stern-looking man mulling in the far corner, sipping on a giant mug with a frown. He looks a bit out of place, but you remember seeing him come in with those straw hat freaks earlier. You hear the rubber man call out to him, something about a dance-off or whatever, and the green-haired man barks out a loud “No!” before crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall again with a scowl.

Very interesting, indeed. 

Who could this man be?

“Are you serious?! That’s the Roronoa Zoro?”

“I’m not lying!! Look at his waist, don’t you see those swords he’s carrying? Only Roronoa Zoro uses the three sword technique! It has to be him!”

The annoying, high pitched voices of your coworkers garners your attention. You turn to look at the three frightened waitresses, who are currently huddled behind the bar in an attempt to avoid the scowling man’s gaze. 

“Someone’s gotta bring him his sake. He ordered it like an hour ago.”

“No way. I’m not going near him! He’ll probably kill me just for looking at him!”

“Well I’m not going over there! I’m not risking my life for a few dollars.”

It was the perfect excuse to approach him. You roll your eyes, feigning annoyance as you grab the tray from their hands.

“Fine. I’ll go. You damn scaredy cats.”

Your comment earns a few glares, but you pay them no mind. You fill the giant mug with sake and waltz over to the sullen swordsman. Someone starts playing the accordion; someone else grabs a fiddle. The tavern turns into a dance floor, and its drunk patrons cry out in excitement while they fall over one another trying to get there.

You approach this so-called Roronoa Zoro, but before you can get a word out, he says,

“I’m not going to dance, if that’s what you came to ask me.”

You raise a brow in confusion. “What?”

“You came all the way over here to talk to me, didn’t you? I can tell you got somethin’ you wanna ask. Get it over with already and stop wasting my time.”

Was this guy for real? You scoff and slam the tray down on the table in front of him.

“You ordered sake, didn’t you?”

He narrows his eyes. “How’d you know that?”

“I work here?”

You give him a perplexed look, and he responds with a wide-eyed stare before mentally facepalming himself. He grabs the mug from the tray and mutters a “took you long enough” before taking a huge gulp. 

Up close, you can see more of his features. He was tall, handsome, and quite muscular. His skin was tan, kissed by the sun after many days spent traveling the seas. He donned three gold dangling earrings in his left ear and had a black cloth tied around his forearm. His muscled arms bulged in his thin white shirt, and you could see a thin sheet of sweat on his exposed chest. Then, of course, there was that odd seagreen colored hair, which, as far as you could tell, was completely natural. You’d never seen anyone who looked like him before, and it intrigued you deeply. You couldn’t stop staring, even when he caught you looking from the corner of his eye.

“I take it you’re not a fan of dancing?” you ask in a weak attempt to make conversation.

He grunts in response. With arms crossed again, he lets out a sigh and gazes at the crowd on the dance floor, his expression cold and unfriendly.

He must not have been a fan of talking, either. You’re about to leave when suddenly your eyes meet, and his gaze captures your attention. Those eyes… something about them made it impossible to look away. They were deep chesnut brown, and held both a fiery passion and a deep sadness that tugged at your heartstrings…

“What’s the matter? Is there somethin’ on my face?”

The gruff voice snaps you out of it. You shake your head vigorously.

“No! It’s just… you’re not from around here, are you?”

He scoffs, shifting in place.

“No. I’m not.”

“You must be with that weird pirate crew who came in earlier.”

“Yup. That’s my idiot captain over there,” he juts his chin in the same direction as the straw hat man, who was laughing and jumping around like a little kid. You stifle a laugh, wondering how the hell these two ended up on the same crew together. 

“And you are?”

“Roronoa Zoro. His right hand man.”

So your coworkers were right, after all. You’d never heard of him, but apparently he was well-known. You didn’t see why they were so scared of him, though. He seemed like a regular guy, apart from the three swords and grumpiness.

“Well? Are you gonna tell me your name or what?”

“Oh!” You snap yourself out of it and tell him your name. He grunts again.

“Huh. That’s fitting.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothin’. Nevermind.”

There’s a hint of a smile on his face. Subtle, but noticeable. That must’ve been his strange way of teasing you. You decide to let it go for now.

“Why are you sulking around back here? Don’t you wanna join in on the fun?” you ask, keeping your tone light and playful.

Zoro raises an eyebrow and takes another sip of his sake, his eyes fixated on the lively crowd.

“Too loud in there… Luffy’s laugh gives me a headache.”

“Yeah, it has gotten a bit rowdy. Tends to happen at this time of night.”

He nods in agreement. “So… don’t you need to get back to work or somethin’?”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“No,” he murmurs. “Just wouldn’t want you to get caught slacking off.”

You give him a cheeky little smile. “I’m hiding. It’s been crazy busy all night and I need a breather.”

He grunts again, leaning back against the wall.

“I don’t blame you… I hide from Luffy quite often.”

He says it with a smirk, but chuckles when he looks over at Luffy and the others. He was acting like he was irritated, yet he spoke of his captain with fondness and admiration. You could tell he cared about him deeply, despite his grievances. It gave you a warm fuzzy feeling that made you smile again.

“My shift’s almost over, anyway. And most of the other waitresses are caught up with that French guy over there,” You point at the blonde guy on the other side of the room, who’s still surrounded by your swooning coworkers. 

“Tch. Typical.”

The conversation lulls again, but it feels less awkward this time. You lean back against the wall, mirroring his body language, and go back to being a silent observer. He appears to do the same. He seems a bit more relaxed, though. He’s not as closed off as he was before you started speaking.

“Soooo… how’s the sake?”

He glances over at you, sets the mug on the table.

“Actually, it’s very good. I’m liking it a lot. Been awhile since I’ve had the good stuff.”

Your eyes dart to his drink. “I’ve never had that kind before.”

“You want some…?”

“Don’t mind if I do!”

You grab the mug before he can say another word and take a huge swig. It goes down smoother than you thought it would. The taste is light and refreshing, the perfect drink to end a long night of work.

“Damn, that’s good sake! I can’t believe I haven’t tried it until now!”

He chuckles quietly, a small smile creeping up his face. It was kinda cute. Made him look even more handsome. Although his grumpy scowl was cute in its own way, too.

“You have good taste.”

“Mind if I have another?”

He gestures his hands towards the mug. “Be my guest.”

The two of you hit it off, chatting about this and that for some time while the party raged on around you. The sound of lively chatter fell to the background as you inched closer to one another, until it felt like you were the only ones in the room. As the night went on, more and more people started to head home, except for a few of the regulars and the straw hats who lingered in the main room. By the time your coworkers started closing up, you were already pretty buzzed from the egregious amount of sake you’d had. You reach for the bottle again but realize it’s empty.

“...Ah, sorry, I drank a lot of your sake…” you frown, feeling a little guilty for drinking most of his order. “Want me to grab you another one? It’ll be on the house.”

“Eh, it’s fine. But thanks,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he turns towards you, towering over your head with one arm braced on the wall beside your head. “I’m sure.”

He’s so close. You wonder if he can hear how fast your heart is beating. The smell of sea salt and sweaty man wafts in the air. His eyes bore into you, analyzing your face and body, as if he’s waiting for your next move.

“So…” you start, rubbing your lips together. “Did you all get rooms here for the night?”

“We did. Why?”

You shrug, trying to force back a smile.

“Just wondering.”

He raises an eyebrow, looks you up and down.

“If you wanna see me so bad, you don’t need to be coy about asking.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure ya don’t.”

Pause. Something crashes down on the floor; you both look just in time to see Luffy falling down with a large meat bone sticking out of his mouth. You splutter out a laugh, but are silenced when a strong hand takes your chin and pulls it back towards Zoro, forcing you to look him in the eye.

“You’re not being very honest,” he growls, and your heart skips a beat.

“That’s rich, coming from a pirate,” you bite back, hiding how flustered you are behind a bratty facade.

“...Hah, touché.”

He lets go of your chin, but keeps his eyes on you. There seems to be an impasse. The two of you dance around your subtle attempts to flirt, as if waiting to see which one will misstep first. The tension was so thick you felt like you could reach out and touch it with your hand. Those beautiful brown eyes of his gaze deeply into your own, never faltering for even a second.

“It’s getting late,” he says.

“It sure is,” you respond, breath hitching in your chest. “Do you need an escort to your room?”

His eyes grow wide for a moment, then he lets out a chuckle and shakes his head. 

“Now you decide to be bold.”

He gets off the wall and nods his head toward the staircase leading up to the guest rooms. You move to follow him, but stand up a little too quickly and feel a rush of blood go to your head, stumbling as you take a step forward. He catches you, grabbing your waist with his strong hands before you can fall.

“Jeez, are you really that drunk?” he grumbles, placing your arm across his shoulders and steadying you with an arm wrapped around the small of your back. You’re really not that drunk, but there’s nothing wrong with a little white lie and some bad acting to get close to someone, right?

“Shut up…” you mumble. “I just drank it too fast, that’s all.”

His firm hand, his strong arms carrying you, his low baritone voice growling in your ear… he really was handsome… or maybe it was the sake getting to your head. Either way, you feel your cheeks flush as he leads you upstairs, taking cautious steps to ensure you don’t trip and fall.

For some reason, it takes longer than it should have to get there. He stumbles around, checking each door and dragging you down every single damn hallway with you leaning against his body for balance. You start to get the sense that he doesn't know where the hell he's going. That is, until you finally stop at the last door on the left.

"Are you sure this is the right room?" you ask, suddenly feeling uncertain.

“Tch... shut up you damn lightweight…” he mumbles while fishing out his key. Once he turns the lock, you both go inside and shut the door behind you.

It’s a small, simple room, but one that serves its purpose. The bed takes up most of the space, and fortunately it’s just large enough to fit two. You plop down on the bed, still feeling a bit dizzy, and pat the empty space beside you. 

He lets out a small sigh before sitting down.

“Just so you know, it’s… been a while,” he grumbles sheepishly in a low voice, scratching the back of his head. You smile and put your hand on his thigh, slowly caressing it as you climb further and further. Your palm brushes against his crotch, where you feel his hardened cock poking through his pants.

“That’s alright. Same for me.”

You lock your gaze with his, falling silent as you both drink in the moment. Then, in tandem, the two of you lean forward. You feel his lips press against you, and the taste of sake greets your tongue. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close. You respond by putting a hand on the back of his neck, gently scratching at the buzzed hair on his scalp. He moans deeply, kissing you harder. Your tongue dances with his, your teeth gently bite his bottom lip. 

Your clumsy hands fumble as you try to undo his belt buckle and zipper. Eventually he lends a hand, yanking his pants down his legs before tossing them across the room along with his heavy boots. You hear a small crash; he cringes with furrowed brows while you giggle. But your laughter dies down when you look at his newly exposed cock and see what he’s been hiding under those clothes.

He’s huge. You’re not sure how big he is, but his dick is the biggest you’ve ever seen up close. It’s not that girthy, but makes up for that in length alone. If you had to guess it was at least 8 inches. It’s slightly paler than the rest of his body, a faint shade of tan lighter than his arms and legs. And it’s almost perfectly straight, with no curves or crookedness. You watch in awe as it throbs and pulses.

Without a word, you lean forward and take him into your mouth. You start off slow, simply sucking and licking the tip, and as soon as your lips wrap around his cock he lets out a long, deep, groan of pleasure. His dick tastes salty, but clean, as if he showered recently. Hygienic, for a pirate. After teasing him for a bit, you take his member into your mouth and slowly drag your lips and tongue down his shaft…

But suddenly, he lets out a strained cry, and you feel an explosion of warmth in your mouth. His dick pulses rapidly as he lets loose his load, filling your mouth with a salty, warm taste that you swallow instinctively. It goes limp after a few seconds. He pants heavily as he pulls it from your mouth.

“...Gahhh… Sorry…” he mutters, his face turning beet red. He won’t look at you, won’t even lift his head. It was cute seeing him all embarrassed. You couldn’t be mad that he came so quickly; after all, he’d warned you ahead of time, and the fast cum gave you something of a power rush. You wanted to tease him playfully, but figured he didn’t need another bruise to his pride right now.

Instead, you grab his chin and force him to look at you. You say nothing, leaning forward to kiss him so he could taste himself on your lips. At first he’s tense and uncertain, but soon he relaxes when he realizes you’re not going to kick him while he’s down. 

The kiss gets more intense, more demanding; he grabs the back of your head and gently pulls your hair at the base of your scalp, eliciting fluttered, airy moans from your lips. He kisses across your cheek, down your jaw and neck, lips fluttering against sensitive skin. Your moans grow louder when he tears your shirt, pulling the sleeves down your shoulders to expose your breasts. A shiver runs through you as your nipples are exposed to the cool air. He takes them in his mouth, sucking and licking your areolas while his hands grope and play with your soft tits. His fingers tease the skin, stroking the undersides of your chest, playing around to see what kind of reactions he can get from you. You alternate between cries of pleasure and fits of giggles, feeling a bit overstimulated. 

He pulls away for a moment, only to bark out an order.

“Lay down.”

You comply, letting him pull your shirt and skirt down over your hips and legs so he can admire your nude body. He pauses for a second to relish the sight of your nakedness before grabbing your thighs and holding them apart. Then, he buries his handsome face in your mound, right where it belongs. You moan loudly while he kisses your folds, presses his tongue against your clit, licks the entrance to your hole. It feels so fucking good, you find yourself clawing at his scalp in attempt to grab fistfuls of his short buzzed hair. He chuckles, confidence restored now that he’s brought you to the edge. He stays there, committed to your pleasure, until he’s certain you’re ready to take him. You feel his stick one of his thick fingers inside you for a moment, gasping as he tests your wetness. He smirks down at you once he feels how slippery you are.

Your eyes glance down quickly. His dick is fully erect once more. This man got hard just from eating you out; it makes you want him even more. He leans forward, bracing himself with both arms beside your head, kissing you while guiding his cock into your pussy. You gasp again when the tip pushes inside and cry out when he shoves the rest in without warning. He quietly grunts out a raspy "fuck", and you get the sense that he’s restraining himself. He lets out short, jagged breaths as he pumps himself inside you. In and out, in and out, steadily increasing in intensity and speed. The smack of your skin against his in rhythm with your moans.

He slows down after some time, panting heavily while he pulls out. His cock still throbs as he holds it, and from his expression you can tell it’s taking everything in him not to explode. He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand and gives you another command.

“Turn around.”

You flip onto your stomach, then raise your ass in the air for more. His lips trail a path of kisses on each cheek, biting down now and then to keep you on edge. He chuckles every time he hears your little cries, bites a little harder to see how far he can go. Then suddenly, he takes his spanks you hard with his huge hand, causing you to shriek in both pleasure and pain.

“Ouch! God damn it, warn me next time!” you turn back to glare at him, getting a cheeky grin in response. He grips your cheeks, giving you another hard smack. 

“Here’s your warning.”

You don’t bother complaining this time. It feels too fucking good. The way he’s grabbing your hips, pushing his tip inside before ramming his dick into your hole while you cry out over and over, spanking you again and again until your cheeks are reddened and sore. From this angle he’s hitting all the right spots. You feel mindless pleasure, like your brain’s gone blank and all you can think of is his deep thrusts and sexy, guttural groans. He’s quiet, yet intense, focusing entirely on fucking you as hard and deep as possible. An orgasm rips through your body, sending electrifying shocks rippling every single nerve ending, but he doesn’t stop there. He’s close, you can sense it. A few moments later he comes again, releasing another heavy load inside you. His cock throbs as his cum fills you up, and he doesn’t pull out until he’s damn finished. And when he is, he collapses on the bed next to you, with a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his bronze skin.

You roll onto your back, taking a minute to catch your breath. You listen to your own unsteady breathing along with his, enjoying the quiet moment and the leftover waves of pleasure washing over your body. After a few minutes, you turn over and start to say something before realizing he’s fast asleep. He snores quietly, arms resting behind his head as he peacefully drifts into slumber.

He looks even cuter when he’s asleep. You laugh softly and nestle yourself in a cozy spot next to him before falling asleep yourself.

—-

The next morning, you carefully unwrap yourself from him and grab your clothes lying haphazardly on the floor. You start to dress yourself, but realize your shirt’s completely wrecked thanks to Zoro’s dumbass ripping it off your shoulders last night. You mutter in irritation and grab his shirt instead. He owed you that much.

As you make your way out of the room, you take one last look at the handsome swordsman and blow him a kiss goodbye before carefully shutting the door behind you. 

You had a lot of fun, even if it was just for the night. You’ll always remember him for that. Alas, he was a pirate, and soon he’d be gone, heading back to the sea in search of adventure.

But he would always know where to find you. 

[cera-writes]

"Ma chère, you are mine." 🃏

Part Two

Pairing: Remy "Gambit" LeBeau x F!Reader Tags: slow burn, angst, jealousy Remy never thought there'd be someone else besides Rogue who'd just waltz into his life, but there you were. A/N: This fic is based on episode 5 of X-Men 97. There may be future nsfw themes in later chapters. I'm thinking of making this into three parts at least. Tagged: @lokislittlemouse @give-jack-a-lightsaber

That night, the sky was lit in a cacophony of bursts and particles of light exploding in an array of beautiful colors cascading over Genosha. The fireworks were a sight to see, but so were you.

You had just finished getting ready. You stood in front of a grand mirror in the room you were sharing with Rogue while on your trip in Genosha. A grand window with a balcony overlooked the city below, illuminated by the chasms of light pouring down from the fireworks overhead.

Your dress was a shade of midnight, sparkling with diamonds like stars enmeshed into the fabric. Spaghetti straps adorned your bare shoulders as a plunging neckline accentuated your breasts. The dress fit you like a glove. There was a split up the dress that stretched all the way up the length of your right leg to your mid thigh, daring to show a little skin. It screamed Eclipse, much like your name.

You let your hair fall loosely around your face and wore a tad bit more makeup than usual, to which Rogue helped you with. You were in a state of a much more glamorized version of yourself. Lastly, you slipped your matching black heels on before Rogue walked up behind you.

"Goodness me, if I were a guy I'd be all over you faster than a buzzard on roadkill. You are gorgeous, sugah!" Rogue gandered at you, fanning herself.

You smiled, not helping but to blush at her open-handed compliment. "Thanks girl, but honestly you did most of the work. I was just your canvas."

Rogue scoffed. "Puh-lease. Don't be so hard on yourself. Those men will be all over you tonight. I'm gonna have to practically fight em' off of you." She meant to strike up light-hearted banter with you but you could tell there was something deeper going on that she wasn't opening up about. You could always tell when your best friend had something eating away at her.

"Hey...is something the matter? I can't help but notice that something is off with you tonight, Rogue." You placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Rogue sighed but shook her head. "Don't worry about me sugah. Now, you should get down there. I'll be right behind ya," she tried reassuring you.

You frowned but decided not to pry further, even though you wished she'd open up to you.

You could practically hear the music blaring downstairs in the ballroom even as you sat at your vanity ten floors up.

There was only one man's attention you wanted tonight, but that thought just seemed like wishful thinking.

You checked yourself out in the mirror once more, admiring the shade of rouge that Rogue had adorned your lips with. She really was a treasure and you would never dream of getting in the way of her and Remy if that's what caused her mood to be so sullen.

You also noticed she hadn't slipped into her dress yet. "So...why haven't you gotten ready yet? You know the celebration starts in an hour." You asked Rogue with curiosity lacing your voice.

"There's uh, somethin' I need to talk to Gambit about first." She sighed. You knew it. Your heart sunk. I mean, what'd you expect? Gambit was only here because of Rogue and you were just here because she wanted you to come. But shouldn't she be happy? Maybe something had happened that you had no business interfering with.

You sighed with a breath of indignation. You should be happy that they'd finally get this moment, but you still couldn't help but feel bitter about it all. Rogue was...well, Rogue. She could get anyone she wanted. Even if she weren't able to be physical with Gambit, you knew deep down Gambit didn't care about that even if that was important to Rogue. He was in love with her.

Even so, there were ways of bypassing that kind of situation, even if it was frowned upon by your kind. Honestly, if the two of them were going to be together finally, you would at least make an attempt to drown yourself in liquor with Kurt at the bar. At least you'd forget about it if you drank well enough into the night with your other best friend.

Before you could even glance back at the southern belle, she was already gone. A gust of wind blew through the open window she must have slipped out of while you weren't looking. The curtains bellowed softly in unison as you did a once over in the mirror before heading out of your room.

"It's okay Eclipse...just be happy for them." You told yourself as your heart broke with every step toward the elevator down to the gala.

You reached the bottom floor, making your way toward the grand staircase leading to the open bar and dance floor. The room was grand with numerous glittering chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. You could even spot a few guests hanging around on top of them, idling away in conversations with champagne flutes in hand. There was lively music flooding the open space as you watched people dancing and just overall having the time of their lives.

Despite the fun atmosphere happening around you, you could've waltzed right back to your room and played hermit and pretended that this night hadn't even happened. You felt the complete opposite akin to the atmosphere displayed before you.

And you would have thrown that dress off and undone the pins holding your hair in place if Rogue hadn't already spent an hour on your makeup. You cursed Morph in the back of your mind, knowing they were probably worry free watching crappy horror movies right about now. Gosh how you wished you were back home at the mansion.

You made up your mind that were going to find Kurt and spend the rest of your night dancing and drinking your feelings away. The faster you could forget, the better. Your eyes started scanning for any sign of the blue furball amidst the crowds of people there.

"Who is that? She's gorgeous!" You heard whispers as you descended the staircase. You felt everyone's eyes on you. Were they really talking about you? You weren't used to the attention at all like this. You couldn't help but smirk at the gawking but quickly shook your head. It didn't matter what they thought.

You weren't there tonight to find someone lucky enough to take back up to your room. No one else mattered to you. The only man that held your heart in his hands was breaking it anyway. You could live with yourself if that meant Remy was happy no matter how bad it hurt.

You had to suck it up. There was no point wallowing in this self pity bullshit anymore tonight. At least you'd convinced yourself of that much.

Your heels finally collided with the smooth tiles of the bottom floor. You nearly sighed in relief upon seeing a mop of black hair and blue skin cutting it up on the dance floor. "There he is," you smiled, making a beeline straight for Nightcrawler. At least he seemed to be having a blast. You needed some of that energy he was exuding.

"Eclipse! Oh Mein Gott! You look...breathtaking!" He immediately found you, eyes wide at your alluring appearance before teleporting right in front of you as you joined him over on the dance floor alongside a few others who were moving to the beat of the music.

"No, really! You are stunning tonight!" He grinned, taking your hand a placing a kiss on top of it. You face couldn't deny or hide the sudden heat from his sweet comment about you. "Thanks, Kurt."

"Gern geschehen," he bowed, offering a kind smile in return. "I thought you'd be here with Gambit, no?" He looked puzzled as he glanced behind you for any sign of the cajun man.

"Guess he's still getting ready," you shrugged indignantly, but you knew the truth anyway even if that was a half lie. You wanted to change the subject but you saw the concern in Kurt's expression as he watched your face.

"Look, meine Freundin, I know things with Gambit can be-"

But he didn't get to finish that sentence before you pulled him back into the crowd of people dancing, much to his surprise.

Nope, you did not want to have that conversation tonight.

"Let's just dance, okay?" you changed the subject as you started swaying to the beat of the music. Nightcrawler merely nodded, not wanting to pry but nonetheless twirled you around on the dance floor in compliance as you simply just let loose and tried forgetting about everything even if just for a moment.

The two of you danced for a while, just having fun. You were actually having so much fun in the moment with Kurt that you almost didn't notice that familiar reddish brown hair slicked back so handsomely, or the way his white suit clung to him in all the right ways. He was sitting at the bar having a drink just as Madelyne Pryor had made her way over to stand next to him.

Nightcrawler noticed you, too distracted to continue your dance with him and smiled. "You should go to him. I'll be right here if you need me." He cocked his furry head towards where Gambit was at the bar.

You sighed and swallowed the damn near painful lump in your throat as you started taking that first step towards Remy. But as soon as you did, you immediately paused to look up.

There, flying gracefully in as a grand gesture, was Rogue.

Her hair was done up around her face with a few loose strands hanging down and her dress was a scarlet shade accentuated with off shoulder straps of baby pinks that hung loosely down her arms.

But what you really noticed was that she wasn't wearing her usual gloves for some reason. It didn't matter because she was absolutely stunning.

You were sure she was going to find Remy and meet up with him below, but nothing could have prepared you for what she did next.

You watched as she flew directly towards Magneto, meeting him skin to skin as their hands touched, electricity igniting at their intimacy. Your jaw slightly slackened at the scene above as if they were dancing like two star crossed lovers for everyone to see. It was if it was a deliberate display of affection between them.

You dared to look at Remy, who was still standing over by the bar. And boy, did he look pissed. He was watching them with nothing but pure hurt and anguish behind his eyes. Even Madelyne had turned to cast him a look of pity.

You were just as confused.

Your eyes glanced back towards the two lovers trapped in what seemed like an intense tango of sorts. Then it happened. Their lips were locked in a passionate kiss.

You placed a hand over your mouth in disbelief at what you were witnessing, surely having thought Rogue had spoken to Gambit earlier to confess her feelings.

Apparently you were way the hell off about your assumptions.

When you looked back in Remy's direction, he was already gone.

You had to find him.

Your feet quickly shuffled through crowds of onlookers as 'Happy Nation' continued playing loudly through the expansive room. You never were really a fan of Ace of Base anyway.

You needed to find Remy and fast.

The air inside was becoming too hot and stifling. 'If I were Remy, where would I run off to?'

The gardens.

You knew he'd have gone outside to get some air and clear his head so that's exactly where you were headed.

You ran out into the open cool air towards the giant fountain settled in the middle of a courtyard of square hedges and roses.

The fountain was lit up in blue lights, just enough to make out the man sitting alone with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth as he sat perched on the side.

Remy.

"Hey stranger," you timidly spoke up, easing your way towards him.

He blew out a puff of smoke and glanced in your direction.

"Hey chere," he couldn't help but smile softly upon seeing you, even if he felt like absolute shit in that moment.

"Mind if I pop a squat next to you?" You inquired, approaching the matter with as much gentleness as you could knowing what just transpired.

"I ain't stopping you," Remy simply remarked.

You delicately sat next to him, feeling the heat radiating off of him as your shoulders touched slightly.

You were about to bring up how he was feeling but he was the one who initiated first.

"Can you believe it?" He scoffed, taking another drag of his cigarette as the ashes singed.

"Honestly, no." You replied, shaking your head incredulously as you gazed up at the night sky as trails of smoke drifted upwards into the balmy night air.

"I'm so so sorry, Remy."

You laid your head on his shoulder. You knew the pain was still fresh and still stung so you didn't want to talk about anything unless he wanted to initiate that conversation first. You just wanted to be there for him like you always did in the past. He was your best friend and you never wanted that to change.

He shook his head once more before tossing the cigarette on the ground and stomping it out with his shoe.

"That flame has long since died I think...but there's somethin' else too. It made ol' Gambit realize that he's been runnin' from his past too long. He was chasin' somethin' that wasn't ever meant to be his in the first place. They always say you find peace in the most unsightliness of places."

You didn't know what he was getting at but your heart was beating ninety to zero right now. You couldn't dare look at him in fear that you might say something you'll regret. Your head stayed rested against his shoulder as you played with your hands on your lap.

"I think I've had peace this whole time. It was always there, offering a shoulder to cry on or just a hand to hold," He laughed softly in disbelief as if finally coming to a revelation.

"Ma chere, you are mine."

Your eyes widened, heart hammering in your chest, and your relaxed posture had gone rigid as he confessed those words. Those words that held so much meaning. Your eyes pricked with tears as you slowly leaned away to finally face him.

He was smiling at you so tenderly that you could've melted from his gaze right there.

But no sooner did you have time to react to his meaningful words before the sound of ear piercing screams filled the air and everything came crashing down in a literal cloud of smoke and dust.

All you could see was darkness as chaos ensued.

Sentinels.

A/N: I hope ya'll enjoyed part two! I'll be working on part three tomorrow! Leave me comments <3

[apocalypse-shuffle]

BLACK NOIR | EARVING (the boys)

—

“Pandora’s Melody” (Black Noir x Fem!Reader)

| It’s your first Christmas Benefit since working for Vought and you’re starting to chafe a little at all the rules. Least the music’s finally getting good tho.

| SFW, office rules, workplace discrimination(?), Vought International’s dress code policy & casual disregard of The Crown Act

| Pic Source: The Boys (s1)

| 800+ words

“Don’t fuck this up,” Ashley had said, sweaty handkerchief that was far too drenched to mop anything else up clenched tightly inside her fist, and a closed lip smile straining her spotty red painted lips.

And for your part you’d smiled back, nodded your head like a heavily - and repeatedly - hit bobble head; eager to keep your position and even more desperate not to be seen as the unfriendly black girl lest you lose your job.

To your credit it’s not until far later in the evening when everybody’s inhabitions are totally fucked, the camera crews and reporters are gone, and even most of The Seven have left to do things far less beneath them than attending a company mixer that you loosen the hold your heart’s keeping on Ashley’s words just…a bit.

Suddenly the music gets a little less mind numbingly fucking boring too and your mood gets a little less sullen, and even with your mandatory three inch heels shackled to your feet you finally begin to feel the music. So bobbing along, and finally downing the singular glass you’d been nursing the whole evening, you find yourself searching out whoever’s creating the new and far more engaging melody.

Your heart almost stops when you realize it’s Black Noir at the piano, gloved fingers flying over the keys, quite literally the only hero still bothering to attend this thing.

When a quick glance up shows that even Mr. Edgar’s no longer in attendance - though never unseeing you’re sure - you start talking mostly out of shock. You’ve never really been this close to any of the hero’s before now.

“Good - ah - good choice,” you murmur, “Hapless is really just such a downer for a Christmas Benefit.”

Muscles tense and breath short, fingers clasped together behind your back like a vice, you wait a beat for his reaction.

When all he does is kind of glance your way though you nearly breath out a sigh right in front of him before catching yourself, and you feel so free that for a second you want to take your hair down from its “more professional” slicked back bun so you can really feel the music through you.

Instead you untuck your dress shirt to quell the urge. Fuck, your pantssuit was starting to feel increasingly more suffocating the longer you worked here. At this point you felt like you’d end up buried in the damn thing then forced to partially exist as a pantsuit wearing ghost for the rest of your forever unrest for good measure—

—annnd think positive thoughts. The music is good, you want to sway. You settle for keeping up your subtle head bop and adding a few soundless taps against your thigh to the mix.

After he doesn’t slice you in half - or some other such gruesome death dealing action - you take another few moments to identify the song Noir himself has begun playing.

It’s lovely, and as much as you want to close your eyes to visualize the song’s name a bit better in your mind you opt not to so you can continue watching the way that Noir plays.

It’s more graceful than you’d expect (but considering the way you’d seen him train that was a little foolish of you). The silent hero’s fingers move across the keys like a true virtuoso, hands gliding from note to note with hardly a thought but still exactly right. In the entire time that it takes you to place the song he doesn’t miss a single beat and doesn’t lose his tempo; not a thing about how he plays looks or even sounds off.

Normally you’d be remiss to label anything perfect, but if there were ever an exception…

…Noir’s playing was perfect.

A small smile stretches your plush lips.

Delightfully so.

“The Minute Waltz,” you say after finally placing the song, only shuffling in place a little.

Which is how in the next minute you end up seated next to him after his head had snapped to you - and honestly you’d half figured he’d stopped minding you by that point so you’d been plenty surprised to find out otherwise.

Black Noir had stared you into submission with exactly one incline of his head to convey his invitation in any clear manner until, with held breath and a prayer, you’d sat down beside him where he’d made room on the piano bench.

Then it’s touch and go as - with your heart firmly in your throat and hoping to god you don’t screw anything up - Noir takes to eventually wanting you as more than just a captive audience. He plays a few simple chords, pauses, then looks over to you until after not too long you begin copying him.

By the end of the function your heart’s settled and you can slowly, but steadily, get through the entirety of Gymnopedie No.1 - with Noir pushing the pedal of course.

He even gives you a little silent round of applause once you’ve played through it on your own.

Like that, Noir at your side and surrounded by all the drunk limp dicks you work with tripping and throwing up over themselves, is the first time you feel like a real part of Vought.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!

Um, I just wrote this tonight at random and with a cold so if there’s mistakes no there isn’t. Also, it’s Christmas and I figured I had a themed fic in me tonight so here you go and Happy Holidays (I guess)!

Don’t question how the Reader-Insert knows the names of these songs, it doesn’t matter.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

[captainremmington-13]

A Lady Made of Snow

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own The Hunger Games franchise, the images above, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, or any of the characters in this fic other than Bellova, her father, and Kallista. I also do not condone the beliefs or actions of Coriolanus or Bellova.

SUMMARY: When Bellova and Coriolanus make their first appearance at an elite Capitol event, Coriolanus notices that some people aren’t buying his “loving fiancé” act…

⚠️Warnings⚠️: THIS IS A DARK CHAPTER. It contains manipulation, mentions of depression and not eating, swearing, and mild verbal abuse

A/n: The first section of this chapter describes what has occurred in the time between Bellova’s father’s death and the event they’re attending at the end.

Coriolanus had always imagined that dating Bellova would be like walking on a path littered with nails, broken glass, and acid.

However, it was quite the opposite. Having her as a girlfriend and fiancée was like caring for a depressed, clingy pet.

Her father’s death had affected her greatly. For weeks afterwards, she hardly functioned. She refused to get out of bed half of the time. She hardly left her room. Avoxes would bring her meals, but she didn’t eat unless Coriolanus was there to persuade her to. When she was up and about, she looked dazed and sullen. If someone asked her if she was ready to begin attending University classes again, she would burst into tears and leave the room.

Coriolanus had told Grandma’am and Tigris that Bellova had pleaded with him to stay at her estate until she got back on her feet.

“She needs someone to hold her while she processes her grief,” he had explained to them. Grandma’am didn’t question this, but the look on Tigris’s face had told him she was suspicious. She knew Bellova well enough to predict that she wouldn’t let Coriolanus just waltz into her home.

Coriolanus had a difficult time adjusting to the “boyfriend” role. And Bellova’s unstable condition made everything ten times harder. He still attended his University classes and meetings with the Gamemakers, but as soon as those were over, he went straight to the Reginelle estate. 

The staff became familiar with his presence in the house, and respected him just as much as Bellova. As soon as he set foot in the foyer, an Avox would take his coat and briefcase for him. Then he would make his way to Bellova’s bedroom, where he would spend the evening and following morning. 

Coriolanus had some difficulty suppressing his annoyance regarding Bellova’s behavior. She either sobbed her heart out, went completely silent, or spoke in a monotone voice that sounded robotic. But he pushed his frustrations aside and was gentle with her, affectionate almost. He stayed with her while she cried, persuaded her to eat enough to ward off illness, and held her in his arms until she drifted off to sleep. 

In turn, Bellova became very attached to him. She only seemed truly alive when he was with her. She was still riddled with despair, but she spoke to him more than anyone else, and would cling to him like he was a lifeline. 

To his surprise, Coriolanus had actually started to enjoy how much Bellova depended on him. After weeks of spending his evenings and mornings at the Reginelle estate, he had decided that dealing with Bellova’s grief-induced meltdowns was worth it. 

He needed her to love him. If she loved him, she would never leave him or fight against his wishes commands. Her beauty and newfound innocence would captivate the Capitol’s elite, further enhancing his own reputation.  

And if he wound up inheriting her family’s abundant wealth…well, he certainly wouldn’t complain. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

𝐒𝐢𝐱 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐢𝐨 𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞’𝐬 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡

“Coryo?”

Bellova’s voice snapped Coriolanus out of his thoughts. He pried his gaze away from the marble floor to look at his fiancée, who was staring intently at him with a small frown spread across her lips. 

“Yes?” 

Bellova stepped out of the dressing room, revealing the fifth gown she had tried on so far.   She had insisted on buying a new dress for the Jiloria’s Annual Gala tonight. 

“I want to make sure I look good,” she had said, giving Coriolanus a pleading look. 

Just last month, Bellova had finally begun to function for the first time since before Coriolanus had sedated her. No longer overwhelmed with constant sadness, Coriolanus was formally introduced to the new Bellova without all of the tears and meltdowns. He already knew she was sweet and obedient, but he was surprised to find that her preferences had completely changed. She was no longer interested in novels, academics, or anything that could be considered violent. She found much more pleasure in jewelry, fashion, and spending time with her fiancé. The old Bellova had been quite interested in couture, but now, it seemed to be her favorite topic of conversation. 

She had already begun renovating of her bedroom, getting rid of the gothic decor. She replaced her black curtains with sheer light pink ones. Her walls had been light grey, but had been covered by white floral wallpaper. The ebony chandelier that once lit the room was gone, and a new crystal chandelier hung in its place. The room resembled the quarters of a princess more and more every day.

Just a few days ago, Bellova decided she wanted a complete makeover of her wardrobe.  She complained that her clothes were “too dull and not unique enough”. And Coriolanus, who liked the idea of having a pretty girl attached to his hip everywhere he went, agreed. 

They didn’t need to worry about spending too much, for their Coriolanus’s pockets were deeper than ever. The House of Snow was rich once again, thanks to the generosity of the Plinths. Tigris was doing well for herself, and Grandma’am was happier than Coriolanus had seen her since before the war. And now that he and Bellova were to be married, he would officially inherit Julio Reginelle’s fortune. He had already asked Bellova for several financial favors, and she never hesitated to approve any bank transactions, no matter how exorbitant. 

“What do you think of this one?” Bellova asked him, gesturing to the luxurious garment she was wearing. The satin fabric was the purest shade of white imaginable. The off-the-shoulder sleeves were made of organza, and sewed into the shape of flowers. The same flowers adorned the bottom of the gown, making her appear as if she was perched on a cloud. 

Coriolanus smiled. It reminded him of the dress she wore to President Ravinstill’s Fall gala just last year. Oh, how things had changed.

“It’s gorgeous, my love. I think you’ve found exactly what you’re looking for.”

Bellova sighed in relief, smoothing out the skirt. “It’s not too much?”

“I don’t think so. It isn’t obnoxious, but it will certainly catch everyone’s eye. Having such a stunning fiancée accompanying me will undoubtedly increase my chances at impressing the political leaders of the Capitol.” 

Not realizing that she was essentially being used as a human prop, Bellova grinned happily. “So, shall we tell the salesman we’re buying this dress?” 

Coriolanus nodded and stood up, pulling his wallet out of his pants pocket. “How much is it?”

Bellova checked the tag. “Two-thousand, three hundred dollars.”

A year ago, that would’ve given Coriolanus a heart attack. But now that he was filthy rich, it didn’t seem like an unreasonable price. 

The salesman stepped into the room. “Buying that one?” he asked, looking at Bellova. 

She nodded, and glanced at Coryo, expecting him to hand the salesman his credit card. Instead, Coriolanus picked up Bellova’s purse. 

“I’m going to charge the purchase to your family’s account. This is an investment solely for you, after all.” 

Bellova looked at him blankly. “Okay.”

Giving the salesman Bellova’s credit card, Coriolanus made a mental note to transfer every last cent of the Reginelle fortune into the Snow’s bank account as soon as possible. 

The couple left the shop, an Avox carrying the dress concealed in a protective bag following closely behind. They were escorted into one of Bellova’s family’s cars, and headed back to the estate.

Coriolanus didn’t attempt to spark any conversation with his fiancée. He only talked to her if it was necessary. She wasn’t very interesting to converse with now that she was less intelligent. He very occasionally missed the witty banter, but reminded himself that she was better this way.

She was much easier to control.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Coriolanus checked his watch, adjusting his tie anxiously. They really had to get going soon, or they’d be late to the gala. 

“Bellova!” he yelled up the stairs, not caring enough to hide his frustration. “Hurry up!”

“Coming!” Bellova called back, clearly a bit shaken by his harsh tone. Coriolanus heard the clicking of her high heels grow closer, and soon, she appeared at the top of the steps.

She looked perfect. The very image of a young, eligible, wealthy Capitol woman.

She hurried down the stairs, gripping the rails tightly. “I’m so sorry, Coryo,” she said, giving him an apologetic look. “I-I just lost track of time.”

“You can’t afford to do that,” Coriolanus said angrily. “You’re going to make a fool of me.”

For a brief moment, Coriolanus swore he saw a flash of anger in Bellova’s grey eyes. 

But it was quickly overtaken by a guilty look. “I won’t be late ever again, I promise.”

“Good,” he said, turning towards the door. “Now come. We can’t afford to waste another second.” 

Trailing after him, Bellova clutched her expensive purse, desperately suppressing the tears threatening to appear in her eyes.

.

.

.

When the couple arrived at the Jiloria Mansion, the ballroom was already full of elite guests. Coriolanus greeted countless people, giving them his infectiously charming grin. He handed out compliments like it was second nature, which it was. Flattery went a long way in the Capitol.

He maintained a tight grip on Bellova’s hand, ensuring that she didn’t wander off. He didn’t want to lose her in the crowd, or let her slip away from his line of sight. If she left his side, she could end up conversing with someone who triggered memories of her past.

Bellova said nothing as they walked through the room, simply giving people polite nods. She was very obviously nervous. After all, she hadn’t attended a social event in almost a year.

“I don’t know any of these people,” she whispered, gripping Coriolanus’s arm tightly. “But they all seem to recognize me. What’s that all about?“

Coriolanus quickly glanced around. Sure enough, many people who he knew had connections to Bellova and her father were looking their way. Some of them simply looked confused. But others looked suspicious. He could feel their piercing gazes following him, demanding to know how he’d managed to make Bellova his fiancée. 

“You alright?” Bellova asked, inspecting his expression. 

“I…” Coriolanus’s breath caught in his throat as he spotted Kallista Philo staring at him, murder in her eyes. 

“What’s going on?”

Coriolanus frantically scanned the room, looking for his mentor. He spotted Dr. Gaul conversing with the Dovecote family, and marched Bellova over to where they were standing. 

“Dr. Gaul,” he said, hoping she would detect the urgency in his tone. “Can you watch Bellova for a bit while I handle something? She needs someone to ensure she doesn’t wander into any danger.” 

Coriolanus knew full well that Bellova was scared of Dr. Gaul. Even if she hadn’t said it out loud, he could tell by the way she would coward behind him when she was nearby.

“Of course,” the doctor said, taking Bellova by her wrist and giving her a terrifying grin. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I don’t bite.” 

Giving the doctor a knowing nod, Coriolanus placed a parting kiss on Bellova’s cheek and disappeared into the crowd. 

Stuffing a hand into his coat pocket, he felt around until his fingers touched a metal vial.

He had to tie up all the loose ends before they let something slip.

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊

TAGLIST: @daenerysqueenofhearts, @squidscottjeans, @euphemiaamillais, @gracieroxzy, @effectwalker, @vxnilla-hxrddrugs, @mystargirl-interlude

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think in the comments! It may take a few days for me to finish the next chapter, but I promise the wait will be worth it!

Also, let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

[everythingwasalreadypicked]

Fantasy-medievalesque smartwatermagic au 🫣👀

"Lou."

Lou let out a gasp, pulling on her curls as she slammed her shoulder to the heavy-set doors locked on them.

"Lou." Hands were grasping her arms, trying to pull her away, to pull her further into her bedroom-turned-prison.

It was bad enough that her mother was missing, that Lou didn't know whether she too was under house arrest or she had been killed.

But she had also been locked inside her room, her impending coronation hanging over her neck like a guillotine as enemy soldiers waltzed inside the palace and seized the country.

Another gasp tore through her throat as she pulled on the doorknobs.

She didn't have the education to run a kingdom; she wouldn't even be expected to.

She wasn't Queen Hecate's heir, that had been—

"Lou!" Alabaster manhandled her back, hugging her tight and close to him.

"Don't go," she sobbed, burying her face on Alabaster's shoulder. "Please, I can't—"

"Oh, Ellie," Alabaster cupped her face. "You know I have no other option. I would not be able to see you hurt because of me."

She wasn't even of age yet. How would she be able to govern the kingdom with no guidance?

Especially with the Olympian alliance firing or executing almost all of their mother's court and appointing people from their kingdoms instead.

They had been holding out their own pretty well in the war, or so Lou had thought. Until Alabaster's letters home started only being addressed to their mother, until they got less and less frequent and their mother started preparing for surrender.

The worst part? It wasn't enough the occupiers stripped the palace of anything valuable. They demanded Lou's brother, too.

Wow. Minus one day into her reign and it was already awful: Her mother dethroned with her fate unknown and her brother whisked away to a foreign kingdom to serve as a political prisoner, be killed or plenty of awful imaginary Lou's mind came up with.

Alabaster was the crown prince and the general of their armies. She didn't want to know how King Poseidon's court would receive him.

The impending feeling of doom clawed her from inside out, the walls of her room closing on her. The portraits of their family hung on walls stared at her as if they wanted to laugh. "Please."

She knew it was futile.

"I'll be fine," Alabaster kissed the top of her head, dusting off his now wet shoulder, "we'll both be fine."

"How?" Lou demanded, crossing her arms.

Alabaster's face fell before he tried to hide it with the fakest smile Lou had ever seen from him. He adjusted his signature ponytail while sighing, and retied the handkerchief of his shirt. He slumped for a second before a determined look washed over the sullen expression of his face.

Three knocks to the door made them both jump in their place, their hearts skipping a beat.

He fumbled hastily with the pocket of his outer jacket as he took out a shining object. "Here."

Lou's jaw fell, "But that's—"

"My crown. And now you're the queen." Was that supposed to be an encouraging smile, Lou couldn't help but think as she grasped the crown handed to her, "Besides it's safer with you."

"The ships are leaving now!" A gruff voice called out.

"Coming!" Alabaster scowled, sending dirty looks to the door. He sighed. "Hold fast, Lou. You will do a great job, that I am sure."

She wanted to cry, to scream, to dig her nails into her brother's arms and never let go.

She shut her eyes in pain as Alabaster grabbed his bags and walked towards the door.

"You will not need those." The same gruff voice sneered, accompanied by the sound of the doors unlocking.

"Fine!" Alabaster's bite echoed in her ears.

She snapped her eyes open as sounds of footsteps started to fade after the thud of the bags. "Wait! Alabaster! Stop—"

The last thing she saw before the soldiers closed the doors back on her was Alabaster's small final wave.

-------

Gentle crashing of the waves sung to Lou's ears as the representatives of the different kingdoms disembarked from their docked ships. It was the first year of peace after the war, and it would be Lou's first official time hosting an assembly like this.

"That one is Lord Apollo's," Lady Palas commented, pointing to a yellow painted ship with a gold plated mast, "the one next to it, is from King Hephaestus and Queen Aphrodite. Do not mention Sir Ares to them by all means."

Lou hummed at her advisor's words. She wasn't the one her mother had, of course, but a minor nobility sent by Empress Athena as a show of goodwill. Same as all the soldiers left by the Olympian alliance to help her keep the peace in the first days of her reign.

Hah.

As if.

Did they think she was dumb?

"—King Hades didn't come as per usual. Do not take it personally, he has not showed up for anything for the past twenty years. Queen Demeter declined to attend her daughter's 45th birthday celebration." Palas continued, "Oh and. Your Majesty, if I may? Do not forget your lines."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Lou forced out. Sometimes it seemed like the only thing they wanted her to do was bow her head and stick to a script suitable for the interest of everyone but her kingdom.

She wandered her gaze on the assembled royalty, nobility and their companies. Half of them were the ones who gleefully looted her palace and the other half were their children and heirs she last saw when was ten.

Her eyes stopped at Prince Perseus and Princess Annabeth. She knew they had been betrothed for years and that they had gotten married in an alleged giant spectacle mere days after the war ended. Possibly to distract the citizens of Athena's empire and Poseidon's kingdom.

Not that she or anyone else from her kingdom had been invited.

They were quite cute, she supposed. With their matching crowns and the way they leaned into eachother and the soft laughs directed to something the guy in their midst— No. No way.

Lou's stomach plummeted as she drank up the face of Alabaster. Never mind that she could barely recognise him.

He had his chin hooked on Perseus's shoulder, his arm linked with Annabeth’s as his eyes were downcast and his head half-bowed. Lou wouldn't be surprised if it was because of the weight on his head, what with the way his brown hair had been brushed until it shone crimson red, woven with gold and silver threads and pinned on the top of his head into an elaborate, intricate bun. A mock-crown made of flowers and gleaming metal adorned the top of it, pearly strings with jewels attached dangling from the ends to his collarbone. A silken blouse decorated with ribbons and bows hung loosely on his frame, a gem-embroidered waistcoat buttoned on top of a tight-laced corset.

He didn't have the scrapes and tired look he had when she had last seen him, in fact she would say he scarily resembled one of her old childhood porcelain dolls.

She felt sick.

"Anything wrong, Your Majesty?" Lady Palas smiled, saccharine sweet.

"My brother." Lou hissed. "I asked you, you said—"

"To have your brother on the guest list would require to have an Alabaster Torrington on it, Your Majesty. We do not."

Lou couldn't decide if the crown on her head or the one in her dress pocket was the one heavier.

-------

Alabaster blinked furiously, staring from his perch next to the window as servants rushed from one place to the next in the courtyard and the other occupants of the room was trying to settle in.

"You know what I hate? Seasickness." Annabeth groaned from on top of the bed.

His homeland. This was his homeland and he had only seen his own sister once.

Perseus's laugh and following banter with Annabeth ringed in his ears until it toned itself out as Alabaster dug his nails into his aching scalp, trying to breathe in and out.

The way Lou looked at him was going to haunt him in his sleep, he just knew it.

He flinched as a hand grasped his own.

"Al? What's wrong?" Perseus lifted Alabaster's chin, concern oozing from those sea-shade eyes.

Alabaster averted his gaze, leaning into his touch while he faintly pointed to the opposite wing of the palace showing from the window view. "...my childhood bedroom. That's the royal quarters."

Understanding dawned on his face as something akin to guilt flashed inside Perseus's eyes. "Oh, jewel. Come here."

Alabaster let Perseus wrap his arms around his waist, and practically drag him to the bed. He melted into the soft fabric, only letting out a quiet whimper when one of the pins holding his hair together pressed into his scalp.

Annabeth rubbed her thumb on his cheekbone, "Need any help with those?"

Alabaster bit the inside of his cheek, lifting himself slightly as Annabeth positioned herself behind his head without waiting for an answer. He sighed in relief as Annabeth and Perseus gently took out all the pins, jewellery, flowers and other sorts of ornaments one by one, fingers carding through his hair, tension melting from his neck and shoulders.

They would drift off to sleep soon, Alabaster no doubt settling into their embrace as he regularly had done for a year now.

For all Perseus and Annabeth couldn't help his situation, they were warm enough, even though they wouldn't be home.

Alabaster had missed that one.

[monzamash]

the good, the bad and what could’ve been — lando norris (part one)

summary – nine years. an age gap that you didn’t know would cause so much heartache. you tell yourself that it’s fine, he tells you that he could give you the world but this was a cautionary tale of what could’ve been if you just let love win. pairing – lando norris x you (female reader) chapter rating – mature (sexual references, language, age gap/older woman) word count – 7k inspired by charlie puth's song called boy. masterlist

part one | part two | part three

Drenched rat was the only way to describe your appearance as the late evening downpour rained all over your parade. It had been one of those days that seemed to go on forever and there was nothing you wanted more than to see that last client waltz out of the studio and into those glorious Friday night shadows. Thank god it was the weekend.

"Any plans for the weekend, lovey?" Rae, your friend and closest co-worker asked from across the room, cleaning up her station for the last time this week.

You shrugged, not really having the mental capacity to even respond but she was being polite and the least you could do was answer.

"Maybe... My little brother's turning 21 and has reluctantly extended an invite my way so just loose plans at this stage. You?"

Rae went on to detail her jam-packed weekend with her husband, who like her was the life of every party. They were freshly married – only 3 months or so but they had been endgame since their college days apparently, which now seemed like a lifetime ago. Positivity exuded them wherever they went and you hated to admit that there was a pang of envy whenever they rocked up to after work drinks together or he dropped off her lunch that she'd left at home. Smitten by each other even after all these years.

All those little things festered away and created a small pit of jealousy in your stomach that you resented. You were happy, right? You had a successful career, a cute apartment and suitors 'round the block waiting for you to make up your mind and just fucking pick one of them. Anyone.

What Rae had was a once in a lifetime kind of love, you thought as the overhead lights were turned off and Patrick motioned for you to grab your shit and go home. The studio was cloaked in darkness as you squeezed through the small door, locked and loaded with an umbrella and a backpack filled with sketchbooks and diaries. And all you could do was pray that they were waterproofed enough to make the journey home.

"See ya Monday – and try to be on time, yeah?" Patrick arrogantly jabbed your way before disappearing out of sight and hopefully out of your life for the next 48 hours – or longer if you could get your shit together.

"Fucking arsehole," You muttered as Rae huddled under your umbrella, brushing your back with understanding.

"He doesn't know how to treat you because you intimidate him," She shook her long, black hair and rubbed her hands together, attempting to generate enough heat to keep warm as the thick fog rolled through the streets.

You shrugged, knowing that she was just trying to lighten the mood and send the week off with a positive – something she always liked to do for you, especially after a week filled with the same old bullshit. You were overbooked, overworked and wishing you were anywhere but here.

"It's nothing a really expensive bottle of wine can't fix," You half-joked and made sure Rae was sheltered before bidding her goodbye, "See you in hell on Monday."

Rae sent you a sullen wave, no doubt wishing she could've cheered you up just a little before going home to her seemingly perfect life. There wasn't much point trying when all attempts fell on deaf ears – nothing could pull you out of the perpetual cycle of drink, sleep, work, repeat. That was how it was and how it would always be and you had come to terms with that.

The short walk home from the studio was a miserable one, which was to be expected strolling the streets of London in the middle of December. But the glimmering lights reflected in the evening downpour and the smell of food cooking – sizzling kebab if you had to really hone in on the smokey, chargrilled scent wafting through the cool air, made it a little more bearable than usual. That didn't mean much considering nothing had brought you joy for months. Not even the discreetly packaged vibrator your best friend had left in a box on your doorstep with a sticky note saying, 'you deserve it'. Tragic.

You grumbled quietly to yourself, noticing a nosy neighbour standing beside the entrance to your building, waiting for either you or a cab. It was always hard to tell. She was an older lady who loved to pry and nothing gave her more pleasure than to bundle people up and have a chat. She was harmless and meant well but the last thing you needed tonight was an ambush.

"Sorry Effie, I have to get upstairs and get out of these wet clothes."

You got in first with the excuse and she simply smiled and waved. Effie knew the trials and tribulations of a London winter since she'd lived here all her life, simply wishing you a wonderful weekend and making you feel bad for brushing her off.

The apartment was cold and dimly lit as you flicked on the kitchen light and chucked your backpack down on the couch with a huff. You hoped it would feel better being home after a long day but you knew you had no food, no company and a cold bed waiting for you upstairs. All things that made it impossible to look on the bright side.

"Fuck. My. Life," You groaned into the fridge and slammed it shut, internally wishing past you had organised something for dinner.

You did as you told Effie and went upstairs to change into something comfier and less wet – a tracksuit set, combat boots and new beanie to cover the bird’s nest you called a "hairstyle". The floor length raincoat you should've taken to work was waiting for you at the front door – almost taunting your never-ending brain fades. You scooped up your keys and scarf and headed downstairs again, hoping that Effie had left to wherever the hell she was going on a Friday night. The fact a 70 year old woman had more of a social life should've worried you more but you were too tired to care.

By now it was a quarter to midnight and there was really only one option to get anything resembling food this late since the closest Waitrose was a 10-minute walk away. You had already burnt your bridge there by rocking up at closing time, forcing them to keep the tills open so you could buy emergency ice cream. You couldn't show your face there ever again.

The bright blue and red lights spilling into the puddles that were still filling from the rain was a welcomed sight. It was the only sign of life for miles, besides yourself and you were grateful having a 24-hour Tesco Express right around the corner. Capitalist convenience was in working order. The florescent lights were not as pleasant as you walked in and triggered the bell hanging over the automatic doors.

A familiar voice sang out your name, greeting you from behind the counter with a half-arsed smile adorning his kind face. You grabbed a basket and gave him a wave.

"Hi Kev," You meekly returned and continued on your way down the aisles, hoping to find a few things that would tide your hunger over until the sun came up.

You stopped at the confectionary section and perused for a second, debating whether a sugar hit this late in the night was the responsible adult thing to do. Your mum's authoritarian voice rang in your ears as you reached out and grabbed a bag of skittles, smiling to yourself as you dropped them into the basket. That smile had been the first of the day, maybe even of the week and it felt nice for a split second to feel the weight lifting from your shoulders.

"Late dinner?"

The voice came from a few steps away and belonged to a smirking stranger. He was taller than you, even hunched over the bargain bin he was rifling through. His hair was curly and sopping wet and it was hard to tell if it was just dark because of that or naturally, but your confused gaze connected with his and the smile that had just been on your cold face had disappeared.

"Excuse me?" You quietly asked and stared into his icy blue eyes, prepared to strike with a snarky comeback or two.

"The skittles," He pointed to your basket, "That used to be my evening meal a few years ago until I realised I was an addict and had to get help."

The kind smile on his face softened your stern expression, "Oh, right... Well I'm glad you found the help you needed. Maybe I should too," You tried to muster a joke and he laughed – loudly.

Nobody laughed like that at anything you had said lately because most of the things you did say were either dripping in sarcasm or laced with self-deprecation. Both weren't cute or endearing the longer it became apart of your personality. But he liked your joke enough to give you a boost of serotonin and your smile was back –even brighter than before.

"I did but you should definitely level it out with something else – maybe something chocolaty," The mystery man nodded towards the rows of chocolate bars lining the racks in front of you, now openly encouraging your bad habit.

His accent was different to what you were used to – British, kind of upperclass, kind of not but laced with something else and you were intrigued. Maybe even a little mesmerised by the way he stood his ground, making small talk to a complete stranger in the middle of the night. He looked cozy too, tracksuit clad like you, giving zero fucks about how you fashionable you looked, or really what anyone thought. Comfy, friendly, warm – he was different.

"Great suggestion but I think this will do enough damage," You replied, making him chuckle again.

"I'll live my junk food fantasies vicariously through you," He said before he turning on his heel and making his way to the register at the front of the store, humming to himself.

You could hear his boisterous yet kind voice as you grabbed a pre-mixed salad and lined up behind him, "Thanks man – have a great night," He said to Kevin who no doubt appreciated a friendly face this late in the night.

The stranger sent one lasting smile your way and said 'hope you do too' before he exited with his bag of almonds and a coconut water. Simple and nutritious – which was more than you could say about your late night dinner choices.

With a genuine pep in your step and your items safely tucked under your arm, you left the shop feeling a lot lighter than you did when you walked in and that was something unexpected. A polite run in with a stranger was an unlikely mood-booster but you were clinging to it while it lasted. That was until you noticed a shadowy figure walking up ahead as you rounded into your street and slowed down, but the person heard your footsteps loud and clear.

Internally cursing yourself for wearing the loudest boots you owned, you relaxed a little when you realised it was the man from the store, who had thrown a thick puffer jacket over his orange hoodie. There was a short pause as your eyes met and a puzzled look flashed across his flushed face, wind blown.

"I'm not stalking you," You said in hopes of easing his confusion, "I live here."

You pointed to the large wooden door that led into your apartment building as you tugged your jacket closed, trying to trap any warmth left in your body. The man turned around and looked to where you were pointing before spinning back with a soft chuckle, "And I live there."

He gestured to the building across the small side street you were both standing in, looking as bewildered as each other. It was your turn to laugh as the penny dropped – you were neighbours.

"Small world," You humorously replied and took a few long strides past him. As cute as he was in the darkness, you were frozen solid and needed to thaw out as soon as possible otherwise you'd be asking him for a ride to the hospital.

"See you around?" He asked more as a question than a statement and you nodded with a small, chattering smile.

"Yep," You simply replied and buzzed yourself into the building, shivering beneath all the layers you'd put on before leaving. Even though you were smiling through gritted teeth and feeling warmth from the fleeting conversation, the several layers of clothing and a genuine smile from a stranger weren't even enough to keep you from hypothermia. You couldn't wait to get upstairs and sit by the heater, wishing you were in some quaint country cabin far, far away.

"Yep... Just keep the peel on until tonight and then wash your thigh with that soap I gave you... Yep, warm water is perfect and make sure you put on a thin layer of cream after that... It’ll probably be a little red but I promise you’ll heal perfectly so don't stress," You reassured your client who had gotten her first ever tattoo yesterday.

Your work was rewarding in so many ways but the pressure of working for someone else came with it's unique challenges. There was nothing you wanted more than to open up your own little tattoo shop with Rae and live your life the way you wanted to – not the way some washed up muso envisioned. With a few more words of encouragement, you managed to reassure your client and begin your Saturday, doing a whole lot of nothing.

The sun was shining at least and you figured you might as well enjoy some of what the day had to offer before your night out later this evening. Your brother had given you strict instructions on when and where his birthday drinks were going to be and you knew then that making an appearance at this thing was now a non-negotiable. You couldn't be seen as the flaky older sister again and you didn't want to let him down – that relationship was one of very few that were sacred in your life and turning 21 was a big deal.

It wasn't long until you were strapping on your heels, sticking a couple more bobby pins into the messy bun you were trying to tame and trotting down the staircase, ready to mingle. You had been single now for much longer than you would've liked and although there had been moments of weakness, nothing had amounted to more than a shitty one-night stand. And it was infuriating.

A complete exodus from dating apps hadn't helped your cause but you couldn't handle another ghosting, especially not from some grubby dude who had no right being anywhere near you. You had standards that were high and there was nothing wrong with that – until a couple of gin and tonics are consumed and you forget you were even human. All of a sudden your standards have left the building along with you and said grubby dude.

"Hey!" A voice echoed from across the street as you closed the building door and glanced around with furrowed brows, wondering who was calling out your way.

That's when you spotted him – the man from last night who you couldn't stop thinking about, even if you didn't want to admit it. He looked different in the daylight and definitely lived up to parts of the vision you'd conjured after your random meeting in the street. The curls were there, as were the light blue eyes that caught your attention but he was younger than you first thought, a lot younger which was an important detail that you'd missed in the darkness. One you wished you had of noticed before summoning those late-night thoughts.

"Hi again," You greeted with crossed arms, trying to cover the somewhat revealing dress underneath your jacket.

You quickly clocked his athleisure wear and concluded that he was probably going to the gym with his friend who was trailing closely behind him. They were both full of smiles as you crossed the road, figuring you had to wait for your cab anyway so you might as well have company.

"I realised after I went in last night that I didn't even introduce myself – I'm Lando," He said and held out his hand for you to shake.

"Well in our defence it was super late and my brain was definitely mush," You replied and grasped his warm hand, introducing yourself.

You'd be lying if you didn't say there was a small, flash of something resembling a spark as you shook his hand. A little buzz of excitement that in the moment you chalked up to being super alone and outrageously horny. Desperate didn't even begin to describe the mess that was your sex life and with that in mind, your snap reaction of having undeniable chemistry with him was probably not accurate. But whether it was a figment of your imagination or not, it was still a valid feeling and you were going to have to bury that shit.

"Nice to put a name to the face," Lando smiled and turned to his friend who up until this point had remained quiet, "This is my father, Carlos."

You knew he was pulling your chain, or at least you hoped he. His friend shoved him in the side, fervently shaking his head, "Clearly not his father but Hola," He sheepishly greeted, voice laced with a thick accent and a smile that would make any sane individual with two eyes and a pulse melt in place.

"I was gonna say that's a little suss but I don't judge without context."

You glanced between the two men with a smirk and held your hands up – making them both chuckle quietly. They also eyed each other, a silent nod following that you couldn’t quite decipher. It was fleeting, almost so much so that if you blinked, you would’ve missed it. Maybe you wished you did because now you were cursing yourself for not taking that body language class at university all those years ago. Pointless and too bohemian for your liking, you thought at the time but now, standing on a rain gutter, you regretted passing such haste judgment. Their unspoken conversation infuriated you internally as Lando looked back at you with an awkward smile.

"Nah, I'm an appropriately aged guy and definitely not a child..." Lando trailed off and clumsily scratched the back of his neck, "Don't know what I mean by that but um yeah, not his son obviously." He was fumbling, frantically trying to change the subject but instead looked down at his dirty white sneakers with a grimace, internally face-palming himself.

You bit down on your mauve coloured bottom lip and tried to conceal the smile threatening to reveal itself. He was cute. Awkward? Absolutely. A little dorky with his oversized hoodie and boyish grin? You could say that but he was still kind of cute nonetheless.

"Obviously," You replied sweetly and noticed your uber pulling up outside your apartment building, ready to take you somewhere you could drown your shitty week away.

"Nice to officially meet you and your dad – see you around." You winked and maintained eye contact with Lando before strutting across the street and jumping in your uber.

You wondered what they said once you were gone and whether you looked better in broad daylight or in the shadows of the night. Your intrusive thoughts were quickly pushed aside when you realised he was more than likely taken, or not interested. Or more importantly, way too young for you to even be having these thoughts about. The good ones never were right for you – there was always something. It was like a curse that you'd picked up somewhere along the way – a curse that forbid any man with a job and their shit together to look your way twice. You were invisible to those men lately and you couldn't help but blame yourself.

With a mission to find someone to take your mind off those negative thoughts, you ordered your first drink, and then your second drink and you guessed it – your third and fourth in quick succession. You swore the dance floor was falling out from under your feet as your brother and his girlfriend scooped you up and called you an Uber. The night was over before it had even begun and you knew you'd be filled with regret in the morning. But right now, you were just lucky to be standing upright.

"Will you be okay?" Your brother asked as you flopped into the back of the car, giggling like a schoolgirl.

"Pfft, I'm a professional drinker," You hiccupped and covered your mouth, "I'll be fine – driver, take me home!"

The uber driver mumbled something under his breath and punched in the address your brother had given him, no doubt sick of trashed girls on the brink of vomiting, flailing around in the back of his car. You were a mess and attempting to cover that up by drinking wasn't doing you any favours. In fact you knew it was only going to make you feel worse – especially tomorrow.

"Alright, you're home," The driver said loudly, waking you up from the quick nap you decided to take in the backseat, blaming the warmth for lulling you to sleep.

"Make sure you grab everything."

A scoff slipped past your lips as you gathered your bags, "I know what I'm doing," You retorted, not realising that you were probably slurring every word and most definitely making absolutely no sense to someone who was stone-cold sober.

You closed the door and nearly fell forward over the gutter doing so, trying to balance in the heels that had caused your feet to go numb. The black car drove off and you waved like a maniac, thinking you were hilarious before rummaging through your handbag for your keys. You could barely see through blurry vision and the cold air made every inch of you exposed skin tingle as you stumbled into the brick wall of your building. At least you were home.

"Fuck," You hissed to yourself as you dug through the bag and saw nothing but a dark void. It was an impossible task without the flash on your phone to light the way.

The sound of a car door slamming shut across the street startled you out of your intoxicated rage, causing a few items to tumble from your handbag, including your phone. And there he was again, dressed smartly this time – the mystery man who's name you couldn't quite remember in your drunken state. You turned away and frantically started looking for your keys again, hoping to God he wouldn't come over and see you looking like a complete mess. Famous last thoughts.

"Early night?" His innocent question echoed through the empty street and you closed your eyes, knowing there was no way you could avoid him now – especially since you were locked out of your apartment with nowhere to go.

You bashfully looked up through your fake eyelashes and sent him a lazy smile, "Yeah, didn't quite uhm, end up – end up the way I expected," You managed to stammer through your sentence, hoping he could understand some of what you were saying.

"Well we've all been there... Do you need help?" He asked and looked down at your hands that were full, "Because you've dropped a couple of things in the gutter..."

You looked down and realised you'd dropped not only your phone but also your purse, a powder compact and a small sketchbook, "I'm – I'm a real fucking idiot and I've lost my keys... I think... I think I left them in the uber," You confessed and conceded the obvious. You were locked out of your apartment in the dead of an English winter, dressed like an expensive escort. A disaster.

"Ah, crap. Have you given anyone a spare key?"

The glimmer in his eyes as you looked up from your bag made your heart skip a little in your chest. He was handsome, the curls you’d clocked falling onto his forehead as he stood up, and you couldn't stop staring until he snapped you out of your trance, your name falling effortlessly from his chapped, shivering lips, breath causing a thick fog to form in front of your confused face.

"Oh... uhm, my – my friend... ah shit what's her name?... God, what is wrong with me," You grumbled, breath mingling in the cold air as you rubbed your face, "What's your name again?"

"It's Lando," He kindly replied with a soft chuckle and tucked away the objects he’d picked up for you, knowing there was no way you would be able to do any of that in the state you were in.

“Lando,” You repeated quietly, “Like the star trek dude? I’ve never seen it but… that’s right, right?” Even you could hear your incoherent mumblings, making yourself physically cringe because he was too polite to correct you, “Just stop talking, idiot.” You whispered to yourself, or at least you hoped he didn’t hear you. He did.

"Definitely named after the dude in star trek,” He chuckled softly and scanned the empty street, wondering what the hell he was going to do with a drunk, helpless woman.

He couldn’t leave her like this but he also had plans – a blind date that had been sprung on him and set up by Carlos at the gym. Sure, he had been regretting saying yes to it but he hadn’t been out on a date in months, maybe longer and he was sick of the late night hook up that had become too much of a regular occurrence, though completely random. He wanted more than that, something worth his precious time and he didn’t need the drama that came from the one-night stands. It didn’t even matter how good it felt in the moment. Occupied sheets and empty promises didn’t keep him warm at night. It made him physically ill.

But now he was faced with what was obviously a challenge – a beautiful mess of a rescue mission. 

“Look, why don't you come in out of the cold and we'll call your nameless friend who has your spare key?"

Your eyebrows furrowed and you blinked a couple of times before looking at the locked door beside you, "I can't go inside because *hiccup* I've lost my keys... I think I left 'em in that uber... But he was just here, I swear..."

Lando stifled a giggle again and slowly nodded, "Yep, we've been over that but I meant my place. Not sure if you remember this but I live over the street from you... Right there," He gestured towards the opposite building and you rolled your eyes.

"I know that, buddy," You sarcastically retorted, "I'm not stupid." You were slurring up a storm and he simply smiled in response – his patience was commendable.

"My apologies... But I'm freezing and you're turning blue so come on – I promise I'm not a weirdo," He held out his hand and nodded towards his building, blue eyes glimmering under the dim streetlight.

You sighed and linked your icy fingers with his, "You better not be a weirdo..." You rasped and let him guide you over the road, silently enjoying clinging to his muscular bicep and watching his ringlets blowing in the wind.

As you let your entire body weight brush against his arm, you felt something sharp digging into your ribs, a foreign object that you swore wasn’t there before. You stopped in your tracks, leaving Lando confused as you reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out a set of keys – "Wow."

“Oops,” You grimaced, goofy grin instantly sweeping across your face when Lando looked down at your hands, chuckling at you as you stumbled out of his grasp, “Guess you don’t get to murder me tonight, Lawrence!”

“Not even close,” He shuffled back with a smile and observed your every move, ready to swoop in if you did stack it in the middle of the street. You were like a baby giraffe, clomping across the damp asphalt in your heels, giggling to nobody. “You know where I live if you need anything.”

“Yeah, yeah!” You shouted back, trying your best to smoothly exit the situation and from your perspective, you were killing it.

But reality was a cruel, unforgiving beast – and you were failing miserably to play it cool as you toppled through the building door and nearly face-planted into the couch nestled in the foyer. It was a miracle that you didn’t fall, Lando thought as a smitten grin surfaced on his frost bitten cheeks while he walked upstairs to his own apartment, drafting the dreaded ‘sorry I can’t make it' text but feeling no regret at all.

You were all he could think about for the rest of the night – a beautiful hurricane rolling through his life for the briefest of moments, a burst of long wavy hair, trench coat fluttering in the wind and for a second he wished, deep down that maybe you had lost your keys. As quickly as that thought crossed his mind, he shooed it away – knowing already that you were out of his league, hell, you weren’t even playing the same sport. What the fuck was he going to do if he did get you up here, away from civilisation where it was just the two of you? God help him.

From a distance, you seemed sophisticated, witty, chaotic fun – all traits that had him staring at his ceiling, soundlessly wondering when he would see you again. Soon, he hoped.

“Six tequila shots, Jen! We’re celebrating!” You yelled over the loud EDM music blasting through the club, the smell of testosterone and Acqua di gio aftershave mixing in the already thick, humid air.

“Of course, girl! What are we celebrating?” The bartender asked smiling from ear to ear. Jen, who by day was a barista at your local café, had become one of your closest friends in the city and was always cheering you on from the sidelines while serving you the best coffee in London.

“I quit my soul sucking job and told Patrick to shove it up his arse!” You shouted, waving your arms in the air along with your best friend who had insisted on helping commemorate this magnificent occasion, “I finally bit the bullet and did it, Jen and I feel bloody amazing!”

Jen leaned over and grasped your forearms, “Super proud of you, sis. ‘Bout fucking time you did something for yourself.”

You couldn’t argue with that. She was right.

It had been a week since your drunken run in with your neighbour. Humiliating was the first thought that came to mind, head thumping for days following. You hadn’t seen him since that ill-fated night and there was a small part of you that searched for him whenever you left for work, eyes quickly glancing across the street in case fate was working your favour and he was leaving too. Happenstance.

But you were never that lucky and the week had gone from bad to worse at work – your boss had finally lost the plot and you were done, once and for all. No amount of love for your craft was worth being berated by a self-righteous, egotistical arsehole. He’d pushed too far and you were out of there, rucksack haphazardly slung across your shoulders and a smile bigger than the moon on your face. You were free – until the reality of unemployment hit.

London was your home and it had been for the better part of a decade, working at different tattoo parlours, building a solid client list along the way until you’d reached the top and now, finally opting out of the cruel, unrelenting torture that was working under Patrick. Life was too short and your thirties were well underway, that biological clock forever ticking while everyone else seemed to be settling down, buying that dream house with a picket fence. That wasn’t for me, you told yourself so you could sleep at night.

So much of your life was based around career goals and aspiration, so many of those things had been ticked off before your thirtieth birthday last year and it left you wondering where the time had gone. Your twenties had whizzed by faster than your teens and it made that hole in your heart, where you presumed personal goals were supposed to live feel emptier than ever. Especially when those friends you’d stayed in touch with since high school were having their second or third baby, getting married, some for the second time. Where had the time gone?

It was passing you by and even though you gave yourself that pep talk late at night, looking up at your ceiling, questioning whether you would ever find someone to share it all with or if you even wanted that, time continued to tick. Fleeting memories, first dates, and awkward one-night stands – they were all you really had in terms of a love life. The term ‘love life’ was probably over reaching, because if it was a life, it was fucking tragic.

But it was all you had. That and a kickass group of friends who had your back, setting you up with their husbands cute friends, until they turned out to be misogynistic arseholes, or worse – secretly married. In a population of 9 million, you would think there would be a plethora of kind, sweet men but you couldn’t seem to find one. And that led to the one question that did keep you up at night – maybe it’s me. Am I the problem?

“Babe, you’ve got it all. A gorgeous apartment, a beautiful puppy, you’re going to accomplish the dream you’ve had since you were 14 years old! There’s so much going for you that having a guy means nothing. And fuck men, honestly. I’m so glad we’re out here doing this because I’m one wet towel away from killing Jamie,” You couldn’t help but laugh at your best friend, Winnie.

“I’m serious!” And she was, the deadpan expression never faltering as you put your hands up for protection.

“I got you, I’m with you,” You defended, “I guess I just see everything else falling into place, even though my career path is a little murky right now but I’ll work that out… Love is the one thing I can’t figure out. What am I doing wrong?”

Winnie laughed and gripped your shoulder endearingly, “You are hot, like super hot. They are the issue, not you! Okay…” She trailed off and pushed another shot in your direction.

“Tonight’s the night. We are going to find you a cutie, someone fun. And it might just be a meaningless fuck like the rest but let’s deal with that in the morning,” She hiccupped, already tipsy from the shots.

You smiled and sweetly nodded, knowing that her intentions were coming from a good place but stomaching empty promises had become a regular occurrence. You’d lost count of how many guys she’d set you up with or found through dating apps when you went to the bathroom and came back to find her scrolling through, squealing every time a guy she liked matched with you. It all just felt pointless – and a little desperate. Okay, maybe a lot desperate but you appreciated her trying to help.

So you let her pull you through the crowd to where the rest of your friends were standing, all pouring shots down their throats and getting “wild”. A group of women in their early 30s, most with a kid or two or hadn’t been out to a club in months, some years. It was carnage but you appreciated them all coming out to celebrate you. It gave you something to hold onto even when the rest of your personal life was slowly sinking like the titanic, no safety boat in sight.

Until – you heard your name, loud and clearly from behind your friend. The voice was familiar, oddly so, like you’d imagined it somewhere along the lines and it wasn’t real. Lando’s face bobbed up from the side, smile adorning his sweet face, enthusiastic wave quickly followed and you returned it, the same smile too. His cheeks were flushed and eyes slightly bloodshot. You could tell he was tipsy.

“Hello stranger,” You greeted shyly, not knowing how to approach and apologise for the shameful display you showed last weekend. But before you could even get another word out, you were being pulled into a hug, a loose, one arm kind of hug but a hug nonetheless.

He was warm, perspiring ever so slightly as your cheek brushed across his damp neck, no doubt caused by the high humidity inside the club that was pumping. The lingering scent of Dior Sauvage mixed with a woody scented shampoo were notes you picked up on as your arm slipped around his waist, gently giving him a squeeze before you pulled away, half-heartedly.

“Glad you’re alive and well!” Lando shouted over the loud music, still beaming as you leaned in a little closer, “I am so, so, so sorry about last weekend… I’m not usually – well, no sometimes I get a little too heavy handed with my good friends gin and tonic but that was next level and not at all who I am typically… Just yeah, super embarrassed!”

Lando nodded empathetically, “Don’t be. You were, and I mean this is the nicest possible way; you were the most entertaining part of my week… So you’re drinking gin and tonic, yeah?” He asked, glancing down at your empty hands before turning to the bartender and hailing him over.

“Just a gin and tonic and a corona, please mate.”

Lando swivelled back your way, still grinning while he took in your surroundings, “Girls night out?” He asked, curious as to why you were out with your friends.

“Sort of,” You began to explain before graciously accepting the drink he had bought you, “I quit my crappy job and they insisted we celebrate – but between you and me, I think they’re just bored of their husbands and kids." Your whisper made him laugh, that serotonin boost lighting up your senses again, just like it did a week ago when you first met. Sparks flying.

“Makes sense," He nodded with a furrowed brow, looking serious before cracking a smile, "Congrats on quitting your shitty job, I’m sure your boyfriends here celebrating with you too, no?”

There was a glint in his eyes as they scanned the room and landed back on yours, eagerly awaiting your response. You didn’t give it to him straight away, letting him stew on that question for a couple seconds longer than humane, until he took a sip of his beer, finding something to occupy himself with while you left him there hanging.

“No boyfriend.”

Your answer was simple – to the point and Lando appreciated that as he let go of the deep sigh rattling around in his chest. Was he being nosy? Absolutely but he was also hedging his bets, knowing that if you did have a boyfriend and you looked like that then he wouldn’t have his two front teeth by the end of the night. He had to know for certain before he bought you another drink. And definitely before he asked you to dance.

There was barely a millimetre, if that between your body and his, only losing the warmth of his embrace when he twirled you around, giggling like teenagers who were superficially falling in love for the night. Your friend was the one who broke up the party, insisting that she said goodbye to you before leaving to relieve her babysitter.

“Everyone’s gone home and I think I’m gonna head off too,” She yelled before tugging you closer, “But have fun with your boy toy,” She whispered into your ear, her smirk telling as you pulled back and rolled your eyes.

“Stop it. It’s just a bit of harmless dancing,” You scoffed in return, but she’d known you since you were knee high to a grasshopper, practically experiencing all of life’s milestones in tandem – until she found her prince charming and had his babies, a betrayal like no other.

“Sure, sure,” She winked because she knew that there was a 90% chance that you wouldn’t make it home, or if you did, it was only because your place was closer than his, “Call me tomorrow morning when you get home.”

The cheek, you thought as she strutted off into the crowd, disappearing into the stormy London night. You were at a crossroads, standing in the middle of the club and searching the room for Lando. He’d given you space to speak with your friend, a subtle sign of respect while he rushed to the bathroom and splashed his face with water.

Get it together, he muttered, cursing his rosy cheeks and uncooperative curls, the bundle of ringlets gathering like a nest on the crown of his head. He didn’t want to look shabby in front of you, especially since he'd identified your expensive perfume and had noticed the red-bottomed heels adorning your feet. You were the uptown girl they were talking about in that song, the tune now on the tip of his tongue as he pushed through the bathroom door, whistling along to the silent song stuck in his head.

And there you were, lost in the crowd, searching. He wondered for a second whether you were looking for him or if your friend had just come over to tell you something and she was coming back. But when your eyes met, you smiled big. Grinning and relieved to see those bright blue eyes drawing you in from across the room, a familiar face to ease your nerves. You glided to him like a magnet magically pulling you both to the halfway point, hands immediately reaching, needy to feel the others touch again.

Winnie’s words rang in your ears, so sure of herself and what she knew about you. Your bad habits. You wanted to spite her and bid Lando farewell but when you watched his tongue swiping across his pouty bottom lip and that boyish smile tug at the corners of his mouth again, you were done for – hook, line and sinker.

“Do you wanna get out of here?”

click here for part two

a/n – i really hope you enjoyed the 7k word introduction *facepalm* to this mini-series – it got away from me a little bit but i'm excited about exploring long form writing on tumblr so follow for updates and lmk what you think so far!

[orqheuss]

For whatever we lose (like a you, or a me)

(Ominis Gaunt/Sebastian Sallow/GN!Reader ANGST)

Pre!Parenthesis Universe

Summary:

“Oh for the love of—” Sebastian cut himself off, quickly drawing his wand from his sleeve and pointing it at your chest. Images danced behind his eyes; Solomon destroying the plant that could have cured Anne; The blurry image of the goblin that had cursed his sister running from the house, cackling in villainous mirth; finding his parents bodies in the cellar, thick plumes of colored toxic smoke spewing from their cauldron. His vision faded to a striking black. White hot pokers stabbed into his temples, and he cast his wand at you in a blind rage. “Crucio!” *** The Scriptorium called your name, and who were you to ignore its song? At least, that's what you told yourself as Sebastian pushed you and Ominis deeper and deeper into the mausoleum.

Word count: 9k

Tags: arguing, violence, cruciatus curse, dark!sebastian (kind of), sexual humor

AN: I’m moving all of my fics over from Ao3 to make them more accessible! These are my fics.

Not a sound could be heard in the moonlit, desolate hallways of Hogwarts. The distant star casted a haunting glow over the courtyard and shone through the grand windows of the Great Hall. Figures long lost to time danced through the paintings lining the hazelwood walls, waltzing to an imaginary concerto. The ghosts floating about chatted quietly about their history, telling tales of cadences forever forgotten in old textbooks. Their whispers shivered the leaves in the trees on the campus grounds, leaving them humming at the fall winds cascading from the sky and turning their once vibrant green spires into a burnt orange. Lanterns lined the Grand Staircase at the heart of the castle, a paragon of regality and the wisdom of the great wizarding school. Baroque styled banisters basked in the glow, expelling person-shaped shadows on the enormous walls lining the mystical architecture. Down the stairs laid an ornate stone door, its architrave adorned with a cosmic silver snake. Two freshly lit braziers framed the entrance and swayed in the steely breeze of the dungeons, its smokey ash pirouetting in romantic couplets towards the ceiling. 

A third was sparked to life just down the way. The line of light seemed to lure in anyone who were to walk the halls past curfew; beckoning them with the promise of mischief and pleasure. Standing before the final brazier, basking in its luminescence, were three young students. One leaned against the far wall of the corridor, arms crossed tightly against his chest with a sullen look adorning his features. His eyes seemed to catch the light and shimmer like frosted glass on a winter morning. Another stood in front of the boy, directly under the cold stone of the giant candelabra. He was beaming with elation, his eyes glittering with waywardness and intrigue. His brown irises seemed to reflect the fire back in challenge, almost daring it to blaze brighter than he did. Between the two was the final student. A slight frown quirked the corner of their mouth, glancing back and forth between their two friends in trepidation. They could feel each emotion emitting from their companions like a thick fog, coating the hallway and leaving the braziers the lone match shining through the storm. Each felt something different about their quest— had different motives for the scintillating adventure. They all heard the distinct call to the Scriptorium before them, and felt more than compelled to answer. With a great rumble, the stone wall sloughed away and opened up to a chasm leading downward. A spiral staircase slithered from below and attached to the ledge, hissing out a stream of steam in its wake. 

The three friends stood in awe at the display, amazed at the grandiloquence of the long dead wizard who made this place. They were about to enter Salazar Slytherin’s Scriptorium, a feat very few could claim as their own. 

Sebastian Sallow turned on the balls of his feet and beckoned his friends over, a giddy look twinkling in his eyes and stretching his smile. The prospect of finding a cure for the curse that plagued his sister heavily outweighed any unease he may have had at the daunting entryway. He nearly vibrated with excitement— the need for thrill buried itself deep in his bones. He could taste the tombs of secrets hidden in the enigma before him, feel the leather bound books worn with oil from the fingertips of his house founder. The forbidden magic thrummed in his veins and set his blood aflame like the brightest sunlight. Something unfamiliar flashed in his eyes, something dark.

Ominis Gaunt, the heir of Slytherin himself, flicked his wand from his large robe sleeve and sparked it to life. A red light pulsed from its tip, and the hallway came more into focus in his mind. He pushed himself off of the wall and walked towards the imposing archway, closer to his family history simmering below. He looked striking, noble even, with his even, strong steps. Only someone close enough to be in his own skin would notice the slight tremble in his hands, the sweat that beaded at his brow. Anyone else with his condition could hear the steady hammer of his heart against his rib cage, the fast but even beats swimming in his ears and resting behind his eyes. He thought of his dear aunt Noctua, the last of the Gaunt’s to enter the foreboding mausoleum— how she had disappeared soon after finding its entrance. A shiver ran up his spine and something akin to fear lodged itself in his throat. 

You looked on at the two boys. You had no feelings for this moment, nothing to go off of but the words of your two comrades. You peaked down the chilling stairs into the never-ending darkness. It seemed to hiss in contempt at being awoken. This metaphorical pit of serpents had fangs, and each dripped with a deadly poison befitting the strongest men. The blackness crept up your arms and buried itself in your hair— it whispered sweet nothings into your ears, enticing the ancient magic flowing under your skin. You inhaled the titillating aroma of devillment and stored it deep in your lungs. Excitement and worry crashed against your soul and swirled like a hurricane in your stomach, sending ripples of anxiety through your very bones. You truly didn’t know how you felt at that very moment, but you knew, more than anything, that you wanted to protect your friends. Something inside, though, felt familiar. Something was calling out to your magic, and you felt inclined to answer.

You pushed the anxiety aside for now. The two boys, now standing next to you, both had things they needed to learn from the Scriptorium, and you were going to help them find it. The idea of adventure took over your senses at that moment and spread heat through your chest, glowing as bright at the braziers you had just lit. 

Even Ominis, a very stoic and reserved boy to most, seemed to have a gleam about his face that shimmered in eagerness. Not many knew, but he most definitely had a taste for chaos— he had to with the company he kept. There was something so intriguing about the Scriptorium to him. Maybe it was something forged in his very being, him being a Gaunt after all. Either way, the young wizard turned his attention towards his companions in a silent confirmation that he was ready to go. You cleared your throat hesitantly, drawing the attention of Sebastian away from the dark hallway before you. 

“Alright boys,” you gestured towards the entrance with your hand, “shall we?” 

The two nodded in your direction. Sebastian turned to you with a cheeky grin decorating his features. “I haven’t seen a tunnel this big since your mum.” 

Another thing about the Sallow boy: he very rarely took anything seriously. 

At the unimpressed look you gave him, he held his hands up in a placating manner, chortling to himself, “Aw, come on. That was a good one—”

You reached your hand towards his face and promptly thumped him on the forehead with a flick. Sebastian dropped the troublesome smirk and quickly brought his palm up to rub at the affronted spot, hissing through his teeth in pain. 

You looked at Ominis next to you, and as if sensing your disappointment he shook his head while looking up at the ceiling, muttering to himself, “Merlin, help me,” before beginning to walk down the daunting staircase. 

You and Sebastian fell into step behind the young Gaunt, trusting his instincts and sentient wand better than your fleeting eyesight. The tunnel was unequivocally dark, even the lumos dancing in front of your face barely pierced the surface. Your shoes made a distinct squelch sound on the wet cement with each step deeper into the pit. 

Down, 

          down, 

                    down you went. 

The stairs seemed to go on forever, descending into the fathomless unknown. Each sound echoed off the tightly packed walls, bouncing back and forth like a well crafted game of wizards chess. The seconds ticked by slowly, cascading around you like the steady stream of drips coming from above. The piping loomed imposingly above your heads and drizzled along the black-stone walls. You must be truly under the castle, you supposed. You felt tightly packed like a tin of sardines— three fish wiggling together towards the unknown fate of the stew pot. Ominis could smell your discomfort behind him, and quite honestly, he was inclined to agree. He couldn’t sense the end landing, if there even was one, in the infernal devilry that was the accursed sepulcher. The scent and taste of mildew and stale air coated his nasal cavity and larynx, making it impossible to determine anything else from the two orifices. He would gripe about his lack of sight in situations like this, at least normally, but he doubted that it would make much difference at the current moment. There was truly nothing around them.

Sebastian could taste the unease in the air from his two companions, and he detested the feeling greatly. It was of the utmost disrespect to the boy to turn down adventure; there was absolutely nothing in this world that he didn’t want to poke and prod, to know how it ticked. If there was one thing that his parents passed down to him before they died, it was that. He understood that it was a daunting task, and a very large ask of his dear friends, to take this journey with him, but for Merlin’s sake, it was Slytherin’s Scriptorium! He had only ever read about this monumental library, hiding deep in the caverns of the Hogwarts underbelly. How could he say no to this journey, this discovery? If it helped Anne along the way, what was the harm of it all? 

Just as you were beginning to think you would never leave the Hadean staircase, it finally puttered off to a smooth path of river-stones and a dimly lit concourse. Ominis stood at the forefront of the group, his wand casting a small bale-fire and illuminating more of the imposing hallway. Sebastian chuckled lowly behind him. Wrapping his arm around the smaller boy's shoulders and leaning his head towards you, his eyes focusing deep into the darkness before him, he hummed.

“Hmph. Dark, ominous corridors. My favorite!” He cheesed at your bubbling laugh, snickering to himself at the obvious annoyance of the other boy. 

Ominis bemoaned the statement, groaning and throwing his head back minutely. A hand raised to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “No comment.” 

You turned towards your blond haired friend, placing your own hand on his shoulder and leaning in next to his ear, a dangerously coy simper tweaking up the corners of your mouth.

“I certainly love one of Ominis’ corridors.” 

The wiry boy wiggled out from under your arms, making a sound of disgust at the comment as his cheeks turned a bright fuchsia. Sebastian desperately held in giggles behind his hand, watching as the boy made an obscene gesture with his middle finger in your general direction. The taller boy stepped closer to the other, gently grasping his arm by the wrist and redirected the gesticulation to face more fully at you instead of a little to the left where it once was pointed. Both of you paused, looking between each other's eyes and the offending finger with barely contained mirth, before combusting dramatically into boisterous laughter. Sebastian leaned against the wall in support, nearly screaming around the laughs that wracked his body. You still stood across from Ominis, doubled over with your hands on your knees. Gasping breaths left your lungs as you teared up in humorous pain. Ominis’ scowl somehow got deeper, and once again he turned away from the pair of you and began to walk down the hallway himself— screw you two hooligans to the sticking place for all he cared. 

“Yes, yes. Hardy har, laugh at the blind fellow. Incredibly mature, you both are.” 

Sebastian walked up to your hunched form, patting you gently on the back before grasping at your shoulder and helping you stand. You both leaned on the other for support as the last of your giggles tittered into the air around you. Taking a deep, cleansing breath before shakily releasing the air, you began to walk after the tiffed boy. His haunches were raised above his ears, only the tips poked out and were flushed a light pink. You quickly ran to catch up with his quick steps, waving your wand around in front of you to avoid any obstacles in the low lighting. Your arm landed on his shoulders once again, and you sniggered jovially,

“I do apologize. That was terribly coarse of me, my dear Ominis.” 

Sebastian slid up on the other side of the boy, wrapping his arm around his other shoulder and resting his hand at your elbow. He accentuated his accent, adopting an incredibly posh vernacular. “Indubitably. Frightfully uncouth of us. Please forgive us, dear friend.” 

Ominis growled in the back of his throat, mumbling curses under his breath and shrugging off both of your arms. “Go lick a leprechaun taint, the both of you.” 

You both gasped in outrage. 

“How dare you, good sir!” Sebastian cried, a hand fluttering over his heart and a scandalized look decorating his visage. 

You took a similar stance. “We are children of God! Deviant behavior such as that must be saved for one's wedding bed.” 

The two pureblood wizards paused and turned towards you, confusion laced in their eyebrows. The brunette leaned closer to you, arms now crossed in befuddlement, and glanced at you from his peripheral vision like he was about to share a secret. 

“What’s a ‘God’?” Sebastian whispered out of the side of his mouth.

You turned towards the boy, finger raised and mouth open with an explanation at the tip of your tongue. You quickly decided against it, though, as you knew it would just confuse them more. Best not try to explain muggle religion to two boys who have never stepped out of their small towns until it was time to go to school. You sighed, lowering your hand and about facing the end of the hall, ambling along ahead of the pack. The two boys shrugged and continued after you. 

At the far end of the hallway stood two imposing stone walls, an ostentatious doorway slid into the space between. Looking at the entrance, embellished in the texture of scales and decorated with serpent imagery, you felt a sense of dread wash over you.  Each turn in this maze of a catacomb seemed to linger with a foreboding aura, flooding your senses and raising the hairs at the back of your neck. You turned to look at Sebastian, now at your elbow just behind you. He was gazing at the door in pure curiosity, his eyebrows pinched together in contemplation. He ran his hand along the intricate carvings, tracing each snake with delicate precision. 

Ominis slowly entered the room, his head tilted left and then right with a pensive look adorning his face. He stood in the center of the room and closed his eyes, seemingly listening to something that only he could hear. Soft hisses slithered through the room from the pipes above, adding to the dreadful vibe. Each hiss caused him to twitch in one direction to the next. If you didn’t know any better, you would say that he was possessed by a snake itself. 

His eyes suddenly snapped open, startling you with his ferocity. He quickly paced towards the door, running his hand along the carvings with Sebastian. The homing signal at the tip of his wand cast an eerie glow on the wood, mingling with the green fire torches lining the walls. He leaned his ear on the door, listening closely to the whispers in the walls. He tilted his head towards the pair of students, gesturing with his chin at the entryway. 

“It’s speaking to me.” 

You quirked an eyebrow at the boy. “The wall is talking to you?” 

He nodded, pressing his ear against the wall once again. You walked towards the blond, pressing the back of your hand to his forehead in puzzlement. 

“Are you feeling alright, Ominis? Are you ill? How can the wall be ta—”

“Shush!” He gently grasped your arm and lowered your hand to your side. “No, you numpty. It’s speaking parseltongue, the language of snakes.” 

Sebastian leaned away from the door, snapping his fingers in excitement and pointing at the blind boy. 

“I forgot you could speak parseltongue!” 

Ominis huffed to himself, trepidation coating his tightly spoken words, “Well, I don’t particularly enjoy it. Parseltongue is notoriously associated with dark wizards, something as you know I have tried very hard to disassociate myself with.”  

He leaned away from the door, instead resting his hand on the wall beside it. He looked up, unseeing, at the grand archway decorating the edges of the room and listened carefully once again to the hissed whispers. 

“I think I need to speak to the door for it to open. Please step back, the both of you. I don’t want you hurt if something goes awry.” 

You both took a noisy step back, making sure to alert him since he briefly put away his wand in favor of leaning on the stone wall with both hands. 

Ominis sighed to himself, blowing upwards and dislodging part of his hair from his styled quiff. “I can’t believe I’m about to do this.” 

From his mouth came a series of lethargic hisses, stringed together as if in a sentence. The sound seemed to fill the entire room, echoing off the stone walls and bouncing back at you from all angles. It amplified steadily as the hisses from above answered in turn. 

Three of the decorative serpents came to life within the wood, slithering through the holes of the door and gliding along the edges of its carved trenches. A stream of mist puffed from its outer ridges, silencing the voices floating around you with a defined burst of powerful air. It blew the hairs dangling around your face backwards, tickling the tips of your ears and the back of your neck. Every hair on your body stood on edge and you suppressed a shiver. 

The three of you stood silently for a moment, basking in the sudden quiet. It was like a bubble that had mysteriously appeared around your heads spontaneously popped, sending a rush of startling stillness pulsating directly into your ears. 

Ominis was the first to break the spell, clearing his throat around the tightness that rested there, his cheeks glowing with a soft rosacea, and gestured through the now open doorway.

“After you.” 

Your face broke out into an animated grin. “Ominis, you truly possess a rare ability, indeed!” You gently brushed your hand on his shoulder as you passed through the archway. Ominis’ cheeks blushed a darker red, and he reached his hand behind his head, rubbing softly at his neck in embarrassment. 

“Oh, er, it’s nothing.” 

Sebastian stayed in the back of the group, a scowl on his face and his arm crossed tightly across his chest. He glowered at the door like it affronted him, cursing it for allowing his friend to show his rare gift. Stalking towards the next room, irritation heavily prevalent in his steps, he muttered to himself the phrase you had just spoken in a mocking tone. He wasn’t sure which of you he should feel jealous of— you complimenting Ominis, or Ominis getting complimented by you.

Both, he decided. He was jealous of both. 

The three students passed under the bend and entered into the next room of the monolith-lined maze. Once fully inside, the imposing door behind you closed with a loud slam. Sebastian ran at it, pulling desperately at the carvings and pushing with all his strength. Ominis joined him, throwing his weight at it with a grunt. The door didn’t budge. 

“Shit!” Hissed the brunette, punching the door one last time before taking in the room behind him. “Guess we’re stuck in here until we find the next room.” 

The blond leaned back against the wood, an annoyed puff of hair leaving his mouth. “Until we find the next room? How do we even know that there’s a next room? We could very well just be stuck here until we inevitably die of thirst or hunger, whichever happens first.” Ominis turned his head towards the sound of the pacing boy. “Sebastian, we’re eating you first.” 

Sebastian stuttered in outrage, “Why me?!” 

“Because it was your idea to come here in the first place!” 

“Say that to my face you—”

Tired of listening to the boys argue, you lit the tip of your wand and began to explore the new area you had unlocked. It was a large stone room with a gunmetal gate at one end, a giant lock decorating the middle. Spiderwebs covered every corner, starting from the very far bottom corner and stretching to the upper corner across the room. You shuddered, thinking of the large arachnids you had fought not that long ago. You hated spiders. Making your way closer to the gate, you traced your finger along the lock, noting strange shapes in the metal. It seemed like it wouldn’t take a key like normal, it was a puzzle of some sort. 

Turning towards your friends, you tuned back in their argument. They were face to face, arms crossed, with indignant expressions. 

“It’s your ancestor that seems to like puzzles so much!”

“Look in a mirror, Sebastian.” 

“How dare you!” He stuttered for a moment, wracking his brain for a suitable comeback, “Were you dropped on your head as a child?!”

Ominis scoffed, a sarcastic grin stretching his lips, “Oh, bold of you to assume I was ever held—”

“BOYS!” You shouted for them from the gate. “Can you have your lover’s quarrel later? I found something.” 

Their faces instantly softened a fraction at the sound of your voice. They stepped away from each other, embarrassed by their squabble, straightened their cloaks, and walked over to where you stood. 

Sebastian came up to the gate, running his fingers along the lock like you did, before  grasping at the bars and giving it a good shake. The gate rattled against the ground, scraping at the concrete below, but refused to budge. He took a step closer, craning his head around and looking through the small slits in the metal. His collar dug into his neck uncomfortably. Growling, the boy tugged on the offending cloth.

“This bloody collar—”

The freckled boy stood back, looking at the gate once more for a moment before undoing his robe and tossing it unceremoniously to the ground. He shrugged off his jacket and vest next, leaving him just in his white button down and tie. He quickly pushed his sleeves up to his elbows, shaking out his arms in the process, and loosened his tie before undoing a few buttons near the top of his shirt. Grasping his wand between his teeth, Sebastian took hold of one of the horizontal metal rungs in the gate and pulled upwards with all his might. Still no movement. 

A blush began to creep up your neck at the display before you, and you averted your eyes from the very attractive boy. You turned towards Ominis, only to find him in a similar state of undress. He was in the process of carefully undoing the buttons around his cuffs and folding the sleeves to his elbow. You noticed he had neatly gathered his jacket, vest, and robe and placed them atop one of the assorted rocks littering the ground. He began to walk towards the other boy, listening to his struggling grunts of effort. Your blush somehow got brighter.

“Let me try.”

Sebastian took a step back and waved his hands in a “have at it” motion. Ominis approached the gate in a similar stance to the other boy, flexing his forearms and pulling upwards once again. You could see his muscles straining under the material; he may have been slim, but he certainly wasn’t unfit. Eyes skipping from one boy to the other, one with his hands on his hips, panting at the effort he had just exuded, and the other now pondering the gate before him, a finger resting on his chin and hand resting on his other elbow across his chest, you suddenly felt like the room had gotten at least ten degrees hotter. 

In your flustered state, you took a step back away from your companions. You bumped into something just behind you, a piece of sharp stone slicing through your shoulder. Releasing a hiss in pain, you grasped at the wound and quickly turned around, looking for the offending object. Just over your shoulder stood a large stone statue of a snake poised to strike. It was resting on two circular bases, one atop the other with just enough space between to twist them to different directions. You noticed symbols decorating the rims of each— they were the same shape and style as the two on the gate lock. You quickly crouched down and took hold of the stone, turning it until both bases lined up with the ones on the lock. A loud click sounded through the room and the gate before you opened. 

The three of you quickly turned towards the sound, wands poised in front of you ready to strike. Seeing no danger, you all lowered your weapons and turned back towards the statue. You crouched yet again, running your fingertip along the other symbols.

You spoke to the boys over your shoulder, “It’s a puzzle. You have to match the gate symbols to the ones on the snake.” 

Sebastian barked a laugh, coming up behind you and gazing at the sculpture. “Absolutely brilliant, you are! Bet I could do that just as well, eh?” He patted you on your shoulder with pride, not noticing your new injury. You clenched your teeth, a pained hiss escaping through the gaps. The brunette drew his hand back in alarm, looking at the small streak of blood on his palm. He took your arm gently, eyebrows furrowed at the medium sized cut in concern. 

“Stars, you’re hurt! What happened? Are you alright?” 

You placed your hand over one of his, looking at him over your shoulder and forcing a laugh. “That’s how I found the statue in the first place. I’ll be fine, it’s just a scratch.” 

He looked at you with doubt, but let it go, releasing your arm and taking a step back. “If you say so.” 

You stood, shaking out your arms and shoulders. His hands felt like small fires against the cool air of the mausoleum. 

“Okay, Ominis and I will stay here and look for more of these puzzles. Sebastian, you go look in the other room and see if you find anything. Call out if you need backup.” 

Sebastian saluted two fingers in your direction before running at the open gate, grabbing at the taller ledge of the other room and heaving himself up. You watched him disappear onto the other floor. You and Ominis spread out, each taking a different corner of the room. It was bigger than you originally expected, going on for at least the length of a classroom. There was another gate at the very center of the room, the same as the other. Your eyes scanned each corner of your side for the distinct shape of Salazar’s sculpt, calling to Ominis on the other side of the room.

“So, why does Salazar Slytherin like snakes so much, anyway?”

Ominis shrugged, “Some legends say that he was an animagus— that his form was a basilisk.” 

You whistled lowly, “That’s a big snake.” 

The boy chuckled softly, going back to the original silence directly after. Ominis bit his lip, chewing it over what he should say next. He didn’t like the silence, it made him feel like he was back home. The ambiance of the Scriptorium certainly didn’t help, either. 

He took a deep breath before speaking. “Are you truly alright?” 

You smiled, moving over to his side where he was feeling along the wall. You rested your hand on his shoulder, a feather light touch that felt like a heavy weight because of his nerves. “I am, I promise. Please don’t worry about me, everything is fine.” 

He turned his face towards your voice. “I always worry. About the both of you.” 

Your face softened at the confession, bringing your hand up to gently caress his cheek. He leaned into your touch, eyes closing at the contact. Brushing your thumb against his cheekbone, you felt a surge of nerves in your stomach; butterflies bumping around in the inner lining of your gut. You opened your mouth to speak.

“Ominis, I—” 

A short shout cuts through the quiet. You both whip your heads in the direction of the open gate, calling out to the boy on the other side. 

“Sebastian, are you alright?” 

You hear him fumble around for a moment, calling in return, “The statue bit me! Be careful not to get it wrong!” 

Ominis gently grasped your chin, turning it back towards his face. He listened to you expectantly, patiently waiting for you to continue your thought from before. The blond was incredibly nervous, hoping that you couldn’t tell that his hand was shaking. You hesitantly flick your eyes from his irises to his lips, soft and inviting. You wet your own, taking a shaky breath in. 

“What were you saying?” Ominis whispered, his face a hairs length away. 

Your eyes quickly slid over to the left, feeling incredibly hot under the collar all of a sudden. A strange shaped rock caught your attention, curved at the base like a worm. There it was, the final puzzle. You gasped, fumbling out of Ominis’ hold on you and quickly scurrying over to it, turning the dial to the shapes on the other gate. Just as yours slotted into place, a second click could be heard from the room over. The second gate opened with a loud, rusted creak, leading into a third, and what you hoped was final, room.  

Sebastian made his way back over to the two of you, an elated grin stretching across his face as he gazed into the next section of the crypt. Ominis had dropped his arm when you de-tangled yourself, now crossing both in front of his chest with an expression similar to someone who smelled something foul. 

The three of you crept into the room, wands poised for any danger that may come forward. The gate slammed shut behind you once more, trapping you there like before. 

“Salazar Slytherin isn’t done with us yet,” Ominis whispered, a grave seriousness adorning his visage. 

You quietly make your way to the other side of the room where a large, disfigured door lay. It was covered in carvings; scratches marred the corners, flowing dangerously into disturbing images of screaming faces. You felt the air around you grow even colder than before, a shiver running down your spine. There was a flutter of paper to your right, and you swung your wand towards the sound. The tip illuminated an old piece of parchment, covered in dust with sections of it nibbled away by rats. You gently pick up the letter, afraid it would fall apart at the slightest movement. On it was a journal entry of sorts, big looping cursive depicting the fate of the last explorer to make it to this room. You carefully scanned the note, each word filling your chest with dread. Gazing down at the ground near your feet, you quietly gasp at the sight of a decaying skeleton. Its bones were a stark alabaster against the gray concrete floor; spiderwebs weaved throughout the skull and down to the rib cage. 

Noctua Gaunt.

You quietly ushered Sebastian over to where you stood, handing him the final journal entry of the woman before you. He scanned it, his eyes growing larger by the second and his face adopting a grim expression. The freckled boy looked at you for confirmation, and you gestured to the skeleton below. He gasped quietly in his throat, looking over his shoulder at the other Slytherin quietly pacing by the gated entrance. 

You quietly spoke, sympathy lacing your tone, “Ominis, I’m so sorry to have to tell you this. There’s a note over here, next to a body.” You cleared your throat uncomfortably. “It’s Noctua.” 

The boy froze his movements, head tilting down towards the ground in sorrow. “What happened to her?” 

“The note says she was stuck in here, and that she could only open the door with an unforgivable curse. She didn’t have anyone else in here with her, so she was unable to escape.”

You walked up to the now shaking boy, his hands grasping at his opposite elbows to ground himself. You gently moved your hand to his shoulder, stroking the joint with your thumb. He roughly shrugged your hand away, returning to his pacing; his face morphed into a look of pain. His hands ran through his hair in anguish, mussying it up into a wild mane. 

“She died stuck in here, and we will suffer the same fate. We will be stuck down here forever— the next person to enter will find our bodies like we found hers.” 

Sebastian bent down to pick up the note you dropped, studying it closely again. He quickly paced towards you both, anxious nervousness rubbing off of him in waves. 

“Don’t give up quite yet. She says that she couldn’t leave because she was alone and had no one to cast the spell on. There’s three of us— we can get out! We just have to cast the unforgivable.” 

Ominis threw his hands down in agitation, spitting at the other boy, “That’s dark magic, Sebastian! Unforgivables are unforgivable for a reason. You can’t just cast one, you need to mean it, and I don’t particularly want to hurt either of you. Do you?” 

Sebastian’s eyebrows knitted together in irritation, “If it means getting out of here alive and finding a cure for Anne, I’ll do anything I have to.” 

You stepped between the two squabbling boys, holding your hands aloft to keep their distance from the other. This argument was getting heated fast, a darker, more dangerous aura rested under the surface than the argument in the prior room. You spoke to the brunette to your left, “Sebastian, which spell is it? What do we need to do?” 

He scanned the note for a third time, eyes alight in a combination of rage and panic. His expression grew grave, and he felt something lodge itself in his throat. He forced the words out from around it, slightly choked with emotion, “We need to cast the cruciatus curse.” 

Ominis’ wrath was palpable in the air, filling the room like a thick fog. “Absolutely not! There must be another way out. There is no way in Merlin’s name that I’m letting either of you cast that spell!” 

The taller Slytherin growled, throwing the note down on the ground and pacing back to the horrifying door. He ran his hand along the faces, each twisted in pain. He sighed, pushing his anger back down into his chest. It would do them no good to argue with each other. 

“I understand that you’re scared, Ominis, but there isn’t another spell. This is the only way out.” He took a deep, steadying breath, before finishing his thought. “You’re the only one here who knows the spell. It should be you who casts—”

“Are you soft in the head!? I would rather die than cast that spell again. I question our friendship just at the fact that you would ask that of me.” 

Sebastian pressed his forefinger and thumb against the bridge of his nose, pinching it in exasperation. He turned on the balls of his feet towards where you were, silently watching the fight with fright in your eyes. He walked towards you, placing both of his palms on your shoulders and looking deep into your eyes. 

“It’s up to us, then.” He paused, searching your face for something. His eyebrows creased in concentration and something else that you couldn’t name. Fear? Anger? Assurance? You weren’t sure. You weren’t sure you wanted to know. He quickly spun away from you, beginning to pace the length of the room while muttering to himself, tapping his wand against his leg in a sporadic rhythm. You watched from your spot next to the door. It seemed to glow with evil energy, spreading its wicked tendrils around the room like a well-fed devils snare. You could almost feel it crawling its way into your nose and mouth, wrapping around your throat and squeezing the air from your lungs. Rapid breaths escaped from your lips, your heart pulsing rapidly in your chest. Your wide eyes, absolutely swimming in terror, refused to leave the daunting door. You open your mouth to speak, before a resolute voice cuts you off from your thoughts. 

“Cast it on me.” 

Your breath caught in your chest, freezing in your veins as your blood ran cold. Surely you didn’t hear him correctly? He wasn’t asking you to—

“Cast it on me, it’s the only way.” 

You slowly turned in his direction, meeting Sebastian’s beautiful brown eyes, normally filled with warmth but now cold and hard. He stood directly across from you, the glow of the door casting a striking shadow on his youthful face. His demeanor was all straight lines; tight and unmoving in discernment. There was no changing his mind, he had made his choice— his figurative bed. He would rather take the curse himself than have to cast it on either of his closest friends. You saw the determination in his eyes, in the thin line of his lips and jagged edges of his clenched jaw. He was an immovable force, and who were you to try and bend physics to your will? You closed your eyes, gathering your resolve, before meeting his eyes once again. The fire behind your irises burned brightly, a blazing inferno ready to take the entire world into its flames. 

“Alright, if you’re sure. Do you know the spell?”

He looked at the door again in trepidation before meeting your gaze, something unknown still swirling in his irises. “In theory. I can teach it to you.” 

The both of you moved through the motions of the spell, repeating it a few times to make sure you knew what you were doing. The movements in itself felt dirty— wrong, even. Like you weren’t supposed to be privy to this kind of knowledge. Your wand arm felt numb, like the cold was seeping into your very bones and inducing hypothermia. You swallowed thickly, before raising your wand to Sebastian’s chest. You stared into the other’s eyes, both filled with intense worry and fright. 

“Are you ready?”

The brunette took a deep breath through his nose, clearing his mind and attempting to calm his rapid heartbeat. He nodded his head, not trusting his voice, eyes squeezing shut in preparation for the unimaginable pain he was about to experience. 

Your shaking voice spoke, mouth feeling weird around the accursed word.

“Crucio.” 

A slight red spark shot from the tip of your wand, but no pain came to the Sallow boy. His eyes shot open, looking at you across from him. You were shaking like a leaf, staring confused at your wand and then at him. He knitted his brows in angered confusion. 

“What happened? Why didn’t it work?” 

“I-I don’t know.”

Ominis spoke from the back corner where he had sat himself, head leaning heavily on the wall behind him and his arms resting on the tops of his knees. His face was riddled with resignation. “I told you, you have to mean it. You have to want to inflict pain on the other person.” 

Sebastian growled loudly, his teeth clashing together harshly as he clenched his jaw in anger. “If you’re not going to offer anything helpful, just be quiet.” 

You stood in stunned silence at the boy's ferocity. He quickly rounded back towards you, teeth clenched in a near snarl. He pointed at you accusingly,

“Why aren’t you angry? You need to be furious! Yell at me— tell me this is all my fault! Let me have it!” 

You stuttered at the boy, hands shaking even more forcefully now. You knew what he was doing; he was trying to make you hate him. He wanted you to be so angry at him that you could easily cast the curse. Unfortunately, the tactic seemed to have the opposite effect on you. Your heart ached for the boy, listening to each word he said and knowing somewhere in your heart that he thought this of himself. Apologies filled your mouth and spilled out like a waterfall of dismay. They splashed against the ground and the droplets sprayed everywhere, bouncing harshly against the echo chamber walls. 

Sebastian continued yelling, rage pouring from his being, “Stop apologizing! I brought us down here, it’s my fault we’re in this situation to begin with! I’m the reason you have to cast this spell! You didn’t want to come here at all before I basically forced you and Ominis. Look at him, he’s petrified! I did this, cast it on me!” 

Tears gathered in your eyes, horrified terror coursed through your body because of the boy across from you. He was breathing heavily, eyes ablaze and nostrils flaring like a bull. You had never seen him like this before. The anger poured from him and swirled around the air like a dense cloud, permeating every inch of the desolate cavern. Ominis hesitantly stood from the corner, intense worry spreading across his face. He slowly approached the two, steps soft and slow, hands outstretched in front of him like he was dealing with a raging animal. He could smell the tension, feel the red hot heat of fury and agitation.

He hesitantly spoke, his voice shaking with a soft timber, “Sebastian, take a step back. You’re scaring them.” 

The frenzied boy rounded at his friend, snarling and gnashing his teeth, “No, they have to do this!” 

You continued to spew apologies, the words getting swallowed by the thick, maroon fog and evaporating into vapor. Tears cascaded down your frightened face, staring unblinking at your rampaging friend. He was nearly foaming at the mouth in outrage, his eyes wild and hardened. He didn’t look like himself, a complete stranger in his own body. All Sebastian could feel was anger, extremely hot and branding his very soul with a wave of wrath. He could hear your pitiful cries, Ominis’ begging for him to stop. He wouldn’t let you both stand in the way of curing his sister. 

“Oh for the love of—” Sebastian cut himself off, quickly drawing his wand from his sleeve and pointing it at your chest. Images danced behind his eyes; Solomon destroying the plant that could have cured Anne; The blurry image of the goblin that had cursed his sister running from the house, cackling in villainous mirth; finding his parents bodies in the cellar, thick plumes of colored toxic smoke spewing from their cauldron. His vision faded to a striking black. White hot pokers stabbed into his temples, and he cast his wand at you in a blind rage. 

“Crucio!” 

Your screams filled the small room, ricocheting off the walls and burying inside the duo's ears. Ominis slapped his arms around his head, bending over in pain, his sensitive ears amplifying the violent outburst tenfold. His heart shattered in his chest at the sound of your pain, crushing his soul in its devastating grasp. The sound snapped Sebastian out of his trance, his face morphing into one of absolute horror and revoltion at what he had just done. He dropped his wand in shock, stumbling backwards into the nearest wall and sliding down it. Tears welled in his eyes as he watched you writhe on the floor in never-ending pain. He brought his hands up to his mouth, covering it in distress, and whispered curses and pleading apologies against his skin. 

“Oh Merlin, what have I done? I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to.” 

Pain— that’s all you knew. Your blood was boiling under your skin, the veins feeling like they were going to burst out of you in a shower of blood at any moment. You clutched your abdomen in agony, nails biting into your arms in desperation. Blood ran down from your hands, coating your sleeves and staining them red. Each organ felt like it was dying slowly, decay seeping deep into your body and coating every surface. Your heart pounded harder than ever before, threatening to combust right through your ribs and out of your chest. Every nerve ending fired off in rapid succession, blazing through your body like a wild inferno and leaving intense burns in its wake. Your head was the worst. It felt like someone stabbed a freezing ice pick through your eye socket, retracting it and pushing back in with each pound of your heart against your skull. Bile rose into your throat, evaporating around the force of your wails of pain. You were curled on the ground, arms tight against yourself in protection. It felt like you would never be happy, be well, again. The torment went on for what felt like years, centuries even, wracking your body with heaving sobs and otherworldly screams. 

In an instant it was over. Sparks of residual magic shot against your skin, shaking your body to its core. The world around you was dark and silent, your senses absolutely fried. A heavy weight was resting against your back, pressing against you with a relieving, grounding pressure. Your hearing returned first, flooding in like you had just rinsed the water from them. 

“Come back to us! Are you alright? Damn it, please say something!” The panicked voice of Ominis filled your electrified brain, the sound grating against your ears. He pressed his palms against your cheeks and raised your head from its spot on the cold ground, wiping the tears from your face. He rested his forehead against yours, listening closely to your shuddering breaths. “Please, give me a sign that you’re still in there.” 

A groan eased its way out of your tight throat, pushing past the damage your screams had done and croaking through like a toad. Ominis sighed in relief, pressing a soft kiss to your temple before gathering you gently in his arms. He stroked your hair, letting the last of the tremors make their way out of your body. Your consciousness faded in and out, lids fluttering open and closed around the blackness resting just behind your eyes. 

“Shush now, don’t push yourself. Everything’s going to be okay.” Ominis gently coaxed your head to rest against his collarbone, his cheek pressing against the roof of your head. He continued his movements along your hair absentmindedly, lulling you into a soft sense of security. 

The blond spoke to the distraught boy behind him, voice devoid of any emotion. “We need to get them to the infirmary.” 

Sebastian broke out of his morose stupor, panic rising in his voice, “We can’t! She’ll know that we’ve used an unforgivable! Not to mention, we’re out past curfew. We’ll likely get expelled, or worse!” 

Ominis sighed inwardly, his head leaning back and smacking against the wall behind him with a dull thunk. He knew that Sebastian was right, no matter how much he wanted to throw the boy to the wolves at that very moment. If they were to bring you to the hospital wing the nurse would ask all three of them questions, and none of them were prepared for that. There wasn’t a single lie in the world that would be that convincing. With a final growl of agitation, he made a decision.

“Fine, the Undercroft, then.” He leveled the taller boy with a harsh glare. “Go get whatever you’re looking for and meet us down there. I hope this trip was worth it, Sallow.” 

The clock tower sounded three times, signaling the beginning of the witching hour. Two students rested against the chaise lounge conjured up out of an old shipping crate. Your shoulder had been dressed, the bandage peeking out from under your ripped blouse. The same was done for the indentations on your arms, half moons lining your biceps in a circle from your sharp nails digging into your skin. Ominis gently stroked your hair from where your head rested on his lap. You had fallen asleep not long ago, your quiet whines of pain tempered out and gave way to startling silence. Anger festered under the boy’s skin, warming him to an uncomfortable degree. It burned in the back of his mind, boiling against the memory of your screams and whimpers of immense pain. He had half a mind to curse Sebastian where he had stood in the Scriptorium. Ominis heard his panicked breaths and whispered apologies after he brought you to your knees, truly realizing the damage that he had done and the dangers of dark magic. Good, he thought. Maybe he’d finally stop moving down the dark path that he was so set on. He deserved to beg for your forgiveness. 

The metal gate of the Undercroft squeaked open, the sound of heavy footfalls following after. Ominis gently picked up your sleeping head, standing from the chaise and lowering you onto one of the many pillows lining the cushions. He quickly paced towards the brunette, eyes blazing with barely concealed fury. Sebastian paid no mind, flipping through the large tomb he had collected from Salazar’s Scriptorium. He looked up and saw the approaching boy, not noticing the very prevalent anger on his face. 

“Ominis, you’re not going to believe what I found—”

The smaller boy slammed into him, pressing his forearm against his neck and shoving him harshly into the nearest wall. His wand was pressed against his chin, glowing menacingly in the candlelight of the hideaway. The blond’s mouth was twisted into a gruesome snarl, teeth looking like fangs in the dim lighting. Sebastian gulped against the arm pressed against his larynx. He dropped the book in surprise, a cloud of dust puffing up from the ground at its harsh landing. Even though Sebastian knew that Ominis couldn’t truly see him, the boy’s heated glare seemed to set fire to his very soul. 

Ominis growled at the taller boy in a gravely low voice, his teeth gnashing around each word. “If you ever hurt them again, you will be dead where you stand. This is the last I want to hear of dark magic, Sebastian. You’ve gone too far; people have gotten hurt. Promise me that you’ll stop— you’ll find some other way to heal Anne, or this friendship will continue no longer.” 

Sebastian nodded as much as he could around his friend’s arm, squeezing the words out of his crushed throat, “Yes, I understand, I’m sorry!” 

The anger seemed to evaporate from the smaller boy in mere seconds, his arms dropping to his sides and his shoulders slumping. He grasped the front of the freckled boy’s shirt, leaning his forehead against his chest with a heavy sigh. 

“I almost lost you both today. I can’t do that, don’t make me live through that again. Please, I can’t lose anyone else, I can’t bear the thought.” 

His shoulders began to shake, tremors rocking his entire body and sending the tears gathering in his eyes down his pale cheeks. He softly cries into the shirt of his friend, grasping harder at the cotton between his fingers and burying his face even deeper. The freckled boy stands still for a moment, startled by the sudden emotional whiplash. He hesitantly raises his arms and circles them around the shoulders of the crying boy, looking over to your sleeping form with guilt swirling in his eyes. 

He had hurt both of his friends today over something he thought was so trivial, so insignificant. He just wanted to find a cure for his sister, not cause undeniable pain to those he loved. He truly was turning into a monster; the dark magic he was so fascinated by had begun to circle around his heart, squeezing it with its thick tentacles. Sebastian buried his head into Ominis’ neck, deeply breathing in his scent. The mildew of the cellar was thick against his skin, but reminisce of his expensive cologne and natural scent, something musky and rich, still lingered there. He focused on it, the familiar smell warming his insides and bringing his heartbeat to a slight increase. 

He hadn’t promised the boy that he’d stop exploring the dark arts, instead twisting his words into something that sounded like agreement. Sebastian knew that he would come to regret that decision, but he couldn’t give up on Anne. She was his flesh and blood, his twin sister. She was everything to him. He knew that he would hurt his two closest friends more than words can express with his decisions, but deep in his heart he believed that he was doing the right thing. 

With a heavy heart, Sebastian basked in the comfort of the Undercroft and the arms wrapped around his waist, praying to anyone who would listen that this wouldn’t be the last time he felt this safe.

AN: Did I make an "Ominis gets pegged" joke? Yes, yes I did.

***

like what you read? here's more!

[theflashdriver]

Shades of Silver

"Are you really still not going to say anything, seriously? How long have we been trapped like this and he's still not saying anything? If they really were me, they would have said something by now," The hedgehog to her left had been ranting on and off for over an hour now, "Blaze, you must have realised the truth by now, right? I'm the real Silver, he's some sort of imposter. He's not answering any of my questions or..." The psychic's words continued to fill the air as Blaze rubbed her temples.

The guardian of the Sol Emeralds was sat within the dungeon of her palace, on an archaic bench that surely hadn't seen use for a century. She frankly couldn't remember the last time she'd been down here, it had surely been when she was a child or a young teen at the latest. The basement was far from well maintained, disused for centuries at this point as criminals now typically went to proper prisons rather than directly beneath the seat of power. This collection of cells was perhaps the only place in the palace that Gardon didn't dare tidy.

Before her stood two matching versions of Silver the hedgehog, held in side-by-side cells with their hands cuffed between the bars. Both of them looked to be approximately the same age, even if recent experiences marked them both differently. The first to arrive had been covered in soot and so had been quick to clean himself up, while the second still wore countless dark stains upon his white fur. There was also the matter of bandaging, tending the hedgehog's wounds was typically the first thing they did together upon his return from whatever timeline he'd found himself in- only the first psychic to arrive had been afforded that effort.

That latter truth led to the reality Blaze had been ruminating on ever since she'd taken this seat. It would be a lie to say that she hadn't noticed any abnormality in the first Silver upon his arrival... but, though she surely couldn't stand to admit it, she had been rather swept up in those differences. Perhaps even captivated by them?

He'd met her at the beachfront, that had become their most frequent rendezvous point. The dimension hopper had stumbled out from a whirling blue portal, as he did more commonly than not when able to return by his own hand. The soot covered hedgehog had tumbled right into her lap, landing chest to chest with her. Rather than quickly rise, the hedgehog had hugged her tighter than ever and murmured endlessly about how much he'd missed her.

She'd tried to drag him back to the palace, but he hadn't been so quick to seek treatment. While he told her of the world he'd survived, the hedgehog had repeatedly rerouted them to wander. The two had ended up strolling the beachside, then waltzing over waves he'd hardened with psychic power. They'd practically danced around the entire island's perimeter, wandering over rock pools and beneath leaping dolphins. He'd told her of his time away, of the terrible state he'd found the world in and his plan to make it better, but he'd worn a smile rather than his usual sullen seriousness. His talk would always return to how happy he was to be here again. To be with her again.

When they'd finally arrived at the castle grounds he'd literally swept her off of her feet, one of his arms around her shoulders and the other beneath her knees. Before the cat could blink they were floating, less than a moment later soaring; flying over the royal gardens and around to her bedroom window. With no more than the wave of a single finger the balcony windows had opened and he'd carried the cat over the threshold, letting them in without so much as Gardon noticing. He'd grinned at her, much too proud of himself, and forgotten to put her down for far too long.

In the private sanctum that was the royal bedchamber, she'd managed to finally force him to sit still and take treatment. They'd spoke for hours about the world he'd arrived in, all the while she'd tended his wounds. He'd told her of the impossible future he'd arrived in, of a world where the earth beneath his feet would writhe and flex as if it was a living creature. He'd seen eyes in the dirt, jaws made of stone, and clay arms grasping up- all of which came in countless shapes and sizes. Apparently he'd been pushed across an entire continent by a giant wave of earthen refuse, struggling to keep himself on the surface of that impossible tidal wave. If he hadn't cast the portal in front of himself, it sounded like he'd have been thrown off of the continent and into whatever had become of the sea.

The whole time hey'd sat together, there'd been a certain tension had hung in the air; he'd worn a certain bashfulness that she hadn't often seen from him. The hedgehog was always clingy upon his return, but this time he had been more extreme. His touch had lingered upon her forearms, her cheeks, and further so very casually, so comfortably. No fewer than thrice he'd leaned in so very close with an over serious expression on his muzzle, but when she'd pry as to what was on his mind he'd turn away and mutter a half-hearted excuse. He'd grown more and more regretful in the aftermath of each ask; the cat had thought she was doing something wrong, that perhaps his wounds were more serious than she'd anticipated.

Well, she'd tried to convince herself of that likely reality, rather than consider certain other imagined truths.

Her administering of aid had been interrupted by a knock at the balcony window. Blaze had turned after securing another bandage, expecting some poorly timed prank from Marine, only to find herself face to face with another Silver. She'd thrown a look back at the psychic she'd tended only to find a look not of surprise on his face, but realisation; Blaze knew for certain that the first hedgehog hadn't been shocked to see another of himself. From then on, that version's actions had only gotten stranger.

That first Silver wasn't even looking at her- he'd turned away and kept his face to the far cell wall, not even looking in the direction of the more talkative Silver. Unlike the other one, this hedgehog had simply done as she'd commanded without a word of complaint. She hadn't ever led Silver down here before but the hedgehog had seemed to know exactly where he was going, even walking into a cell by himself. Without hesitation, and before she could request it, he'd shut the door and stuck his arms through the bars to be cuffed.

Peculiar as his actions were, they weren't those of an invader. For one, if anything, he was making himself look more suspicious with his current charade than he had been while roaming free. He'd let himself be walked to the dungeons and locked up, even though he was obscuring his face it wasn't as if he was truly hiding anying. Regardless, going from talkative and kindly to mute wasn't doing anyone any favours, no matter what his origins were. If he was meant to be some sort of threat, he was doing an extremely unthreatening job.

The Silver on her left had stopped talking, the feline looked up. He was staring out at her, fingers caressing the chains connecting his handcuffs. The sight of him in this position was odd enough, let alone there being a second version stood only separated from him by a thick stone wall.

"You've gone quiet now too..." Contemplation had claimed his expression, "Could it be that I'm in the wrong dimension?"

"I'm sorry, I was just thinking. I don't think you're in the wrong dimension," Blaze answered, "I don't think either of you are."

"What, you think this guy is my future self or something?" Clearly he'd had the same thoughts as her already, "But if that's the case, why isn't he saying anything! Why did he fight me?"

"You attacked him first," Blaze bluntly pointed out.

"Right, but if he'd just said something I would have stopped," The talkative Silver kicked the cell wall that separated them, "Why aren't you talking?!"

The second psychic didn't so much as flinch as a stone tumbled free and into his side. He was still facing that wall, head practically tucked into the front left corner of his cell. Despite his attempts to obscure his face, the potential time traveller's body language was easy to read. That Silver was buried deep in though, keeping his musings contained behind his lips- unlike the one on the left.

Moments after his arrival at her window, once the floating hedgehog had locked eyes with his sat counterpart, he had smashed through the glass and surged toward his doppelganger self. A psychokinetic brawl erupted in the heart of the royal bedchamber; palm-strikes and psychic shockwaves had shook the space and tossed clutter all across her room. The pair bounced off of each other, their abilities perfectly neutralising one another- that was until the stained hedgehog had crouched with his feet planted against the far wall. 

That Silver had pounced enveloped in a sparkling aura, sending cracks through her bedroom wall as he flew with palms raised. His bounding attempt was caught by his mirror image; grasps locked and psychic energy sparked like lightning. Harnessing the leaping hedgehog's momentum, his standing counterpart spun him around before launching him back into that already cracked wall. The second hedgehog smashed through brick but was quick to rise, his body still fully aglow.

It was only in the wake of one gaining the upper hand that Blaze dared to intervene; throwing a fireball between the pair and having it expand to form a blockade. From then on the bandaged Silver hadn't so much as grunted, no matter how the other chastised and barked. It was only when she had raised the solution of separating them for interrogation that he had so much as moved, on the walk to the basement he had simply stewed in quiet contemplation and thrown the occasional scathing look at his double. Even though he was still refusing to talk, a choice which had greatly impacted the interrogation, the guardian was certain he was assessing his counterpart with the same scrutiny as he was being analysed with.

"It's obvious he's the fake, isn't it? If he was like me he could break out of these cuffs without even trying," The Silver on her left insisted, "Watch."

The hedgehog braced against the bars with his boot and stared to lean back. Cyan light flared bright, the hum of psychic might filled their quiet surroundings to echo deeper into the dungeon. His teeth grit as the feline jumped to her feet. 

"I know you can break free," Blaze stepped closer, "Coming down here was a test of willingness and to separate you both so you'd stop fighting, you don't need to-

The bar broke before the cuffs could; the hedgehog was sent tumbling back over himself. He crashed backwards, slamming the back of his head through a hanging bench made of long rotten wood. 

"Are you okay?" She asked, already mostly knowing the truth.

"I'm fine," His already stained fur was now a shade greener.

There was something strange in his tone, more than just embarrassment. Silver often got angry at himself; when it came to saving the world, he'd beat himself up whether he was successful or not. This was different though, an emotion he hadn't really experienced from him. The cat couldn't quite put her finger on it.

"I'll get you cleaned up when this is all over," She promised, battling back her own overthinking, "We just need to sort whatever is happening here first and make sure we're safe. My world might be in danger from one of you two, I can't put my people at risk."

His expression softened, "You're right. I shouldn't-

"Okay," The Silver to her right finally spoke, Blaze's head spun, "I think, with him having broken the bench, I can start talking now."

"What do you mean start talking now?" The one to her left grumbled, dusting off his quills from his still prone position.

"The me in this cell didn't start talking until I'd fallen over last time," The right Silver exposited.

"Last time?" The left Silver groaned.

"I am indeed a future version of the hedgehog in the cell to my right," He explained, eyes still locked on the wall furthest from the other hedgehog.

"You're only admitting that now, after we explained that was a possibility," Blaze tutted, glowering at him, "You understand how that looks, don't you?"

"I do, unfortunately," The hedgehog sighed, "But, like I said, the version of me in this cage didn't start talking until I'd put my head through the bench."

"But it's not as though anything was actually stopping you from talking, was it?" Blaze pushed back, "Taking his falling as a good point to start talking, that seems much too simple."

"I know he just put his head through the bench," He pointed out, "Isn't that proof?"

"That's easy enough to guess," Blaze rationalised, though she was slightly convinced, "You heard him at the bars and you heard him fall back. It makes sense that he'd go through head first."

A quiet pause filled the stagnant air, leaving a void which Blaze easily filled with thoughts. There was a reason she had come up with this as a hypothesis, it was what made the most sense and was the most obvious. Neither of the hedgehogs stood before her had truly caused any trouble or harm to her kingdom, only to each other and her bedroom. One had been given the perfect opportunity to attack or hold her captive, the other had been free to travel the islands and steal the Sol emeralds, but neither had taken advantage of those most ideal situations. Both hedgehogs, albeit one more begrudgingly than the other, had let themselves be brought down here and incarcerated. There was no true malice in either of them, no sign of a darker motive. Perhaps he was telling the truth, but she couldn't act on a hypothesis alone...

"Look, I just don't want..." The other Silver still wasn't looking her way, "To risk altering the timeline. Other me, you should be committing all that I say to memory. I would have told one of you to grab a notebook but the older version of me didn't do that last time, didn't mention it until now, so I can't chance it."

"You're even scared to make the wrong face, that you'll change something by doing that," Blaze realised aloud.

"That's stupid," The lying Silver fumed.

"It can take less than the flap of a butterfly wing to change the future," Despite the angle of his muzzle, Blaze could tell by his figure that the hedgehog was still more than a little frustrated by his counterpart, "Well, I'm hoping that much won't change things drastically enough to undo all of our work. I don't remember everything this version of me said and did perfectly..."

"What do you mean undo our work?" The once fallen Silver had finally hopped back to his feet.

"Come on, we both know this better than anyone," The other Silver hissed, "Changing the past changes the future. If I change your experience, I change my own." 

"Even if what you're saying is true," The now risen Silver scoffed, "We've not been affected by time paradoxes ever since that first one with Solaris. Why would changing things matter now?"

"Right, we haven't been affected, but the worlds we travel to have been replaced time and time again," He half shouted over, still facing the wrong way, "We probably weren't even born anymore, but the futures we would have been born into have been shaped by how we've change in the past. If I say the wrong thing and slip up, it might mean you'll act differently and that could result in a different future when you return to see how the world next ends."

"What, you're thinking that a few minor changes will be enough to make a time paradox that will rewrite all of the time paradoxes you've supposedly caused?" Silver questioned, "Considering all the effort it takes for me to change history, what damage could a few minor shifts actually do?"

"I don't think it's worth chancing," The other countered, "And you won't either when you're in my position, not if you value the lives we're saving."

"Well now it sounds like you're trying to make me the villain in this situation," The second arrival followed up, "I think you're trying to make Blaze take your side while explaining as little as possible."

"He's only saying what he is now because you will go on to say it, having heard it from him in your then past which is now..." Blaze considered aloud.

"You can't tell him about the future I've come from," The right Silver very quickly informed her, "You didn't when I was stood in that cell and you never did afterwards."

"Well, if you won't talk about our future, how are we mean to prove that I'm going to become you?" The left Silver countered.

"You still don't get it, I can talk about our future," The apparent older hedgehog grumbled, "Just only the parts I already heard myself say."

"Then when are you from in my future, how much further on? That's the first question that came to my mind, so surely you asked it too," The apparent youngster pried.

"I did ask that, but I'm not giving you the answer. You could use it to change my past and your future," The right psychic responded.

"Ignoring the future, you can surely talk about your shared past, correct?" Blaze cut in.

"I can now that you've asked me," He answered, "What do you want to know?"

"Oh so you'll answer her questions, just not mine," The other Silver grumbled out, "He's trying to get on your side again Blaze, trying to turn you against me."

"What state was the future he just left in?" Blaze asked, ignoring the more talkative Silver's words but pointing to him, "I haven't heard about that yet, he can confirm it."

"The future he came from is just as destroyed as every one we've found prior. The streets are stalked by creatures from another world coming in all shapes and sizes. Giant worms, three legged lunging spiders, living disks that float through the air, and so much more. All of them implanted with strange circuitry," At the sounds of a grumble from his parallel cage, the older hedgehog continued to elaborate, "His investigation has shown that Eggman was responsible. He sent a message out into space, trying to attract all manner of interstellar travellers only to steal their crafts and combine their technology with his own. He used the guise of alien arrivals to secure meetings with governments across the world, then harnessed some sort of mind control technology to gradually take control. With the aliens to blame, the doctor got our friends on his side," Regret had entered his tone, "He was able to convince them because of a prior invasion by a group called The Black Arms. One by one Sonic, Amy, and everyone else was put under mind control. It was all Eggman's doing."

"Of course Eggman was involved, he's always involved," The second Silver to arrive battered back.

"He's right about everything though, isn't he?" Already able to tell by the crouching hedgehog's frown.

His face scrunched up, that was answer enough, "Yes."

"How could he have known that if he isn't you?" The cat questioned.

"He could have been there in the future, watching me investigate, plotting to take my place. He could even have watched the very past that he's explained happen and then travelled here to match me," The likely younger Silver's hands were tugging at his chest fur, "If that's the case, he must understand the Chaos Emeralds or be able to harness a power like them; he could have timed his arrival to get here before me. We both know he arrived early, I was on time."

"Were you?" The slightly older hedgehog prodded, "You had to come find her, we can't know that for sure."

"I only had to look for her because you took her away!" The left Silver barked, "It doesn't change the fact you were early."

"I don't think I was particularly early," They really weren't getting along, "Though, as my position here does suggest, my most recent journey has gone awry..." The hedgehog made silence only to quickly fill it, "I don't want to explain why that mistake happened, because you might try to avoid it and cause a paradox."

"I won't!" The second Silver harrumphed.

"You might, even subconsciously," The response rang, "Besides, when I was in that cage I didn't get a proper explanation either. I'm not risking a time paradox when I already know this will all work itself out."

"That's very convenient," The left psychic fumed, "Both that you can't explain and that your apparent mistake made you arrive before I did."

"Judging by our current situation, I would argue that the opposite is true," The right sighed, "To be honest, when I arrived I noticed things were slightly different between me and Blaze, but I was exhausted and didn't want to assume anything. I thought it'd just been a long day..."

What did that mean? Blaze felt her heart skip a beat as her mind started to race. Their brief time alone together had brought with it an upwelling of thoughts the cat had been suppressing for a very long time. Was there a reason for that? Did his assumption explain why she felt a spark in the air? Was that Silver's relationship with his present Blaze more-

"If you really are a future me, what am I going to say next?" The potentially younger Silver asked, cutting off her train of thought, "If you are repeating the timeline correctly, then I must be about to say the same as what you did. I'll commit that to memory and be able to recall it when I'm you."

"No, you won't. Because, as I was told and am about to tell you, that won't work because if I do say what you were about to say then you'll surely say something different, resulting in me never having learned what you meant to sau," The hedgehog claimed.

Blaze wasn't sure that was correct, wouldn't the Silver sat in the left cage have to just remember what he thought he was going to say rather than what he literally intended to say? Then again, if the Silver to her right was repeating all he'd heard said, then issues in their shared logic had to be repeated to. After all, it wasn't as though this situation had ever happened to them prior. Well, it had happened to one of them prior? This was all more than a little confusing.

"Fine, I'll be specific, what am I thinking right now?" The second Silver to arrive interrogated.

"That if I was somehow able to guess what you were thinking, you'd be certain I was actually some sort of villainous telepath and that is how I'm deriving all my knowledge," The other Silver bluntly responded, "You came up with that theory just before proposing asking me what you were about to say."

The expression of the Silver who'd asked said it all "Well, you're right but that hasn't improved our situation at all."

"That only would have worked if I was wrong, as it would have proven that I'm a threat pretending to be you," By the flick of his ears, Blaze knew that the Silver on the right had rolled his eyes as he gestured to his supposed prior self, "That's what he's thinking now, to be clear."

Blaze looked to the more frustrated Silver and instantly knew the other was correct. This was exhausting. Despite purportedly being the same person, the two plainly did not get along.

A thought entered Blaze's mind- a stupid idea, the kind that forced her gaze from the pair and to the ground. Were they fighting over her? Was that why the two were so annoyed with each other? The second Silver to arrive would have seen at least the last moments of her time with the first; how he had been sat on the foot of her bed, the space that had only ever been used by him. Well, it still had been, they were the same person! Well, they probably were... either way though, it seemed like-

"Blaze," The left Silver's call stole the cat from her thoughts, "Have you realised something?"

"No," She snapped much too quickly, fidgeting with the keys to their cages, "Be quiet, I'm thinking."

"Why are you taking his side again?" He grumbled back.

"I'm not taking sides," The cat pushed back against him and her own juvenile thoughts, "I'm trying to figure this out."

If the Silver on the right was correct then there was no problem here. The two of them could co-exist, if only they would get along. Presuming that the older hedgehog knew what to do to avoid causing paradoxes, the two could probably even live together in the palace- if not, then spread across her kingdom. Perhaps all would be fine if she could keep the two apart, limiting their risk of damaging the space time continuum. She could split her time between them...

The thought of having two Silvers, still surely competing over her sprang back into the cat's mind. Immediately her brain was flooded with all manner of foolish ideas; of the endless spiral that was their potential battle over her. How often would they fight over her? Would they compete in other ways? Would they try to-

Blaze's fists clenched as she forced away those foolish thoughts, she could send away the older psychic- forward to his own time. The only wrinkle was the evil he could do if he truly was a liar, despite all the sense he was making. If he had been planning something, and her Silver had arrived in time to catch him off guard and stop it, then the apparent older hedgehog was possibly just biding his time. By going along with all this and being affable, she was affording him the benefit of the doubt. What if she sent him away and he was some sort of dimension-jumping shapeshifter, what if he had gained some important information about her kingdom? He'd gone the extra mile, he'd danced her around town rather than letting her treat his wounds immediately...

"Are you okay?" She had been looking down, the feline stared blankly at the pair of them.

"Which one of you said that?" The cat had to ask.

"He did," And "It was me," Rang out in the exact same voice, indicating the Silver on the left, now sat back on the ground.

"Well, he said he thought you'd had a long day," That Silver explained, "Between that and this confusion, I realised you'd been questioning us without us checking in on you."

"He's right," The other piped up, "How are you, has everything been okay today?"

"I'm fine," The cat insisted, "I'm not the focus, we still have-

"Given when I think we are, you should be debating with yourself over how best to spread the Sol Emeralds across the various islands. You want their local inventors to have the opportunity to use them, to upgrade island infrastructure, but you also need to keep the kingdom safe," The future hedgehog accurately predicted, "It's been keeping you up for nights on end... or, at least, it will?"

"Can't you just tell her how to sort that out?" The sitting Silver enquired, "You know, give her the best layout possible? The one she settles on." "I wish," The standing hedgehog grumbled, "By the time you next leave and come back she'll have sorted it, without any help from us..."

"Again?!" His counterpart sounded so frustrated, "We're not good at the royal stuff..."

"Eventually we'll get better at keeping up," Was that another hint? "I mean hopefully, in the future at some point. I've not caught up yet, she keeps surprising me," Probably not, "She's always a step ahead of us..."

"She is, she always is," The second to arrive psychic was grinning.

Now they were on the same side?! A two pronged assault on her from concerned Silvers was the last thing she needed. Whether the one on the right could read minds or was from the future, he still hadn't got it through his head that she didn't take compliments well. At least the one on the left wasn't being argumentative anymore, but this was arguably worse. They were both so naive!

"I can't really blame you for taking my spot," The more talkative hedgehog continued, "That is, if you really are my future self," There were still shades of doubts at least, they weren't a perfectly united front against her, "You've been away for two weeks too, right?"

"A little less this time, due to an emergency escape. Things went wrong in ways I can't explain to you," Just when she thought they would return to bickering, that Silver continued, "All that is to say though, I know what you're feeling, more than just because I've literally been you..."

The second time traveller caught her eyeline, there was panic in his stare, "We probably shouldn't be talking about that right in front of her though, right?"

"Oh, right, yes" Her stare turned to the other psychic, only to find him still facing the corner, "You're not... sorry, I forgot. It's not been that long since I was you but it feels like longer. A lot has happened."

"I'm not what?" A response rang, What's going to happen?"

"That I really shouldn't say, you wouldn't want me to spoil that,," Another answer tutted, "You're going to have to get-

"Will you two please go back to fighting?" The cat couldn't stand to look at them, "This is-

A wave of heat rolled through the dungeon, turning Blaze's head to its source on the far right. Bright orange light flared through the dingy dark of the dungeon as fire swirled to form of a shimmering disk on the cat's far right. Once the disk had fully manifested, flashing and swirling, a much too familiar form stepped through it. A purple feline dressed in a long coat and tights, a grey Sol Emerald in one hand and a ring of rusted keys in the other. If what Blaze thought was happening was truly happening, then she had been right in her assessment of the first Silver to arrive. The second Blaze to enter the dungeon tonight wasn't noticeably older than the first. They looked exactly the same...

"What's that noise?" The Silver on the left called out, too far away to see.

The keys in the other feline's hands were immediately familiar, they were the exact same as the set between her legs. Without so much as blinking the second cat strode up to the far right cell and undid the cuffs of the enclosed hedgehog. For the first time in what felt like it'd been hours Blaze saw that Silver's expression- it was one of complete and utter shock. Meanwhile his prior self in the other cell was moving around his cell, plainly trying to figure out what was happening but lacking the necessary angle to see the second Blaze.

As if it was the most normal thing in the world, that cat went on to unlock the cage she'd presumedly historically locked her partner in. The Silver she'd freed had gone to speak, but the newly manifested guardian had grabbed him by the shoulder; pulling him out of the cell with one swift tug. Before Blaze or he could could pipe up, so very smoothly, so casually, the newly arrived pyrokinetic had captured the lips of her psychic counterpart in her own. The surprise in his eyes was immediate but that Silver quickly melted against the other Blaze's embrace. The cat felt her temperature skyrocket as he melted against that other her; she felt herself bite her tongue and curl her toes. Despite how massively flustering as this was, the guardian couldn't look away.

Words quietly trickled out of the grinning hedgehog's mouth, "So that's how this ended..."

The other feline rolled her eyes, turning to Blaze in the process. She gave no more than a nod, not speaking so much as a word, before disappearing back through the fiery portal with an arm around her Silver's waist. Well, that would be easy to remember.

"Blaze," The remaining hedgehog's voice stole the cat from her thoughts, "What's happening? I can't see."

"You're gone, Silver," She answered, her gaze falling.

'Huh, what?" The hedgehog pressed his head against the bars, still trying to catch a glance of what had already concluded, "What happened?"

Her fingers brushed her lips, was that why he'd been so forward, because she was the same? Was this their future, was it fated? He hadn't looked any older than her Silver; how soon were they destined to become like this? Was he about to make the first move? Would she? Or had she only kissed him then because she'd witnessed it now?! Was that moment set to be the start of their relationship?!

"You'll find out soon enough," Was the only reply she could muster.

[laurelcn]

Summary: The reader sees Colin at their 10-year high school reunion and it resurfaces the crush she had on him during her senior year. With a little help from the alcohol, she finally talks to him. Also, in this universe, he doesn't see the ex-fiance he's just sloppy drunk. Lots of fluff and dialogue.

You caught a glimpse of the drunken exchange between Colin and Mare in the corner of your eye. Although not as tipsy as he seemed to be, his drunkenness radiated toward you, making your eyes droop a bit more and the next swig of beer go down the slightest bit smoother. You hummed to yourself and leaned back in your barstool. As your lower back hit the side of the pool table, your friend bumped into your shoulder.

"Uh, your turn, buddy," he said, chuckling at your seemingly out-of-it look.

"Oh, right. My bad," you swiftly turned around and decided which ball to hit for your turn. "Damn, you're really killing me out here. Guess I need to stop daydreaming," you chuckle and narrow your gaze in concentration.

"See you got an eye on Zabel. Surprised you even remember him. Didn't you have, like, A.P. Bio together?" He chuckled, pushing his glasses up his nose as he watched you take your turn. "Guy was a total teacher's pet from what I recall."

You took your turn, standing up to meet your friend's eyes and rolling yours slightly. "Alright, alright. But two's a company, right?" You hummed, finishing your beer and setting it down. "If you were really my friend you'd have known how we nearly out-teacher's pet each other senior year." The memory brought up a slight cringe sensation and you couldn't help but laugh aloud and cover your embarrassed face with your hands. You sigh and look up at your friend with a mischievous glint in your eyes. Bumping shoulders with him and handing him your stick, you sing-song to him: "Let's go see what the pet's been up to."

The buzz from the three beers you'd had were fully flowing through your blood. The woozy, light feeling made your worries about if he'd remember you or not after a decade dissipate. Not a usually confrontational person except when drunk, you embraced this momentary confidence and would worry about the consequences later. Plus, how many more reunions would it take before you lost your meek high-school persona around Colin?

Colin was just turning around from Mare as you waltzed over. He took an incredibly large swig of his beer, most likely to cover up his flirtation being rejected, and leaned back against the bar looking sullen. As you walked over, you couldn't help but eye him up now that you were close. His navy blue button-down was rolled up to his elbows and his dark wash jeans clung to him snugly but not too tight. For a ten-year reunion, he looked good. By the looks of him, you weren't sure he knew that. As he saw you approach, his eyes lit up with curiosity.

"Y/N? What the hell are you still doing here?" He laughed in disbelief and beckoned you over to the bar. "Come, get another drink with me."

You were surprised he remembered you nonetheless your name. You giggled at the slur of his words and bubbliness. This was a side of him you hadn't seen many times, and you welcomed the memories back fondly. You felt a bit sheepish in the beginning, as you were unfamiliar with how Colin might've remembered you.

"I'll, uh, get what he's having," you motioned toward Colin, "And a water, please." The bartender nodded, catching on that the water was for Colin and not yourself.

As you both discussed what had been going on in each other's lives for the last few years or so, Colin sobered up and returned to his usual self. He cracked corny jokes no one else would think were funny and reminisced about your senior year feud as you both competed for the highest marks from your one teacher while you prepared for college applications. It seemed so trivial now, but at the time, you were both ready to rip each other's heads off. Pining over him during this time just made it worse. You didn't want to let him win but also grew soft every time those dark brown eyes met yours in class. You never thought you'd be sitting at the local bar with him years later spilling all your secrets.

As you ordered another drink, could still feel his eyes scanning your face and neck when you turned away. His gaze felt more mature now although it still kept its boyish charm. With his various smirks and ever-closer proximity, he was flirting with you and you knew it, but it was hard to admit that to yourself after all these years.

"Colin, I must confess. If it wasn't obvious by now I had the BIGGEST crush on you then. Maybe that's why I fought with you so much, you know?" Your face burned with embarrassment and you pondered. "Maybe, like, the tension was kinda a turn-on?"

Colin smirked and took a small sip of his beer. He hummed in amusement, "I had no idea." His reaction was hard to gauge at first. You started to make an escape plan to run away before he interrupted your thoughts. "I never thought you'd go for a guy like me."

"Colin, c'mon you were the top of our class." Your eyes scanned, trying to identify the traits he thought made him unattractive. "To me, you haven't changed one bit." You hoped he'd gotten the hint by now that you were still into him.

"Yeah, because nerds always get the girl, right?" You hummed in agreement. Fair, you said to yourself in your head, it was a different era then. "Maybe it's different this time." His tone was flirty but also contemplative. He looked at you thoughtfully before winking. After that, Colin beckoned the bartender over to close the tab for you both.

-

You both now stood outside as you waited for your Uber home since you mom was out and you still didn't feel up to driving after your long night out.

"I don't head back to D.C. for a few days...and I'm just over at my mom's house if you remember where that is." You chuckle and look down, feeling a little embarrassed being in your childhood bedroom again for the time being. "Call me before I go? I'd love to see you again."

Colin nods and smiles looking at you. "Alright, I'll, uh, call you, yeah." He knits his eyebrows for a second, opens his mouth to speak, and then closes it. "Just to be sure this isn't, like, some sort of prank right? You're the most beautiful woman here--notthatyouneverwereinhighschoolit'sjust," he takes a breath, "You're home from your amazing life in D.C. and want to go out with me? You could literally be doing anything else."

You giggle and grab the hand at the side of his temple as the cogs continue to turn in his brain. Squeezing it, you reassure him, "Yes, Colin. I'd love to. Really." His confession makes you blush and you can't help but bite your lip in elation as butterflies begin to fill your stomach. "I mean c'mon let's not pretend I didn't just spill my guts to you a half hour ago. Actually...yeah, let's forget that."

You both laugh aloud at your last comment. The warmth you now feel with him makes you feel bold, and you learn in to give him a goodnight hug as your Uber home pulls up. "Goodnight, Colin," you say quietly into his ear, "Get home safe."

He gives you an award-winning smile and you can see his eyes flicker toward your lips briefly in the moonlight. The feeling of him so close right now making your stomach do backflips. You can't help but catch yourself leaning into him and quickly need to stop yourself from making, what could be in your mind, a mistake before you even go out with him. Sensing your need for some distance, he takes a step back and goes to open the Uber door for you with a small smile, "Yeah, call you tomorrow. You better not be screwing with me."

Note: Part 2? Let me know what you think!

[spartanblacksmith]

The Forges of Remnant

Chapter 2: Destruction and Restoration

Vital Coliseum, Vacuo. 4th month, 2nd day of Year 5028

Yang had been gently driving down the streets of Vacuo, taking the scenic route around Menagerie. As far from their house as possible. Yang’s colossal blond hair was within her helmet, if only so her wife behind her could see. Blake was still wearing her camouflage scout uniform, and Yang was wearing her brown biker clothes.

Blake had traveled for 3 and a half weeks on a hoverbike, living life in the wild. Yang figured she could benefit with a nice view of civilization, and she knew just the place.

She arrived at the parking lot of the Vital Coliseum. Putting it in park, she and Blake stepped off the bike.

“Just this way, kitten.” Yang gestures to the giant arena with a curtsy.

Blake raised an eyebrow at Yang. “The Coliseum? It's closed, isn't it?”

“Yes, but as of today, it's closed forever, so who cares?”

“Still the wild woman, aren't we?”

“Says the wild ranger, scavenging berrys and hunting the apocalypse.” Yang said with a wink. Yang then turns towards the Coliseum to see the progress of her plan.

That gets a chuckle out of Blake. “Observing the apocalypse.” Blake then hugs Yang from behind, nuzzling her face in Yang's back. “You do the hunting, my bright sun dragon.”

“I do the slaying. You do the hunting.”

Blake laughs and she takes Yang's hands in hers. “Are we going to debate the definition of those words or are you going to show me in?”

Yang, looking up, fingers tapping on Blake's hand, swaying back and forth, says “Onnnnlllyyy fffooorrr aaaaaaannnnoootttthhhheeeerrrr mmmmiiiinnnn-” She sees a cloud of rose petals fly away from the 3rd tier of seats, Ruby giving her a thumbs up as she zooms away. “-ute.” Yang opened the side gate. “Right this way.”

Blake goes to walk in, but Yang picks up Blake in a princess carry. She then waltzes inside with her raven haired beauty.

“You've done enough hard work. Imma take us there, myself.” Yang reaches the interior of the arena, and Blake wraps her arms around Yang's neck. Yang then starts super jumping from the dugout to several tiers of seats. Her huntress training really pays off in times like this.

She hops from the 3rd tier to the roof of the seating, a large rectangular area with a fence surrounding the perimeter. Yang landed upon it, and there was a surprise waiting.

It was what appeared to be a picnic blanket laid out and everything neatly arranged. 2 baskets, probably full of food. 4 plates and silverware. A salad bowl full of greens. 2 square cushions, a plush sleeping bag and a tent roll. There was even a pair of lit candles and fresh dinner rolls.

I texted Ruby only an hour ago for an emergency picnic, how did she get all this?

… A little on the nose there, with the rolls still steaming and the fresh lit candles. *Internal gasp* Those rolls are covered in cinnamon butter, that's Penny's rolls! Thank you Robo-angel!

Yang sets Blake down and opens her arms towards the picnic. “So, what do ya think?”

Blake tip toes up to kiss Yang on the cheek. “It's perfect. Thank you so much, love.”

“Aw, shucks.” Yang pats the back of her head, blushing a little.

They go to sit down, and Yang sees three of Ruby's petals sitting next to the blanket. When Blake isn't looking as she's sitting down, Yang quickly scoops up the petals and sits on her own cushion.

“So, what shall we eat first, my little ranger?”

“Let's see.” Blake opens the first basket to find grilled fish seasoned with lemon pepper. “Oh, Weiss's fish. Thank you.”

“Uh…”

“And we should probably thank Ruby for making all this for us.”

Yang was quiet for a moment, then tries to bluff. “Ruby? Nah, I made this and brought you here so we could enjoy it.”

Blake simply smiles and raises her hand, opens it, and reveals three of Ruby's rose petals. Yang checks her own hand and the petals she had are gone. “Whoa, you're slick.”

“I suppose.” Blake says, a new sullen look on her face as she watches the petals dissolve into thin air.

“... I can't hide anything from ya, can I?”

“Sadly, no. I’ve spent most of my life as a huntress and a thief, and you're a bad liar.”

Yang shrugs her shoulders. “Being confident and truthful suits me better.”

Blake rests her head on Yang's shoulder. “They do.” A moment of silence passes. “So, what were the protesters saying this time?”

“Not important.”

“Yang.”

“... They were accusing your father of being “in” with Adam during the Beacon Incident.”

“Ugh. Why did I ask? Why would they-”

Yang put a finger to Blakes lips. “No. Don't even think about it.” She lowers her hand.

“But I can't. We have a responsibility to answer-

Yang puts her finger up to Blake's lips again. “No. They're not like the protesters you hung out with before the White Fang got violent. Those guys had a good reason, a just cause. Like I said before, these guys are simply trolls with nothing better to do, hoping to get a rise out of you, Ghirra, or worse, Kali. All for some gossip.”

“Wait, why is mom the worst?”

“Don't you remember that one guy with the bat wings who tried to throw a swing at you last year?”

“Oh, yeah. Mom clocked him real good. And tossed him down the street.”

“And the reporters haven't let her forget it. There's even a chef who opens a ‘Kung Pao Kali’ in all the Vacuo cities.”

Blake laughs at the memory. “Yeah. It's not bad food either. A nice spicy taste, they've got.” She leans down and lays her head on Yang's lap.

“We still have a responsibility, love. After all, I don't want them to go down the wrong path. To end up like the White Fang, and me.” Blake intertwines her fingers with Yang's metallic digits resting on her belly. “And prevent them from making the same mistakes.”

Still beating herself up over what Adam did to my arm? Oh, my poor kitten.

Yang could only lean down and kiss Blake on the forehead, trying to comfort her wife. “Blake, it's been 10 years. I think you can forgive yourself for being associated with them.”

“You're right. Still doesn't change the past, though.”

“Then let's forget it for a night and let yourself enjoy the night with your wife.” Yang leaned down again, and this time, kissed Blake on the lips.

Yang rose up, and continued speaking. “Perhaps you'd like the news? Or the gossip?”

“Gossip, please.” Blake requested as she reached into the basket and started nibbling on a roll. “Mm, Penny's sweet rolls.”

“Well, first, we have Coco and Velvet. You wouldn't believe me if I told you.”

“What about them?” Blake asked, contemplating the Guardian Clan leader and her wife, the rabbit faunus lieutenant in the Silver Clan.

“Velvet’s pregnant.”

Blake almost choked on a bite of her roll. “Really? Coco knocked her up? When? How?”

“Yeah. Their W.A.S.P. failed its .1% rate on Velvet's birthday, and she got Velvet pregnant. They're keeping it, and they're already writing baby names. We have a pool going for the 20 they’ve thought of. I got $10 for Strudel.”

“That's great. Though Ruby needs another skirmisher now.” Blake finished the roll and grabbed another.

“Yeah. She's promoted Arslan Atlan to fill Velvet's shoes. And she promoted Reese Chloris to co-scout with Neon.”

“The bare-handed fighter and the skateboarder?” Blake asks as she feeds Yang her own roll.

“Yeah!” Yang says. After chewing, she continues. “Have you seen Arslan crush a Beowolf’s head with those fists? And Although Reese ain't exactly stealthy, what with her fluorescent green hair and bright clothes, her skateboarding skills almost beat Neon's rollerblading.”

“And Arslan will have Velvet's sergeant, Dew Gayl. She'll love Dew’s crowd controlling winds.”

“Oh, yeah. Reese will still be under Arslan, but she's doing fine.”

“Well, Ruby's in good company. Although, I think she'd love yours the most.”

Yang waved it off. “Ah, you and I both know she’d love the ‘Angel of Atlas’ being back in the Silver Clan.”

“I'm serious, Yang. As great Weiss is, Ruby would love for her sister to be back on the team. Those doctors don't know what you're capable of. I daresay you fight just as well as during your Beacon days.”

“I… I know.” Yang caressed her lover's smooth black hair. “But I can't make a fuss about it. Those old toadies will always oppose prosthesis using hunters from being in Silver Clan without the Pint Strikers. And besides, my sister does well in the spotlight, and I much prefer my Ember Celica Unit.”

“Yang…”

“I'm fine, love. I am.” Yang put on a smile and kissed Blake on the cheek.

I don't know if I can fight on foot. And I'm scared of slowing Ruby down. This is for the best, Blake.

Blake caressed the luscious blond hair of her lover and returned her affectionate kiss, on the lips. She sat up a little to make it easier for Yang.

After a minute, they stop. “Yang…”

“Sorry, it's been a month, darling. You always leave me wanting more.”

Blake ran her hand over Yang's cheek. “My poor girl.”

“Speaking of which, I really should tell you about Nebula.”

“Nebula? What about her?”

“Has she told you anything in Botanical class?”

“No. Why?”

“Not about her being Sun and Neptunes new girlfriend?”

“*Gasp* What? When? How?”

“Neptune spilled the beans to Ruby when he blurted it out during practice. The three have been together for two months.”

Yang continued her explanation as Blake ate her fish with a spoon. “Sun and Neptune were performing maintenance on their weapons. Then Nebula comes to do hers on her crossbow/sword thing. She helps Neptune enhance the shock on his glaive. Then Sun helps with her weapons extension. And accidentally stabs him in the shoulder as it was too good.”

“Oh, no. Was he okay?” Blake asks, her mouth full.

“He was fine, only a flesh wound. As an apology, she offered Sun coffee and breakfast as he healed up. Badda bing, badda boom, three person polycule.”

“I can't imagine that. After Neptune's been shamelessly flirting with her entire team for years and the whole “shocked them all during the Vytal Festival” would have put a damper on things.”

“Yeah. Sun told me she wanted to wait until the next party before she brings both of them as dates.”

“Wait a minute. Sun and Neptune? I get Nebula, she's a catch. But haven't Sun and Neptune been best friends since forever?”

Blake proceeds to feed Yang spicy noodles from the second basket. Through bites, she explains “Well, at first, it was really her dating one and the other. But after she suggested a threesome, and then Sun and Neptune kissed, it became a proper poly couple.”

“TMI Yang. But I'm glad it's Sun and Neptune. They're nice people.”

“They are. And totally bi.”

Blake cups Yang's cheek in her hand. “You're nice people too.”

“Aw, shucks.”

“I mean it. My strong, *kisses Yangs cheek* lovely, *kisses Yangs nose* kind…” Blake stops talking to kiss Yang deeply.

Yang returns the kiss and runs her hands through Blake's hair.

Thoughts of the food getting cold crossed Yang's mind.

I’ll make a fire if it gets cold. I'm not stopping this.

Yang grabbed the sleeping bag and rolled it out onto the rooftop. Opening it, she picked up Blake and set her inside. And Yang followed suit, continuing where they had left off. “I love you, my moonlily.”

“I love you too, my sunflower.”

And kissing her lover once more.

Their affections didn't stop there, and the picnic had all but been forgotten until a few hours later, where Yang had to make a rooftop fire to heat the food again as Blake set up the tent to sleep the rest of the night inside it.

—----

Plains of Woe. 4th Month, 3rd day of Year 5028.

Squad 12 was watching the Horde from the ledges of the mountain, just next to the fabled Plains of Woe. Outfitted in their camouflage gear and long sight visors, and their bikes parked under tarps on the plateau above them, they’re sure they remained undetected.

The Horde was still moving towards the Remnant Tribe. All 40 of the pitch black armored Leviethains, their 5 smaller Ursa, and their 4 War Forges were looking to pass through the same valley the tribe went through 3 months prior.

A good thing really. The less that happened next to the time when the tribe was set to move, the better.

Lieutenant Geoff hadn't seen anything strange happen for the 4 days he had been put on watch duty. But it always ran a shiver up his spine when he looked at the War Forges of the enemy. It looked so similar to the Tribes Forges, except for the dark armor. But he knew it couldn't be more different on the inside.

His sergeant, Gus, kept looking through the binoculars mounted on a tripod, sitting as he ate a sandwich, ever vigilant.

“Are you eating that through your helmet?” Geoff asked, sitting back to a boulder, his feet up on a backpack.

“Yes.” Gus said, not turning away.

“Why?”

“Helps the chewing.”

“Dumb function really.”

“I like it. This place is dusty, and the helmet keeps it out.”

“It's the outdoors, on the side of a mountain.”

“Still dusty.”

A moment passes between them.

“Say, Gus?”

“Yeah?”

“You ever wonder why we're here?”

“Gee, that's quite a question. Why are we here in this infinite cosmos? Why are we to fight these ever menacing monsters?”

“No, I meant why are we in these mountains. The Sky Clan can watch the Horde better than we can at this point.”

“You just say that because you're lazy.”

“We're Shadow Clan. We can be as lazy as we want. We just watch, record, and ride into the sunset.”

“Don't let Blake hear you say that. She takes this job super seriously.”

“Hey, I do my job well, I'm just-” their conversation was interrupted by loud steam sounds coming from the Horde.

The squad of 7 stopped what they were doing and watched from the ledge. The War Forge, Hazel, opened its hatch on top to release its Nevermore. A gigantic Crow Mech with anti gravity tech allowing it to fly. Armed with 2 dozen 105mm cannons, and a wingspan as wide as the Forge, it stands from it and takes flight.

“Well, there it is.” Geoff looked at his wrist monitor. “We were expecting a Nevermore, but it's early. Sky Clan is gonna be buuuuuuuuuuusssssssyyyy, uhhhhh…”

Geoff looked back to see the largest horde of Beowolves he’d ever seen emerge from Salem. They swarmed down the exit ports on the side and dropped from under Salem, and all the squad could see was a mass of dark steel of death. And they saw multiple Alphas, Pack Leaders, and worst of all, a Hound to join and assemble in the center.

“Oh, crud.”

“Geoff, uh, that's bad.”

“Of course it's bad! That's a massive swarm! With a Nevermore! And a Hound!”

“Yeah.”

“Get Ruby Rose on the radio. We need Silver Clan out here to intercept them.”

-----

Plains of Woe. 4th Month, 3rd day of Year 5028.

The meat stares at us brother. They watch from the mountains.

Don't worry, brother. They don't see. My pack can't be seen. They take the caves underneath the land, as the Leviathans hide our entrance. Though they are of the Shadow, the meat forget the caves. The meat always forget.

Good brother. Good. Then I take the pass. I bring to them the fight they expect.

And I, the fight they don't.

Then this is goodbye.

Until we meet in the Queens embrace, together brother.

Together. Now, you must go. Kill them, we will.

Yes. Soon, we shall spill the blood of meat. Soon…

---------

Middle point of Mountain Pass of Glenn. 4th month, 4th day of Year 5028.

Alright, mental checklist.

Crescent rose? Check.

Blade? Sharp.

Ammo? Stocked.

Red Cloak? Fabulous.

Black boots? Tied.

SnowGear? Ready.

Time? 4 a.m.

Distance from Remnant? 200 miles.

Sky Clan transports in a holding pattern? Check.

Sky Clan fighter Air Support on standby? Check.

My squad of 20 warriors? Check.

Sun and his squad of 20, ready and waiting for orders? Check.

Fox and Cinder waiting in the Pint Strikers behind us, awaiting signal to provide heavy fire support? Check.

Arslan and her squad of 18, ready and waiting for orders? Check.

My Red, Blue, and Green wedding ring? Check.

Reese and Neon with their report, waiting.

Ruby and her regiment of Silver Clan warriors await the pair of riders and their scouting report at the top of the plateau halfway up the mountain. Some of the men were having a poker game behind one of their gathered boulders, others were having a push up competition.

Flynt was playing some soft jazz music on his trumpet and many of the women were either vibing to the music or having small talk amongst themselves. Others were sharpening their weapons and counting their bullets.

Ruby knew Fox was meditating and Cinder was torching paper birds she was folding, next to their Pint Strikers, an Atlesian Paladin but piloted. Neptune was napping. Ruby, she was watching the mountains, covered in her red cape, keeping a bored vigilance.

Sun, in his beige pants and open white shirt, approaches Ruby, who's laying down on the edge of the cliff. “Anything?”

Ruby doesn't look away from the horizon, but replies “Nope.”

“Then chill out, will ya? The team's on edge, both figuratively and literally.” Sun says as he looks over to see some of his guys hanging off the edge to entertain themselves.

“Ugh, fine.” Ruby closes her eyes and rolls away from the edge. “But it's so boring up here.”

“I know. I know. I have plenty of places I’d rather be too.”

Like with Nebula and Neptune? You rascal. Don't say that out loud. Don't smirk.

“Why can't these Beowolves just come out already? They're rarely sneaky like this. And avoiding Remnants trail? They usually like their suicide charges into our ranks.”

Sun merely shrugged, his monkey tail forming a question mark. “Maybe they really do have a Hound this time?”

“Ugh.” Ruby rolled facedown in the grass in disgust of the thought. “A Hound? Like I believe that. I think Geoff was wrong and mistook an Alpha for one.”

“I don't know, he may be lazy, but he can be accurate when he wants.”

“But Salem hasn't sent one in a thousand years. Why now?”

Sun sat down and peeled a banana. “Word has it that it has to do with that Oscar kid.”

“Oscar who?”

“The kid Blake found in the wild. Said he was looking for an ancient A.I. from the days before the Shattering.” Sun says as his tail tosses the banana peel down the mountain.

“Oh, yeah. The kid Yang was talking to Qrow about over the scroll. I doubt that's it.”

“Aren't we putting the cart before the horse here?” Arslan says as she joins the conversation. Wearing her loose yellow robes but a bandage shirt and sleeves, it confused Ruby as to how her style looked good yet was unconventional. Well, unconventional in a Clan who dressed casually, even for battle. “Reese hasn't even returned with her report.”

Ruby raised her head. “Yeah, we aren't even sure there is one. But she's late.”

“She’s always late.” Arslan tossed her… Blond? Platinum? White? Ruby couldn't tell the exact color of her hair. Anyways, she tossed her hair to the side as she said this. “A habit she hasn't shaken from her Haven days.”

Ruby nodded, knowing Arslan was Reese's team leader when they went to Haven academy together. “Right. We can only wait.”

Sun sat down on a rock next to Ruby, still facedown in the grassy patch on the plateau. “So, tell me, Arslan. How's the new promotion to lieutenant, leader of your own squad?”

Arslan crossed her arms and nodded at Sun. “Not bad. Velvet definitely left some big shoes to fill, no rabbit pun intended. Not too different from our days at Haven, actually. It's only filled with more children.”

Ruby just waved her hand. “Aw, they ain't that bad.”

“Have you seen Sun’s sergeant, Neptune? He’s afraid of water! He squeals like a girl when he has to go through the rope swing on the obstacle course!”

Sun pointed a finger up. “In his defense, he’s always been afraid of water, and the obstacle course moat scares him, as it's 4 feet deep.”

“Then there's Flynt, who had just beat everyone in my unit at poker yesterday and cleaned them out of their week's pay. I had to reverse such action to prevent tensions from getting worse.”

Ruby scratches her head. “Yeah, there's that.”

“It's those sunglasses. He got the poker face of a rock, I tell ya.” Sun squinted in annoyance as he recalled the 1 vs. 1 poker game he had with Flynt last month. Well 4 vs. 4 if you count the Doppelgangers both were using to hold more hands of cards. “He can't have 4 straights in the same pot, no one can!” Yelling to make sure Flynt could hear.

“Yes I can.” Flynt shouted back in response. Sun simply shook his fist and Flynt returned to playing some jazz.

Arslan shook her head. “Nonetheless, I’ve been handling it as best I can. Thank the Brothers for Dew. I don't know what I’d do without her.”

“Righhhhttt. Dew is greeeaaat.” Ruby says, staring intently at Arslan, tapping her fingers on the ground.

The fighter simply raises an eyebrow. “What is it, Captain Rose?”

“... So no weapons at all?”

“Ha, we’re back to this subject.”

Ruby shook her head and sat up on the ground. “It's not that I don't doubt your ability. But everyone has a weapon. Sun has his Bostaff/flintlock pistols. Neptune, his Glaive/rifle. My sergeant, May Zedong, has her sniper rifle/axe. Your own sergeant, Dew Gayl has her, uh, magic staff thing.”

Arslan chuckled. “Wind Dust Staff. I’m telling you, I'm fine, Captain."

Ruby continues, with concern. ”I’ve seen you rip a Beowolf in half, but don't you want a knife at least? Maybe a sidearm? I’d be more than happy to make you one. Heck.” Ruby pulls two large caliber pistols she named ‘Snow’ and ‘Gear’ out of the twin holsters on her belt. “You can borrow one of mine for this battle. But, uh, return it afterwards, cause they're special.”

Arslan simply laughed and pushed Ruby's 3rd anniversary presents back to her. “No, no. I am more than fine with the guns I got.” She says as she flexes her arms. “Besides, I was never a good shot, anyways.”

It was Ruby's turn to raise an eyebrow. “Velvet told me you speared a Wyvern in the eye with a javelin at 500 yards.”

Arslan rotated her hand, explaining “Not a good shot, with a gun.”

Ruby was going to protest more, but not another minute passed as they heard someone approaching. Reese and Neon were riding up the mountainside to the Silver clans plateau.

They ride up and over, doing a pose and a flip, and then landing on their feet in classic extreme sport style.

Ruby rose to her feet. “Yay. You're here. Whatcha see? Whatcha hear?”

The rainbow colored Neon answered first. “Nothing good. We found them entering the mountain range towards this pass, as Shadow Clan said.”

Reese continued “There's over 500 Beowolves down there. All very coordinated too.”

Neon chimed in “Yep, but we have to beware worse things. There's 500 Betas, yes. But there's 10 Alpha's, 3 Pack Leaders, and a Hound as well.”

Everyone on the cliff side gasped at the revelation.

So Geoff was right. Crud.

Beta Beowolves were your standard monster, and Alphas were slightly bigger, smarter, and rare, but word has it, manageable. The 500 were expected, given their lack of activity lately, and 10 Alpha's were a mild surprise.

But Pack Leaders? They were Alpha sized, but scary smart. They usually are in charge of War Forge and the Horde’s defense. They've never been seen leaving Salem's Horde. If Ruby wasn't careful, she’d lead her warriors into an ambush and be slaughtered.

And the Hound. A Beowolf, but a Pint Striker's size. It had the strength of an Ursa and the intelligence of a human. As if that wasn't scary enough, it had an Aura of its own, something only seen in Hunters like the Silver Clan Warriors and living creatures, a personal force field protecting them from harm.

One has not been seen in over a thousand years when it assassinated and killed a Head Chieftain, Dustin Schnee, one of Weiss's ancestors. Salem only sends them out when she really wants something dead. Ruby knew she'd have to take this one herself or risk the trail of bodies of her warriors in its wake.

���Alright then. We stick to the plan. Only I’ll be targeting the Hound. Arslan, Sun, the Pack Leaders are yours. Cinder, Fox, you're laying down fire on the mass of Betas as Sun’s squad kills them.” Ruby turns to her sergeant, May. “You and the squad are killing the Alphas. Arslan’s squad is holding back in case the Hound has any surprises for us. And we strike when Sky Clan attacks that Nevermore.”

The Clan nodded their heads and accepted the new orders.

“Ready? Break.” Ruby claps her hands and leads her squad to their positions.

“Good. Neon, Reese, rejoin the others, we got work to do.” Arslan said as they began their own preparations.

Sun shouted to his men. “Alright guys, we got work to do. Neptune.”

Neptune jolted awake from his place by the rocks. He gets up and runs over to Sun. “You called?”

“We got boulders to move. I’ll fill you in.”

*One hour later*

Here they come.

The pack of Beowolves was moving through the mountain pass, a mass of metal limbs and bladed claws walking together, their jaws constantly opening and closing, making sure they didn't rust shut.

Ruby could see the Hound in the middle of the pack, surrounded by Alphas. It was an intimidating monstrosity. But Ruby had seen worse things. As she and her squad watched the horde from their positions above in the rocks, she glanced to the side. Seeing Sun’s team a few hundred yards to the side, and Arslan's team opposite of her’s in the mountain pass, as well as Cinder and Fox waiting on the plateau they were on earlier, she knew everything was in position.

Come on, little dumb monsters. Come on, you don't see us. Yes, right into the trap zone. You don't have your Nevermore here to protect ya, do you?

Did they send it ahead? Distract us here to let it attack the tribe? Shoot, it may have. We should attack the horde now and go after-

May got Ruby's attention. “Captain Rose?”

“Yes, May?”

“Cinders on the radio, she needs to talk.”

Ruby took the microphone from May and spoke. “Ruby?” Cinder asked over the radio.

“Yes, Cinder? What is it? We're about to start.”

“We have a problem.”

Oh no. “What is it?”

“The Nevermore. It's far in the sky, hiding in the clouds, but it's there.”

A surprise attack from the Nevermore. Man, I can't even see it from here. If we had attacked, we would have been squashed. The Hound almost got us before we even engaged it.

“Great spotting, Cinder. I’ll get Sky Clan on it.”

Ruby switched radio channels to Maria’s.

“Death's arrow, this is Red Knife, how copy?”

A voice over the radio answers. “Read ya loud and clear, Red Knife. This is Death's arrow. What do you need?”

“We have the Nevermore escort over the Beowolf horde. We need air cover.”

“Roger, fighters moving to your position. Eta, 2 minutes.”

“Roger that. Over and out.” Ruby looked back to the horde. She switched to another radio channel. “Sun, Arslan?”

“This is Sun, what's up?”

“The Nevermore is in the clouds. We launch the attack as soon as that Nevermore in the sky gets lit up by Maria and her fighters.”

“Once what?” Sun and Arslan go quiet for a moment to check the sky. “Oh, there it is. Right there in the cloud. Roger that, waiting on the signal.”

Ruby put the radio away, and readied Crescent Rose in her sniper rifle form. Looking down the scope, she dialed in on the Hound’s ugly face. She whispers to May “Can I get a second shooter on the big one? He’s got tough armor.”

“Yes, Ma'am.” May sets her sniper rifle up and dials in as well.

2 minutes pass in agony, Ruby hoping the horde doesn't go too far. But luckily, they're right below the Silver Clan. Ruby hears a loud thrum in the air as Sky Clan approaches. The Nevermore's crows deafen the sky as missiles and large caliber bullets hit the side of it. It flies into battle against the Sky Clan fighters and the horde below looks upwards in astonishment.

Ruby takes her chance. She and May fire at the Hound. Their bullets fly out and zoom towards the large beast. The impact staggers him, and visibly damages his Aura. But he's still standing.

Racking a second round quickly, Ruby and May fire again. They hit the Hound before he knows where he's getting hit from.

A third round. Ruby can hear Cinder and Fox spin up their guns. Ruby and May fire again. This time, the Hound grabs an Alpha, and uses it as a shield to take the hits. Although the Alpha was dead now, it kept holding it up.

Cinder and Fox start firing their weapons. Their Pint Strikers were small versions of the Port Strikers, meant for Beowolf hunting. Carrying 4 Gatling guns, 2 shoulder mounted and 2 arm mounted, where some would say ‘Overkill’, the Silver Clan says ‘not enough’. So they load them with explosive Fire Dust rounds.

The 8 Gatling guns tear through the horde, turning dozens of Beowolves into scrap metal. The monsters then start to climb the sides of the mountain to charge their attackers.

Ruby gives the call, her voice sounding through the valley even above the fire. “All Squads, Attack!”

A war cry sounds out in the mountain pass as all the warriors push dozens of their prepared boulders down the mountainside. They crash and crush any monster unlucky enough to be under it. Once the boulders reach the bottom and stop moving, Ruby yells out “Hit it!”

May reaches behind her and clicks the detonator on her utility belt. The explosives attached to the boulders activate, and turn air in the pass into dust, smoke, and flying pieces of Grimm. The smoke clears quickly from the wind, and they see a second wave is on the way up.

Ruby yelled out once more. “Silver Warriors! Fire!” And they all light up the valley floor with bullets. Tearing apart the horde as they climb.

Then, even though all that, the Grimm continues their climb. As they near the warriors positions, Ruby gives out another command. “Ready! Set! Charge!” And hops over the side to start slicing up the enemy.

Another war cry sounds out as Sun’s warriors jump the side and crash into the Beowolves, tearing them apart. The blond faunus led the charge with 4 of his own Aura Doppelgangers.

Neptune was slicing through several of them where Sun wasn't looking and shocking many more with his Glaive.

Arslan's own warriors were supposed to hold back, but as the horde was trying to reach the Pint Strikers, they had to hop into action and hold the line below the plateau they were standing on. Arslan can be seen ripping Beowolves apart, palm striking them to pieces and using a dead one as a club to knock others down the mountainside.

Dew and Flynt was tossing Grimm down as well with their strong winds, tornadoes, and weaponized jazz music. Arslan's warriors fought furiously, holding the line.

Ruby's own warriors jumped down the mountain, carving their way through the swarm. Their targets were the command beasts.

May and the rest of Ruby's squad went to assist Sun’s squad, as the Alphas and Pack Leaders had charged their way. But Ruby went straight for the Hound, still sitting in the center of the Horde.

Beowolves tried to swipe at her, but her semblance “Petal Burst” allowed her to swiftly dodge their attacks at high speeds or simply turn to rose petals and avoid it altogether.

She flew through the horde, reaping nearly 6 at a time with her scythe/sniper rifle, Crescent Rose. Carving through to the center, there she was.

Ruby was standing in front of the Hound. Converting her sniper rifle into Scythe mode, she locks into combat.

You look angry. Let's boogie, big guy.

The beast swipes once, twice, and a third time. Ruby dodges all three. She gets a slice on its leg, its Aura still holding. It picks up a bystanding Beowolf and chucks it at Ruby. The beast knocks Ruby over, but slicing it in half, she regains her footing quickly and charges the Hound again.

You grunt throwing butt head!

The Hound tries to slam its fist into the ground right into Ruby's head. She explodes into Petals before it connects and she reappears above the fist. Its second fist though connects a strong swipe, raking Ruby with its claws. Ruby is sent flying again, her own Aura at 60%.

Okay, new strategy.

She does a backflip and lands on her feet. She dashes at the Hound again. Several beta Beowolves charge at Ruby to protect the Hound.

But Ruby surprises them. The Rose family has a strange, hereditary semblance linked to their silver eyes. On top of her Petal Burst, she can activate an E.M.P. area attack to knock any Grimm mech around her down.

The 20 Beowolves around her fall to the ground around Ruby and the Hound falters a bit as it hits him. Surprised he didn't die like the others, but unfazed, she continues her charge.

It swipes high, expecting a jump. But Ruby slides under it, hooking its leg and pulling it out from under the beast. It falls over and Ruby quickly jumps on top of its chest as it lands on its back. She draws Snow and fires its Ice Dust bullets into the beast's face, turning most of his head into a block of ice. She holsters it again, proud of her wife's gift.

As it starts to beat its own head to break the ice away, Ruby nimbly changes Crescent Rose in its rifle form and reloads with her Fire Dust bullets to blast away at the Hounds chest. Racking round after round, pounding away its heavy Aura.

Finally, the tell tale signs of Aura breaking away shatters over the monstrous mech. But it also finishes breaking the ice away.

It grabs Ruby by the torso and squeezes. Ruby feels the wind knocked out of her, and can feel her Aura slowly being depleted.

Crap, Crap, Crap! I can't breathe. Quickly, now! I can tell I'm at 40%, no, 30%!

Before she's taken down, she changes her weapon into Scythe mode. Tilting the head back into a spear form, Ruby stabs the blade into the Hounds chest. It pierces and she feels it hit dirt on the underside. The beast falters, and Ruby can breathe again. She tilts it back into Scythe mode where she can fire again and blasts the Hound's head off.

Its arm falls away limp. Ruby is victorious.

Yeah. Take that, ya big dolt.

Ruby pulls the weapon out of its chest and she takes a look around and sees the horde around her. More Beowolves start charging at the exhausted girl.

Oh, right. I'm surrounded. And I’ve used my Silver Eyes for the moment. Weiss is right, I am the dolt.

Then the charge is halted by a hail of bullets. The Beowolves around Ruby melt away in a sea of fire. Ruby looks up to see who it was. It's none other than her sister-in-law, flying down in her Pint Striker with its jetpack.

Cinder lands next to Ruby, and launches a circle of fire from her mech. Ruby dives under it, and the fire turns multiple beasts into slag. Cinder's guns begin firing away into another group. “Need some assistance, oh fearless leader?”

Ruby hops up to stand on the mech's head. Although it's quite loud. “Thanks for the save. How are we looking?”

Cinder continues to mow down the horde. “Pretty good. The Alphas are dead, the Pack Leaders too. You just killed the Hound, and the others are almost finished.”

And she was right. For as Ruby looked around again, there were only a few dozen Betas left, being chased by her warriors. Barely a scratch amongst them. Not a bad day.

“Yeah! We Rock! We Kicked Their Metal Butts! Wooo!” Ruby cheered as she jumped up and down on Cinders head.

“Calm down. We still have to hunt down the stragglers. Don't want them messing up the move.”

“Right. Hunt first, party later." Once Ruby catches her breath, she flies away in a cloud of petals, ready to slice up some more Beowolves. Cinder followed, throwing more fireballs and bullets.

Not noticing the blood bubbling from the Hounds chest wound as they left it behind.

—----

Exit point of Mountain Pass of Glenn. 4th month, 4th day of Year 5028.

Grut was fuming. He looked into binoculars and saw that his reinforcements had just been slaughtered by the Silver Clan. “That red haired bitch. Ruby freakin’ Rose. She just killed all my monsters.”

Grut was sitting on top of a mountain, as he was supposed to be observing the horde of Grimm to help him get the boy, Oscar. A big raid on the outskirts of Menagerie, then Grut grabs the boy and gives him to the Hound. But now with it bleeding all over the ground and its forces dead, Tyrian’s Plan A was sunk.

“Just great.” He watched as the Nevermore fell to the ground in 17 different parts a few mountains over. “Now what, ya bag of bolts?”

“Don't worry, my friend.” Behind Grut, a Hound was holding the side of the peak, also observing the battle. Its voice was deep and mechanical, but all too clear. It looked at Grut with its red eye. “My brother's sacrifice will not be in vain.”

Grut was confused. “Sacrifice? Uh, Fennec, weren't they, ya know, gonna attack Remnant?”

“They were, but Tyrian's second spy informed him that the boy doesn't have Jinn. He still needs to be caught. But it's unnecessary now. So I was given different orders. A plan B, if you will. Apologies that you were not informed of the change.”

“So this whole battle, you losing all your beasts was…?” Grut waves his arms over to the hundreds of dead Grimm, hoping for a clear answer.

“All part of Her Majesty's plan. This was not all of them. My brother, Corsac, took half, and got the attention of their ‘Shadow Clan’ to hide my half. Now, as we speak, my Pack travels under the mountain range, to intercept Remnant on their way to the Coastal Plains. And the Silver Clan is none the wiser.”

“Ohh.” Grut then scowled. “Then what am I supposed to do now?”

“Patience will be rewarded, my friend. Watts is sending you your own team of Hybrids. Await them in Vacuo, once Remnant has abandoned the cities. You will have your day, we promise.” The Hound turns and hops down the mountain, sliding all the way down to its base, to return to its pack.

“You better.” Grut says, even though no one is around. “My blood is itching for battle. My circuits are thirsting for carnage.” Grut packs his stuff. Once he's done, loads up his backpack and fiddles with the back of his head, his hair tangled again with the data port and black steel panel installed there.

“They will know my name. They all will.”

—----

Vale Forge. 4th month, 4th day of Year 5028.

Mmm, I don't know how Penny did it, but her shoulder is so comfy. I'm so tired. If only I could stay here, resting with her. And if only Ruby wasn't out hunting. She’d be with us, lazing about, her head probably in my lap.

*Sigh* Why am I so lethargic recently? I love work, or at least, I’m driven. So why am I wishing to stay home and shower my wives in affection more often recently? Or am I just greedy and wanting to steal more of my wives time? Not sure which is better or worse.

Weiss was laying her head down on Penny's shoulder as the car and their convoy escort was driving down the dirt road towards the Vale Forge, the sun setting behind them. She had already made 3 trips to see the others that day.

Sienna Khan of the Menagerie Forge, Vernal of the Mistral Forge, and Allison of the Vacuo Forge. Now she was about to make her 4th to see Amber of the Vale Forge.

Charles, their driver, pulled up to the side of the colossal constructor, where the robotic Atlesian Knights were waiting. “Master Weiss, we’re here.”

Weiss didn't respond, playing asleep. Penny, in her cute yellow sundress, nudged Weiss awake. “Weiss love, we’re here.”

Weiss slowly lifted her head and looked outside. “Can we have five more minutes?”

“Sorry, snow angel, we have to do this last errand, and then there's the council meeting. But I promise, you can sleep afterwards.”

“Okay.” Weiss takes a moment to yawn. “Let's go.” She exits the car with Penny and smoothes out her long light blue dress. The two of them go to meet the Knights.

“Hello, Master Weiss. You're 3.4 minutes late.” Said one of the 8 knights in a woman's voice.

“Hello to you too, Amber.” Weiss said with a slight sarcasm, not knowing if Amber was being sarcastic or serious in noting such a small tardiness. “We’re here to instruct you on your new orders and inspect the Core.”

“Yes, right this way.” They gestured, and a door leading to an escalator stairway opened from the side of the Forge. It would lead all the way to the top.

Led by 4 of the knights and followed by the remainder, Penny and Weiss ascended up the escalator. It was going to take a minute.

Weiss looked out the viewing port to the interior of the Forge. It was always impressive, filled to the brim with massive mechanical construction arms and tools, workshops, the city being built, and whatnot. No organic personnel were allowed, save for the Schnee family for the inspections and the Atlesian Knights.

The Atlesian Knights. The footmen of the Forges. If there was something that needed hands to be done, the Forges A.I. would control a Knight to do it. They were quite versatile, as construction and maintenance crews, defenders of the Forges, and supplementary security support in the cities.

Each Forge A.I. could control thousands of them at a time, and each was color coded to know who was who. Along with their white armor, like the Forges, Amber's knights had, well, amber stripes along them.

The group reached the top floor, and kept going through the corridors. After a few twists and turns, they arrive at the control room. They found 4 Atlesian Paladins, outside the door, these hulking, heavily armed mech soldiers making sure none enter but Weiss and Penny. After scanning the girls, they step aside to let them in.

The door opens, revealing a series of computer stations along the wall, a large hologram showing the status and future architectural plans for the next Vale, and at the far end of the room was the A.I. Core.

The Core itself was largely not surprising as you’d expect, but not many know about the storage capsule attached to it.

Inside was an amber haired woman with amber eyes. She was the personal body of Amber, dressed in explorer clothes, much like how Penny was the body of Atlas.

Nicolas really should have been more creative with poor Amber's color scheme…

The capsule opens and Amber rises out of it. “Hello. Pleasure to see you again, Master Weiss. And Sister Penny, glad you could join us. The Workshop's not busy today?” Amber proceeds to step out of the capsule and approach the pair.

“Nope. I finished all my maintenance duties. Even finished Ember Celica ahead of schedule. Now, I am keeping Weiss company.” Penny grabbed Weiss's hand and smiled her beautiful smile.

“Good, good. Glad to see your lover making you so happy, Sister Penny.”

“Ha, well, thank you, Sister Amber.” Penny says, blushing a little.

Amber nods and turns to Weiss. “On to business. What's our next destination, Ma’am?”

Weiss went over to the hologram display, with Penny still in hand, and pressed a button to change the display to Map mode. She scrolled until she reached what she was looking for. “Here. The Coastal Plains. Good distance from our current position, plenty of fish this season, easily defendable.”

“Ah. My old stomping grounds. Very well. I will make plans and set a route. When will we set out?”

“Tomorrow. 10 a.m. sharp. I will contact you if anything changes.”

“Great. I just need Glyph Confirmation.” A panel in the wall opened to reveal a large scanner.

Glyphs. The Schnee families hereditary semblance that was passed down from parent to child. It was considered the most versatile, and debatably the most powerful, of all semblances of the warriors of Remnant. It could cast all sorts of powers and abilities, depending on the dust used and capabilities of the warrior.

Weiss used it to make a big, intricate glyph, even more so than usual. She put it to the scanner, and it glowed green. This semblance was used to authorize actions and commands to the Forges.

“Glyph accepted.” The panel closed. “I will prepare for tomorrow.”

Weiss nodded. “Good. Now, for the Dust Core Inspection.”

Amber nodded as well. “Right this way.”

Weiss followed the well treaded path to the Dust Core of Vale. A door to the left of Amber's chamber opened to reveal an elevator. Weiss, Amber, and Penny stepped inside.

The doors close, and Weiss leans into Penny for a moment, and Penny wraps her arm around Weiss's shoulders. They ride in silence, a smile on their faces.

Once they reach the Core Room, the door opens. A small walkway extends out, but only a few meters. In the center of this massive room was a Dust Core Crystal, this one named Amber, glowing a bright, uh, Amber. Slightly smaller than the room itself, nearly 100 feet tall, nearly 70 feet wide, in the shape of a diamond.

Dust. A strange, naturally occuring substance, like a rock but grows like a plant. It came in many elements, such as fire, water, ice, earth, etc. It could be plucked right from the ground and be utilized. Little is known about its origins, but everyone knows it's extremely useful. Weaponry, medical supplies, semblance enhancements, and most importantly, fuel. It powered the cities and their vehicles.

Oddly enough, there were still undiscovered things about Dust that people don't know. For example, the Dust Cores. Nicholas Schnee found 5 of them in a mining dig ages ago, and created the Forges with their almost unlimited power. They had no element to them, just pure energy, and they required rest to recharge. Not many know where humanity would be today without this discovery, and they still don't know how to create one themselves.

Amber, Weiss, and Penny stood upon the walkway as the elevator closed behind them. Weiss, reluctantly, let go of Penny's hand to float up to the Dust Core using her glyphs.

Hmm, there's a crack here. Another over there. The beginnings of one here. Better get started.

Dust, unfortunately, breaks down over time with use, but the Schnee family's semblance’s strange connection to Dust was able to reverse this. Weiss began to create mending glyphs to run over the damage in the Core and close the cracks. She flew one way and another, casting her glyphs and repairing the Core until it was as new as the day it was installed.

After 28 minutes, she was finished.

Weiss floated back over to the two androids on the walkway, and Penny gave her a pat on the back. “Good job, Weiss.”

Amber gave a quick bow. “Apologies there was so much damage this time, Master Weiss.”

“No problem, Amber. That's nothing. Although Mistral's and Vacuo’s were undamaged, you should have seen Sienna’s Core. Almost double the cracks.” Weiss said as she shook her head, looking a little sad. Then she became concerned for the Menagerie Forge. “She's been pushing herself a little too hard lately. She didn't mention why her Core was like that.”

“She's just a hard worker.” Amber explained. “And trying to alleviate the faunus’s stress with more amenities in the city. The White Fang has been attempting to recruit members into its ranks recently, and she wants to avoid that. Thankfully, from what I’ve heard, they've been unsuccessful on all fronts.”

Once more, Father's Race War haunts me. Damn it.

“Wonderful.” Weiss said, sarcasm heavy in her voice. “The White Fang’s return. You’d think they'd fold into Ghirra’s Blue Fang by now.”

Penny gently holds Weiss's hand again.

Amber replies “Adam really did a number on the remaining members. Tricking them, lying to them, making them accomplices in the Beacon Incident. But I assure you, they aren't a threat to you or the Faunus.”

That remains to be seen. One person is a lot more powerful, and dangerous, than most give them credit for.

As they enter the elevator, Weiss sighs in fake relief. “That's some good news. Blake will at least sleep a little better tonight when I tell her she has nothing to worry about.”

The trio exit the elevator back into the Control Room.

As Weiss passed the holographic projector, she gave a curtsy and said “Good day, miss Amber.”

Amber returned it with a bow “Good day, Master Weiss.” And returned to the storage capsule.

Weiss and Penny left the control room, Penny waving widely at Amber as she walked away. Amber waved back. Through the many corridors, and down the escalator, they were outside again.

Charles and the other escorts and drivers were standing by their vehicles, chatting, standing guard, one secretly reading a book. When they saw the Head Chieftain and the engineers captain, they reentered and readied their vehicles as Weiss and Penny entered the car.

Once they were in the back seat, Weiss laid her head down on Penny's shoulder again. “Ugh, I don't know how you walk so far and not get tired. That had to be at least 2 hours we walked.”

“Indeed. One hour to the Control room, half an hour during your repairs, one hour back. Although, I have robotic legs and you have human ones.”

“Ugh, something must be wrong with me. I need to get in better shape.”

“Weiss, you are in top shape. The doctor's visit last week showed nothing wrong. But you have been up and working for 16 hours now.”

Weiss jolted a bit. “Has it been 16 hours?”

“Yes. The sun “'is” setting behind us and you were in your office at the crack of dawn.”

“Oh.”

“And you were deliberating between the cities and the councilman for 15 and a half hours yesterday. And you were supervising the packing of supplies all day the day before. And you were doing paperwork for 18 hours the day before that.”

“Ohh.”

“You are not lethargic, you are tired. Not taking a day off for so long has taken its toll. You need a four day weekend.”

“I can't, not so close to the move. I’ll take the time off once we get settled in the new Vale.”

“Don’t be silly. That's 2 months away.”

“Well, we’re set to travel tomorrow. What can I do?”

“You could take me up on my offer.”

“No, I will not be carried the whole way. I can walk. I need the exercise anyway.”

“You already maintain a great workout schedule, as well as keeping in top huntress shape with Myrtenaster.”

“Fair. But no. We walk together.”

“Okay, Weiss” Penny then kisses Weiss on the head. “Whatever you say.”

Weiss’s scroll rings in her pocket. She checks to see who it is, and it's Klein. Weiss answers “Hello. How are you doing?”

“Hello Master Weiss. I have news.”

“Oh? What news?”

“Master Ruby and her warriors have all returned and will be able to attend the Council meeting.”

Weiss's face brightens and she hugs Penny. “Good. She's been gone for 7 days. We miss her.”

“We do.” Penny says as she hugs Weiss back.

Weiss tilts her head, giggling a little. “Ya know, you can drop the ‘Master’, Dad.”

“Oh, was I saying it? Sorry. My old habits die hard, Mas-, uh, Weiss.”

“I know. But you married Mother 3 years ago. You're my father now, not my butler.”

“Do not worry, Weiss's Father, I too still sometimes call her Master Weiss by accident.”

*Internally Screaming*

Weiss, blushing furiously, says “Penny. Remember what I told you?”

“Not to tell people that since we're married, and they might take it the wrong way?”

Klein clears his throat, “Don't worry, I didn't take anything weird from it.”

Penny tilts her head to the side, confused. “Weird? I mean I sometimes call her that in-”

Weiss hurriedly interrupts Penny. “Okay, that's enough of that.”

“Okay. Whatever you say.”

“Haha, well, I’ll let you love birds back to your trip to the council.”

“Thank you. Love you, Dad.”

“Love you, too, Snowflake.” Klein hangs up the phone.

“Now, um, Charles, may we have some privacy?”

“Of course.” Charles then rolls up the partition between him and the couple.

“Now, for your maintenance, Penny.”

“Oh, uh, um” Penny looks side to side, blushing a little. “That can wait until we get home.”

Weiss wagged her finger. “Oh no. I’ve done maintenance on 4 massive Dust Cores today. I'm not waiting to do maintenance on the most important one to me.”

“... Very well, Weiss.” Penny turns her back to Weiss. She then lifts up her shirt to allow Weiss access to her back. A quiet internal command has her back opening in a series of retracting panels, until it shows Penny's Dust Core inside. About 6 inches tall, 3 inches wide, and glowing a bright green.

“Tch, tch, tch. Penny. You have a crack right here. You should have come to me sooner. It's because you pushed yourself to finish Ember Celica, isn't it?”

“...Maybe. I knew you'd say that. No need to bother you with something unnecessary like this.”

“*sigh* My sweet firefly, you and your sisters need to bother me more with this stuff.” Weiss begins to mend Penny's Dust Core with both hands on the glyph. Once she's done, she decides to tease Penny a little.

Mirror, Mirror, A heart can turn to stone. But it's by no means a cold stone. It's a very warm, loving stone heart.

Weiss leans down and kisses Penny's Dust Core, a harmless static shock passing through her lips.

Penny gasps at the contact. “Weiss, you crook. You can't just kiss my heart like that.” Penny says, turning back towards Weiss, blushing.

Weiss giggles and Penny joins in, the two laughing together.

Closing her back and tucking her shirt back in, Penny sits back into the seat, letting Weiss lean back into her.

“Go ahead and nap. I’ll wake you up when we're there.”

“Ok. *Yawns* Love you, Penny.”

“Love you too, Weiss.”

“Aw, you two are a sweet couple. Makes a man diabetic from witnessing it.” Charles says from behind his partition.

Weiss, embarrassed, covers her face with Penny's arm. Penny giggles as they head towards the Council tower in Vale.

[pricechecktranslations]

去り人達のワルツ：悪ノ大罪 SEKAI Edition　-Album-

Waltz of the Deceased: The Deadly Sins of Evil, SEKAI Edition album booklet content

Opening

Format...

.

At the death of the sinful world, the people's souls decided to leave this land behind.

Once they passed through the enormous gate, they would lose all of their memories in exchange for a new life.

"The memories of those who are reborn will be reformatted"

That was a rule of this world.

.

If...

.

What if, for example, the Daughter of Evil hadn't been a princess?

What if it had been her burdened with a curse, instead of her father?

All people had possibilities like that.

The Evil Food Eater resolved to set out on a new journey to learn them all.

.

But she still didn't yet know.

That her soul, just like her body, wasn't something that would last forever.

.

Repeat...

.

If only I could do it over again.

Someone, no, everyone has thought that at least once.

She couldn't just give up on this world.

If she could just return back to the outset, maybe it would turn out better this time.

With those thoughts in her mind, perhaps the Sleep Princess loved this world more than anyone.

.

Each time she repeated, it would scrape away at her soul,

Guiding her to yet further madness.

.

End...

.

Punishment was handed down.

And so in that case, accepting that punishment was in itself another answer.

"Are you not going?"

At the tailor's question, the mud king laughed and replied:

"Kids tend to dislike having their parents looking in on their room."

The judge listening in next to him nodded in understanding, and returned a smile.

.

We are all free.

No matter what world we choose.

There is no distinction between good and evil there.

.

But we can be sure that we lived here on this land.

Even if we forget about it, that fact can never be erased.

.

For those who will set out on their journey.

Before they lose their memories.

Let's throw them a final dinner party at least.

.

Come, let's dance

This Waltz of the Deceased.

.

[Blurb after Waltz of the Deceased and before Rilia-renee]

He heard tell that he'd had an impostor,

Who had shown up and just gone around doing whatever he liked.

.

The great merchant was a bit sullen on finding this out,

And so his beloved daughter, eager to cheer him up, had made this suggestion:

.

"Have you thought about holding an entertainment banquet?"

.

Certainly, that was one of the great merchants' specialties.

Yes, perhaps this place...could use a song.

He would need someone to sing to set the stage for a ball.

.

The great merchant reached out to his favorite diva,

But she quietly shook her head.

.

"I've already finished my final song. You should ask someone else."

.

But could there possibly be another diva better than her out there?

After asking around, the great merchant finally arrived at a certain girl.

.

He'd heard that she'd been a diva of great renown in the Republic of Lucifenia,

Around the beginning of Evillious' sixth century.

.

A little doubtful, the great merchant spoke up to this girl

Whose appearance was far plainer than rumor would suggest.

.

"Do you think you could sing a little for me?"

.

A few seconds after hearing her voice as she timidly broke into song,

The great merchant decided to hire her for the job.

[Blurb after Rilia-renee and before Outlaw and Marionette]

This world still had several problems left in it to worry about,

And those had needed to be addressed before the banquet.

.

There were those who tried to continue fighting after they had died.

They were the living dead who wandered the wasteland.

Thanks to the actions of those who had worked under the mud king's orders,

This saw a decisive resolution.

But at the same time, it revealed a new cause for concern.

.

The king made of mud called out to the witch who had once been his subordinate.

Her form had by then completely changed from the one that he knew,

But that particular discussion wasn't what he wanted to ask her about then.

"Just what in the world is this 'Punishment'?"

That was what he asked her.

"...A 'doll'. Just like you and I."

The mud king had been created by a black bird.

The Clockworker's Doll had been created by a red cat.

And the boy of Punishment had been created by...

"The root of all malice"

.

But a doll doesn't necessarily have to move according to the intentions of their creator.

Just as had been the case with the king made of mud and the Clockworker's Doll.

The boy of Punishment had begun to move by his own will...and left this world behind.

"Amostia...That was that boy's name,"

That was what the witch told him, moon-eyed.

"There's nothing we can do about it now.

I have no idea where he or her have gone off to."

.

Would the boy of Punishment bring yet another world to destruction?

Or perhaps...

[burningvelvet]

more random excerpts from lord byron’s diaries (here’s the first post)

“When one subtracts from life infancy (which is vegetation), — sleep, eating, and swilling — buttoning and unbuttoning — how much remains of downright existence? The summer of a dormouse.”

“If this had been begun ten years ago, and faithfully kept!!! — heigho! there are too many things I wish never to have remembered, as it is.“

“Dined — (damn this pen!)”

“Oh! there is an organ playing in the street — a waltz, too! I must leave off to listen. They are playing a waltz, which I have heard ten thousand times at the balls in London, between 1812 and 1815. Music is a strange thing.”

“How strange are our thoughts, &c. &c. &c.“

“It has been said that the immortality of the soul is a ‘grand peut-être’ — but still it is a grand one. Every body clings to it — the stupidest, and dullest, and wickedest of human bipeds is still persuaded that he is immortal.”

“I wish one was — I don’t know what I wish. It is odd I never set myself seriously to wishing without attaining it — and repenting.”

“Came home — my head aches — plenty of news, but too tiresome to set down. I have neither read, nor written, nor thought, but led a purely animal life all day. I mean to try to write a page or two before I go to bed. But, as Squire Sullen says, ‘My head aches consumedly: Scrub, bring me a dram!’ Drank some Imola wine, and some punch.”

“Read — rode — fired pistols — returned — dined — wrote — visited — heard music — talked nonsense — and went home. Wrote part of a Tragedy — advance in Act 1st with ‘all deliberate speed.’ Bought a blanket.“

“The only pleasure of fame is that it paves the way to pleasure; and the more intellectual our pleasure, the better for the pleasure and for us too.”

“I flew into a paroxysm of rage, which almost made me faint. I have not been well ever since. I deserve it for being such a fool.”

“Lewis [..] seems out of humour with every thing. What can be the matter? he is not married — has he lost his own mistress, or any other person’s wife?”

“Scrawled this additional page of life’s log-book. One day more is over of it, and of me; — but ‘which is best, life or death, the gods only know,’ as Socrates said to his judges, on the breaking up of the tribunal.”

“The respectable Job says, ‘Why should a living man complain?’ I really don’t know, except it be that a dead man can’t; and he, the said patriarch, did complain, nevertheless, till his friends were tired and his wife recommended that pious prologue, ‘Curse — and die;’ the only time, I suppose, when but little relief is to be found in swearing.”

“The lapse of ages changes all things — time — language — the earth — the bounds of the sea — the stars of the sky, and every thing ‘about, around, and underneath’ man, except man himself, who has always been, and always will be, an unlucky rascal. The infinite variety of lives conduct but to death, and the infinity of wishes lead but to disappointment. All the discoveries which have yet been made have multiplied little but existence.”

“At five-and-twenty, when the better part of life is over, one should be something; — and what am I? nothing but five-and-twenty — and the odd months. What have I seen? the same man all over the world — ay, and woman too.”

[talking about his experience at a circus] “There was a ‘hippopotamus,’ like Lord Liverpool in the face; and the ‘Ursine Sloth’ had the very voice and manner of my valet.”

[after seeing Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra] “Cleopatra strikes me as the epitome of her sex — fond, lively, sad, tender, teasing, humble, haughty, beautiful, the devil! — coquettish to the last, as well with the ‘asp’ as with Antony.”

[on German] “Of the real language I know absolutely nothing, — except oaths learnt from postilions and officers in a squabble. I can swear in German potently, when I like — ‘Sacrament — Verfluchter — Hundsfott’ — and so forth; but I have little of their less energetic conversation. I like, however, their women (I was once so desperately in love with a German woman, Constance).”

“Dined — news come — the Powers mean to war with the peoples. The intelligence seems positive — let it be so — they will be beaten in the end. The king-times are fast finishing. There will be blood shed like water, and tears like mist; but the peoples will conquer in the end. I shall not live to see it, but I foresee it.”

“Why, at the very height of desire and human pleasure, — worldly, social, amorous, ambitious, or even avaricious, — does there mingle a certain sense of doubt and sorrow — a fear of what is to come — a doubt of what is — a retrospect to the past, leading to a prognostication of the future. (The best of Prophets of the future is the Past.) Why is this? or these? — I know not, except that on a pinnacle we are most susceptible of giddiness, and that we never fear falling except from a precipice — the higher, the more awful, and the more sublime; and, therefore, I am not sure that Fear is not a pleasurable sensation; at least, Hope is; and what Hope is there without a deep leaven of Fear? and what sensation is so delightful as Hope? and, if it were not for Hope, where would the Future be? — in hell. It is useless to say where the Present is, for most of us know; and as for the Past, what predominates in memory? — Hope baffled. Ergo, in all human affairs, it is Hope — Hope — Hope.”

[written when he was a chief in the Carbonari mob during the (ultimately failed) Italian Revolution] “To-day I have had no communication with my Carbonari cronies; but, in the mean time, my lower apartments are full of their bayonets, fusils, cartridges, and what not. I suppose that they consider me as a depôt, to be sacrificed, in case of accidents. It is no great matter, supposing that Italy could be liberated, who or what is sacrificed. It is a grand object — the very poetry of politics. Only think — a free Italy!!!”

“I carried Teresa the Italian translation of Grillparzer’s Sappho, which she promises to read. She quarrelled with me, because I said that love was not the loftiest theme for true tragedy; and, having the advantage of her native language, and natural female eloquence, she overcame my fewer arguments. I believe she was right. I must put more love into ‘Sardanapalus’ than I intended.”

“Wrote some more of the tragedy. Took a glass of grog. After having ridden hard in rainy weather, and scribbled, and scribbled again, the spirits (at least mine) need a little exhilaration, and I don’t like laudanum now as I used to do. So I have mixed a glass of strong waters and single waters, which I shall now proceed to empty. Therefore and thereunto I conclude this day’s diary.”

“I have been turning over different Lives of the Poets. I rarely read their works, unless an occasional flight over the classical ones, Pope, Dryden, Johnson, Gray, and those who approach them nearest (I leave the rant of the rest to the cant of the day), and — I had made several reflections, but I feel sleepy, and may as well go to bed.”

[thewritetofreespeech]

Hi. Could I request Vanitas and Noe with a female s/o who has the ability of Asterokinesis (Star Manipulation) via altering the world formula?

Vanitas + Noe - Star Power MC

A rare, peaceful evening in Paris for those who fought in secret to protect its citizens.

Vanitas, Noé, and [Y/N] had been sitting at a café in front of their hotel when Luca and Jeanne walked by. The young lord had been happy to see you all, while his attendant kept her usual flustered cool, and [Y/N] invited them to join.

Talking and laughing for a bit over coffees, [Y/N] sense a sudden shift in the air. “Luca, what’s wrong?” [Y/N] asked. Noticing the boy’s sullen expression.

He immediately looked up from his hands and floundered, “n-nothing. Nothing at all. I’m fine.” Of course [Y/N] didn’t believe him.

She came over and knelt down in front of Luca. “You don’t have to act brave when you don’t want to. Everyone gets upset sometimes. It’s ok.”

The boy’s face fell and he looked down at his hands again. “It’s just all these curse-bearers. It’s upsetting. I’m not frightened or anything, but it’s so sad to think of them in pain. I feel like, as a noble, I should be able to do something.”

“Noblesse oblige,” Luca seemed confused by [Y/N]’s words and she smiled. “That’s a very fancy term you’ll learn one day. I can’t really help with those feelings, but I’d like to cheer you up.” In her hand a small ball of light appeared. Making Luca gasp as he stared at it’s warm glow.

Her light seemed to attract the attention of the others and they came over. Just as the light started to dance around and others joined, before they shot off into the sky to continue their dance there. Flickering around the stars and a bright, over shinning display.

“Amazing!” Noé noted as he watched the astrological waltz. “How did you do that?”

“It’s a special kind of formula manipulation called ‘astrokinesis’. Or star manipulation. Of course I can’t really manipulate stars, given that they are billions of lightyears away and have a cosmic density to crush planets, but I can interact with them. For a short time.”

“Can you make other things with the formula?” Luca asked excitedly. “Could you make a constellation of a bird?”

“No! Do Murr!” Noé chimed in, without about as much enthusiasm as his young counterpart.

[Y/N] giggled at their dueling excitement. Seeming to egg each other on. “Any requests Vanitas?�� She asked as she morphed another ball of light between her hands.

“How about a dazzling portrait of me?” He asked, with a cheesy, cheeky grin. To which Jeanne gave him a sharp punch in the ribs.

“Could you make a rose?” The white-haired witch asked shyly. To which [Y/N] smiled and sent a blush pink orb into the sky to create it.

The rest of the evening was spent like this. Friends ooo-ing and aww-ing at the constellations that [Y/N] created, while she enjoyed the marvel of her art. Truly a wonderful evening.

[queen-of-writing-bad-things]

Henry Danger Reader Insert | Captain Man x Reader: SEASON 5

Episode 32: Theranos Boot (SMUT)

Season 5 Masterlist

*I AM GOING FOR DOUBLE SMUT! This just came to me, so here it is for you all to enjoy. I have a lot of filth planned, so that's something for everyone to look forward to - as is clingy, needy, and utterly in love, Ray. As always, avoid it if you don't like it, I am aware that my ideas are farfetched and unrealistic, but this is my book, my rules. There's stuff here for everyone.

If Ray wants the booty (he does), then he can have it. 

HERE WE GO! 

"Look so pretty like this..." A voice came from behind (y/n) as she bent over, spread across the mattress with her ass fully on show and presented. 

"So damn hot, sweet girl..."

She could sense her lover across the room, a sigh escaping her lips as she stretched further. There was a slight pain in her muscles as her hands trailed towards the headboard, fingers clenching soft cotton. Wriggling was useless, not when her knees were precariously spread, widening her thighs and leaving her vulnerable. 

Vulnerable was one word, alluring another, and she whined when she heard movement near the door, cursing the wretched cloth tormenting her, stopping her from moving on. 

Ray saw everything and watched with hungry eyes as she twisted on the bed, groaning and muttering under her breath when she tried to get free, resulting in her ungraciously humping the air. 

Her hips were at the perfect height for him to grasp, and he could slot between her thighs with no problem since she was stuck with her back arched and skimpy, comfy-casual athletic leggings leaving none of her contours to the imagination. He could see every perfect bump, dip and crevice of her body in them and loved how they shaped her ass when they worked out together, and here she was, practically calling him to...touch the butt.

Waltzing closer to her side, he smirked when he saw her face smushed against the mattress, thinking she looked so cute and helpless--so adorable as she whined for mercy. This was torture, yet he refused to give her what she sorely needed, too distracted by the knowledge that his favourite place was on display to remove the offending cotton and provide any relief. 

He could stick his face between her legs and die happy, peel those second-skin leggings over her flesh, and expose the slick, pulsating, white-hot core for him to devour. He could do that, but he loved to tease a little first. 

(y/n) huffed at his presence, growing tired of the ruthless position she found herself in and how he stood there, doing and giving nothing. The sheets went on forever, and no matter how hard she grasped them, nothing quenched the burning frustration in her stomach. 

And when Ray's large, warm hands grasped her waist, sliding down her back, underneath her sweater, and back up to the globes of her ass, kneading them unashamedly, she groaned and whined like a sullen child. 

"Raymond. I'm trying to change the damn sheets. How can I look pretty like this?" She asked exasperatedly, glancing over her shoulder to see the Man Cave's resident orchestrator of chaos standing behind her with a smug grin. 

In the history of people wanting to sleep in clean, fragrant-smelling beds, (y/n) assumed that no one ever looked sane, normal or proper when clambering over their mattresses, turning themselves one way and another to get everything in the correct order. Prettiness didn't befall those poor souls with their hair sticking up and bodies contorted like putty. 

That's how she ended up like this; ass up, knees digging into the springs, arms stretched to both corners to the point where she thought they would fall off. She needed the fitted sheet over all four corners before fluffing the pillows, dressing the comforter and donning the scattered accessories. 

But her doofus didn't seem to understand the mammoth task, the Mission-Impossible style gymnastic routine she had to go through to get it all together, or the pain of doing it solo. 

He just wanted sex, so tell her something new. 

"You just do..." he smiled, playing with her flesh like Play-Doh, squashing and squishing it as his thumbs dipped into the crevice between. His thumb tips brushed through her covered slit, a grunt leaving the back of his throat at the molten heat emitting from her dampening core. 

"So pretty for me when you're like this..."

"You're not helping," (y/n) groaned, fighting to get the fitted sheet to comply and stay on the left corner whilst she pulled it to the right, only for it to pop off again when she couldn't reach it. No thanks to someone and his wandering hands...which, annoyingly, felt heavenly as his fingers traced the seam between her legs. 

Ray smirked as a succession of breathless whines left her mouth, growing louder and more frequent when his touch partially left her ass to find her clit through the spandex, two fingers rolling against it as his thumb rested over her tight hole, begging to press through and sink into her heat. 

"Doofus, I'm busy... Wasn't this morning enough?" She whimpered, biting her lip as her head rested against the crumpled linen, protesting but silently loving his teasing touches. 

As usual with their daily ritual - and voracious libidos - he'd taken her hard and fast before breakfast, spread her legs, had his fill and filled her up in return. Not three hours ago, her legs were around his hips, his cock in her pussy, his mouth whispering filth and all the things he wanted to do in her ear. 

With a deliciously satisfied ache quickly fading between her legs, she inhaled some cereal, pecked his cheek, and told him to entertain himself whilst she began the morning's chores. Dusting, tidying, emptying the trash cans, putting some bleach down the en-suite, stripping the bed, replacing the dirty sheets and taking them down to the laundry room. 

It was supposed to be straightforward. A morning's worth of tedious but necessary tasks to keep things tidy, but Ray got bored after half an hour. Entertaining himself wasn't as fun as he first thought when his sweet girl left to do the boring, grown-up jobs. 

After twiddling his thumbs for a while, his mind drifted back to when he had taken her earlier, his cock hardening in his jeans when he remembered her soft moans and how his cum dripped out of her. It convinced him to wander in search of her, and funnily enough, he found her at the crime scene, so to speak--ass up and in those damn leggings. The morning was good, but this would make it better. 

"Want you again, darlin'. Seeing you like this... Do you know what you do to me?"

Her eyes squeezed shut in disappointment when his fingers left her clit, returning to hold her ass again, but he didn't leave her waiting. Nudging forward, he pressed his hips to hers, allowing her to feel the hardness bulging against his zipper. They groaned at the contact, chores long forgotten when she bucked into him, encouraging his temptation and her descent into divine hell. 

His hands manipulated her cheeks again, pulling them apart so he could slot his clothed, leaking tip into the crevice. He ached to plunge into her, needed another release, even if it was beyond belief; she left him constantly yearning--craving her, and to his delight, she was just as needy. 

"Fuck, Ray... I'm supposed to be tidying up," (y/n) protested, but it was halfhearted and pointless, given how she ground back into him, wanting her cunt stretched and claimed again. 

"You don't sound so sure, sweet girl. Don't you want me to fu--shit, are you not wearing any panties?" The man asked tauntingly, but his words were trapped in his throat when he realised something. 

When he'd been doing one of his favourite activities, jiggling her butt and marvelling at how cutely perfect it was, his palms loved her leggings' smooth, silky material. It stretched for miles without dips, bumps or pesky panty lines to ruin his experience. 

No panty lines. In leggings like those, hugging her curves like a second skin, Ray should've been able to see the silhouettes of the innocent, white cotton underwear she wore through the elastic material. However, there was nothing, just inch after inch of immaculate flesh under his touch.

"I wanted to get on, and I needed old clothes! And I'm comfy like this, doofus!" She replied in a whiny voice, slick bleeding through the spandex when she heard the animalistic growl rip from his throat. 

Ray thought momentarily before returning his hand and bringing it down on her cheek in a short, sharp spank. Her squeaky moan filled the room, and if it wasn't for her arching spine and subtly spreading thighs, he'd feel guilty. But his filthy girl loved it - her fists clutching the forgotten cotton told him so. 

"Old clothes?" He asked, spanking her other cheek before massaging them for a second. She hummed a response, dozy from the lust in her veins, so she thought nothing of his words until his fingertips dug into her flesh - a little too hard for her lover's typical style. 

"Doofus, what are--" The sound of fabric shredding cut her off, a sharp rip tearing through the air as Ray did the same to her athletic leggings.

He clutched the material from either side of her pussy before using a fraction of his strength to pull the seams apart, exposing her bare, glistening lips beneath. His guess was correct; she'd put them on without any panties, and the hole in the crotch now gave him perfect access to what he desired most. 

He was so damn pleased with himself, grinning from ear to ear at seizing the moment and having her wet and eager for him to fuck her senseless, but (y/n) was wide-eyed and gobsmacked. Her eyes nearly bulged out of her skull when she felt the tremors from the leggings splitting, unable to believe he'd do that without warning and when she was trying to...oh, fuck it. 

She wasn't cleaning; she was halfway to getting fucked, just like she wanted, but he didn't need to know that. 

"Raymond! I can't believe you! I liked these leggings..." She scolded him but appeared unconvincing when she heard the whine of his zipper and the rustling of him pushing down his jeans. Her knees moved on the mattress, spreading her legs so he had better access, widening the tear she hated. 

The leggings were ratty, well-worn and ugly, only appearing when she was working out, and that's where Ray had fallen in love. While busy with his dumbbells and bicep curls, he watched her from across the gym as she practised yoga. It wasn't the hardcore stuff, just a few stretches to warm her up and maintain her fitness, but he'd be a liar if he said he didn't leer when she was in the downward dog. 

Did she walk around without underwear, then? It killed him to imagine that when she stretched and presented her ass in the air, he might've been a millimetre away from his beloved girl's pretty pussy. 

"Mmmm...you seem so upset," the hero teased her in a throaty voice as he dug into his jeans and pulled himself free. He pushed his clothing down his thighs, giving more room for his rigid, leaking member and heavy balls, full and ready to pump her full. 

"Go on then, sweet girl. If you don't want me to fuck you, just say. We can go back to making the bed, and I'll leave you like this--wet and needy and whiny."

"No..." (y/n) murmured pathetically, burying her face into the bed as her cheeks flared, burning hot with embarrassment at how much she wanted him. All that nonsense about this morning being enough--it never was. She wasn't fooling her doofus or herself, and Ray smirked when he watched her push back in his direction, longing for his touch. 

"No, that's what I thought," Ray replied, loving the soft moan she gave when his hand smoothed over the curve of her ass, and that wasn't the only thing he had to make her sing. 

"Should do it more often... Love the thought of having this perfect little pussy ready and available for me at all times," he growled, shifting closer again as he placed a knee on the bed to steady himself. 

Holding her hips still, he ran the bulbous head of his cock through her soaked folds, throwing his head back and hissing at the delicious feeling of walking along the edge of true pleasure - deep inside her. He couldn't look away, entranced by the erotic sight of her collapsed on the bed with her ass in the air, tight leggings masking her curves, save for the torn crotch showing her precious cunt. 

(y/n) wailed at the contact, jerking in his hold as he rubbed against her clit, sending shockwaves through her body, but it wasn't enough. She needed to feel his thickness stretching her--wanted him to mould her to his shape and ruin her for any other cock as he'd done so many times before.  

"Want my cock, darlin'?"

"Yes! Fuck--please, yes, Ray. Want it so bad, please..."

"I know, little girl. You need a fat cock in your cunt to think straight, right? Just like I need to fuck you just to fucking live..." Ray grunted, gathering her wetness on his length and stroking himself to spread the lubrication. He was right; he'd go mad if he didn't get to have this, and life wouldn't be worth living without his pretty girl. 

The self-pleasure was addictive, and if he were a weaker man, he'd cave into painting her exposed slit with his cum, but he resisted. No, the real prize came when his head returned to her wetness, rubbing through her folds one--two--three times before he pressed into her, breaching her tightness for the third time that day. 

Twice that morning and now as he inched into her warm, tight pussy, groaning in unison as they connected in body and soul. She loved how he stretched her, and he loved how tight she always was, no matter how many times he fucked her. Part of him swore her slickness came from the cum he filled her with earlier, but he quickly succumbed to the pleasure and lost all intelligent thought. 

"Fucking hell, you feel so perfect--squeezing me so tight, sweet girl..."

"Ray---feel so full. Will you fuck me now, Captain?" She innocently asked, staying still because he hadn't told her to move. Above all else, she was his good girl, so she waited for his next move and order, fluttering her walls around him as he beat back cumming early. 

Ray Manchester wasn't some two-pump chump, although his precious girl and her perfection nearly turned him into one. 

"Of course, darlin'. Since you asked so nicely..." he grinned, keeping his cool, despite his loins burning when he heard her whimpering beneath him and calling his name so prettily. 

His wish was her command, so the second his pelvis met hers and stilled for a second, he pulled back, dragging a moan from her lips at the friction. (y/n) hated the emptiness he left, but when only his tip was left in her cunt, he pushed back in, fucking her slowly but deliciously as he tore up delight inside her. 

"Oh, doofus...feels so good. Love you..." she murmured, rocking back into him as he began a well-learned rhythm, skin slapping against skin. Ray grasped her waist as he needed it to ground him, ploughing into her warm cunt like his instincts told him to. 

He had to fuck her harder, give her everything she needed and fill her up, but behind the animal hardwiring, he felt the love between them. 

"Love you too, pretty girl. My perfect little girl--love you so fucking much," he panted as he pounded into her, building to a blinding speed whilst his hands roamed her back. 

Pushing her sweater up to her ribs, his gaze took in her bare skin, growling lowly went he saw no bra around her body. Dancing fingertips moved up her spine, the tickling sensation adding to her pleasure and making it all too apparent that her nipples were rubbing against her woollen sweater and the mattress. 

The warmth it brought in the day had been traded for sweat clinging to her forehead and an unescapable, blistering, suffocating her as their bodies rubbed together like tinder sticks. 

Ray grabbed her by the waist as if he read her mind and hauled her to his chest. The knee still braced on the bed kept them steady, and his strong arms stopped her from falling, meaning she was free to pull the offending article over her head and sling it to the floor. 

"Good girl--show me those perfect tits," Ray grunted, grabbing one of her breasts and tweaking a nipple, fucking her faster when it hardened under the rough touch. Her head fell back against his shoulder, her body his to use, fuck and pleasure as he switched nipples whilst his other hand drifted down her stomach to her clit. 

Drawing tight circles on the slick nub, he bathed in her bliss, hips pistoning into her as he bit into the side of her neck. The man pulled back, satisfied when he saw the teeth marks left behind, even though they were gone after he blinked. So, he buried his face into her neck, laving at the skin and doubled his efforts, seeking her release before his own. 

"Like that, sweet girl? Like being fucked like this?"

"Yes! Love it, doofus---gonna make me cum," (y/n) whimpered, clutching the arm crossing her body since she needed something to hold as he throbbed against her walls, rubbing against them and hitting all the right spots. 

She convulsed around him, squeezing his cock as she felt it coming, brought forth by the perfect man behind, and thanks to their lovemaking earlier, she knew this one would be big. 

"Good. Need to feel you, my love. Cum on my cock, and I'll fill you up. You want that, don't you?" Ray asked into her ear in a gravelly voice, pulling her earlobe into his mouth as she keened and wriggled in his arms. 

She almost hated the sensation creeping up her spine, thinking it to be too much for her to handle; two orgasms that morning had left her sensitive and reactive, but she couldn't bear the thought of him stopping. The urge came suddenly, capturing her and making her squeal as Ray's hand blurred on her clit in an endless cacophony of filthy, wet sounds. 

"Yes--yes--shit--yes!" She cried, squeezing her eyes shut as the wave came over, drowning her in intense, world-shifting pleasure. 

Her walls clamped around Ray, making him roar and push her to the bed. His large frame loomed over hers, smothering her shivering, nearly fully nude body with his clothed one--a difference that made her burn brighter. She gushed around him, slick dripping down her thighs, the front of his jeans and onto the ruined sheets beneath them as Ray spiralled with her. 

"Oh, my sweet girl... So good to--to me. So--so--d-damn pretty...like this--fuckkkkkk..." he groaned as he spilt into her, screwing his eyes shut and pressing her into the mattress. Usually, he tried to keep his vast bulk off her smaller frame, but the feeling of her creaming his cock, soaking him thoroughly, was too much. 

His core strength failed him, and he pinned her down, grunting and promising her that he'd never leave her, never leave this and everything they had together. He loved her, wanted to marry her, and couldn't think of anything better than spending the rest of his days buried in her cunt. 

Post-orgasm, Ray was sentimental Ray. It always fucked with his head.

"Thank you, doofus," (y/n) said quietly as they panted, slumped on the bed with jelly-like bodies and racing hearts, but they were content in the golden haze. The hero snuggled into her body, leaning onto his side, so he didn't squish her, and it allowed him to sigh against her glowing skin happily.

"No, thank you, darlin'. You're so good to me," he replied tiredly, cupping her cheek and brushing the hair from her damp forehead. She hummed in response, too exhausted to argue after being wrung out and drained of every ounce of energy she had. 

No, she was happy with lying there with her fiancé, smiling softly at how they ended up on the half-made bed, fucked-out and sweating after making love at ten in the morning. All that about her trying to be stern and confident was something she'd have to work on, but perhaps not. 

She loved the outcome of her being stubborn, even if it meant she'd have to redress, throw her leggings in the trash and...wait a minute. 

"Raymond..."

"Yeah, sweet girl?" He asked obliviously, too distracted with spooning his lover to keep her warm as they recovered to take notice as she did. Whilst (y/n) was fighting for clarity, he wanted to stay like that forever, connected to the girl of his dreams in the most intimate way, safe, warm, and alone with nothing to go wrong...

"I'm going to have to change the sheets again." At least she was still pretty. So very pretty, Ray thought. And all she did was make the bed. 

*AND WE ARE SAFE. This idea was so funny to me just because I can totally see Ray pestering our sweet girl when she's busy cleaning because he finds domesticity HOT (and her). And don't worry; he helped her with the sheets in the end ;) ONWARDS!

~

"What is Ray doing now?" Schwoz asked as he followed (y/n) down the corridor, a spring in his step after finishing one of his final daily repairs. 

Work was over, and now, it was time for Schwozie to play, but after finding something worth his endless inquisitiveness, he'd gone off and bumped into the busy woman. He found it a little strange, given how it was now half-past eleven, and she still wasn't done with her Saturday morning chores, something she usually completed before the hour struck. 

(y/n) popped out of the laundry room looking slightly frazzled, a basket of freshly laundered sheets - bedding, if he wasn't mistaken - wedged under her arm as she closed the door behind her. She smiled when she saw the genius waddling the way she was going, asking if he was heading for the main room and if he wanted some company there. 

Schwoz didn't mind, not for the girl he saw as pure sunshine, smiley and warming, as she asked what he'd been doing and if he'd had a good day so far. She was so much more pleasant than her lover, but that's when he paused. 

Ray couldn't move without his sweet girl, meaning he was typically glued to her hip and walking around with his tongue on the ground. To see her on her own was a rarity.

Come to think of it, he hadn't seen Ray since breakfast... Strange. 

"Oh, uh...he needed a shower, I think. Something about a...workout, he said," (y/n) stammered, struggling to think of an acceptable answer without saying too much. Technically, her doofus was in the shower, having ruined his first outfit somehow, but explaining that would reveal too much. 

"Oh...I see," the small man replied, getting a funny feeling from how she stared at the floor as they neared the secret door. He didn't press it, having sensed many funny feelings in his time knowing the couple, and like always, he didn't want to know. 

"Then, why have you changed clothes too?" But curiosity got the better of him. He was a scientist, after all; he lived to ask questions. 

"Erm..." (y/n) bit her lip, a sign she was lying with her warm cheeks and lowered gaze. The change was noticeable; going from a comfy-casual sweater with leggings to blue jeans and one of Ray's favourite scoop-neck blouses wasn't wise for someone still doing her chores. 

"Well..." she thought for a minute, only for a lightbulb to go off in her head, "I was cleaning the bathroom and, um...I spilt bleach on them...so, y'know, I had to change."

"Right..." Schwoz nodded, seemingly understanding what she was saying as she adjusted her grip on the basket to press the button. He studied the sheepish woman and the load in her basket--what he swore he'd seen in the washing machine earlier. 

Ray taking showers, her changing so suddenly, and endless errands throughout the day; he smelt a rat. 

"You're a terrible liar, you know that?"

"Shut up, Schwoz..." (y/n) choked at his bold words, her eyes widening at his smirk. The man chuckled as they opened the secret door, bantering and fooling around about what may or may not have occurred between her and Ray until they saw what was happening in the main room. 

In front of the couch, Henry, Charlotte, Piper and Jasper huddled around a crate, clearly trying to get into it. Property of Ray Manchester was printed on the wooden box and stamped on every face to make it evident that Ray had ordered something, but the kids couldn't help themselves. 

They had to know what was in the crate and had resorted to using a hammer, a crowbar and now a Jillhammer - a drill hammer "for her" - to bust it open. However, whatever they used to hold the shitty thing together was nearly indestructible, and nothing they tried worked. The suspense was killing them. 

"What are you guys doing?" (y/n) asked as she entered, frowning at the teens and their antics until her eyes found the wooden box. Oh, she knew what that was--her doofus mentioned something about a delivery today. Something amazingly amazing, he said, but that was it. Ray didn't want to spoil the surprise. 

"What?"

"Huh?"

"What are you doing?" They innocently replied, dropping the Jillhammer and pretending they weren't trying to pry into their boss's business. She didn't look made, but they thought for sure Mom was about to give them a telling-off for being naughty, but then, she laughed. Huh?

"You guys," she told them with a playful grin as she dumped the laundry basket on the table, finding it hilarious that her babies were so fascinated with her fiancé's delivery. If that was what it took to bring them all together, she might place unknown containers in the Man Cave more often. "You can't open Ray's crate with a Jillhammer."

"Sick turn comin'..."

"I know!" Charlotte smiled at Henry, both feeling something was about to happen, and it wasn't what the conversation's tone suggested. 

"You have to use an ionising mega-magnet!" Schwoz declared, whipping a large, red, glowing magnet from his back pocket. They were such amateurs; after he'd stumbled on the crate, he'd gone to retrieve his mega-magnet, and that's when he met (y/n) halfway. 

"This magnet is so powerful, it will suck the nails...right out of the crate!" He described before making a long slurping noise to emphasise the magnet's strength and how it made much more sense than a hammer or crowbar, much to Henry's delight. 

"That way, we can see what's inside it; shut it again, and Ray will never know we opened it!"

"Love it!"

"Great plan!"

"Ray is so stupid..." The teens giggled, Piper snickering to the genius about how the man couldn't tell the difference since he didn't notice things like that. 

In fact, she'd bet fifty bucks with anyone that he'd waltz in like he always did, take one look at (y/n), and everything else in the world would become obsolete. He'd kiss and cuddle her, nuzzle into her hair and see nothing out of the ordinary because he'd have her in his arms. It was cute, but, god, he was so whipped. 

"Hey, he's not stupid! He's...cutely dumb. Adorable...like a doofus," (y/n) piped up, nudging the girl with her elbow after hearing the lighthearted jibe against her lover, but it proved Piper's point. The woman's ears burned when she laughed and pointed to her engagement ring, saying she couldn't comment. 

"Says his fiancée!"

"Yeah! Fiancée! I should scold you all for trying to break into my future husband's private crate! Don't you think that magnet's a little OTT?" She shrugged, gesturing to the device in Schwoz's hand because they usually used it for immense, heavy-duty repairs. 

"But you're not going to, (y/n/n). 'Cause you want to know what's in your doofus's crate just as much as we do!" Jasper teased, making the woman open her mouth to protest, even though that was precisely how she felt. Yes, she wanted to know what Ray had been buying, but she was responsible and polite--the leader in this situation. 

"I don't know, you guys. I kinda agree with (y/n)..." Charlotte said, making her friend grin and look at the others smugly. They needed pure, simple, rational thought, and they were the ladies for the job, but no one else took it well.

"Ughhhhhh!" Henry, Jasper, Piper and Schwoz groaned, throwing their heads back and shouting at the sky because they were so dull with their responsibility and levelheadedness. Charlotte and (y/n) kept everyone safe, but that came at a cost - they could be such sticks in the mud sometimes. 

"What about the plate in Jasper's head?" The girl questioned in her defence, earning funny looks, including from her sensible partner, because whaaaaaaat?

"I'm sorry, what?" Henry asked, looking at his friend as Jasper froze. Out of everyone, you'd expect him to elaborate immediately and say, yes, he did have a plate in his head for X, Y, and Z reasons, but he just stood there, as shocked as his family. 

"Jasper has a metal plate in his head. Remember?" Charlotte told them, walking over to the boy and rapping her knuckles against his skull. To everyone's surprise, the plate dinged a shrill noise when tapped, but even so, no one recalled hearing about the medical mystery before. 

"I do not remember that..." Everyone shrugged, Jasper included, much to Charlotte's exasperation. 

"Jasper, you know this! You were trying to teach that donkey how to kick field goals--"

"I've taught a lot of animals to kick a lot of things," he interrupted her, although that sounded a lot like something the kid would do. No doubt, Jasper was a bit weird, and (y/n) could see an enraged donkey bucking at him and crushing his skull, but he didn't want to listen to a safety lecture. 

"Let's open this crate!"

"Opening!" Schwoz grinned, skipping over to the crate as everyone else stepped back. (y/n) and Charlotte shared a tired eye roll, knowing they'd come crying to them when things went wrong, but they stood back and watched--just to satisfy their curiosity. 

Schwoz ignited the magnet, beaming electromagnetic waves towards the crate, and the effect was instantaneous; the screws began to loosen, wiggling free of the cheap plywood to meet the magnet, but unfortunately, Jasper's head plate was also highly magnetic. 

Always listen to (y/n) and Charlotte. 

"Ah, my head plate!"

"I told you!" The girl sighed when her friend was pulled across the floor, his head attracted to the magnet, and it felt like his skull was about to burst open as he fought against the pull. 

Henry grappled his chest, trying to pull his best friend out of the flying nails' path before he was impaled, and it took all of his sidekick strength to get him free. He pushed him toward the elevator as Schwoz retrieved the last nails with the girls observing, but then, the sprocket opened. 

The boss was back from his shower...

"What are you guys doing?" Ray asked as he stepped through the sprocket, seeing his family - every single member - gathered around his crate. He'd been waiting for the delivery, bored out of his skull when he wandered off to find his sweet girl, and everything after that was strictly entre nous. 

He goggled at them suspiciously, watching Schwoz swipe the nails from the magnet and throw it at Jasper's head so he wasn't caught with the evidence. The device hit the boy on the temple, knocking him out cold as everyone greeted the boss warmly--a little too warmly to be considered normal. 

"Ray!"

"Hiiiiii!"

"Welcome to the Man Cave!"

"Hey, doofus..." (y/n) smiled at her lover, meeting him in the middle as he hiked over the couch to get to her. He stared at the group, looking from the girls to Schwoz to his nervous sidekick, who helped a thankfully alive Jasper to his feet while the woman jumped into his arms. 

"Hey, sweet girl. Y'okay?" Ray's stern gaze broke momentarily as he took his beloved girl into his arms and kissed her, smiling gently at being with her again after forty minutes apart. Her arms snaked around his neck, leaning in for another kiss once she nodded and said she was all the better for seeing him, and he was more than happy to indulge, anything when she wore that pretty top and those ass-hugging jeans. 

What did Piper say about him forgetting the world when she was in his embrace? Someone give her fifty bucks. 

"What, uh...where'd did you come from?" Henry asked nervously, gulping as Ray eyed him from over (y/n)'s shoulder, clearly unimpressed that he interrupted their reunion. Still, he seemed satisfied when the woman sighed and snuggled into him, loving the scent of his freshly washed hair and clean skin. He didn't look bad, either--unbelievably handsome in his new jeans and t-shirt. 

"I was looking for my sweet girl when--" Ray replied flatly, squeezing (y/n) in his arms, making her hum contently, but then, the crate's lack of nails became apparent. 

Without the small metal bolts to hold it together, the wooden panels fell apart to reveal something...magical. Looking over her shoulder at the noise, (y/n) saw what Ray had ordered, and she couldn't believe her eyes, visiting his shirt in shock. In the middle of the broken box, a golden boot sat on a plinth, complete with mini, built-in spotlights that refracted light through the ornate detail on the shoe, including several colourful jewels glued to the toecap. 

Everyone knew that boot. It was impossible not to know because the entire world had seen the movie it had starred in. Ray and (y/n) watched it at the cinema, and it was so good that they hadn't done...stuff. That's how legendary it was; it made the world's most handsy couple pack it in. 

"Is that...a Theranos Boot?" Jasper gasped, staring at the golden shoe with wide eyes because it was so beautiful. The detail was phenomenal, so accurate and glowing before him, just like it had done in the film. 

"Like the one Theranos wears in Eternity War?" Henry added, recalling how the big baddie wiped out half the universe with one stamp of his foot, defeating a group of weary heroes, even after they gave their all in battle.  

"It's not like the Theranos Boot from Eternity War..." Ray started huskily, releasing his precious girl after pecking her cheek again. He walked towards his prize, secretly so proud that he'd been able to buy it, despite knowing (y/n) would have a heart attack if she found out how much he paid for it. 

"Sick turn coming..."

"I can't even right now," Charlotte panted as Henry whispered some incoherent nonsense in her ear. She couldn't process anything, too distracted by the majesty in front of her, as Ray raised his purchase above his head. 

"It is the Theranos Boot from Eternity War!" He declared dramatically, sending shockwaves through his family as they gasped and shouted in shock and delight. It didn't seem possible, but Ray was so smug; it had to be true. The boot looked too good to be some dodgy fake knock-off from some weirdo's shed. 

"Doofus, how did you even get this?! This boot should be in the Museum of Awesome Things From Awesome Movies!" (y/n) gasped, holding his bicep as she returned to his side, stroking a finger down the soft, bronze leather to check she wasn't hallucinating. 

She was the only one Ray would let touch it, knowing she was gentle and careful, whilst the others had dirty fingers, not to mention the fact that what was his was hers. He shared everything with her, and seeing her bright, beautiful eyes looking at him with so much wonder made it worth it.  

"Oh, it was headed to MATFAM, darlin', so the whole world could enjoy it, but then, I bought it. So, now, only we can enjoy it," he smiled at her, their noses touching, but he still kept an eye on Henry, who was getting a little too close to his newly beloved Theranos Boot. 

"Kind of a jerk move, but...I wanna put it on!" The kid exclaimed, reaching to take the boot so he could pretend to be an all-powerful alien intent on cosmic destruction, and his friends clamoured for the same thing, only for Ray to crush their hopes. 

"Ah, ah, ah!" He snapped, hugging the iconic prop to his chest and moving away from his young sidekick to preserve the awesomeness. "Only four people can touch this boot. (y/n), of course..."

"Ugh, just because you're in love with her..." Schwoz grumbled, rolling his eyes as the man waved the shoe under his nose- so close yet so far. 

"And me, myself and Aisha Thompson, who played Theranos in the movie," Ray finished, ignoring his handyman's snide comment because he was exactly right. (y/n) could touch his beloved boot because she was his beloved fiancée, and that just left him and the actress. 

"That's not fair!"

"I am explosively mad!" The kids complained, glaring at the hero as he placed the boot on a trolley at the back of the room. It would be safe there, high up and visible, so no one would damage it. All he needed now was something to stop them from touching it. 

"Sorry. This boot is too valuable. I know you all been messin' with my crate!" He snapped, looking at everyone bar his sweet girl because he didn't mind her doing anything if she ever did. 

(y/n) wasn't one to snoop through his stuff, but judging by the guilty mutterings echoing around the room, his found family were. 

"That right! Look at the ground and mutter! And just know that no one, apart from (y/n), is allowed to touch my Theranos Boot. Ever. Got it?" The hero told them firmly, flicking Jasper on his metal plate to ensure his warning got through the kid's dense head--even thicker than people first thought. 

"Now, I've got to go pick up a nuclear-proof display case. I trust you all..." Ray smiled, beckoning his sweet girl over to his side because he couldn't leave the Cave without saying goodbye to her correctly. He'd ask her to come with him, but it wasn't an exciting drive, and he needed someone to guard his Theranos Boot. And he trusted her most of all. 

"...To understand that..." He went on after they cooed at the heartfelt sentiment, thinking the guy was finally letting go of his trust issues when-- 

"If any of you so much as touch that boot, I will end you," Ray told them seriously, using his grown-up voice, usually reserved for the gravest of situations. He pressed the elevator button and waited for it to come down, taking (y/n) into his arms as it dinged. 

"I'll see you later, sweetheart," he muttered, kissing her lips softly as she hugged him tightly, not wanting him to go since parting was such sweet sorrow. 

"Drive safe, handsome. And hurry back," (y/n) smiled, knowing his absence would make her heart grow fonder as she brought him in for a longer kiss, sighing when he deepened it and growled in the back of his throat. 

"I won't be long," he promised and pecked the tip of her nose. He hated pushing her away, but if he didn't let her go now, he'd never get going, so (y/n) stepped back and watched him enter the elevator, blowing a kiss for him to catch once he'd turned around. 

"End you," Ray hissed at the others, no longer acting like a heartbroken soldier leaving his wife to go to war. He wasn't tender or loving for them, no matter how much he secretly adored the children and...Schwoz, so they nodded solemnly as he disappeared upstairs. 

However, not even a minute after his departure, Henry turned to his family, who all had the same mischievous sparkle in their eyes as he ignored the boss's instructions. 

"We're touching that boot, right?"

"I don't know, you guys," (y/n) said tentatively, stamping down her heartache at Ray's exit and focusing on the group's desire to touch the forbidden boot. She also wanted to play with it, but her doofus was firm with his instructions. 

"Ray used the words "end you". He only does that when he's really serious about something, and I'm not supposed to let you--"

"Too late! I'm already touching it," Piper proclaimed in a brash voice, making everyone turn around to see her standing on the couch with her boot-wearing foot perched on the table. Her sneakiness was commendable, but (y/n) still whined at the girl, feeling a sinking feeling in her tummy when she thought about letting her doofus down. 

"Well, I tried..." she sighed, earning a sympathetic pat on the back from Charlotte, who understood her pain. The intelligent thing would be to sweeten Ray up when he returned and persuade him to let them wear it. But, of course, no one ever listened to The Smarties, no matter how psychic (y/n)'s tummy was. 

"I am Theranos! And this is how you change the world!" Piper exclaimed in a deep, foreboding voice as she reenacted the climax of Eternity War when the villain achieved his insane, cruel goal. 

"Theranos! You mad woman!" Jasper clapped back in a throaty, panicking tone as he played one of the heroes. 

"Prepare for your disruption!"

"No, Theranos. Don't disrupt us!" Henry begged his sister, having memorised the scene for just this opportunity. Ray shouldn't have left it behind if he didn't want them to do this because his sweet girl was enjoying herself as much as they were, despite her principles. 

"It all changes...now!" She growled, lifting her leg and stomping the boot on the table. She didn't have the fancy special effects or editing, but they played along perfectly, acting like some powerful wave knocked them to the floor as they tried to run forward, dramatically groaning and grunting as if her magic sapped their energy. 

"Henry...I don't feel so good," Jasper whimpered as he collapsed on his best friend. For some reason, he assumed he was playing the role of the lovable, innocent, fresh-faced nerd whose destiny was to be wiped out so his mentor could become all angsty and moody, but his gentle, needy tone made Henry's skin crawl, making him lean back. 

"Okaaaaay," (y/n) laughed nervously, watching their interaction with raised eyebrows, but she said nothing. That was just Jasper being Jasper, and the scene was over now, so she hoped it was out of their systems. No more Theranos Boot games, right?

"You've had your fun, we've played with the boot, and we know it's awesome, so let's just put it back where we found it before Ray kills--"

"My turn!" 

"No, me!"

"I was next!" A chorus of voices interrupted her, making her sigh and swear under her breath as a stampede rushed Piper, clawing for the boot. She should've known one taste wouldn't be enough, and now they were all fighting over it, far from satisfied with the fun they'd already had. 

When Jasper hit play on the stereo, all hope of staying on Ray's good side went out of the window, and she prepared herself for premature grey hairs when Boot Scootin' Boogie began playing from the speakers. 

Reenacting the movie was only the beginning, but enough to make her tummy turn. 

~

She could go mad. 

(y/n) spent the early afternoon in constant worry, feeling it gnaw away at her bones as she watched her family. They didn't pass the Theranos Boot around the group for everyone to cop a feel; they didn't just put it on and back where Ray left it, nor did they handle it gently. 

No, she had to watch as they played games with the boot, starting with Jasper dancing to the stereo's music, playing the country tune to unleash his inner cowboy. Every prance and step made her wince, but the shoe was well-made and sturdy, holding together as he stepped to the banjo, pretending to tip his hat and lasso Henry to join him. 

That didn't go down well with his best friend, but it didn't spoil the festivities. 

Next, it was Henry's turn, who snapped up the iconic prop from his overly friendly chum and went to do some rigorous testing. (y/n) gulped as he entered a tube, going up simply to do one thing. 

"Aw, my Theranos Boot!" He whined, remembering how that always happened when he was younger and inexperienced with high-suction technology. His friends appreciated the reference, but (y/n) was thankful that the boot was unharmed, not a scratch on the leather or a dink in one of the jewels. 

After him, Charlotte threw her responsibility to the wind, promising (y/n) she'd be careful as she took off her sneaker and pulled the ornate shoe on instead. 

Her trick would be hilarious, given they had an American football, Henry and Jasper acting as the goal, and Schwoz playing the referee. Piper held the ball still for her, and just as the dark-haired girl smiled reassuringly at her older friend, the genius blew his whistle, signalling she needed to kick it. Or so she thought. 

"Wait!" Schwoz gasped, and everyone fell silent, dread filling their hearts when the silence gave way to the sound of the elevator hitting the ground floor. Hearing the familiar ding, they froze, except for Charlotte, who quickly shoved her Theranos Boot-wearing foot behind a cabinet when Ray--yes, Ray--marched out of the metal box. 

"Doofus?" (y/n) frowned, wondering what he was doing back so soon when the shop he was getting his nuclear-proof case from was over an hour away - there and back. It wasn't like she wasn't happy to see him, but her tummy was alive with nerves, and he only had to look to see his beloved bootie had been moved. 

"Forgot my wallet!" Ray, however, sighed, showing no indication or care that they were suspiciously still and quiet. Instead, he stomped to the cabinet next to Charlotte and (y/n), opening one of the drawers and rooting through it to retrieve the forgotten item. 

He quickly found it, stuffed full of his credit cards and the dollar bills he'd need to pay for his purchase, and shoved it in his pocket. Turning to (y/n), he pulled her in for a quick kiss, unable to resist sharing another and caressing her cheek before leaving quickly. 

Some might say that was the real reason he came back - to satisfy his addiction to honey - but that was just speculation from some very smug children. 

"Got all the way there and had to turn right back around... Stupid!" The man scolded himself as he returned to the elevator, shaking his head at his forgetfulness. Still, he saw his sweet girl again and left with his head swimming and oblivious to the mutiny around him, thanks to the sweetness lingering on his lips. 

With the cat away, the mice could resume play; the second the door closed, Schwoz blew his whistle. Lining up for attempt two, Charlotte aimed for the football but didn't kick it. Rather, she used the Theranos Boot as a projectile, flinging it off her foot so it hit Jasper in the face. 

"It's good!" Schwoz announced, even though the boy was slightly dazed with a numb face. He'd be fine, recovering quickly as the others cheered, and even (y/n) was feeling better after her brief interaction with her lover. 

The football kit was quickly packed away after that, and this was when things got serious. Before she could blink, (y/n) wa suddenly helping her friends build a mini stage because, apparently, they were having a fashion show. Of course, there was a new line, and Henry, Charlotte, Piper, Schwoz, and herself were eager to see what Eternity war had to offer. 

They muttered to each other like professional fashionistas as Jasper walked down the runway, again wearing the Theranos Boot for the critics to judge. 

"Theranos Boots are so hot right now," (y/n) joked, leaning down to whisper in Piper's ear as they admired the bronze, bejewelled shoe. The heroine supposed there was no harm in looking at it, thinking the boot was strong enough to survive a little catwalk. 

"You are absolutely right, (y/n/n)," the girl nodded, appreciating the view in front of her as Jasper made a pouty duck face before turning on his heel to strut backstage. However, that's when things went wrong. 

Just as he was about to disappear, the boy felt something smush against the bottom of the boot--something warm, wet and mushy, so he leaned against the set to look at the sole. There it was; a green, sticky blob stuck to the leather, and everyone's worse nightmare when it came to fancy footwear. Chewing gum. 

"Aw, I stepped in some gum!"

"Who put gum on the runway?" Charlotte asked indignantly, but (y/n) didn't want to point fingers. That wouldn't solve anything, yet she was starting to picture Ray's angry face when she told him his Theranos Boot was all sticky and gross, how he'd never forgive her, how she'd have to move out, and how she'd never be able to love again, and how her life would be utterly worthless--

"Who cares?! It's on Ray's boot!" Henry exclaimed, thinking the same thing. More or less. 

"Well, get it off before he comes back and hates me! We weren't supposed to touch it, guys!" The woman cried, terrified her doofus would resent her over this, although the teens highly doubted he had the capacity. 

"How?!" Jasper asked, knowing the notoriety of chewing gum and its difficulty to remove. And, even with his lack of intelligence, he didn't think the peanut butter myth would work. 

"Relax, I can use this freeze-ray to encase the gum in ultra-ice. Then, we hit it with a hammer, and the gum will shatter into a million pieces!" Schwoz told them simply, retrieving a large, blue blaster with a strange canister attached to the rear. It looked like overkill...because it was. 

"Whoa... There's not an easier way to get gum off the bottom of a shoe?" Charlotte questioned, thinking his plan was obscured and likely to get wrong. They didn't want to damage the rest of the boot, just peel the gum off, so it was lucky that Henry was on-hand to be reasonable. 

"Yeah, I'll just get a tissue," the blond boy said, grabbing a red tissue box from the back of the room. Unfortunately, though, it was empty, and because thinking again was so much effort, his usefulness lasted only a short time. 

"Well, it's empty--let's freeze it!"

"Freezy-peasy!" Schwoz nodded, priming the freeze-ray, which seemed odd because you had to heat the freezing gas to use it. His inventions were so strange. 

"Just make sure you only freeze the gum," (y/n) reminded him, breathing down the man's neck as he finished his preparations. He looked up at her and rolled his eyes, knowing she was only antsy because this involved her beloved doofus, despite him having everything under control. 

"I know how to use a freeze-ray!" He told her sharply, drawing an irritated huff from the woman when he muttered a few curses in his native language under his breath. 

Focusing on his task, Jasper presented his foot for Schwoz to blast, and the small man aimed. Squeezing the trigger, a beam of icy, swirling mist shot from the gun, hitting the gum like a target. However, the ensuing ice encapsulating it didn't stop with the green smush; it spread across the entire boot, turning it blue, crispy and frosty as the boy shrieked at the Baltic temperature. 

"Oops."

"Schwoz! You--you--you moron!" (y/n) stammered before she clamped a hand over her mouth to stop herself from being sick. Oh god, her poor doofus' Theranos Boot...it was a bootsicle!"

"This boot is freezing!" Jasper hissed, feeling his blood, nerves, and flesh instantly grow numb at the ice cube encasing his foot. It would fall off if he didn't get it off quickly, but that wasn't the main concern for everyone else.

"Get the gum off, Schwoz!" Charlotte exclaimed, worried about her paycheck since Ray would freak out if he saw this. They'd deal with Jasper afterwards, but he couldn't wait long. 

"Who cares about the gum? Get this freezing boot off my foot!" He snapped and immediately began flicking and kicking his leg out to try and get it off. It was so cold, it hurt, stinging his flesh as the frostnip set in, but jerking about like that was a bad idea.

"Jasper, no!" Henry cried, thinking the same thing as everyone else as his friend brought his foot down. It was frozen solid - likely to shatter like glass if it was smashed, but Jasper didn't know. The second his foot hit the tiles, the boot broke into a million little ice cubes, freeing him from the icy prison but leaving Ray's prize no more than a pile of cold rubble. 

"Oh, shit... We're in trouble," (y/n) breathed out, which was the understatement of the century as everyone covered their mouths or put their hands on their hands. Ray loved his Theranos Boot half as much as he loved her, which was a lot, and they were the ones who broke it. They were all going to die...

"Hey, look!" But at least Jasper saw an upside, grinning as he spotted something amongst the cubed leather, "my gum's still in one piece!" 

He smiled and threw the chilly blob into his mouth, much to everyone's disgust since it had been on the floor. He chewed it for a few seconds, expecting the sweet, artificial apple flavour to hit his tastebuds at any second, but when it stayed flavourless and mushy, he knew he'd made a terrible mistake. 

"Nah, that's not my gum..." he muttered, grimacing at the ickiness of chewing someone else's saliva-filled goop, but the following screams weren't because of him. 

The group knew they were screwed. Ray didn't notice many things, but he'd see this. How could he not? His boot, probably worth thousands, was in bits on the floor, and it was all their fault. Something told them that using (y/n) and her feminine qualities wouldn't work this time, given how teary she looked, which left them with a question. 

What were they gonna do?

Henry fell to his knees as (y/n) bit back a sob, and the others gathered around. He made a sad sight, scrabbling in the icy shards to see if anything was salvageable, but even in his despair, he knew it was hopeless. Nothing could save the boot now, not (y/n) with her engineering brilliance or Schwoz's technological know-how. 

"We can fix this, right? Somebody help me shape this back into a boot!" He cried, scooping up a few chunks to mould them together, but it was useless. They were frozen, pathetic chips; the leather wouldn't magically reform, nor would the crushed jewels regain shape. 

"Show, you got a boot-shaping machine, right?! Come on! Science, science, science, something about appliance?!"

"I told you we should have never touched Ray's boot!" Piper spoke as her brother tearfully stood up, taking Schwoz's pitiful, sympathetic stare as a sign they couldn't fix the boot. Not like this, so Piper's words were nothing if inflammatory. 

"You were the first one to put it on!" Jasper argued, remembering how eager the girl was to play with it. Now, however, she was ready to throw them to the wolves--also known as Ray. 

"And I'm also the first one to leave. Peace, snitches!" Piper exclaimed before dashing for the tubes for a quick getaway. Hopefully, she could dodge Captain Man and his moodiness, but unfortunately, her friends caught her and dragged her back, thinking that if they went down, they would take her with them. 

"No, Piper--no! No one is leaving until we fix this!" (y/n) said firmly, sounding angrier than usual as she dragged the child back into the room by her elbow. No one was jumping ship, not on her watch because she wasn't sure if she'd sleep tonight if she had to face her doofus alone and tell him the bad news. 

"How are we gonna do that? Schwoz's freeze-ray turned Ray's boot into snowman poop!" Piper said, eyeing the ruined, unfixable Theranos Boot in a pile on the floor. 

"Why don't we just get another one before Ray gets back?! They sell them everywhere," Jasper said, recalling how he'd seen hundreds, if not thousands, of Theranos Boots lining the shelves of every toy shop he'd been in--and he'd been in a lot. Sure, they looked a bit plasticky and shit, but it was still a boot, right?

"Those boots are just toys!"

"Ray had the actual Theranos Boot from the actual movie! There's only one in the world, and we ruined it!" Charlotte and Henry told him, wiping clammy hands down sticky faces as they sweated at the inevitability of Ray coming home, expecting to find his sweet, innocent future wife and his found family waiting for him, only to find out the truth. Not so innocent, after all. 

"Yeah, dog, when Ray gets back, he's gonna end us."

"I don't wanna be ended!"

"Well, me neither!" The teens panicked, knowing Ray was serious when he said there'd be a strict punishment for touching his boot. However, if they thought they were scared, it was nothing compared to how (y/n) was worrying, knitting her shakey fingers together as her infamous nerves surged. 

"It's all right for you lot! He's just gonna end you! He's gonna come back, take one look at that and hate me forever! And...and he's my doofus, and I don't want him to hate me...ever. What do I do if he doesn't want to marry me?" She panicked, hugging herself to stop her body from quivering as she delved deeper into her nightmares--until a warm hand squeezed her shoulder and brought her back. 

"(y/n/n), you're like a million Theranos Boots to Ray. He'll never hate you 'cause he loves you--that guy would do anything to get you to marry him," Henry told her gently, smiling in the face of the heroine's queasy, drawn complexion and watery eyes. 

He hated how sad she looked because of their mess, knowing she'd told them to stay away from the boot, but he wouldn't let anything happen to their relationship. He was the captain of that ship. 

"And no one's going to end, okay? Because Schwoz is gonna think of something that fixes everything, right, Schwoz?" The boy said, glancing over his shoulder as he squeezed his friend in a side hug, prompting the other kids to rally around (y/n) and cheer her up. 

"Okay, listen..." Schwoz started, which was what no one wanted to hear, "I think we all need to just tell Ray the truth, take responsibility, and accept the consequences of our actions. That's the only way to truly fix things."

"No, Schwoz!"

"That's a terrible joke!"

"Gross!"

"Oh, now you're responsible?! Now my dreams of marrying the love of my life are at stake?" They shouted angrily, pointing fingers and glaring at him because that sounded terrible. The time to be sensible and reasonable was gone, and now, they were committed to lying their way out of this mess, hoping Ray wouldn't notice. 

"OKAY, EVERYBODY, STOP YOUR SAME-TIME TALKY-TALKY! THAT'S ENOUGH!" Schwoz screamed, silencing their furious protests as he began to think. As usual, saving the day was up to him, but it would be challenging this time. 

"Okay, I might have one idea for a way that we can..."

"What? What's the idea?" Henry asked eagerly, leaning in closer as the small man descended into thought, running hair-brained and implausible possibilities through his mind. 

"Well, you're all familiar with universal dimensional duplicity, right?" Schwoz asked. The concept seemed simple, but he was talking nonsense to the kids. Even though she knew many science things, (y/n) didn't fully understand the duplicity, only learning the basics after he'd explained it. 

"Yes, very familiar!" The woman smiled and nodded, reacting with the enthusiastic curiosity Schwoz loved, despite astro and quantum physics not being her strong point. 

"Just say yes. Things will be a lot easier if you just say yes..." She muttered to Henry, who looked lost but nodded anyway, with Charlotte, Piper and Jasper doing the same. 

"Good, so you know that there is an infinite number of dimensions in the universe, some of which are very similar to our own..." He continued, straying into a complicated area no one understood or wanted to mess with. All this just to get Ray's boot back, but honestly, they'd do anything to stay out of trouble. 

"So...we could use Bill Evil's inter-dimensional transporter..."

"...To go to another dimension almost the same as ours and get their Theranos Boot!" (y/n) gasped, suddenly seeing what he was driving at, and dear lord, it was clever. Very sneaky, fraught with danger, and nearly impossible, but so damn smart. 

"Yes! A dimension like ours, but with a few small differences. Like, people actually listen to you and Charlotte and also act like cats," Schwoz suggested, making the girls cock their eyebrows at the sound of that. Not the cat thing; that sounded pretty weird, but a world where their advice was followed? It sounded like heaven. 

"So, there's a dimension where you guys actually listen to me and (y/n)? 'Cause we would love to go to that--"

"Okay, so me and Jasper will go to the cat dimension!" Henry announced, proving Charlotte's point as she and (y/n) became obsolete. If the others had listened to them, they wouldn't be in this mess, a lesson that was never learned, unfortunately. 

The boys were too excited to go to the alternate universe, eager to see what cat humans were like since Schwoz and (y/n) would stay in theirs as the scientists. That left them as chief explorers - how exciting. 

"And take their Theranos Boot..."

"And we'll pop back here before Ray gets back!" Jasper concluded, making the plan sound so simple. 

"Great idea, Schwoz. I knew you had it in you," (y/n) smiled, not exactly happy at being ignored all the time, but at least they had a solid plan. The genius became bashful from her compliments, his cheeks and ears pink as he squirmed and returned her sunshine smile. 

"You really think so? I've been having such confidence issues lately. We could go back to the truth plan--" he said shyly, confiding in the woman since she was mostly likely to say yes, but when Henry overheard, any hopes Schwoz had of a simpler life went out of the window. 

"Nope! Shut up! We're gonna do the dimension thing!" The boy shouted over the heroine's shoulder, silencing Schwoz instantly because this was a win-win situation. Ray got his boot, (y/n) saved her relationship, Schwoz got to mess with the laws of physics, and he and Jasper got to do some cool shit. 

"Yo, yo, yo! What do we do if Ray comes back before we're back with the boot?" Jasper asked his best friend, imagining the horror of horrors if the man returned to a partial workforce and still no glorified prop. 

"Uh... Piper, you go up to Junk-N-Stuff and stall Ray if he comes back before we're ready," Henry said to his younger sister, who was more than ready to help, but she had a few questions and errands first. Namely, she wasn't very popular with her not-boss, but she knew one girl who was. 

"No offence, but why can't (y/n) do it? She's the one he's in love with..."

"Well, y'see, I would, but we have a tendency to get distracted, and then he'd just insist we come down here straight away for...things," she replied, feeling her ears warm up as they caught her drift. Piper couldn't meet her eye, although a smirk twitched on her lips at the thought of Captain Man losing his cool over a girl--his sweet girl. 

"Okay, okay. You stay here and out of trouble, missy. But anyway, I can't do it. I have to go home. If I don't put dad down for his nap, then mom can't go out for ladies' night," Piper explained, looking away from an embarrassed (y/n) and at her brother, who knew precisely how strange their father was. 

"Just do it over the phone!" The boy exclaimed, knowing his dad would nod off no matter how she sang to him. 

"Fine."

"Schwoz, go get the inter-dimensional transporter thingie. (y/n/n), can you help him set it up?" Henry asked as Piper darted to the elevator, leaving the others to assume their positions. 

"On it!"

"Of course!" The Smarties nodded, running to find the device per their roles in the well-oiled machine. So far, their plan was going well, and Henry was feeling the stress melt away...until he heard a metallic clang sound behind him, making him sigh. 

"Charlotte, will you please get that mega-magnet off Jasper's head?" He asked his friend tiredly, not even having to look to know his friend's inquisitiveness had made him flick the device on again. Charlotte glanced in the kid's direction and saw his assumption was correct; the magnet was glued to Jasper's metal plate, and now that he thought about it, he remembered how he came by it. 

"Y'know, I'm starting to believe that donkey did kick me in the head..." he remarked, earning some confused looks from his friends. Oh, Jasper, may he never change, but one thing was for sure. 

His weirdness paled insignificance compared to what he and Henry were about to face. 

~The Man Cave...cat-version~

Things weren't very different in the other dimension, just like Schwoz had described. Everything still looked the same, and it had the same people, computer, auto-snacker, sprocket, tubes--the lot. 

On the surface, it seemed exact. No changes, save for the Theranos Boot still in existence, but when you looked closer, the differences were there. 

For starters, the place smelt distinct. A sharp, almost sour, musky hint in the air, but that could be put down to the cat element. The cat litter smell permeated the Cave, not in an overpowering old lady's house type of way, but hanging in the air. 

There were new decorations too. Several cat towers had been erected near the tubes with scratching posts and mounted feathered cat wands. They were perfect for any feline urges to strike, climb and hunt, especially with so many cat people living in one area. 

Schwoz wasn't kidding on that front; they really were acting like they were part tabby. As Charlotte tapped on the supercomputer, Henry pawed at a bowl, nudging it until it fell off the table, scattering chips across the couch simply because he was curious. 

Jasper was on his phone, but not in the traditional sense; he was entranced by a video, trying to whack the fish on the screen with no success. 

Then, there were Ray and (y/n), who had been bothering Schwoz as he built their new tower kingdom. They mewled at how long he was taking as they sniffed the furniture, scenting it as their own. But they were more interested in each other, something that had stayed the same across dimensions. 

Never straying far from the other, Cat Ray took his beloved mate into his arms, purring when she nuzzled his neck and purred in return. Cat (y/n)'s tongue darted to lick his neck, grooming him as a sign of her feline affection and part of her instinct to cover him in pheromones. 

Okay, this dimension may be weird. 

"Okay, it's all set up!" Schwoz announced to his fellow cat people, who'd been waiting all day to start scratching after their last set of posts became worn and tattered. 

"Yes!"

"Sweet!"

"So, what do you think of our new scratching posts?" Schwoz asked as Ray and (y/n) immediately tested them, raking their nails down the rough surface to their immense satisfaction. They growled softly at the relief, snuggling into each other as they often did in sunspots and dark corners. 

"Love them!"

"They're purrrrrrfect," Henry and Jasper grinned, rumbling in their throats as they approached, too, not at all phased by their boss' playful behaviour as he nipped (y/n)'s ear and smoothed her hair. That was normal for cat people, especially those who mated for life like those two. 

"Wait!" Ray suddenly gasped, pulling his nose from (y/n)'s neck as an idea popped into his head. 

"Whoa, what's up, big cat?" Henry asked, wondering what was so important it made the cat man ignore his pouting lover. She hissed a whine, pawing for more attention and the warmth he brought her.

"We should set these scratching posts on fire!" Ray suggested mischievously, and suddenly, (y/n) pulled away from him with a frown. Whilst Henry, Schwoz and Jasper loved his plan, she and Charlotte weren't too sure, making the man groan as her addictive scent left his vicinity. 

"I love that idea and want to do it right now!"

"Eh, I don't know, you guys," Charlotte said hesitantly, standing up from the computer chair to walk over to them, where there was a significant difference in their reaction. Rather than groaning and abusing her, the boys stopped and instantly paid attention, clinging to her every word because Charlotte and (y/n) were intelligent. They knew best, and they should listen. 

"Everybody, stop!"

"Shhhhh! Charlotte's talking!"

"I agree with Char. Lighting things on fire is a terrible idea," the cat woman said softly, imparting her wisdom for them, and they took it on board. Happily. Eagerly. Didn't think for a second. They just nodded and forgot about torching the cat posts as Ray took his sweet gurrrrrrl into his arms and kissed her, purring away. 

"You're both so wise!"

"My clever, purrrrrrfect gurrrrl. I'll love you furever," he crooned into her ear as they assumed their respective positions around the scratching posts, some wanting to scratch whilst others wanted to play. Ray led her to a cosy spot on the carpeted base, and they curled up together on the floor, ignorant of Schwoz as he played with a ball on a string since they immediately began grooming each other. 

They'd always been like that; only trusting the other to clean their skin helped form the bond that eventually grew into love. He focused on her back as she worked up his arm, purring loudly at their pure bliss, stretching out and mewing as he wrapped himself around her. 

"Yo, this dimension is weird..." Jasper whispered to Henry as they crouched behind the couch, having arrived in the new world in a flash of light. The boys watched as their alternate selves played and lounged without a care, the catlike lovers being the strangest. Jasper shuddered as Ray and (y/n) rolled around the floor, rubbing heads and playfully swatting each other. 

"Well, yeah, obviously, but right now, we gotta get that Theranos Boot and bring it back to our own dimension," Henry replied, eyeing Cat Ray's boot before shuffling to bravely go and swipe it. 

"Wait, wait, wait, wait!" However, Jasper held him back, fearing the Cat weirdos would see his best friend and sink their claws into him. So, using his brain for once, he knew they had to be sneaky about this--do something (y/n), or Charlotte would do. 

"What?"

"We need to distract them," the boy smirked, fishing a small, sleek pen from his pocket. Henry looked at him oddly but soon realised what he was doing when Jasper thumbed a button and beamed a laser across the room. It was simple but highly effective, something he'd picked up just before they'd left, and the effect was instantaneous. A laser pointer. 

Upon seeing a tiny green dot wiggling on the wall next to the elevator, the group by the scratching posts immediately stopped what they were doing. They didn't know what or where it came from, but they wanted it. They needed it. More than they needed to scratch, poke, or snuggle up. 

"You guys seein' this?" Cat Henry asked, staring at the green dot without looking away once as they all stalked towards it. 

"Oh, I'm seein' in," Charlotte nodded, abandoning her scratching to crawl forward, wanting to grab the dot and see if she could eat it, shred it, or chase it. 

"I'm so curious. It could kill me," Ray deadpanned, holding his sweet girl tightly as she wrinkled her nose. (y/n) arched her back against him, gladly covering herself in her mate's scent, but then, the dot moved.

Jasper dragged it to the floor in a flash, causing her, Schwoz and Ray to pounce on it. Everyone tried it, slapping their palms against the tiles to catch the laser, Cat Henry and Jasper grappling with each other like Ray and (y/n), who didn't mind ending up in a tangle, but they were quickly distracted as the boy kept teasing them. 

As they scrambled to hunt their new prey, the elevator dinged, and Cat Piper stepped out, carrying a large bag of kibble for them all to snack on. 

"Hey, I got lunch!" What are you all looking--oh my god, what is that moving dot?!" She gasped, smiling pleasantly before forgetting the food because she. Dot. Want. Now. 

"I don't know, but I want to grab it!" (y/n) whispered, wiggling her hips as she prepared to pounce, only for the dot to return to the wall. She instantly got to her feet with the others, meowing when her floofus made his move and swiped at the stone, only to return empty-handed. 

"All right. go, go, go, go, go, go!" Jasper hissed to Henry, who saw his chance and went for it. With the cat people occupied, he stole across the room, tiptoeing to the Theranos Boot to take it for himself. 

What they wouldn't know wouldn't hurt them, and he doubted they'd come looking for it, anyway. Once they got home, their worries would be over, which was a good thing too. After all, their time was running out...

~The Man Cave...human version~

"Hurry up! I don't think Piper can hold off Ray much longer! He's having (y/n) withdrawal symptoms," Charlotte yelled at Schwoz as he searched the multiverse to bring Henry and Jasper back. 

(y/n) was by his side and frowned at the girl's words, wondering what was wrong with her poor doofus as Piper kept him busy upstairs. Charlotte was monitoring her progress on the supercomputer, watching as the girl refused to let him walk through the door, pretending they kept bumping into each other every time. 

He was growing tired of the whole charade, whining and shouting at the brat who stopped him from returning to his sweet girl's arms and lips. He snapped at her, drew a diagram to illustrate the art of walking through a door, and still, Piper kept him at bay, which was a testament to her resilience, not that it would work forever. 

Nothing could separate Ray Manchester from his soulmate indefinitely, but luckily, The Smarties were just about finished with the mission. 

"Stop yelling! We've got them!" Schwoz yelled over his shoulder as he carefully scanned for the boys' location. He was good, but complex science took time, and Charlotte didn't need to worry. 

A flash of amber and violet light opened a portal in the middle of the room, returning Henry and Jasper to their proper world. A world where people don't lick each other. Henry held the alternative Theranos Boot in his hand, soft, beautiful and perfect, indistinguishable from the original, so Schwoz closed the rift before anyone sensed something was off. Mission complete. 

"Did you get the boot?!" (y/n) asked hurriedly, throwing off her headset as she turned around, only to have her question answered at the glorious sight in the kid's grasp. 

"I got it! And check this out. They were gonna light these giant scratching posts on fire," the blond boy told her, shuddering at the recollection of the feline woman openly purring, snuggling and rubbing against her lover--a fact he chose to withhold to save her blushes. 

"Fire. Always funny," Schwoz giggled, earning a frown from (y/n), who didn't think it was a laughing matter. She had a lot of questions about those...giant scratching posts, but she could remember many times Schwoz had nearly torched them all. 

"Oh, yeah? What about when you added sulphuric acid to potassium permanganate just for the giggles? It wasn't funny when the Swellview Fire Department gave you a written warning."

"In my defence--" Schwoz argued, believing that unfortunate incident to be a one-off, even if he didn't burn the drape and part of his favourite shirt. However, he never got to argue his thoughts on explosive chemical reactions as things heated upstairs. Namely, Ray had reached boiling point with the tiresome brat blocking his path. 

"Uh, guys..." Charlotte gulped as she watched him storm past Piper, hauling a large, heavy-duty glass case through Junk-N-Stuff and into the back room. His large frame quickly overpowered the girl, leaving her helpless to stop him and them about to face the music. 

"Ray finally got past Piper, and he's on his way down."

"Uh, uh, uh, uh..." The boy stammered, descending into panic as the elevator kicked to life. The ominous rumble made them fumble, tossing the Theranos Boot to each other, so they weren't caught holding it, unaware they were wasting precious seconds. Ray wouldn't notice a thing, but only if they stayed calm, which frustrated the girls.

"Okay, okay...uh...all right. Everybody, just act casual! Just act chill! Just act casual!" Henry instructed, blinking through his panic to create some sense of order. 

As Charlotte returned the new boot to the spot Ray left his old one, the boys formed a line, awkwardly leaning on each other with their arms folded, like that was normal. Posing like morons wasn't their usual practice, but they didn't have time to slob on the couch or hang out at the supercomputer because the elevator rang, opening to reveal a moody hero and a tired girl. 

Ray and Piper stepped out together, meeting in the middle and getting wedged in the doorway like the girl had done to him for the last hour. Neither was in the mood to play games anymore, grunting and complaining about how ridiculous the situation was, but Henry remained cool. 

"--Which is why I think Ray would win in a fight against a volcano," he improvised, buttering the man up as he set the nuclear-proof display case down, and the group readily agreed as if they'd been having a long debate about the infinite strength of Captain Man. 

"Doofus! Are you okay? Was the drive all right? How's the display case? Y'know, I missed you so much..." (y/n) babbled as she ignored her family and dashed over to Ray, whose grumpiness melted away when she saw her shining smile and open arms. He pulled her into a bear hug, wrapping himself around her to resume their usual positions, her buried in his chest with him sighing contently into her hair. 

"Missed you too, sweet girl. What's got you so excited?" Ray chuckled, pecking her lips as they pulled back, still in the embrace, but he needed to look into her eyes. That brat had kept him from her, and he wanted to indulge, yet something about her jittery behaviour made his head tilt. 

"Oh, nothing... Just happy to have my doofus back," the woman replied cutely, hoping he didn't see through her excitement, where her nerves were rioting. Couldn't a woman just welcome her lover home? 

Ray's eyes twitched in confusion for a second, studying his darling girl for a moment as he sensed something was off. However, his doubts melted when she cupped his face and pulled him in for another, longer kiss. 

"I'm happy to be back, darlin'. You have no idea how boring it was to sit in traffic without you there," he told her, a flirtatious edge to his voice as he lifted her hand and kissed her engagement ring, utterly enamoured by the adorable girl in his embrace. Amid their romantic reunion, Henry swapped glances with his friends, who egged him on to interrupt and greet the man, even if it was damn near suicidal to ruin their idyllic bliss. 

"Uh...hey, Ray! What's going on, man? Didn't see you there, which is weird 'cause your muscles are huge," The boy cleared his throat and smiled at the man, acting casual as he approached with all the flattery he could muster. It was a little too friendly, and Ray didn't look too happy as he glanced away from his sweet girl and at his sidekick. 

"I appreciate the compliment," Ray began, eyeing his fiancée as she squeezed his bicep, undoubtedly fangirling over the fact. It was a fact. The man spent too much time in the gym for it not to be, and she greatly appreciated it, practically salivating over the sight of him, fuelling the hero's ego. 

"...But all I care about right now is my sweet girl and boot."

"Well, it's right where you left it. As you can see..." Charlotte told him, keeping her voice as level as possible. She gestured to the Theranos Boot sitting atop the cabinet, looking as shiny and perfect as earlier, but Ray cautiously approached. 

Pecking (y/n)'s temple a final time, never looking away from his boot, he picked it up. It felt the same, soft and squishy yet firm, as he held it, glaring at his helpers before he shook it, sniffed it, and tossed it from hand to hand. He'd spot any discrepancy, but after a few seconds of studying the boot, he deduced nothing was different. Not even a scratch or greasy fingerprint on the hand-stitched leather. Curious. 

"Okay..." he conceded, turning to return the boot to its spot as his family silently huddled together and celebrated their success. They hissed through their teeth and felt the relief flood their bodies, thinking they'd gotten away with it when something...unexpected happened. 

In a familiar burst of orange and purple, a group appeared in the Man Cave, glancing around the room with wide eyes and determined expressions. They were familiar too, some small, some tall, some bald and some curly-haired, and when the regular residents saw them, it was like two worlds collided. 

Henry felt like he was going to throw up, Charlotte and Piper nearly fainted, Jasper swore he had a heart attack, and (y/n) cowered behind her doofus as themselves from an alternate reality - the cat people - spawned in the room. 

Ray watched in stunned silence as the group spread out. He analysed the situation with a stony face, but on the inside, he was panicking. Who were these imposters? Why did they look like his family? Did he need to protect his sweet girl?

"You get your paws off my boot right meow," Cat Ray growled, glaring at his counterpart, who still held the stolen shoe with a bewildered face. He stared at his family, who couldn't explain and only stared at the floor as the guilt gnawed at them. How were they supposed to clarify this? 

(y/n) gulped when her lover turned to her, expecting an answer to his silent question as they faced off against the other group, but she could barely make her lips twitch. She stammered like a goldfish for a few seconds, wondering whether to tangle herself in the web of lies further or come clean. Anything to stop him from looking at her like she'd betrayed him. 

"(y/n)?"

"Yes, doofus?"

"Yes, floofus?" She said, but to her shock, Cat (y/n) also spoke, creating a perfect harmony that shocked them and their lovers. Ray didn't know how to react, seeing his sweet girl not once but twice and while he loved seeing her, he knew he only had one fiancée. 

Just like he knew only one of him, why was he watching another him wrap himself around her like he was looking in a mirror?

"Okay, can one of you tell me what in the Hell--ena Bonham Carter is going on here?" He asked, feeling utterly lost as his sweet girl looked at his sweet girl--or whoever she was. They glanced away from each other with shy blushes, squirming cutely in manners that endeared their doofuses, but Ray tried to remain stern. 

"Um, well, doof, funny story..." she laughed nervously, latching onto his arm as she used her softest, cutest eyes - angel eyes - to try and soothe his anger, "they...we...accidentally destroyed your boot."

"What?!" The hero gasped, jerking to look at the boot, unable to believe that the one in his hand wasn't his boot. If it was destroyed, how could he be holding it?

"I know you told me to keep it safe, and I really tried, I promise!" (y/n) whimpered, trying to placate him as she watched his frown deepen. He would shout and tell her off - she just knew it. He'd yell and hate her, tell her she had one job, and she fucked it up, but just before her shakey knees could collapse, Jasper came to her rescue. Sort of. 

"We had a really fun montage before you did, though."

"Do you boot, scoot and, or boogie?" Cat Jasper asked his clone, slicing through the tension with his usual weirdness, something that didn't chance across the multiverse, even in the face of Ray's fury. 

"All three, cat me!"

"Nice..."

"Why didn't you and (y/n) stop them?" Cat Charlotte questioned her twin, who locked eyes with the woman and sighed. That was the million-dollar question, and it irritated the girls that everyone thought they hadn't tried to intervene. 

"We tried! They didn't listen," she replied in frustration, wildly gesturing to her friends and their irritating habits. The news shocked the cat people, who spluttered and gasped at the revelation because it was crazy to think that they wouldn't listen to Charlotte and (y/n). Because they were Charlotte and (y/n) - the sensible ones. 

"What?"

"That's crazy!"

"They're so wise!"

"Why wouldn't you listen to this precious girl? She's so clever..." Cat Ray purred, hunching over his feline lover and squeezing her in a hug. Their human counterparts unconsciously shuffled closer together, not knowing how to react when they heard the man purr for his mate; both were as open with their affection as they were in this dimension. 

"Uh...they never do," (y/n) said awkwardly, wondering if she'd do that if she was part cat. It must've made things so complicated, announcing to the world that you were intimate with someone based on the rumbling in your throat, but they didn't seem to mind. Not even the teens or Cat Schwoz. 

"Really? I'm surprised they haven't blown up the Man Cave by now," Cat (y/n) remarked, wrinkling her nose adorably as her mate kissed her cheeks, chuckling at the idea. He'd never do that, always following her gut feeling since it kept them safe. After all, curiosity killed the cat...

"They have..." Her double replied dryly, glaring at her doofus as she remembered the rigmarole of that unfortunate event. Even if they thoroughly christened the new Man Cave, the stress of rebuying everything and returning to normality still made her break out in a nervous sweat when she thought of it. 

"I'd do it again in a heartbeat..." Ray smirked, thinking himself so cool and rebellious since he could say none of that material shit bothered him. But one glare from his sweet girl and he swiftly buttoned his lip, whining and curling his arm around her shoulders to get back into good books. 

"Hey, lover boy! When do I get my boot back?!" Cat Ray snapped, having had enough of the niceties. That asshole - the one hugging the mate who wasn't his mate - was still holding his Theranos Boot. He knew it was his, could smell the faint hint of his scent, but it wouldn't be released so quickly. 

Ray didn't take too kindly to being called out like that, taking firm pride in knowing he was a lover boy, and he didn't care who knew. He didn't say anything when the other guy kissed and loved on the other (y/n), even if his heart didn't know how to feel about seeing his pretty girl like that. 

It was her, but it wasn't her. And that was him, but it wasn't him. Was it possible to be jealous of yourself?

"Your boot? Excuse me, handsome, but this is my boot," the hero replied, meeting his feline twin in the middle of the floor with their respective girls tentatively following. Neither trusted the other and if that...man did anything to her floofus, she'd stick her claws in him - a sentiment (y/n) shared. 

"Actually, I found a dimension that's just like ours, except people listen to Charlotte and (y/n) and act like cats," Schwoz corrected his boss, who blanched at the information and looked at the identical group in shock. Cat (y/n) hissed at him as a warning, telling him to watch it around her mate and precious little kittens or else.

"Yeah, he sent me and Jasper there to get their Theranos Boot and bring it back here," Henry added, and Ray gazed at the item in his hands. It looked and felt like his boot, but strangely, he got a vibe in the pit of his stomach that told him it didn't belong in his Man Cave. Maybe another, but not his. 

"Good thinking!" Cat Schwoz complimented his other self, who blushed under the praise, glad someone appreciated his talent and skill for making the impossible possible. 

"Thank you so much! I've had such a crisis of confidence lately--"

"Me too!" They revealed, putting aside their petty differences to bond and share a touching moment, but their bosses weren't in the mood. 

"Shut up, Schwozes!" Both Rays snapped, and the geniuses retreated, knowing civility was useless with those two drama queens. 

"So, you stole this boot from them?" Ray asked his precious girl, weighing the famous prop in his hands as he stared across the way. His counterpart clenched his fists and stiffened, withholding a hiss since he wanted to remain reasonable, but that was his goddamn boot. 

"Uh, yeah. Henry and Jasper did," (y/n) replied, half-hiding behind her doofus because she didn't want any trouble, and, technically, they were thieves, but she stood fast and nodded. 

"So...it's mine now."

"No!" Cat (y/n) disagreed, nearly as protective of the Theranos Boot as she was of her mate since he adored it (and her) so much, and he wasn't about to let someone take it, not even his equally attractive, equally awesome alternate self. Just because he'd lost his boot didn't mean they had to lose out too. 

"Yes, it is, gorgeous!" The man replied haughtily, unable to resist flirting with her because that was his sweet girl. It looked like her, and she was gorgeous, making his tummy do somersaults when she struggled to stop a smile, even when her floofus growled. 

"Yeah, well, you listen to me, you big floofus! You take those strong, masculine, yet surprisingly soft hands and give my furancé his boot back!" The feline woman ordered, sensing her mate affectionately nuzzle into her, proud to call her his tenacious protector. Even Human (y/n) couldn't argue. She knew her doofus used an exceptional moisturiser, and he knew how to use them. She could just imagine how he ran them over her body, powerful yet tender...no, focus. 

"Come and get it... Hottie."

"Doofus, how am I supposed to be mad when you're flirting with me?!" (y/n) asked, whacking his arm since he was such an adorable moron. In fairness, she was drooling over Cat Ray because that was her fiancé right there. 

"Well, darlin'--HENRY!" However, before she got an answer, Ray sprang into action, using a diversion tactic to lull their catlike enemies into a false sense of security before he tossed it to his sidekick. But Henry wasn't ready for the mood, too busy daydreaming to realise what was happening, and then, it was too late. 

"Uh..."

The boot flew through the air and landed in Jasper's hands, which was better than returning to the wrong side, but this was Jasper. He wasn't known for being dexterous or wise. 

"Got it!"

"Aw, man..." Ray sighed, knowing they'd practically lost since the weird kid was now holding his prized possession. This was different from how he wanted it to go. 

"Jasper, throw it to me!" Piper called from across the room, raising her hands like she was getting ready to catch the boot, but things weren't what they seemed. Jasper, being Jasper, didn't think things through, meaning he didn't notice their Piper leaning on a cabinet tucked away in a corner. But Charlotte did. 

"No, that's Cat Piper!" The girl advised him, hoping to stop him before he made a grave mistake, but it was too late. The deception was too good, and Jasper threw the boot like a football, sending it nicely through the air until she caught it. And that's when her sweet smile turned sour...

"Meow, meow, baby..." The sly girl smirked, shaking the boot next to her head as it guaranteed she'd be in her boss' good books. Jasper grunted and cursed himself for the mistake as the cat people celebrated and his found family groaned. 

"Why didn't you listen to Charlotte?!" Henry asked him angrily, even though he could've been sharper too. 

"Because we never do!" Jasper snapped as Charlotte ranted to (y/n) about their problems, but arguing wasn't helping. Their enemies regrouped, clutching the Theranos Boot, so it couldn't fall into the wrong hands again, and they swiftly made for their world again. 

"Get us outta here, Schwoz!"

"Okay!" The catlike genius nodded, pulling a small device from his back pocket as their leader threaded his fingers through his pretty girl's. The mates shared a brief yet gentle victory kiss, (y/n) whispering something flirty and filthy in Ray's ear about when they got back home, but Ray couldn't let that happen. He wanted that boot. 

"NO!" He yelled, charging toward Piper, but his slow, thumping figure was easy for the agile girl to dodge. She threw the Theranos Boot to her boos, who quickly broke apart from his girl and caught the boot, happy to have his two loves in his arms. 

However, as he raised it above his head victoriously, Henry sought to redeem himself. He tackled the man, knocking the shoe to the floor, so it became a fair game - free for anyone to take. Both groups stared at the boot, alone in the middle of no man's land. The temptation was too much, so they pounced. 

Like a pack of hungry wolves descending on a carcass, they scrambled to grab it, hands pushing away others to reach into the tangle. They kicked, punched and crawled, unable to see their goal, but it had to be under there somewhere, so everyone kept fighting until the battle became vicious. 

It all came to when a rogue elbow jerked back and smashed (y/n) in the nose, causing her to groan, swear, and pull away to clutch the sore flesh. Shuffling away from the group, she held her nose, feeling a trickle of blood wet her upper lip, and if she were anyone else, she would've been concerned. But she was Miss Danger, and the pain faded as quickly as it appeared, drying up the blood and fixing any damage. 

However, just because she was all right didn't mean Ray knew that. 

"Time-out, time-out, time-out! (y/n)'s hurt!" He yelled above the fracas, calling for a break when he heard his darling girl's pained cry. He was by her side in a flash, cradling her face and telling her to look at him as he studied her injury. It was nearly fully healed, maybe just a tad swollen, but his commanding presence separated both groups. 

Cat Ray checked his lover to ensure she was safe when he saw his twin fuss over the woman, his heart clenching at the sight of her watery eyes because he couldn't stand to see her cry, even if she wasn't his. 

"You okay, sweet girl?"

"Yeah, doofus. It was just an accident," (y/n) soothed her lover, pushing away his hands with a giggle when he panicked. A knocked nose would hardly kill her, and to prove everything was okay, she kissed him softly, forgetting the pain when his hands gripped her hips. However, when Cat Ray picked up his boot, things went south. 

Analysing the shoe, he immediately noticed something was wrong. Amongst the crush, a stone had fallen off the front, exposing the scuffed leather, glue and stitching, and everyone knew that damaged products were worth nothing. 

"You broke my boot!" He spat, pointing to the damage with a heartbroken expression, causing the couple to break apart. Ray looked at the boot with hard eyes, gulping when he saw the loose stone gleaming on the tiles. The (y/n)s tried to provide some comfort, placing their hands on their doofuses' backs as they whined, but even their love wasn't enough to combat the disappointment. 

"No, I didn't! You broke my boot!"

"Is it even broken?"

"Yeah, we could just glue this jewel back on--" They said softly, trying to comfort them with the suggestion. To the sweet girls' eyes, it was an easy repair; nothing a hot glue gun couldn't fix, and then, not even the world's best film critic would be able to see the damage. However, it wasn't good enough for the infantile men, who only saw the destruction of what they once held dear. 

"I said, it's broken!" Cat Ray sobbed, throwing the slightly damaged boot to the floor like a child who'd ripped the leg off their favourite doll. The leather scratched at the rough impact, worsening the wear and tear.

"We could still fix it, doo--"

"It's worthless!" Human Ray screamed, stamping his foot on the floor, crushing more jewels and creasing the fabric. The others cringed at the display, staying silent as the men rampaged, knowing that if their sweet girls couldn't do anything, their words would mean nothing. 

"Okay, now we can't..." (y/n) sighed, retreating as she raked a hand down her face. She could glue jewels and smooth leather but couldn't reform crushed minerals into perfect treasure again. She shared an understanding, tired look with her counterpart, knowing dealing with the hero's temper tantrums wasn't easy. 

"It's stupid!"

"I hate this boot now!" The Rays whined, taking turns to stomp on the boot, ruining it even more as their emotions overcame them. Neither could bear to look at it once the perfection was gone, wishing they'd never bought it.

"I wish I'd never seen it!"

"I can't play with this!"

"I don't even want it anymore!"

"I hate you, boot! I hate you!"

"Thanks a lot, you guys!" They sobbed, crushing the Theranos Boot a few more times before they spun and buried themselves in their fiancées. The men held the women close, whimpering into their shoulders as they mourned the loss, and both (y/n)s had no choice but to coo and stroke their hair, promising it would be all right. 

"You guys broke the only Theranos Boot left anywhere," Cat Ray cried, sniffing into his mate's neck to take comfort in her sweet scent. He thought all was lost, but his words got the Schwozes thinking about how this situation happened. 

"Well..."

"According to the theory of universal dimensional duplicity..." Charlotte and her twin said for them, remembering the geniuses' lectures on astrophysics and retelling what they'd said. 

"There should be an infinite number of universes..."

"Which means there should be an infinite number of Theranos Boots..." The Pipers and Jaspers went on, smiling at each other briefly at how weird it was to talk in perfect unison. 

"So, you guys can just go to a different dimension and grab another one," The Henrys finished, looking pleased with themselves since they didn't typically understand all that science stuff. They were in awe of everything, thinking it was epic that there were different versions of everyone, even if the cat thing was a bit weird. 

"We're talking in unison! This is so cool! Pineapple! Anderson Cooper! Whaaaaaat?" They giggled, saying the most random stuff, only for the other to know exactly what they were thinking. It was all going so well, but whilst they had fun, two very childish men were still without a boot to hold dear. 

"Henry, this isn't helping! I want my Theranos Boot!" Both Rays snapped, drying their tears as they pulled away from their lovers. Whilst they smiled, they were heartbroken, desperately holding onto the girls, given how they soothed the pain simply by being so sweet, kind, and considerate. 

However, (y/n) was also clever, and as they whined, the women pondered the duplicity theory. 

"Don't worry, doofus. I think we have an idea..."

~

Inter-dimensional hopping wasn't something Ray had planned for that day. Yet here he was. 

With two Theranos Boots destroyed, neither he nor his cat counterpart could hope to find another one in their realms, so they'd agreed to settle their fight for now and work together. A truce, as forged by their precious girls, who knew they had to work together to cheer up their lovers. 

That led to another portal opening, and after kissing the girls goodbye, the heroes crawled through, not knowing what to expect except for craziness. This world seemed normal. One hop, skip and jump away from the cat one, and from what Human Ray could tell, nothing was different from the Man Cave he left behind. 

Until he saw his supposed sidekick and helper sitting on giant, grey beanbags in the centre of the room. 

"--Which, according to universal dimensional duplicity, means that somewhere in the universe, there is a dimension where not everyone has a moustache," Schwoz said to Henry as they relaxed for a minute, sipping hot tea as he melted into his beanbag. Ah, so that was this dimension's thing--moustaches. 

True to the genius' word, the heroes peeked at the dup from their hiding place behind the couch, noticing that he and the kid had thick, hairy lip sweaters under their noses. When they said everyone, did they mean everyone? Was their sweet girl walking around with a moustache? 

"Whaaaat?" Moustache Henry gasped, thinking it crazy that people existed out there without something to warm their upper lips. His was exceptionally well-groomed with a fair, golden shine, making the men shiver at the thought of kissing their fiancées and feeling the unnatural feature. 

"I mean, what do they stroke when they're thinking?" 

"Good question," They nattered on, unaware that a robbery was occurring behind them. Pushing all thoughts of weird moustaches aside, Cat Ray used his feline stealth to crawl out from behind the couch and nabbed their Theranos Boot, holding it tightly to his chest as he retreated again. 

"Okay, I got the boot," he whispered to his twin, unable to stop the satisfied pur escaping his throat. He couldn't wait to get home and put it in pride of place, but there was still a problem. 

"Great. Just hand it over, and I'll go back to my own dimension. (y/n) wants to watch When Barry met Susan tonight, and I don't want to miss it," Human Ray murmured, expecting to retrieve the shoe since he had a hot sofa date tonight, and romcoms always led to one thing. Wink-wonk. 

"Huh? Oh, no, no, no. This boot is mine, and it's coming home with me for when I watch Barbara James' Baby with my (y/n)," Cat Ray hissed, his hair prickling at the man's request. He had a hot date too, and he wouldn't be late just because he hadn't been careful with his boot - that wasn't fair, and he didn't care if it made the non-feline grumpy. 

"Well, where am I supposed to my boot?! Some dimension where everyone's Henry?" Ray snapped, not liking the thought of that. 

How confusing would it be? Could the world handle that much boyish charm and teenage arrogance? Oh god, would his star-crossed soulmate destiny work in that world? He had so many questions, but thankfully, it was hypothetical. A dimension like that didn't exist, right?

Cat Ray didn't know, but neither did he care. He had his boot now, meaning he was free to return to the land of scratching posts and giant litter boxes, and he didn't have to worry about what his other versions were doing. Like always, his life reverted to leading his family and caring for his mate, which left Human Ray in a predicament. 

Where next?

~

"Hey, listen to this." This had to be a joke. This couldn't be real. What he said earlier - he didn't mean it. It was just a theory, so was this Schwoz's idea of a laugh? Or was he going insane? Or had he been hit on the head?

"According to the theory of universal dimensional duplicity, there's a universe out there where some people are not Henry," Henry said, calmly sitting on the couch as he chatted with his family.

Across the table, there was Henry, horrified by the knowledge his fellow Henry had told him, and across the room, there were more Henrys who didn't seem phased by the clones. In every corner, his sidekick was somewhere, whether it be by the couch, the tubes, the supercomputer--everywhere. If he thought cat people or moustaches were weird, this took the biscuit, but shockingly, they had something he didn't. 

Their Theranos Boot was still okay and achingly beautiful. 

"Whhhhhaaaaat?"

"Well, thank Henry, I'm Henry, right here in the Henry dimension," Another blond boy said, smiling gently as he hung out with the Henrynos Boot - worn by Henrynos in Eternity War when half the universe's Henrys get wiped out. 

"Well said, Henry."

"Thank you, Henry," another Henry spoke, creating a confusing conversation since they couldn't distinguish who they were talking to, but that was how things were. When Henrys had Henrys and named their Henrys Henry, and the nurse who delivered the Henrys was also called Henry, you were gonna have some confusion. 

"Nope, I was actually talking to Henry."

"Happens a lot," they giggled and moved on. They were content to all be Henry, but something unexpected happened. Fed up with portal hopping, Ray was determined for this to be the last time, so when he materialised in the Henry Cave, the dozens of blue eyes staring at him didn't affect him as much as they usually would've done. 

Sure, it was weird. But Ray had enough dealing with one pubescent boy, let alone an army, but to get what he wanted, he had to be firm. 

"I'm taking this boot," he told them simply, reaching over to grab it, check it over and satisfy his question about whether it was suitable. He scoffed at their shocked faces, too exhausted to care now he had an undamaged, pristine boot to take him, so he left them to it. 

Crouching behind the couch again, Schwoz recalled him to the Man Cave, and then, the hero was gone - vanishing in a blaze of light and leaving a string of confused Henrys behind him. 

"What the Henry was that?!" One asked, his heart hammering at the sight of the strange creature whose hair was dark, not blond, whose body was thick and muscled, not skinny and toned, whose hair flopped about, whose shirt was too tight, whose eyes were the wrong shade. He'd never seen one of those before. 

"That was not a Henry."

"And it just took my Henrynos Boot!" Another whined, but he was too disturbed to move. The Henrys looked at one another, wondering what to do, and if only they had a more intelligent, more resourceful Henry who knew what to do in crises like that. 

"Hey, Henry, what do you think we should do?" The one sitting on the couch as his fellow Henry at the supercomputer, who'd barely paid attention to the Henry Cave's strange events since he was too focused on his beloved Henry. He looked up, surprised that he was being spoken to, and stopped petting Henry's head, making the boy grumble. 

"Oh, I don't know. I'm too busy watching To All The Henrys I've loved Before with my sweet Henry."

"Ugh, fine. Henry, what do you think?" The boy rolled his eyes at their blatant PDA, wondering why the universe had to make those Henrys soulmates. He didn't understand it; sure, many Henrys liked Henrys, but those were special.

"I don't know, Henry. I'm too busy with my Henroofus," Henry sighed, rubbing his nose against his beloved Henry, who giggled and nuzzled into him with so much affection. The other Henrys shook their heads and teased them, fighting to keep their smiles at bay because it was nice to see them happy. Henry knows they waited long enough. 

Some might say their bond was unbreakable - fated by destiny, and as much as it annoyed the other Henrys, they didn't have it in them to separate the in-love Henrys. 

Some things were meant to be, unchanging across the multiverse. In every world, there was a doofus waiting for his sweet girl to make him complete, and destiny wouldn't rest until their hearts finally met.