#his wings here are mostly based off an owl but i made them more golden

[basoogil]

@gglinaa i have MORE fanfanart based off your amazing comic, i cant get it out of my head. i speculate that kirk would be very clumsy with his new wings. and also that they would be very shiny and pretty and golden :]

[snippydippy]

Whoops cringe culture is dead and I wrote a Hazbin fan-fic excerpt.

I mean, technically I wrote it back in November, but whatever. Am I embarrassing myself? Probably. Do I care? Marginally. Will I get over it if I just drink? Absolutely. Like what you like, cringe culture is dumb.

Description of hotel layout might be inaccurate, I hadn’t actually looked at the correct layouts for the place until after (thanks VRchat). Oh well. Also a little long for an excerpt but oh well!

———-

Leanne had died recently. Just about a year ago on the day if her tracking of time could be trusted. It was nearly impossible to tell how many hours, days, or weeks had gone by down in Hell. There was no day or night. Just the perpetual, sinister red glow of the pentagram symbol carved into the rock sky that encased every sinner inside this final destination.

Her tracking of time was rough, but she did suspect a year. A year of unending misery, anger, and confusion.

Leanne didn’t understand why she was dammed here. She died young, barely 21, due to circumstances she herself wasn’t ready to face quite yet. Thinking about it made things worse. Her death was an accident, and that’s all she felt comfortable telling others and herself.

She had truly believed herself a good person in life. Sure, she swore like a sailor, and perhaps told a few small lies in her years, but who hadn’t? She had never done anything with the intention of hurting anyone. Never done anything heinous enough to deserve...This. Sharing an afterlife with ruthless thieves, pedophiles, and murderers.

She often tried to cope by telling herself that the criteria for heaven was just impossibly strict. No one got in up there. One must have had to be a perfect cherub who never left their home from birth to make it on that list. Surely. Obviously. There was no other explanation.

Leanne heard about the Happy Hotel on the news like everyone else. She had been sitting at a bar with a mysterious substance in her glass for two hours, not taking a single sip. She would never choose to drink whatever liquid it was they poured into these mugs. She simply didn’t have anywhere else to go that felt any safer. A bar was neutral ground for demons and sinners. No turf wars happened here. You couldn’t die in hell, but you sure could feel everything, so she had been careful to avoid fights.

The idea of the hotel seemed ridiculous, an idea reaffirmed by the laughter that filled the building after the Princess of Hell, Charlie, had given her foolishly passionate speech. A place sinners could go to better themselves? A second chance at redemption? Yeah, right. No one got second chances down here. Your one and only chance was the life you lived. How ridiculous. How absolutely insane. Impossible! Leanne thought all of these things as she hurriedly paid for her drink with the pocket change she had, gathered her tattered coat, and headed for the door.

It could never work. You didn’t leave hell once you got here. There was no way. But...maybe. Just maybe. Leanne didn’t belong here anyway, right? So going through this “program” at the Happy Hotel could actually (but probably not) make things right. She could explain to her majesty that there had simply been a mistake anyway, so staying at the hotel would just be a formality until it was all resolved. That’s exactly what would happen once she arrived. It would have to.

———

Leanne’s doubt only grew the closer she got to the hotel itself. On her way, she had passed by a group of Demons huddled by a radio, listening as closely as they could to the static ridden channel. It seemed the Princess had more to deal with than folks around here laughing at her ideals. She had gotten into a fight with Katie Killjoy, the news anchor on the station. It had started with what sounded like more laughter at her idea, then yelling, then what could only be the sounds of a smack-down.

Leanne drew in a deep breath, let it out with a grimace, and kept walking. It would probably take her a while still to reach the building. Two days, maybe more, but it’s not like she had anywhere else to be.

———————-

When she arrived at the towering building, she was both surprised at its sheer size and confused with the sign alight on top. The bright bulbs held up by wooden frames read “Hazbin Hotel”. Leanne could’ve sworn Princess Charlie had said it was called the Happy Hotel.

She glanced in all directions to see if she had missed anything. Though, based on the fact that this was the only building standing for miles of this size, and the only hotel she knew of that existed in Hell in general, she had to assume she had the right place.

Once she walked up to the front doors, Leanne’s hesitations nearly took over her. Behind those doors, decorated with stained-glass images of apples, was either the solution to all her woes, or the confirmation that she had, in fact, been sent to the right place. And that there was nothing anyone could do about it. Proof that she belonged in Hell.

She touched the golden handle with a hand that had once been human. She closed her eyes, hating being reminded of what her body was now. Her once delicate hands with smooth, human skin had turned into a dark blue, scaled and clawed nightmare. Spreading across her temples now were the same colored scales, and right above her ears now sat a pair of wicked, black spiraled horns. Her nose that she had hated so much in life now looked more akin to a bear’s. Her skin that had once been a healthy tan, now a dull grey, lifeless in hue. A long and thick lizard like tail nervously swished behind her. Even though Leanne was a beast, she supposed she had been more fortunate than others. Most of the dead down here you’d hardly recognize as anything that had ever been human. At least Leanne got to keep her basic human shape.

Enough thinking. Leanne pushed open the door and was met by the smell of an old floral perfume and the sound of a charming tune playing on a piano somewhere deep within. She had stepped inside and waited to hear the door click behind her before opening her eyes once more.

Once she did, Leanne was amazed, frozen in shock for a moment. The place was impossibly clean, practically immaculate. Not a single spec of dust, cobweb, or splatter of blood in sight. The long hallway in front of her seemed to stretch on for half a mile, painted comforting shades of deep red with gold trimming. It was far too nice to be a place in Hell. Leanne even noticed how the temperature was the most comfortable she had felt since she died. Warm enough that she could take her coat off, but cool enough that she wouldn’t sweat with it on.

Dozens of portraits of Princess Charlie, her family, and their associates covered the halls. Leanne stepped over to a painting of who she assumed was Charlie’s father. The name etched into the wood frame at the bottom read “Lucifer~1789”. He looked friendly enough for the ruler of hell. Very pale skin, deceptively rosey cheeks complimenting a charming smile, well coiffed blonde hair, and deep black eyes. He looked so much like the images Leanne had seen of Charlie.

She moved on from the picture, searching for any kind of check-in desk, not quite brave enough to call out for assistance. The first opening to her left thankfully read “Concierge” above the open door frame.

Inside the room were a few old, but comfortable looking chairs that sat empty strewn about, a fire place to the left radiating a calming glow, and at the far end of the room was the concierge desk. Three deer skulls hung on the wall above the desk’s canopy, and below them three signs that struck Leanne as very odd. The middle read “Welcome!” while the two on either side read “Gambling!” and “Booze!”. Wasn’t this place supposed to be about avoiding sin? Maybe they were just a gag.

Leanne couldn’t see anyone at the desk. She saw a silver call bell and instinctively went to ring it, her hand stopping to hover over it. She suddenly thought about bailing right then. There was no guarantee that this place could help her. No knowing for sure if the Princess was even really looking to help anyone. She could just be looking for souls to collect. This whole thing could be a trap-

Her thoughts were cut off by the sound of the bell she had tapped without realizing. She heard an annoyed groan from underneath the counter.

“Fuck, what? I already wiped down the god damn counter.” A demon with a husky voice pulled himself to a standing position to face Leanne. He looked like some sort of cat and owl hybrid. Mostly grey fur with a white face and chest. He had large eyes with dark red scleras and yellow irises, long red eyebrows that extended off his face on either side, an amusing heart shaped nose, and lovely red wings protruding from his back that had what appeared to be card suit markings along some of the feathers. Between his two tall and slender feline ears sat a top-hat of equal height, and a black bow tie rested in the fluff of his chest. He looked at Leanne for a moment in confusion. She couldn’t find the nerve to say anything. He croaked out, “Well, you’re not my boss. You here to check in?”

Leanne felt her tail nervously wrap around her waist as she fiddled with her hands at her chest. She opened her mouth to speak, but instead only quietly cleared her throat and nodded.

The cat-owl demon raised an eyebrow at her before producing a clipboard and pen from the drawer in front of him, “I’m gonna need your name first, lady.”

“Uh..I-It’s, um..Lee. Leanne.” As the man started writing her name down on the paper, Leanne’s head suddenly exploded with questions.

Wait! How does this all work? Was she going to need to tell him how she died? Confess her sins? Would there be some kind of test to see if she could stay? She remembered she had no money. How was she going to pay for this? Had she thought anything through at all!?

Just as Leanne sucked in a panicked breath to tell the other demon to wait, both of them jerked their head towards the sound of a squeal in the doorway. A young girl stood there wearing a white button up shirt with black suspenders, and a smile Leanne thought didn’t belong down here. She was very pale, with beautiful rosey cheeks complimenting a radiant smile, long and well kept blonde hair, and deep black eyes.

Princess Charlie rushed over to Leanne in the blink of an eye. She practically bounced as she spoke, taking Leanne’s hands in her own, “Are you checking in?? Please say yes!”

“Y-yes! Uh, I mean..I-I think so? I would like to?” Leanne bit the inside of her cheek. She’d ramble on forever if she didn’t get a grip, “I-Um. I just have a few questions.”

“Of course! Whatever you need we are here to help with!” Charlie let go of Leanne’s hands and snatched the clip board and pen from the other demon. He grumbled, but didn’t seem too bothered to have his job done by someone else. “What was your name?”

Charlie’s infectious positivity made it impossible for Leanne not to give the faintest of grins, “It’s Leanne, your..majesty? Highness? Princess?” Leanne had no idea how to address royalty of such a place as Hell. It didn’t help that Charlie seemed so different than what she reasonably should be.

The demon princess laughed without a hint of malice, “Just Charlie is fine, Leanne.”

Charlie was madly writing unknown information down on the clip board, and Leanne couldn’t help but notice the other demon eyeing her suspiciously. She tried not to make eye contact, just wishing for Charlie to talk again.

“Okay! Since you are one of our first patrons,” her voice shifted into a sing-song tone, the friendliness a sound Leanne didn’t know she had been craving until this moment, “I put you in one of our sweets!~ Room 331.”

“U-Uh, sorry, but I don’t have any money.” Leanne pulled her hands back to her chest, her tail tightening ever so slightly. She laughed joylessly, “I didn’t really come prepared for this, I guess.”

Charlie tucked the clipboard underneath one arm and took Leanne’s arm in the other, “Well then it’s a good thing you don’t have to pay for this! Husk, hand me her keys please?”

The husky voiced demon who now had a name went to the wall of keys behind him to find 331, tossing them to Charlie when he did.

Leanne was about to speak when Charlie tugged her along to the doorway and out into the hallway. The princess was pulling her toward the sound of the piano, “You’re going to LOVE it here! I’m so happy that my little, ahem, argument issue on the news didn’t keep you away!”

“Right.” Leanne didn’t have the heart to tell her it almost did. “S-So, uh, the questions that I had?..mainly about how I pay for this-“

Charlie held up a hand to silence Leanne, letting go of her arm to lead rather than pull, “You don’t! As long as you are showing progress towards your goal of redemption, you don’t owe anything! Just keep showing us your best behavior! Sound fair to you?”

“Sure,” Leanne tried to sound trusting, smiling the best she could remember how to, “Sounds fair.”

They had finally reached the source of the piano music. It was coming from behind two heavy doors with ‘Ballroom’ written on a sign above them. Along with the instrument, a voice could now be heard. It sounded as though someone was listening to an old 1930s radio host singing a song while playing along to it.

“I’m going to introduce you to my co-manager. He’ll be excited to see we have a second patron!” Charlie sang and pushed the doors open while Leanne thought about how there were only two guests in this ginormous place.

“Alastor, we have a new guest!”

The music stopped abruptly as Charlie spoke, and the one playing the piano stood from the bench and turned towards the two she-demons.

Leanne was terrified of him. Instantly and morbidly. Something about him sent a sub-zero chill down her spin that then went cascading out through her limbs. Her hands felt numb, her mouth felt dry, her head swimming. It was not unlike the feeling right before you wake from a terrible, horrific nightmare. Her tail coiled back around her waist as she tried to calm herself

Alastor was very tall, handsome, and incredibly thin. He wore a deep red pinstriped suit with a black tie in the shape of an upside down cross. His hair was shaggy, red on the top with a line of black around the bottom. Atop the Demon’s head were two small deer antlers, along with two tall tufts of hair that looked like they could be deer ears, matching red with the rest of his hair and tipped black on top.

His eyes were huge, dark red sclera with light red irises. His smile was even bigger, sharp yellow teeth stretching sinister from ear to ear. His skin was a grey similar in dullness to her own. He adjusted the monocle in front of his right eye as he looked over Leanne. His eyes glowed dimly.

Alastor suddenly threw his arms up in an exaggerated show of glee, “That’s wonderful news, my dear!”

His voice was the host Leanne thought she’d heard before. The demon spoke with a transatlantic accent, and it sounded as if there were an old radio transmitter in his throat. “The more the merrier as they say!”

He stepped forward, the sound of tap dance shoes clacking against the floor accompanying his footfalls. Leanne wanted to run away from him. Her mind was screaming at her to leave, forget this whole idea, and never come back. However, her body wouldn’t cooperate and Alastor had an arm around her and Charlie’s shoulders before she could do anything anyway, “We’re so delighted to have you, sweetheart! This place has been so very dull lately with just the few of us mucking about!”

He seemed friendly enough, so what was it about him that made Leanne’s heart feel like it was going to pound out of her chest? She hated him. His energy felt...bad. Wrong. Dangerous. She’d never felt worse about anyone, and that included the other demons she’d met down here. Her hands had gone from numb to sweaty, and yet she felt terribly cold now. This fear was all consuming, and it was touching her shoulders.

“So, what’s your name, mystery doll?” He tilted his head in the most uncanny way, staring down at her with sharp teeth and eyes unblinking.

Leanne’s tongue felt like a lead brick in her mouth, “I..uh...I-It’s-I’m, uh-“

Charlie gave a concerned chuckle, “Her name is Leanne.” She slipped out from under Alastor’s arm and gently touched the other girl’s shoulder, “Are you okay?”

Leanne was thankful to look at Charlie instead of him, and even more so to feel Alastor’s arm drop away from her as he took a step away.

“Y-Yes. Sorry. I’m just..” She glanced at Alastor, and instantly regretted it. His eyes were focused hard on her, his grin wide and full of teeth. Leanne could tell he knew she was feeling this way, “I just, um, g-get nervous around new people. That’s..that’s all.”

Charlie opened her mouth, but Alastor boomed over her, “Well that’s perfectly fine, sweetheart! I was being rude anyway. My name is Alastor, and I’m the co-manager of this fine establishment! I’m sure being here long enough will help you burst right out of that pretty shell of yours!”

“Yes it will!” Charlie clapped her hands together with a little hop, “We have so many activities planned for everyone who comes to stay here! Ice breakers, games, classes, you’ll never be bored and you’ll never not have people to talk to!”

“Assuming more folks do come by, of course!” Alastor added smugly, causing Charlie to shoot him a look.

“More will come, Al. Have a little bit of faith.” She walked passed Leanne to the door way, “If you follow me now, Leanne, I can show you to your room!”

“O-Okay.” She didn’t need to be told twice, grateful to get away from that radio-voiced Demon. She went to follow the princess out the door.

“I can already tell by looking at you, dear.” Alastor started, causing Leanne to stop for a moment. She wouldn’t look back at him. The static in his voice cleared as he spoke, “You’re going to be a very entertaining guest.”

[hunterartemis]

The Assistant: Filler Chapter : Nostalgia and Unresolved Issues

Word count: 4340 (initial) 5745 (after edit)

Chapter Theme: Beth’s Theme by Ólafur Arnalds : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pmKkaCKWreM

Warning: Intoxicated state, mention of alcohol and smoking (I do not drink, do drugs or smoke or advice to do either one of these to anyone.)

This chapter is also very prose based, and has lesser dialogues and actions (I thought, I should take it easy in this chapter)

Summery: As the title suggests, there will be some nostalgia and unresolved issues.

The golden memory of the sunset stayed picturesque in their mind while they whirled in the edge of Dover cliff. All that happened in the golden winter afternoon seemed like a distant happy past in comparison to the ashy lilac sky against the stark white and still Dover cliff. They parted ways like two playmates after a long day in the playground, forcibly separated from each other by their mothers, however good memories need to be embalmed with a quiet solitary pondering.

Newt didn’t go straight home. He was tired and out of his senses with exhaustion. He went to the Leaky Cauldron to have himself a dinner; smiling and recalling his memories at Le Procope just to take off his mind from this perpetually subordinate meal, under a musty and dark roof. At the time of his return, while he was paying his bills, he felt the rigid folded paper in his inner breast-pocket, dormantly tucked in for a chance of safe posting.

He called upon the Hotel Owl and posted the letter, and with a crack, he was standing in front of his apartment. With a click of lock, a soft plop of his coat on his side-couch and clacks of kicking shoes of and a sweep of disrobing, Newt thudded in his bed, fast asleep. The last image in his eyes was the light blue Lanvin paper bag on his bedside study table, bulging with his unexpected ‘Christmas gift’.

On the other side of Thames, Maxine entered her apartment. Despite the day, there was a lingering futility in her exhaustion. It was that kind of exhaustion that comes after labouring intensely and getting no positive result out of it. She disrobed and donned on her favourite pink watersilk dressing gown, plopped herself on the chaise and called for her dinner. Lampito, her elf brought her dinner at the baroque coffee table at the lounge. She downed her food without any enthusiasm, as if she was being tube-fed while being anesthetised.  She was constantly reminded of Newt’s molten gold eyes and dazzling smile when he replied “yes... I do.”

There was a sense of disassociation in those three words.

While uncoiling her finger-curled bob, she leaned at the door panel of her bedroom, looking around her room with displeasement. It was the usual, a normal bedroom with a single bed and a small study table, monochromatically dull and claustrophobic. Two of the four walls were stacked upto ceilings with some read and mostly unread books. It was literally done prim and proper by her elf and instead of a welcoming comfort it generated a sternness and rigidity. She lolled towards her bed, kicked off her slippers and tossed her robe at an indefinite direction and sunk into the bed, only to summon her slender pipe and light a cigarette. But coincidentally, not once her lips touched the pipe. As the bluish gray smoke rolled upwards her mind whirled in her past.

The journey hadn’t been easy

The night oddly reminded her of her first night at Hogwarts. It was a rain-drenched September night, cold as the ninth pit of hell and awfully quiet. She smiled sourly at the affectionate bed arrangement for her on the floor by her roommates, where she slept all night, just to return the favour for the next few weeks. And she couldn’t blame them. After all, not every day a beautiful French girl comes to claim one of the spare beds amongst the people she never seen in her life. She wished she was this confident when she was actually there. The execution of the revenges and wiping the OWL papers blank of that bully Montague just after submission would have been way more fun.  

His face was priceless when he had to repeat fifth year.

Although she would never admit it to herself, she clearly remembered the first time she walked the grounds of Hogwarts, accompanied by her father Hrothgar Valois*, grabbing her by the wrist. Her unsteady feet and mass of black waves interfered with her vision and caused irritation her otherwise generous father. She remembers how he sat her down in front of Headmaster Armando Dippet and Albus Dumbledore, the assistant headmaster and head of Gryffindor house, with utter disappointment, and she remembered the flabbergasted look on their faces, as at the time of admission she was 14.

“Zere ‘ad been some circumstances for which I have come ‘ere--” Monsieur Valois spoke with a low melodious tone with a heavy French accent, and did not sound very pleased with himself.

“That we can conclude... however” Professor Dippet answered with a wheezy voice “may we know what is the reason she is insisted to be admitted here so late...? The window of admission at Hogwarts comes only once, and it is the rule and the Law of the British ministry.” Professor Dippet looked at Monsieur Valois with displeasement.

“You misunderstand me, Professeur , she is, in fact educated. She is ze third child of mine and an heiress to the noble house of Valois, surely you’ve ‘eard?” Hrothgar waved his left hand perhaps to give them a glimpse of his baroque Alexandrite signet ring, glinting on his small finger.

“Blood purity cannot buy your daughter a place in Hogwarts, I am sure you know that.” Dumbledore answered sternly and Dippet agreed with him.

“What is the proof that she wasn’t neglected her education... a couple of purebloods we know take pride in their illiteracy and claim that Hogwarts have nothing to teach... they are the Gaunts, descendants of Salazar Slytherin, surely you’ve heard?” Professor Dippet commented with taunt. Hrothgar did not faze at all, in fact e softened instantly, in fact, he became almost glib.

“Of course, of course Professeur , ‘ow impudent of me. I should ‘ave brought it earlier” Monsieur Valois gave the headmaster a series of papers, “Zis is ‘er proof of previous education, a certificate from ‘er previeus school, ‘owever, in ze matter of delicate circumstances, ze name of ze school must be confidential.” Valois looked grimly at headmaster Dippet.

“And you are still insisting that I let her in my school?” Professor Dippet spoke quite loudly, but was pacified when Dumbledore spoke something in his ears. Dippet took the papers and read through all of them, and then he looked at the girl, who was, until this point, invisible. Both Dippet and Dumbledore fixed their gaze upon the fourteen year old.

“Do you know how to perform standard spells?” Dumbledore asked her, and her dark eyes fearfully looked at her father’s face then at the professor’s face, in shaking voice she replied

“Pardon, mais je ne comprend pas…” (I am sorry but I do not understand anything) and she was more scared when professor Dippet looked displeased, “Professeur, je suis désolé pour mon incapacité a parler Anglais, je promets…” (Sir, I am sorry for my incapacity of speaking English, I promise...)* she sounded positively panicked, “d’essayer plus fort--”* (I will try my best)

“It’s okay Maxine... Ca va... Est-que ce tu savais a effectuer les sorts standard?” (do you know how to perform standard spells?) Dumbledore asked kindly, and her fearful eyes glowed with hope. She went up and attempted to perform a spell, but she could not do anything except sparks and smoke.

“It’s no good…” she heard Dippet utter, “she is just another--”

“No Professeur… j’essayer encore… une chance… sil vous plait” (No sir, I will try again, one chance... please) she waved her wand desperately again and again but nothing happened.

“Miss Valois... relax...” Dumbledore called out “respirez...” (breathe)

She breathed and closed her eyes, letting her surroundings vanish. Slowly she raised her wand and conjured a paper out of the thin air. She manoeuvred the paper to fold on itself into a bird which increased its size each time it flapped its wing and gave a final dive into the teacher’s table where it vaporised with a small ‘poof’. Dippet was judging the child by her father, and now he looked impressed for her talent.

“Very good…” came Dippet’s verdict while Maxine huffed a little sigh of relief.

“Peux-tu me montre… un sort pour transfiguration avancé?” (can you show me an advance transfiguration spell ?) Dumbledore asked her and within a moment Maxine transformed the jade paperweight on the table into a black iguana which jumped from the table and slithered across the room, startling all three men in the room.

“Bah… j’essayair un dragon” (I was aiming for a Dragon), Maxine mused but she knew with their expression that she is as good as in. Her years in L’estate Valois made her good in reading men.

Maxine smiled at her little memory of entrance exam. She remembered when professor Dippet finally agreed to bring out the sorting hat and place it on Maxine’s head. Dumbledore kindly informed her about all the formalities of the school. But that’s not the most kindest or memorable about the first day; the strangest thing started when that frayed battered hat was placed upon her head.

“Ah… how very interesting” the hat whispered in her mind, “courageous and timid, loyal and detached and an inquisitive mind… what to do with you?” the hat as if whispered into her inner psyche, like some cumbersome thought bugging one in the dead of the night.

“C’est étrange… Vous parlez ?” (How strange… you talk?)  Maxine’s mind relayed this at an instant. In the reply of the child, a faint coarse laugh echoed in the hollow of her brain, “Oui, petit fille, et je peux regarder dans votre espirit” (yes little girl, and I can see into your mind)

“Tu crois que tu peux me comprendre?” (you think you can understand me?) Maxine thought, “un petit chapeau comme toi?” (a little hat like you?)

“Défiance, c’est vrai?” (Defiance, is it?) The hat whispered “mais ma petit fille, est-que ce vous savez quand j’ai possède un abélite extraordinaire ce qui rend vous petit esprit claire comme du verre pour moi ?” (But do you know little girl that I possess an extraordinary ability that renders your little mind as clear as glass to me?) the hat haughtily answered her back and paused, and in a assuring and firm tone spoke “laissez moi démêler ton âme Maxine Valois… laissez moi te guider a la sublime.” (let me uncover your mind Maxine Valois... let me guide you to the sublime.)

“Comme ca?” (how so?)

“Even in the least confident child lies innate capability that, if harnessed correctly, it transforms them into someone extraordinary.” The sorting hat sermonised “and I am here, at the threshold to the doorway to greatness, only to make that choice easier.”

“Je comprend tout… mais c’est Anglais!” (I understand everything... but it’s English) Maxine thought.

“Yes… now let’s look at you again. Ah, such curious mind you have… what a complex concept you have on good and evil, respect and retaliation, rage and calm. An old fear that have caged you long since, but what is that that lurks inside? A bird or a monster...?”

“So you are nothing but a rusty old hat, who cannot even decide where to put me...” Maxine thought sarcastically, and then within her head the voice echoed “You possess contempt for the world because it fails to understand you, but do you understand yourself?”

“What do you mean?”

“And that is the reason you crave greatness to conquer them all and knowledge to conquer yourself” the hat asserted, “and both sides weigh equally. So if you have to choose one of them, which one would it be?”

“Knowledge” Maxine answered in her mind “you can achieve greatness without knowledge, but it will not be for long, someone will eventually defeat you. However, if one has knowledge, greatness is a matter of time.”

“A heart fit for a Slytherin…” the sorting hat said aloud. However in that finality of note, lingered another statement, in which’s anticipation made Maxine lose her patience for every passing fractions of seconds. She knows what she was getting into, another place where status and family meant all. At the same time seeing her father’s eyes glinted with pride; she didn’t had the heart to disappoint him. She saw Dumbledore and Dippet watching her closely, and instantly she knew none of the conversation was heard by them. It must have been quite long because they looked at her way as if they were waiting for long anticipated news.

“But the spirit soars with Eagle wings…” the sorting hat concluded, and announced the verdict “I place her in Ravenclaw.”

Her life in Hogwarts wasn’t normal at all. She struggled a lot with the languages, got a lot of detentions and eventually she became more reckless and desperate with the faculty and the students. She hadn’t any friends, even within her houses. People would either whisper “go back to your country” or openly call her ‘Quin’ or some other adorable slurs. The faculty couldn’t do anything to her because of her grades, but she could tell that they didn’t like that she was the topper, there was some disapproval in their eyes... for which she caused it, she didn’t know.

Another thing which made her more of a target for bullying and censor. She was frequently visited by ministry officials, for what she didn’t know. They always asked the same questions: who was she? how was her family? where she came from? and the answers were always the same exasperated replies. She didn’t even remembered their face at this point, but they looked at her in a way that made her feel like she was being pitied. And she didn’t like that-- after all, why should she, she was from the Noble Family of Valois, one of the oldest  and richest French Purebloods. She should not be pitied, she should be a subject of jealousy. 

Hogwarts, as she remembered, was a prison to her. The hardest part of this experience was the inability to express her opinion. After all, who would believe her? Hogwarts was the best Wizarding school in the whole world.

Therefore she sought her escape in the Dark Forest, away from the maddening crowd, far from the scorns and judgement, into the musty scent and under the shades of the green canopy, with the dryads and wood-fairies, bowtruckles and the nightingales... flying all across the vast forest, harmonising with the Merpeople into a green horizon of peace. The silent ones don’t judge and discriminate, they love unconditionally, give unconditionally and that was the only thing that pacified her in the whole world. That same peace, she found with Newt Scamander.  Only with Newt she found a place where she can belong--without and family name or money, or grades. Just as herself.

The cigarette ash suspended on its dying ember. Maxine tipped it off and blew out the candle.

Many miles underground, inside a dark office, scratching of quills over papers could still be heard. Theseus Scamander was still working on the leads of Grindlewald. His well combed waves were astray, and he was on his fifth coffee in the past three hours. The towers of documents, immigration papers, and status profile and employment details were taking a physical toll on him as well as mental. All his employees left after sunset, as per standard rules, but not him. He could not bear to go home and eat, and sleep and let the memory of Pere Lachaise haunt him. He had to find a way to avenge Leta—

Thud.

“For Merlin’s sake Max, stop generating more work and just go home...”  Theseus screamed while scribbling and when he looked up to see the scattered piles of paper, he saw no one there. Feeling stupid on his antics and thanking that he was alone, he tried to refocus. However, he couldn’t. He put down his quill and tried to reach for his coffee. It spilled all over his papers.

“This evening could not get any worse... tergeo” with another wave of wand he put away all his papers, took his bag, opened the door and locked it, determined to go home and take some rest. Now he regretted his frequency of consuming coffee which will make him stay wide awake.

At the same time, he was made terribly aware of himself and the silence and utter solitude around him. Each step he took magnified and came to his ears like some demented dying heartbeat. As if he was alone in the world, the only human cursed to walk in his wretched world that had stripped away everything from him. The slopey rails took him further and further down to the landing, now gleaming darkly as the dying lights slowly tossed themselves against the black marbles. The golden bars of the lift glowed dimly with the pallor of dead bones, which in fact surprised him. He always thought them beautiful, but now they did not.

He walked towards the right hand side corridor, towards the Department of Mysteries. It looks like it was one floor down from the Auror Office, but it was not. The illusive architecture always amazed him and always amused Maxine; she called the illusion of the floor ‘like a screw’, winding upwards and winding downwards at the same time.

He smiled on his own, as he trotted through the dark corridor, doors after doors passing like some avoided and neglected people on a depraved street. Then at one point he stopped, he stopped at the Door of Archives, where from the inception of the Ministry, every person is documented and kept behind the locked doors. On the opposite was the interrogation room; where convicts are brought for questioning, and curiously enough, interviews took place. The first time Theseus entered those doors after entering the ministry, was as one of the directors in the Interview board. After a boring set of interviews, entered a willowy and pale woman, whose sharp black eyes and slit smile announced that she was no ordinary woman

“Tell us about yourself...” Travers asked her and Theseus was noting everything down on his clipboard, mainly about her body language.

‘Tall, attractive, very French... ’

‘I am Maxine Valois, I graduated Hogwarts in the summer of 1912, and I grant myself proficient in all the qualities you require for an Auror.’

‘Late-comer, desperate, trying to conceal insecurities with confident voice’

“Excellent... now, if your testimony is correct and so is your records, you’ve been graduated about eleven years ago.” Travers asked, “May I ask why you delayed yourself from reaching out?”

“With all respect sir, I said I graduated Hogwarts at the summer of 1912, that doesn’t conclude that I have pulled a curtain upon my studies, now does it?” said she with amusement “I was out and about around the world, studying and researching, and when my inheritance of some few thousand galleons were at exhaustion I decided that it was an end for my academic pursuits.”

Theseus scratched out the last sentence and scribbled ‘Possibly formidable candidate, intelligent, little on the over-confident side, has a way with words, less likely to follow authorities,’

“What kind of studies were you pursuing...?” Travers asked with curiosity and a sense of annoyance that sounded to Theseus’ ears as a mockery.

“I am not really obliged to disclose that here because I have sworn secrecy with the institutions about the lessons I received...” said Maxine.

Theseus scribbled ‘Emphasis on arrogant, likely to fail for angering Travers.’

“Why is that?”

“I have paid visits most of the Wizarding schools in the world, you can ask them individually if you want. Nothing shall escape my lips”

‘Bordering on insufferable,’

“Thank you Miss Valois you shall be called--”

“You cannot cast me out like this.” Maxine said calmly and Theseus looked up from his paper to look at her face. The level of audacity was just too unimaginable for him and later he understood that he was on the same page with everyone about this interviewee. There was no sign of fear, arrogance or sneer on her face. The calm demeanour signified that she knew what she was talking about and it made Theseus look straight across her face, but only for so long. There was a dazzling sharpness in those angled black eyes that made the beholder lower their sight after a few moments.

“Why do you think that we do not have that kind of power” said Travers, laughing “because we at this side of the table have every power to cast you out as you like.”

“You misunderstand me sir...” Maxine continued with her serene voice “British ministry is getting weaker and weaker every moment, you see, this little Island is not only detached from Europe but also the rest of the world where the recruitments are better, stricter and more efficient. You see, your inefficient policy with wizards and non-wizards have made you vulnerable against the extremists and right now most powerful wizards in the country are rallying against you. If I walk out of this and send a word, most powerful anti-British ministries will jump on the bandwagon of recruiting me, and I would rather be on this side than on the other side of massacre and extremism... if you think I am lying or bluffing, the fourth page of my Curriculum Vitae can testify to that.”

Theseus and Travers, out of curiosity peered to the page Maxine mentioned and a shining golden badge on a piece of silk paper was encrusted. Maxine, understanding that they cannot read the language, pointed her wand towards them and softly uttered in an unfamiliar language.

“This Award of Golden Robe and of Five Seals goes to Miss Maxine Valois, By Japanese Wizarding Congress. She is hereby awarded an honorary member of Society of Eurasian Magical Corporation and is hereby granted a full permission to take citizenship and work on Japanese soil”*

The men could not speak for some times, and then suddenly Travers looked at her “that is indeed an impressive feat. To be able to acquire such a position in an ultra-homogeneous community” Said he and started to counsel amongst his fellow board members. After some painful minutes and questioning stares the verdict was passed.

“And we will be glad to have you here on the British Ministry.”

“Thank you sir... I am most delighted” Maxine stood up and shook his hands.

After all the interviews, when the selections were being done, there was a time when Maxine’s names was announced. Theseus was astound at the frivolity of the minds of men in power; those openly displayed disapproval were now fighting over that single girl who had outwitted them. He remembered how the interview board turned into the fights of Juries in Wizengamot. He quietly observed how the Head Aurors practically jumped on each other. Not even Theseus knew what was going to happen in the next moment.

“Sirs...“ boomed Theseus, standing up, “with all due respect, I think your fight is nothing more than redundant.“

“What is the meaning of this Mr. Scamander?“ Damon Yaxley roared, “just because you have won the war, doesn’t make you decider of our fates...“

“Why would I try to decide your fates Sirs, I am an Auror... I destroy my enemies, like you all.“ and with him all the interview board started to laugh with him “all I am asking that I should have that Franco-English girl as my intern and subordinate.“

“Sorry m’boy, but I think you are a little too young to decide to that“ answered Archturius Black, and Theseus replied, suppressing the heated insult “and you Mr. Black, is too old for that.“ and the board laughed again

“Sirs... not only my department is short stuffed and suffering, but also compromised most aurors in the field than yours. I am only asking a fair recruit. Besides, don’t I deserve that for winning the war?“ Theseus smiled and sat down, because he knew the game was his when no one spoke against him anymore. He too was surprised of himself... he never thought he would be this desperate.

Theseus smiled at that memory and for a good reason. It was the pivotal step of their relationship, he as the boss and she as the intern. And soon from fetching papers and carrying out notices, that belated intern became an inseparable member of Theseus’ team. Soon Travers started ordering Theseus to take her into important missions, carrying out espionages and surveillance jobs, and her promotion rate was going upwards so steeply that she was soon the Assistant General on Theseus’ team, working alongside him in the same office. Of course he never told her what he did to the entire Law Enforcement team to get her. The Scamander-Valois team was unbeatable, until that time...

It was almost six months ago...

He was preparing for departing to Paris with Leta and his team, Travers had a big row with Maxine as she thought the operation will be a great failure. Terrified more than excited, Theseus was coming out of the archive room after inspecting some papers. After closing the door, he saw Leta in front of him, equally terrified as him and sad.

“Leta... we will be fine” Theseus tried to console her, but she didn’t budge; the thought of dead Corvus Lestrange always plagued her. Theseus took her into his arms, lifted her face and embraced her lips into his. Leta understood that, Theseus always tries to console her at both physical and psychological planes, but sometimes when he finds himself at loss of words, he lets his affections physically manifest and radiates on to others. Each time he connected himself physically with Leta he felt an unknown fulfilment, and Leta allowed him that.

In his moment of satisfaction, his ken picked up another face, gleaming at the dark at the side. He broke his kiss with Leta and looked at the person.

“Max...” he unconsciously wiped his lips and spoke hoarsely and unsteadily. Maxine on the other hand, looked like her usual self; Theseus cleared his voice and said “what you’re doing here?”

“I am sorry to interrupt your meeting but Travers is calling for you...” Maxine informed; and was attempting to leave the place, but Leta stopped her. Her hand reached her high shoulder gently and she waited for Maxine to turn, “Maxine I am sorry that you could not join us.”

“It’s okay...” Maxine asserted before even Leta could finish, “Besides, dictators, social climbers and brainless whiners seems to be the order of day. Someone needs to keep their heads in the right place” Maxine added with her usual twisted smirk, “and um... that dress seems to be a little on the drinking party side than ‘I am visiting my brother’s tomb’ side--”

“Maxine...” Theseus’ voice concealed an alarm in that hushed tone.

“However, who am I to judge, I am not the only French here right?” a cruel smile graced on her lips.

Theseus could take no more, he took a few stepped forwards, “Stop it” he hissed at Maxine, whose expression looked unaffected and almost bored. She turned her face towards Leta, “so bon chance on your failed mission and do let me know how many of you gets compromised--” after a sneer and a wink, she clacked away.

Leta prevented Theseus from chasing her back and shook her head in the indication that Theseus should not speak about this fiasco and cause a ruckus. As Leta left to join Travers, Theseus chased right after Maxine. He could feel the skin under his collar heating up with every step he took. Blood pounded in his ears. As he slammed his office door open, he saw Maxine there, organising papers. She turned towards him as if it was another day in the office, but it only did so to infuriate Theseus even more. He forcefully turned her towards himself and his face, by this time looked like he had murdered someone.

“Why are you like this Maxine, Why?” Theseus bellowed, “Your attitude was beneath you. I can overlook your petty pranks here and there but that... that was unforgivable. You behaved like a mean schoolgirl with her and I am disappointed in you.”

“Beneath me?” Maxine asked unemotionally, “you claim to understand what is beneath or above me? Stop sounding so noble Theseus, you sound like those imbecile chevals.”* She tried to walk off from the conversation by brushing the topic lightly but Theseus wasn’t having any. He again turned out towards her “yes I do.” He said with heat “You behaved improperly today, and not to mention you have hurt Leta beyond the limit. All the ministry employees know that Corvus Lestrange is a forbidden topic--”

“By your orders it is then? Merlin when I came to this place I had to work so much harder despite my academic qualification and she, didn’t even had six months is getting treated like a queen. I wonder how far she went in your--”

“SHE IS MY FIANCEE MISS VALOIS AND YOU WILL DO WELL TO SPEAK WITH HER WITH DECENCY.” Theseus took a few steps back and turned on his heel and walked away. For a brief moment he saw the dazzling black eyes moistened, but he was too proud to stand there.

The memory hit him hard. He stopped at his tracks and leaned on the wall; the same wall where it all started. That incident that never really got resolved even though things got back to normal after the days. Whenever he tried to apologise, Maxine would ignore it or veer the conversation otherwise. Sometimes he thought she leaving Ministry and joining as Newt’s assistant was a big prank on its own; why argue through your job and literally throw it away for animal scutwork?—he will never understand that, and sometimes just thinking about all those mismatching things gave him a headache.

Nothing makes sense anymore these days.

...

‘‘Maîtresse... maîtresse...’ a wheezy voice woke Maxine up in the middle of the night. Rubbing her eyes, she breathed sharply and sat up on her bed. There was still some streetlight left in the street that could permeate through the still and transparent linen curtain.

“What?” Maxine exclaimed angrily and the elf turned on the bedside lamp, “it’s two thirty in the morning, I told you unless someone is dying on my doorsteps do not disturb--”

“It is a man maitresse… ” Lampito answered fearfully, “he introduced himself as Scamander… he is asking for you maitresse, and he is not well.”

Maxine’s face hardened and a trace of worry in her sleepy eyes appeared like a thin curtain “Barbe de Mer…” she almost jumped out of the bed, throwing herself only her blush colored dressing-gown. The time she entered her sitting room, she saw a tall brunet man in tweed suit lolling on her chaise with his face down towards the floor. His hand lolled at one side and it seemed like all the blood in his body was drained. Maxine rushed towards her chaise and straightened him to see his face.

“Theseus--” she whispered, but it was unlike anything she ever known that barely resembled ‘Theseus Scamander’. His face was red and lulled to a drunken stupor. Traces of vomit crusted around his lips and jaw, and some even soiled his shoulder. Maxine covered her nose and pointed the wand to siphon the dirt of his body and face, and indignantly looked at her chaise, if something has been dirtied or not.

“This chaise cost me six hundred galleons… direct from Provence too…” Maxine exasperated, “I wonder what gotten into him to do this. Lampito…” she turned to the elf “go make Monsieur Scamander some tall espresso and fetch all the sausages and eggs we have. For now, get me a glass of milk. Levicorpus…” Maxine lifted Theseus up on air and kicked off the door of her study, to prop him on the fainting couch; no way will she let a drunken man into her bedroom.

She laid him on his side first, loosened his shoes, necktie and got rid of the blazer and the waistcoat. She gave them all to the elf and ordered them to wash it. With all the changes of position and possible rise of discomfort, Theseus started to groan as a response of being moved.

“Okay you schmuck…” Maxine propped his head as gently as possible. It was a strenuous job to lay him comfortably on the cushion because not only he was a foot taller and weighed at least 40 pounds more than Maxine, but he was also an exceptionally difficult person in his intoxicated self. Maxine tried hard to hold the head close but not too close to her chest, the fluttering of her neckline due to Theseus’ groaning and breathing was unnerving already. After an agonizing struggle when she finally managed to lay his head on the pillow, he jolted up and another wave of projectile vomit ensued, spewing everywhere.

As much as Maxine wanted to scream at Theseus and bash his skull in the walls for ruining her Victorian couch and Chinese watersilk, she felt an uncommon pity towards him that she never knew before. Siphoning every speck of sick, she knelt beside him as he groaned feverishly. His dry, puce lips mumbled something so low that Maxine had to bring her ears to his lips to listen.

“Forgive me…. Leta… I couldn’t save you… I am sorry… so sorry”

“Oh you fool…” Maxine whispered to herself, “stop blaming yourself for her death… it wasn’t your fault” her small voice shook, “you cannot carry the whole burden of the world… stop being such an imbecile Cheval… ” Maxine put her hand on his forehead reluctantly after contemplating against doing it, and stroked him gently and surely. She felt terrible seeing someone who had always been superior to her broken into pieces like this. Not even in her worst nightmare she would have imagined that Theseus would do something like this. Even the day when she quit, he seemed fine and alright. Personally she blamed herself a little for this state of Theseus; after all she was the Vice Head of his team, working alongside him day and night. She could have understood it—but she failed.

People say it’s the woman who are difficult to get a read on, but what about men like him, who suppress their emotions to such a point that it breaks them from within?

“please don’t leave me… pleas--”

“Maitresse…” Maxine startled into life and looked at the back, Lampito was standing with a glass of milk, “you wanted it for Monsieur Scamander”

Maxine stood up hastily, rearranging her robe a little, “feed him, and check on him every hour…” she walked towards the door.

“Maitresse, are you alright?” Lampito asked in a puzzled voice.“Yes…” she turned towards the elf and smiled with a small manner, “I am just tired.”

Tags: @my-current-fandom-is

In this chapter I wanted to explore a bit with the dynamics of Maxine and Theseus. They were former colleagues and I have hinted that things weren’t entirely platonic. From whose side it was more, I will leave it to you. At this point you can see, Maxine has totally different dynamics with Newt and Theseus. 

The French subtitles were getting cumbersome, so I added the translation right there. But some words here and there are added in the footnote.

Baroque: I have mentioned that quite often. Baroque is a style of architecture, music, and fashion that is emotional, overtly religious and ornamental. It was famous form late 17th to late 18th century. This is also the period when French Aristocracy died (French Revolution : 1789), so I thought that an old French Pureblood family, such as the Valois will try to hold onto that ‘good old days’. Here is an example how ‘Baroque’ looks like:

Signet Ring: a family jewel worn as a ring on the little finger by European aristocratic males (the eldest son, the Paterfamilias). It usually bears the Family crest, and passed down generation after generation. Here is the sample Baroque signet ring worn by the Last French Monarch, Louis XVI, crested with Fleur de Lis

Valois: French for “From the Valley”, it was a very famous Aristocratic house in France, and for several centuries, they assumed the French Throne.

Quin: a Slang for Vagina

Maitresse: French for “Mistress”

Barbe de Mer: French for “Merlin’s beard”, however, Maxine shortens Merlin into “Mer”, French for the sea, also signifying “Beard of the Sea” or tumultuous waves.

Fainting couch : a couch in the Victorian household where women who were sick, fainting or both used to lay down.

Cheval: french for “horse”, metaphorically signifying Cheveliers (knights).

[overdrivels]

I would love to see something about maybe Reaper with a S/O who loves toys?? Like colorful dolls and animals and whatnot. I feel like that combination will be interesting! Thank you so much!

All the Colors 

You’re pretty handy with a needle, and you weren’t afraid to make that known with each new doll you made. Reaper, despite being far removed from the man once known as Gabriel Reyes, appreciated it and would say nothing whenever you’d return from a mission with two or three new colorful dolls or plush toys that you’ve crafted mid-transit (even if they were hilariously large and hindered your ability to open doors).

The good majority of Talon could say nothing either. Either because they feared your relationship with Reaper, who had made it clear to everyone on more than one occasion that your interests are not an acceptable point of ridicule, or they feared retribution from you, the group’s chief information broker–it’s common knowledge by now that on your word alone, you can essentially determine who lives or dies (like that one guy who tore one of your stuffed dolphins in half, and then mysteriously got sent off to Antarctica to retrieve a highly radioactive material guarded by a group of hostile Omnics without the proper precautions–the end result was not pretty).

Today, it is no different. He and Sombra see you coming down the hall, an armful of colorful, round somethings, the size of volleyballs. You looked like you had some trouble with them. 

“Oi, wha’chu got there?” Sombra gasps, “Are those new?” 

Your eyes light up when you notice them coming, and you sprint to meet them. “Good timing, you two!” 

Both Reaper and Sombra look at each other. Usually, ‘good timing’ in Talon terms mean that something has happened and everything’s going to go to hell, or someone’s about to be in a very uncomfortable position. This time, it is the latter. 

“Could you hold these for me? I’ll be right back. Gotta grab meet with someone.” Without even waiting for an answer, you shove your inventory into Reaper’s arms with a, “Thanks, I love you!”, and tear down the hall, the echoes of your heels fading fast. 

Both Sombra and Reaper look at the items you’ve forced upon them. 

“Oh no,” the hacker hisses excitedly. “They’re cute.”

‘They’ were bright and cheerful animals, each decorated and embroidered to represent different seasons, are a sharp contrast to his almost fully black attire, and it’s enough to make passing Talon operatives gawk, much to his irritation. 

Even worse is Sombra who insists on taking a selfie (read: as many as Reaper’s patience would allow plus two) with each individual doll in the middle of the hallway. 

Normally, he would not put up with such behavior, but he knows that you and Sombra’s had a mutual understanding or bond over these stuffed creations. (You repaired her bear when it was on the cusp of dying from cotton loss, and that made you her absolute favorite person on base.)

“Y’think I can have one of these?” she asks after her final picture. 

Reaper snatches the one Sombra holds–a gaudy golden and green sheep that’s supposed to represent summer–with lightning speed. “Don’t even think about it.” 

She holds up her hands, smirking slyly. “Whoa, calm down there, big guy. I was just kidding.”

He growls. With Sombra, chances should never be taken. 

She rolls her eyes with an over-exaggerated slump of her shoulders. “Gawd, you act like they’re your kids or somethin’, Gabe. Loosen up.”

Now that was territory he didn’t want to cross into. Luckily, your voice in his earpiece allows him an easy out. 

“Hey, Reap–”

“Where are you?” he growls into his communication device. 

“Sorry, Reaper. I got caught up with some work.” You sound rushed, and he can almost see your eyes rushing back and forth like they usually do when you’re trying to process a lot of information. “You have access to my room, right? Could you take my babies there? I’ll be there soon! Thanks, love you!”

He has half a mind to tell you to do it yourself, but he just grumbles, a sign of his reluctant cooperation. 

Sombra, having no doubt just heard the whole conversation (he swears every single communication device ever issued is bugged), cooes, “Ooh, ‘babies’, huh? Didn’t know you still had it in you, Ga–WHOA, watch it!” 

Reaper mists down the hall, purposefully getting some in Sombra’s face as he makes his way through the base toward your dorm. He takes childish satisfaction at her spluttering and indignant curses in Spanish. 

Again, that was a topic he didn’t want to talk about. Why does he put up with you when all you do is ask unreasonable demands of him? Your requests only bring attention to him that he doesn’t really want and causes people to ask questions that he’s not comfortable exploring. But he finds himself drawn to you anyway, pathetic as it sounds. 

He’s the personification of death–he should be feared, not bending to the simple whims of a person that he l–

Reaper’s thoughts take a convenient break when he reforms to tap in the access code to your room. It slides open, welcoming him inside to the very image he wants to disassociate himself with. Your stuffed creations line nearly every square foot of your Talon-issued dorm room. He’s been in here before, and as usual, feels ridiculously out of place (that’s a common feeling nowadays for more reasons than one).

He sighed heavily before putting your collection of new goods carefully on a empty spot on your table where he thinks they should belong. They fit almost perfectly among their equally bright companions. Half of the table though is buried in scraps of fabric (he recognizes the knit of many of them–felt, towelling, cotton, muslin), and various other sewing supplies amidst your actual work, written in mostly shorthand and pictures that is illegible to anyone except you.

He doesn’t know if he’s supposed to leave or stay. You did say you’ll be there shortly. If he was wrong in his assumptions, he could easily just disappear. 

Although the room itself is very inviting, Reaper does not dare sit down–a soft bed with even softer plush toys, a beanbag in the corner, a small round table with two small lounge chairs for company (he can see they’re already occupied by some stuffed residents, however) all beckon him to sit and relax. 

Reaper resists, and merely stands against a wall, pondering. How did he ever find himself entangled with someone like you? How did his life lead to him standing in a room of dolls, animals, and fabric creatures that belong to someone that wasn’t even his child? (Once, as Gabriel Reyes, he had pictured something like this for someone he loved. However, this was just twisting the concept a little too far.) 

He could tell you were diligent in your work. Each doll sewn by hand and every stitch carefully placed, the expressions and fabrics chosen with specific intent. He couldn’t hate someone like that. 

On the contrary, he liked diligence–admired it, even. He liked people who showed great promise and strove to perfect their talents. Even if your purpose was to make something that caused you (and him) to be secretly ridiculed, he could only encourage your skills–those with potential should hone it, make it bloom, no matter where it brought them. That was what life was about–a life that he no longer possessed. 

The door slide open, and you immediately greet him with a smile and a brush of your knuckles against his mask–he couldn’t feel it, but the intentions are more than enough to warm what little heart he had left. 

“Hey, Reaper. Thanks for before. I didn’t keep you waiting, did I?”

He shrugs noncommittally. It’s not that he didn’t, but he would never tell you that. It’s not important. 

You survey the room quickly and beam upon spotting your newest creations in what seemed to be a fitting spot. “Perfect! You have really great sense, you know that?” 

So he’s been told. “Do you need anything else?” He intends to leave if otherwise–your room is a little too bright for him, and with you here, it’s like the sun’s been crammed into this small space.

“Oh yeah! I wanted to give you something.” That perks his interest a little. “Just finished it last night! I think it fits you!” You pluck out a small object draped in a spare piece of fabric like a veil from atop your desk and hold it out for him. 

He can see that it’s a plush toy from the way your fingers sink into it. He doesn’t know whether to be elated that you’d make something for him or annoyed that you’d go out of your way to mind him so much. It’s not worth your trouble. If anything, he might just give it to Sombra–she enjoys your creations, and he has no use for them. 

Reluctantly, he holds out his hand slowly with a heavy sigh like it’s a chore. But it does not deter you, and you cheerily drop it into his waiting hand, pulling off the veil. 

He looks at the gift shrewdly, and then at you. 

“I hardly see the resemblance.”

It’s a delicately crafted owl, no larger than the size of a baseball. It was a light teal color, almost minty in its appearance, that slowly gradated into a warmer orange toward the bottom. Dark vines were embroidered into it to represent wings, mixed with spots of yellow, orange, red, and pink stitching that could perhaps represent flowers. The owl’s expression looked as though it was sleeping; eyes closed and beak pointed downward, peaceful and comfortable in Reaper’s loose hold, almost as though it trusts him not to crush it. 

It definitely did not look a thing like him. The colors were too lively and warm; it remind him of the coming of springtime–the fading of lifeless frost giving way to the liveliness of grass and flowers. Its expression and body language is too trusting and happy. It did not resemble him in any capacity. 

No, if anything, it was a splitting image of how he saw you. 

And he closed his hand around it softly, the gauntlet clinking as the tips touched, creating a makeshift cage around it. It still looked content. As did you. 

“Does this mean you’ll keep it?” 

“For now.” 

The answer seems to please you, you smile widely. Reaper sneaks a peak at the owl resting in his partially closed hand again and thinks that it really resembles you–if you smiled a little brighter, the owl might actually wake up and stretch to the sky like plants reaching for the sun. 

Damn, he must be getting sentimental in his old age (not that he ages–he’s dead). 

But as an afterthought, he quietly adds, “Thanks.”

And this time, your delighted gasp and smile lights up his whole world, if only for a second and beckons the warmth of something he thought he’s long lost.