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olympians367 · 6 months ago

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How can one minor change affect the future?

One morning, Severus Snape wakes up to find an infant on his doorstep with only a note to explain its appearance. A friend of his - one that had gone missing after Hogwarts and presumed dead - was begging him to care for her daughter, a girl who had caught the attention of the Dark Lord.

Unbeknownst to him, he has just been entrusted with the responsibility of raising the daughter of Poseidon, a child whose powers transcends that of Heracles; a child who has been fated to either save Olympus . . . or destroy it. A child like this being raised and taught by a cold and emotionally reserved man, who knows the Dark Arts and potion-making like the back of his hand, could have a less than favorable outcome.

After eleven years of being isolated from the wizarding world, Evangeline is starting her first day at Hogwarts, and is about to make a shocking discovery.

[Chapters are between two to five thousand words long.]

Chapter Four - Flying Lesson Disaster

“I hear you’ll be having flying lessons tomorrow,” Snape said, taking a sip of his tea.

Evangeline was in her father’s office, serving her “detention”. Her punishments consisted of sitting in his office and sharing a cup of tea with him, while having a conversation on several topics. Now, Snape could just send his daughter invites to come see him, but he wants to avoid the scenario of someone questioning why she was always coming to his office and him explaining why, seeing as everyone believes him to be a cynical loner.

“Yeah, with the Slytherins,” Evangeline replied, rolling her eyes as she took a bite from her blue chocolate chip cookie.

“Do I sense some irritation in your tone, young lady?” Snape gives his daughter a disapproving stare, visibly telling her to watch what she says next.

Over Evangeline’s childhood, she quickly learned when she should push her father’s buttons, which was why she didn’t watch what she said next. “Yes, you do sense some irritation because I am irritated. No offense, father, but your House is filled with snobby, racist, and entitled kids - no wonder the Sorting Hat didn’t place me there! I’m now glad it didn’t.”

Snape wanted to argue, but had no leg to stand on. Most of Slytherin’s reputation was well-deserved, and with their parents affiliation with He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named and his own experiences with them, they’re not the right influence for his daughter. A part of him was also glad the Sorting Hat hadn’t placed her into Slytherin. Snape had promised her mother to keep her safe from the Dark Lord’s clutches, and he can’t easily do that if Evangeline is constantly surrounded by people who would try to convince her to join the Dark Lord.

“I’m aware you’ve had experience flying a broom, but are you excited to learn how to fly?”

Evangeline’s lips curled into a joyful grin as she nodded. “Very.”

A rare smile graced Snape’s lips, one that he only showed to his family. His daughter was always an adventurous, free-spirited girl, and frankly, was unlike any witch he’s ever seen or heard of. As a child, if something sounded interesting to her, she’d try it. Evangeline has done soccer, swimming, baseball, jiu jitsu, taekwondo, boxing, gymnastics, skateboarding, surfing, baking, violin, piano, horse-riding – she was a very active child. Snape has asked why she never tried wizard sports, and her answers ranged from “They’re not my thing” to “You won’t let me” to “When you wizards stop relying on a small ball to end Quidditch and acting like a bunch of babies, then I’ll play your sports” depending on her mood. Allowing her to do these things stopped her from running around the house like a cat at 3AM.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, Evangeline, but why didn’t you sing during the school song? Frankly, I was disappointed when I didn’t hear you - it would’ve started off my year just right.”

“I did sing,” Evangeline’s voice became quiet and slightly high-pitched, and she did her best to hide it by sipping her tea. However, her father was no fool.

“I know what my daughter sounds like, and mouthing does not count as singing.”

“You know I don’t like singing in front of people.”

Snape furrows his brows in confusion. “Why? You have a lovely singing voice, my dear. You never had much trouble singing in front of your mother, Theodore, and me.”

“You have a nice smile,” Evangeline retorted. “Why don’t you smile for people other than mom, Theodore, and me?”

Snape and Evangeline stared at each other, her defiant eyes standing their ground against his strict ones. Despite wanting to scold her for her backtalk, Snape decided against it as she had a point. “Touché.”

The two talked a bit more, changing the subject to the art they had been sent by Theodore, who spent every minute of every day sketching, drawing, painting, and sculpting, if he felt like it. This led to the eight-year-old boy to become a prodigy, and Theodore had said multiple times that he planned on creating his own graphic novel with a set of interesting characters. Snape always wanted to tell his son that his stories might not be accepted in the wizarding world, but he never could go through with it.

As dinner neared, the two began cleaning up, making the office look as though no bonding had occurred. Before leaving, Snape gently ran his hands through his daughter’s hair, messing it up a bit. Evangeline’s hair would always get messy after she played sports, and somehow it looked natural on her - showed off a bit of her wild side. Now, whenever Snape sees her hair even a tad messy, he knew that she had been having fun. Snape brushed his finger at the base of Evangeline’s neck, causing her to flinch and giggle; he smiled. He tenderly kissed her forehead, whispering, “My beautiful child.”

Evangeline was certainly a beautiful girl, a fact not lost on Harry.

The moment his green eyes caught her walking into the Great Hall, he couldn’t help but watch her every movement. Most of the students, and a few staff, watched as she strolled towards the Gryffindor table with an air of confidence, her robes billowing behind her as she sat down, filled her plate, and began eating.

This was a common occurrence.

The majority of Hogwarts felt Evangeline was a different breed of witch. It wasn’t because of how talented she was in her classes, it was everything else. She commanded attention and respect without needing to ask, and people regularly parted for her like the Red Sea in the halls. Her intense black eyes that shone with a fierce determination were like two onyx jewels, standing out against her pale skin that was so well-defined it had to have been created by one of the greatest sculptors of the century. Her hair, that was braided on certain days and messy on others, was parted right down the middle and framed her face like a silk curtain with soft curls. When she spoke, everyone could hear the exotic accent mixed in with the British one; it sounded like Spanish, but they weren’t sure. She was a girl that was hard to ignore. She had this thing about her, this strange aura that grabbed people’s attention.

Harry has talked to her a few times. She was a friendly girl, but weirdly, she never spoke about her family, especially her father.

All of Gryffindor felt bad for her as the Potions Master, Snape, would harp on her every Potions class and constantly give her detentions. Sometimes, the professor would get so angry that he’d start making weird hand gestures that would force Evangeline’s ADHD to focus on, resulting in him getting more angry. It was a surprise she hadn’t broken down crying yet.

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

Harry hated Draco Malfoy more than he hated his bully of a cousin, Dudley. It was partially because the first-year Slytherin had a massive crush on Evangeline, a fact he didn’t keep quiet. Thankfully, first-year Gryffindors only had Potions with first-year Slytherins, so Harry didn’t have to hear or see Draco terribly flirt with Evangeline. Though, he did enjoy seeing the color drain from his face once he noticed the murderous glare Snape gave him as he vibrated with fury, which was a weird reaction to have when one student flirts with another.

Until . . .

Professor McGonagall had posted a notice in the Gryffindor common room, informing the first-years that their flying lessons started on Thursday. The first-years excitement quickly diminished once they realized they’d be flying with first-year Slytherins.

“Typical,” said Harry darkly. “Just what I always wanted, to make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy.”

“You don’t know that you’ll make a fool of yourself,” Ron reassured. “Anyway, I know Malfoy’s always going on about how good he is at Quidditch, but I bet that’s all talk.”

Malfoy spoke about flying a lot, often complaining loudly about how first-years never getting placed into House Quidditch teams, and boasting about the many times he narrowly escaped Muggles in helicopters. Evangeline called him a liar as not even his father had enough money to bribe the newspapers from headlining: WEALTHY PURE-BLOOD’S SON STUPIDLY TRIES TO EXPOSE THE WIZARDING WORLD MULTIPLE TIMES.

Although, her words were much more harsh.

When questioned, Evangeline had confessed that she wasn’t very good at flying a broom, and the moment the magical boys heard that, they offered to teach her. Seamus Finnigan felt he was more qualified to teach her as he had spent most of his childhood zooming around the countryside on his broomstick, whereas Ron didn’t have his own broom and almost hit a hang glider. Evangeline firmly turned them down because, “If my father found out I was alone with a boy, he’d blow a gasket!”

Hermione Granger was just as nervous about flying as Neville was, and as expected, she went into the library and grabbed a book called Quidditch Through the Ages to learn everything she could about the subject. Evangeline tried to convince her that learning how to fly a broom is like learning how to ride a horse, just because you have the equipment and knowledge doesn’t mean you can control the horse. However, no convincing could stop the bushy-haired girl from lecturing her peers to boredom during breakfast on Thursday; Neville listened to her with keen ears, desperately wanting to avoid having an accident in the air and would take any form of advice.

Thankfully, for the first-years, Hermione’s lecture was interrupted by the mail.

Harry hadn’t received a single letter since Hagrid’s note, something Malfoy was quick to notice and he was very quick to gloat about the packages of sweets he got from his parents.

Evangeline received plenty of things from her family. Sweets dyed blue and uplifting notes from her mother, detailed drawings from her eight-year-old brother, and for some reason, her father sent her cryptic messages.

Neville excitedly opened a small package from his grandmother, removing a glass ball the size of a large marble that was filled with white smoke. “It’s a Remembrall!” He explained, showing it off to them. “Gran knows I forget things – this tells you if there’s something you’ve forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red – oh . . . “ At the sight of the Remembrall glowing scarlet, Neville’s face fell. “You’ve forgotten something. . .”

Neville furrowed his brows, staring inquisitively at the Remembrall as he tried his hardest to remember what he had forgotten. This was one of the things he didn’t like about himself, how he could hardly remember anything. He hoped this object would be of some use, but it wasn’t! It didn’t help at all!

He had been so busy trying to remember that he didn’t notice Malfoy, who had just happened to be passing by, leaning in to snatch the Remembrall out of his hands. Without even looking up from the letter from her father, detailing what potion she’d have to poorly brew, Evangeline’s hand shot up and grabbed Malfoy’s wrist.

Malfoy jumped, not having expected Evangeline to do such a thing. Her grip was tight enough that he couldn’t pull back his hand, but gentle enough that there was little to no pain. Harry and Ron, who had jumped to their feet, Seamus, whose mouth was open and about to gulp down a spoon of porridge, the Weasley twins, who stared with a look of amazement, and everyone else - except Hermione, whose nose was stuck in her book - stared at Evangeline, who still didn’t look up from her letter.

“Let. It. Go,” was all she said. Her normal cheerful tone was gone, replaced by a casual sentence with an underlying threat in her words.

Malfoy’s face paled, a shiver running down his spine at how she said those words. He looked around the Gryffindors closest to them and his friends, looking for reassurance that he wasn’t seeing or hearing things. Everyone was quiet, both confused and alarmed by Evangeline’s sudden change in demeanor. Malfoy jumps as Evangeline’s grip on his wrist tightens, and he immediately lets go of the Remembrall, stepping back and massaging his now free wrist.

Professor McGonagall, who could spot trouble faster than any professor, rushed over and asked, “What’s going on?”

Before anyone could say anything, Evangeline looked up towards Professor McGonagall with a sweet smile and calmly explained, “Nothing, professor. Malfoy had simply come over to ask where we’d be having our flying lessons today, and Harry and Ron had offered to show him and his friends.”

Professor McGonagall’s stern expression softens and her lips curl into a small smile. “Oh, well, that’s very kind of you boys.” She nodded her head towards Harry and Ron before turning around and walking off.

The moment the professor was out of earshot, Evangeline’s smile turned into an annoyed frown and her eyes became cold as she turned to look at Malfoy. She looked the boy and his friends up and down, almost inspecting them as they felt her stare into their souls every time their eyes met, before she asked, not-so-nicely, “Why are you still here?”

Immediately, the boys scampered off.

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

At three-thirty that afternoon, the first-year Gryffindors and Slytherins were standing on a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds that led to the forbidden forest, whose trees swayed darkly in the distance. In front of the students, laid in neat lines, were twenty broomsticks.

Their professor, Madam Hooch, arrived shortly after them. She had short, spiky, gray hair and yellow eyes like a hawk. “Well, what are you all waiting for?” She barked. “Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up.”

As the students hurried to stand by a broom, Harry and Ron made sure that they got to stand by Evangeline. Despite the earlier hostile display Evangeline made, Malfoy did feel a tad jealous, especially since he couldn’t even stand in front of her. He kept looking over at her, hoping that she’d make eye contact with him, but she never did.

Harry glanced down at his broomstick, and upon seeing how old it was and how its twigs stuck out at odd angles, he became upset at having to ride it.

The thought of embarrassing himself in front of Evangeline sounded much worse than embarrassing himself in front of Malfoy. Harry wanted to impress her, and he’s not sure if he can do that on this broom. Although, she did say that she wasn’t the best at flying a broom, so maybe she won’t even notice. Hopefully.

“Stick out your right hand over your broom,” called Madam Hooch, “and say ‘Up!’”

“Up!” Everyone shouted.

Harry noted his broom was one of the few that jumped into their rider’s hands. Hermione’s had rolled over and Neville’s didn’t move at all; Evangeline’s jumped straight into her hand, and she gripped it firmly with that same fierce determination in her eyes. Her eyes watched Neville as he tried to get the broom to jump into his hand, and after a few minutes, she leaned forward and quietly advised how to command the broom. After finally managing to do it, Neville flashed Evangeline a thankful smile.

Madam Hooch showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off at the end before walking up and down the rows, correcting their grip. While Harry and Ron were happy to hear her tell Malfoy he’d been doing it wrong for years, they were stunned to see her not correct Evangeline. They thought she would, considering Evangeline herself said she wasn’t good at flying a broom.

“Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard,” Madam Hooch instructed, lifting her whistle to her lips. “Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle – three – two –”

However, a thought sparked in Neville’s mind. What if he didn’t kick off on time? He might hesitate, and then he’ll be left behind. If he kicks off too late, then they’ll laugh at him, won’t they? He doesn’t want them to laugh or taunt him. He’s been making too many mistakes the past few weeks, and he’s not going to let this be another one.

Letting his fear of being left on the ground get the better of him, Neville pushed off the ground before Madam Hooch even blew her whistle.

“Come back, boy!” she shouted, but Neville had forgotten how to come down.

He kept rising and rising, his face losing its color as he watched the people below get smaller and smaller. His mind was swirling with voices; one scolded him for pushing off too early, another kept talking about how high they were getting, and the last freaked out about what everyone would think of him. Neville could just hear Professor Snape’s voice insulting him. “Idiot boy!” He’d say. “Thought you’d look good if you kicked off first, did you? You’re an arrogant fool. You don’t deserve the name Longbottom.”

At the slightest slip of his grip, Neville gasped, his heart skipping a beat as his eyes darted to his hands. Sweat. His hands were sweating. His eyes grew wide with fear, his breathing coming in hard and fast, and his heart skipped another beat as he lost his grip and slid off the broom.

The length of time it took for Neville to reach the ground felt like days, when it was really a few seconds. The wind rushed through his hair, cooling his face as eyes opened and closed rapidly to avoid seeing the ground and seeing how close he was getting to it.

Fortunately, he had a soft surface to land on. Evangeline.

With a loud thud, Neville landed on Evangeline and made her feel like she had been crushed - albeit by something that weighed as much as an apple.

Madam Hooch rushed over to the two, pulling Neville up to his feet and quickly assessing him. Evangeline slowly sat up, being offered a hand by Malfoy. She had only raised her arm a few inches before letting out a pained cry and doubling over, clutching her side as her eyes water. A sharp sting had erupted on the right side of her chest. Like a fire in a dry forest, the stinging sensation spread and flared with each breath Evangeline took. She was too afraid to stand up, much less move; she’s broken enough bones to know this had to be a cracked rib.

“I think he cracked my rib,” she muttered hoarsely.

Madam Hooch knelt down, putting her hand up Evangeline’s jumper and shirt and inspecting the injury. “I think you’re right,” she says, glancing at her student who was finding it difficult to breathe without wincing. Madam Hooch helps her up, being careful to not aggravate the injury, before turning to the rest of the class. “None of you is to move while I take this girl to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you’ll be out of Hogwarts before you can say ‘Quidditch.’ Come on, dear.”

Evangeline limped back up to the castle, putting most of her weight on her left side as Madam Hooch kept her arm around her, making sure she didn’t fall.

The second the two were out of sight, a scowling Draco Malfoy pushed Neville to the ground. Standing over him, he shouted, “You clumsy idiot! Just wait until Professor Snape hears about this!”

Harry and Ron immediately got in between Malfoy and Neville, not caring that Crabbe and Goyle, who were tall and strong-looking boys, had come up to defend Malfoy like a pair of bodyguards. “Leave him alone, Malfoy!” said Harry.

“And why would Professor Snape care about what happened to Evangeline?” Ron inquired, smirking as he found the threat to be a poor one.

“Haven’t you heard, Weasley?” Malfoy’s tone was filled with derision as he spoke to someone he thought less of. “Evangeline is Snape’s daughter.”

There was a long pause.

Everyone was stunned, with a few whispering, “His daughter?” “What is he talking about?” “Has Malfoy gone mad?” But then they started thinking.

The two had the same black hair, pale skin, hooked nose, and dark eyes, except with slight differences. Snape’s hair was greasy, Evangeline’s was smoothly disheveled; Snape had sallow skin whereas Evangeline’s is practically porcelain; Snape’s hooked nose was large and Evangeline’s was barely noticeable; and lastly, Snape’s dark eyes were as cold as an ice storm, and Evangeline’s were warm like a campfire.

They had seen it with their own eyes, but had never connected the dots. Even now, they still couldn’t believe Snape and Evangeline were father and daughter.

“Y-you’re lying,” stammered Neville, his eyes wide and his voice quivering with fear. He looked to be on the verge of tears.

“My father saw them in Diagon Alley,” Malfoy proudly told everyone. “My father has known Professor Snape since Hogwarts, and he said that Evangeline looks exactly like him when he was young.”

Harry and Ron wanted to believe Malfoy was lying, that this was another one of those things he boasts about, but they couldn’t see anything other than the truth in his words. Neville was connecting the dots as well. He had hurt Professor Snape’s daughter. He had sent her to the Hospital Wing.

“Professor Snape’s going to kill me,” Neville breathed out, crawling back into a tree.

Malfoy smirked, taking a step forward, his voice dropping to a foreboding whisper. “I also heard he loves his daughter more than anything in the world, and that he’d kill anyone who dared to hurt her.”

Neville whimpered.

Without even thinking, Harry shoved Malfoy. It wasn’t a very hard shove, it only made Malfoy take two steps back. The other Slytherins moved forward, ready to pounce if need be. However, Malfoy had another idea.

Out of the corner of his eye, he had spotted something shiny glistening in the afternoon sun. It was Neville’s Remembrall. Quickly, he snatched it up and held it high for everyone to see. “Look what we have here.”

“Hey!” Neville shouts, standing up and getting close. “That’s mine. Give it back.”

“You want it? Come and get it.”

Malfoy picked up his broomstick and flew off, hovering next to the topmost branches of a nearby oak tree. He threw the Remembrall in the air and caught it, taunting Neville, challenging him to pick up a broomstick and fly up after him. Except, it wasn’t Neville who picked up the broom and went after him. It was Harry.

“No!” Hermione Granger shouted, trying to stop him. “Madam Hooch told us not to move – you’ll get us all into trouble.”

As always, she was ignored. Harry flew up towards Malfoy, blood pounding in his ears, the breeze rushing through his hair and making his robes whip out behind him. In a split second, he realized he knew just how to maneuver his broom - it was easy, and being up there, with the wind encasing him and the rush of adrenaline flowing through his veins, he felt . . . wonderful. Like he could do anything. And right now, he was going to get Neville’s Remembrall back.

Malfoy had a stunned look on his face as he watched Harry come towards him, the screams and gasps of the girls plus an admiring whoop from Ron echoing below. He couldn’t believe his eyes. This was Harry’s first time on a broomstick, and yet, here he was. Flying like a pro.

“Give it here,” Harry called, “or I’ll knock you off that broom!”

Malfoy did his best to not look worried as he sneered. “Oh, yeah?”

The next thing Malfoy sees is Harry grasping his broom tightly with both hands, leaning forward, and then shooting toward him like a javelin. He managed to move out of the way before Harry could crash into him. With wide eyes, Malfoy glanced down at the Gryffindors who clapped at Harry’s spectacular display, and he felt his heart racing.

“No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy!”

The same thought just came to Malfoy. He looked down so Harry wouldn’t see the worry in his eyes as he did his best to put on a brave face. The Gryffindor was right. Even if Crabbe and Goyle picked up their brooms, they’ve never flown. They wouldn’t make it up. They probably wouldn’t even get one foot off of the ground before crash landing. Malfoy needed to think of something, and he needed to think of something fast.

As his ice-gray eyes darted in every direction, they finally landed on the Remembrall in his hands. Malfoy didn’t need to think very long before he shouted, “Catch it if you can, then!” and he threw the Remembrall high into the air, and rushed back to the ground.

Harry’s eyes latched onto the Remembrall, and for him time slowed. He could hear the single breath he exhaled, the way the wood felt beneath his tightening grip, and his heart returning to a steady beat as he leaned forward and pointed the broom handle down, and then like a torpedo he dove, following the path of the Remembrall. Harry could hear everyone screaming, but their screams sounded distant, as if they were much farther than they truly were. He stretched out his hand, reaching for the Remembrall. Less than a foot from the ground, he pulled his broom straight, toppling gently onto the ground, Remembrall grasped tightly into his fist.

With a proud grin, Harry stood up and walked over to Neville, handing the Remembrall back. “HARRY POTTER!”

The grin was wiped off of Harry’s face, his heart sinking as he watched Professor McGonagall running towards them. “Never – in all my time at Hogwarts – how dare you – might have broken your neck –”

“It wasn’t his fault, professor –”

“Be quiet, Miss Patil.”

“But Malfoy –”

“That’s enough, Mr. Weasley. Potter, follow me, now.”

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle had a triumphant look on their faces as they watched Harry numbly follow closely behind Professor McGonagall back to the castle. Malfoy crossed his arms over his chest, his triumphant look turning into a smug smirk; Ron glared at the back of his head, scenarios of what he’d do to the arrogant rich boy if he didn’t have two large boys protecting him.

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

The Great Hall was abuzz with activity. The incidents that occurred between Neville and Evangeline and Harry and Malfoy had spread across the school, but not as much as Malfoy’s statement that Evangeline was Snape’s daughter. No one could believe that a kind girl like her could come from someone harsh like him. Many tried to disprove it, citing how different the two were, but others pointed out the similarities in appearance and mannerisms. The rumor had spread to the staff, and they were just as quick to shut it down before taking another second to think.

Professor McGonagall stated that during the Sorting ceremony, before she called out Evangeline’s name, she felt that there was something off about it. There was a space between Evangeline and Prince, which was why she paused. The others confessed that they had noticed the change too, but weren’t sure if it was a mistake or on purpose. It was then that Headmaster Dumbledore remembered Snape’s mother’s maiden name was Prince. Professor Quirrell hypothesized that Evangeline was his sister, but with her age and the time Snape’s parents died, it was unlikely.

“Wait, if Evangeline is his daughter,” started Professor Sprout, the realization hitting her like a sack of bricks, “then, this means Snape had sex . . . with a woman.”

The others were hit by the same realization. One of the professors suggested Evangeline was born from a one-night-stand and the woman was extremely drunk, but Nearly Headless Nick chimed in that Evangeline not only has a mother but a younger brother named Theodore.

“He has a wife?” Professor McGonagall exclaimed in shock.

“And a son as well,” said Professor Sinistra. “Why is this the first we’re hearing of this?”

“Severus was always a bit secretive,” said Professor Flitwick.

“Yes,” said Dumbledore, “but you’d think he’d share something important as having a family.”

They knew the majority of rumors they heard from the students were false, but Evangeline was solid proof that they were right this time. Still, they couldn’t imagine it. Snape with a wife and two kids. Flitwick always thought women were too scared of him, while Trelawney thought he was too shy to even approach a woman. They wanted to ask Snape himself how true these rumors were, but he hadn’t arrived for dinner, which was strange.

As the Great Hall wondered what Severus Snape’s wife and son looked like, with some commenting that his wife was just as bad as him and surmised the two were just as harsh with their children, the doors burst open and a salty smell filled the air.

They all looked up, craning their heads to get a better look at the tall man with light-green skin, blue eyes, and short dark hair that stood in the doorway. A white cloth was draped around his athletic body and over his left shoulder, being held up by a golden medallion.

“Hello, my name is Konstantinos,” he proclaimed, his eyes scanning the room with great excitement and eagerness. “I am a Tritone, a member of the God of the Seas court. I am here for his daughter.”

#severus #fempercyjackson #pro snape #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #greekgods #greek mythology

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ursulaismymiddlename · 2 years ago

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Untitled Document | Dream of the Endless x Reader

A/N: This is what happens when you have a million ideas and no idea what to do with him

Rated M for Morpheus is hot as fuck, but also there's a bit of naughtiness dotted in there

Special thanks to @captainpoopweinersoldier for encouraging this little idea and perusing it before posting to make sure it makes some semblance of sense haha

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“You’d seen entirely too many horror films to be perfectly at ease with the pale man draped in darkness at the corner of the room. More concerning still was the overwhelming urge not to feel concerned at all. A blanket of calmness as still as the night that seemed to hamper any tinge of fear without fully quelling it…”

The cursor blinks at you from the page and you nearly decide to scrub the whole thing. But… well, it’s not a bad idea. You just don’t know what to do with it. None of the ideas have been bad, per se. Some may be more inspired than others, but that’s the shape of things really. Yet it all feels like you’re scattering seeds to the wind and nothing wants to take.

Maybe gardening isn’t the best metaphor. You know actual gardening takes patience and care and hard work to achieve something beautiful. But at this point, you’d settle for weeds in the crack of a sidewalk just to have something. You also know that weeds can be beautiful too.

Instead of deleting the three measly sentences, you decide to… repurpose the document. If you can’t make a whole story just yet, you can at least throw these fic ideas into a Google Doc and maybe try plucking something up later.

Let’s see…

- Your cat gets the drop on a raven, but you save it and decide to take it home and patch it back up. Unbeknownst to you, the raven belongs to the King of Dreams, who comes looking for his companion

Hmmm… not terrible. But really, how would your lazy chonk of a cat manage to capture some mystical bird? The little tubbers can’t even capture flies worth a damn. Maybe the cat is magical too somehow? Are you a witch and the cat your Familiar? That’s worth exploring later maybe.

- You’ve trained as a dancer since childhood, but after years of chronic illness (chronic pain and fatigue syndrome? fibromyalgia?) the only place you can still dance is in your dreams, and it’s there that Morpheus becomes enamored of you

That has some potential. Write what you know, right? But while you know chronic illness, you don’t really know any dancing. This is the sorta shit that happens when you hear songs like “Tiny Dancer” while on your drive to work in the early morning. How would you even write about dancing convincingly? Like are you going to have to Google dance terms to try sounding legit?

But the thought of even his slightest of smiles, even the barest hint of adoration makes your tummy flutter

- Cockworship. Him splayed out on your bed (or his bed?) chiseled from the finest marble, adoring him this god, this endless being, this personification of dreams itself… and his breathless rasp of “Only you may worship me this way.”

Okay, that one has your cheeks heating up and you’re tummy flipping. What a lovely image. And certainly a mutual or two would absolutely love it as well. But… well, smut’s been a little difficult for you lately. Plus, you hardly ever write good smut. There’s always more feeling than you intend because you love a good backstory. Maybe you could try a Porn with Plot sometime, but today doesn’t feel like that day. Perhaps if you get a weekend alone with a bottle of wine one day…

- You dream-walk into a library, expansive and filled to the brim with every book and story ever written or ever going to be written, every life story, every flitting thought, more knowledge than you can ever dream of… What is this place? The Library of Alexandria?

“No, far more than that.” “Will I remember when I wake up.”

“Only you of the Waking World knows that.”

An awed, hushed whisper “I hope I remember…”

The dialogue could use a bit of work, but it’s a start at least. Maybe this one? You’ve always dreamed of seeing the Library of Alexandria, of knowing every story, of knowing everything. What a draw! Anyone who reads or writes would feel that in their bones. But why would a mortal walking through such a fantastical library garner the attention of the Dream Lord? Like, what is so special about You? I mean, yes, in real life people fall in love randomly all the time. Who knows what attracts people to other people? But still, you have to be able to convince yourself before you can convince others. What could a mortal possibly give a divine being?

- You’re a mortal, with Lord Morpheus, but he decides that it’s too dangerous/not good for either of you to continue being together (is this too much like that Twilight book? anyway) Not only does he abruptly break things off with you, but he also banishes you from the dream world, worried that it would be too tempting for either of you, but this leaves you with terrible sleep and in a depression, so much so, you turn to a full bottle of sleeping pills

“Am I so cruel?”

Your heart stops, plummeting into your stomach so fast you’re surprised you don’t hear it whistle and crash like a cartoon character going over a cliff. Looking up from your laptop, you see him. Your dream -er, The Dream. Those first three sentences feel right, somehow. It’s not dark like in your imagination, but the same effect seems to wash over you. Even as you look at your laptop again, you find the words and letters a jumbled mess. The hastily crafted sentences strewn about haphazard and incoherent. Has all this just been a dream?

Something pulls your attention back to him, to Dream. That pale brow clouded by the pinch of curiosity between them. He’s waiting for your answer, and while there is patience now, you feel it will not last forever. And somehow, you know exactly what he’s asking.

“Not cruel, but…” You lick the dryness from your lips. His words are always so measured, so calculated in your head, that you feel he deserves the same from you. “Reserved? Aloof, maybe. Like sometimes you don’t know how to feel so it’s easier just… not to.”

His glossy eyes go distant a moment, and then without a sound he moves, closing the distance between you until he can perch on the end of your bed, one long leg hitched up on the mattress with the dark fabric of his coat pooling around him. “You see me as cold. Uncaring. You think I would condemn a lover to such torment for the mere crime of being mortal.”

“Haven’t you before?”

You’re not exactly sure where those words come from. But they’re right, just the same. Even if some latent part of you didn’t know for sure, the look that crosses his face proves the truth of it. The way his eyes avert, jaw working beneath the cold marble of his skin. There’s a ripple of anger in whatever blanket covers this dream of yours, but there’s shame in it too. Self-doubt. But your heart breaks from it of its own volition.

“You save them. In the end.” The admission brings his gaze back to yours, the sharp lines of his face softened somehow, hopeful. “Despair or Death - or both - warn you what’s happening and you show up to stop them before it’s too late.”

He nods slightly, knowing, the almost imperceptible quirk at the corner of his lips nearly wistful. “You will not find my realm with these. Only the Sunless Lands await you at the bottom of this bottle.”

His words steal the breath from your lungs. His words… they’re yours. The ones that came to you while thinking up with this angsty little fic idea. Hearing him actually say them was all you’d imagined and more. “You read my mind?”

“I read your stories,” he corrects. “Every story finds its way to my library. Written or unwritten.”

“And you read them all?”

Some of his regal posture returns as he regards you. “I am eons old, The Dreaming and its library are extensions of my being. And yet, even I could not fix my eyes on every work conceived of by all of consciousness. Only one of my siblings could.”

“Destiny.” Your understanding seems to please him. And that serves to embolden you. “Then why read mine?”

The Dream Lord’s head tilts slightly, considering. “It is not often I see myself written about so plainly. With truth. And hope.”

That heat creeps across your cheeks again and you snort a laugh at yourself. “There’s no way I could have captured you that well.”

“Closer than you realize.” There’s something else in the glistening of his eyes, distant stars dancing in an ocean of blue with something akin to mischief.

It’s only then the thought occurs to you. “Have you read… every story I’ve ever written?”

He gives a curt nod. “All you have ever written and all you have never written.”

You swallow hard, thoughts harkening back to the lewd image you had of him sprawled across a bed beneath you. Though this time it is more solidified, silky sheets the color of the midnight sky with his skin a glowing moon amongst the stars…

Your lips part to speak, but he is already rising to his feet. And he knows. You can feel it. He knows exactly what you’re thinking and that amuses him too. “You’ll awaken soon. And I have duties I must attend.”

“But…” But what? But then he’s standing before you, the distance closed in a blink the way only dreams can move. You crane your neck to meet his gaze only to find him descending towards you.

Cool knuckles whisper across the curve of your cheek, making your eyes flutter closed just as the feel of soft lips meets your forehead…

You jolt awake in your bed, limbs as warm and heavy as the laptop across your stomach. The dream lingers in your mind even as you rub the sleep from your eyes. How fucking weird. How fucking Meta.

Ah well. You were up now and it didn’t seem like too much of the afternoon had passed. A little nap never hurt anyone. But now it was time to get down to business, that erratic urge to create buzzing through you like it hadn’t done in years. You only hope this time you can buckle down and get something done for a chance.

Opening your laptop, you see the cursor flash on the page.

#kati writes #dream of the endless #morpheus #netflix the sandman #the sandman comics #dream of the endless x reader

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moonbeamastrology · 3 years ago

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Guidance From Spirit -Pick A Card Reading-

Hello, this pick a card is about some guidance you can get from spirit. If you’re confused about where you are, where you are going, or are just looking for some guidance in general, this is the reading for you. Center & ground yourself how you choose, take a few deep breaths and let yourself be drawn to one of the four cats shown above. I have them labeled as follows: Small round cat, Chipped ear cat, Witch cat, Wax black cat

Enjoy your reading my love <3

Pile 1- Small Round Cat

Current Energy: 9 of Pentacles R, 9 of Wands

Guidance from Spirit: Devil R

How is Spirit Helping: Wheel of Fortune R

Sea Melodies Oracle: Dance: “Take inspiration from the moonlight dancing on the surface of the sea.”, Wild: “Believe in your otherworldly beauty; dance with the waves and drink in the sunshine.”

Literary Witches Oracle: Sylvia Plath (The Dark) ,Wall, Forugh Farrokhzad (Rebellion), Doll

Hello Group 1! Have you been working through or experiencing blockages in regards to your own abundance? Perhaps you’ve been lethargic lately or have little energy. I feel like telling you to honor the cycles of your life no matter how challenging they can be. If you get knocked down, don’t be afraid to stand back up (and keep getting back up. Everytime you return you will be stronger and wiser than before, my love). Maybe there is some inner child healing that either is taking place or needs to. Maybe accepting some aspects of your shadow as well. Letting your wild side out and rebelling. Rebel against what you know. I felt/heard a need to tap into the aquarius energy of “I’m not afraid to stand out, I don't care if I fit in.” Maybe you have been eccentric or out there in the past but it was not met positively (definitely could be from childhood, being the crazy or wild kid but having to repress that because of family or friends). Like you’ve built this wall around your true self because you’re afraid to get hurt again. There is something final for you to release, most likely that childhood wound or shadow aspect (around money?). You’re so close to finally letting this go and moving forward! Don’t doubt yourself! Dance! Move your body! Exercise! Be free! You’ve been stagnant for far too long and now is the time to physically move that energy out and transmute it. Speaking from experience I know that when you feel low energy or tired the last thing you want to do is exercise or even move at all sometimes, but even having a dance party in your room alone for one song you really love and enjoy is good enough (YOU are good enough). Even doing some light stretching for a few minutes can drastically improve your mood (again, experience). The key is to also do these consistently. I don’t mean every single day but a couple times a week or even once a week is a solid start, go at your own pace and uplift yourself for taking these steps toward healing. I’m feeling that right now you’re in a sort of transitionary period where things feel stagnant. If that’s the case, it’s the universe asking you to heal inner child wounds (or accept your shadow). These wounds have probably penetrated your subconscious which may contribute to feeling burnt out or frustrated because you can’t exactly pinpoint the source. Like spirit is giving you the time and space to heal so that you can move toward this new beginning clear of baggage and with more clarity and stability. If you feel frustrated by this energy don’t put yourself down, instead allow the feeling to flow through you (be seaweed, the roots keep it stable and grounded but it flows with the oceans currents). Give yourself some slack and space to feel through whatever comes up, in a space of love and non-judgment. I feel like telling you to embrace the unknown or to “not be afraid of what you don’t know”. So! Your guidance is to move your body to release some trapped energy through dance or exercise and to continue healing and releasing what needs to be released so you can move forward into this new chapter of your life <3. I love you pile one, have a blessed day, I wish you so so much healing. <3

Pile 2- Chipped Ears Cat

Current Energy: 3 of Swords

Guidance from Spirit: Devil R, The Star R (Clarified by The Sun)

How is Spirit Helping: Judgment R, (Clarified by the 6 of Pentacles

Sea Melodies Oracle: Explore: “Maps show what has already been discovered, go another way.”, Determination: “Don’t be afraid of the rising tide, it will soon recede.”

Literary Witches Oracle: Doll, Volcano, Chicken, Angela Carter (Identity), Emily Brontë (Fantasy)

Hello Group 2! (Maybe you were drawn to group one as well? There’s a slightly similar message so maybe checking that group out could hold a message for you as well.) I see that you’ve been dealing with a lot of pain or heartbreak “harboring a lot of emotions”. Work on releasing/processing this negativity and disappointment. Allowing the emotions to flow through you without judgment. Actively invite in energies of love and positivity. It almost feels like you need to make space for it and the only way to do that is to let go of some of these burdens. Choosing what thoughts you give energy to creating new neural pathways for positive thought. I’m getting that Spirit will help to make this go ‘further’. Explore some new hobbies or create new habits, if there’s something that has interested you for a while and you haven’t put in the effort to pursue it, there’s a reason you are interested in it. Go towards it, please. I’m also getting the sense that Spirit is helping you to silence your inner critic with your help (They won’t do the heavy lifting for you, there needs to be some effort on your part). Some inner child healing needs to take place or indulging in your inner child. This is a specific message for someone, but if you did a lot of daydreaming as a kid but you stopped for whatever reason, you should tap back into that imaginative side. And I don’t mean just daydreaming about your desires but also fantastical stuff that uplifts you or “childish” things like imagining being a mermaid or growing wings could be really healing and enrich your life. Don’t judge yourself for it, let yourself be free to daydream and concoct anything that comes to mind (so long as it’s in your highest alignment). For some of you I heard “bound to erupt” like you’ve repressed some emotions for so long that they’re going to come out one way or another. Tapping into this energy and expressing through art or dance could be especially beneficial to you. The same goes for if you feel that your mind has been especially loud and unruly lately. Either you have or should put some energy towards “finding” yourself, just trying out new things or listening to different music or watching new shows are all simple ways of putting your energy towards finding your identity. This is coming from someone who had an extremely disconnected sense of self. This is what I did that really helped me along my journey of self-discovery. They may seem simple or silly but they helped me out a lot. From this energy I feel some of you may be experiencing something similar. Start small, expose yourself to new things and you’ll be able to navigate your feelings easier as time goes on. It may be hard at first but it truly gets easier with time as long as you remain dedicated/consistent to your goal. All in all I feel that you should be patient with yourself and cut yourself a little slack. You’re doing the best that you can and your best is enough. I love you group 2, have a blessed day. Wishing you all the love and healing that you deserve. <3

Pile 3- Witch Cat

Current Energy: King of Pentacles, 10 of Swords

Guidance from Spirit: 6 of Swords R (I saw The Chariot while shuffling)

How is Spirit Helping: 8 of Pentacles

Sea Melodies Oracle: Dive: “You don’t find pearls on the seashore.” Journey: “Half the treasure is the journey on the path to finding it.”

Literary Witches Oracle: Praying Mantis, Agatha Christie (Trickery), Zora Neale Hurston (Stories), Sappho (Love), Emily Brontë (Fantasy)

Hello Group 3! I’m getting the sense that you put up a very stable, strong, grounded front but you’re actually dying inside. Almost like you want to do it all alone? It’s ok to ask for help and if you have been considering going to therapy or counseling then this is your sign to go towards that. It will definitely be beneficial to you at this time. Like you’re overwhelmed or burdened by something in your life at this time. “Take a holiday” like seriously please. I also heard “sabbatical” so maybe some of you need to take a leave from work (or work is the issue and is causing all of this stress). I feel like you are very much in your masculine energy right now because of all of this stress (like one thing after another has to be dealt with). Maybe you’re waiting for a project to be finished? Or a certain goal to be reached before you feel like you can deserve to take a break? Or if you’re in school you’re waiting for spring break (if you don’t have one planned, maybe consider going on a trip? Even a day trip or being away for a couple of days could be really good for your mental health). “Oh my God there’s so many.” For some reason I want to tell you to look into Plato’s cave? Lol or maybe you have recently and it has become really important to you/really rocked your shit. Whether you have a trip planned or not you should give yourself some sort of break (if it’s feasible). You’re being guided to return to Source energy/higher self. The blocks or stagnation you feel are self-imposed. Spirit is giving you resilience “hard work builds character” even if it fucking sucks you should still give yourself a break but we experience the most growth under pressure (if you can get through whatever you’re going through, you can get through anything). It’s also possible that Spirit will help out in some way with your finances so that you can take a trip. If you’ve been suspicious of someone around you, it’s the mental exhaustion. Because you’re so drained it’s hard to see or think clearly so you’re reverting back to old pathways that no longer serve you. I feel like right now, you should be indulging in what you love (in moderation) or in some Taurean lifestyle (good food, smells, and comfortability. Treat yourself). “Allow yourself to feel again” maybe all of this exhaustion is making you numb to the good in your life, showing gratitude for what you have will definitely uplift you. I feel like telling you to honor your own path and others. Everyone has their own perception of the world. No two people see things exactly the same way. Cut yourself some slack my love, you’re doing the best that you can. I love you group 3, have a blessed day. Sending you so much love and healing. I believe in you! <3

Pile 4- Black Wax Cat

Current Energy: 7 of Swords R, 4 of Pentacles

Guidance from Spirit: Empress

How is Spirit Helping: World R

Sea Melodies Oracle: Turbulence: “The mind is murky in rough waters.”, Move: “Barnacles only grow on a docked ship.”

Literary Witches Oracle: Wolf, Noose, Cauldron, Eel, Sylvia Plath (The Dark)

Hello group 4! I’m getting a closed off energy from you, or at least being very protective of your own energy right now. Keeping certain things secret like projects or ideas (keep doing this). Continue to be selective of what you share with others. Right now, you should relax. Connect with that beautiful creative feminine energy inside of you (no matter your gender) so you can get into a receiving frequency. Indulge in your senses. Create art, dance, play, nurture and reparent yourself. Some of you may need some stillness right now. I personally recommend looking out a window for a while. No matter the season or weather conditions, look out a window and give yourself permission to admire and love what you see (even if you don’t love where you’re at). It’s important that you find beauty in the small things. Just because you have goals and things you want to accomplish doesn’t mean you shouldn’t take time to “stop and smell the roses”!! You can have fun! I’m feeling an energy of falling in love with life again. Spirit is removing blockages from your life. You could be overthinking a lot or feeling indecisive because there’s a lot you want to do and accomplish. Take your time, life isn’t going anywhere, just do things one step at a time (but don’t take on too much, it’s time for you to receive right now). “Walking the night path.” so some of you could be going through a dark night of the soul (stay strong!) or at this time the path you are currently on is being light by spirit (but everything else feels uncertain or you feel uncertain you’re even going in the right direction. You are). Could be working through some heavy shadow energy and you’re focused on yourself and filling up your own cup. You’re unsure of a lot right now, but I’m seeing that something will make itself known to you. It’s possible something new will enter your life and you’re going to feel passionate/very intense about it. Surprise yourself by Not sabotaging it lol <3. Allow it to electrify you. It would be beneficial to connect to water at this time, go swimming if you can, take baths, look at some water, or meditate with a glass of water/while showering if the rest aren’t options for you (no more excuses). And finally, I really just feel like telling you it’s all going to be ok “even better than ok” <3. I love you group 4. Keep doing whatever you’re doing, just remember to take breaks and focus on self love. Wishing you so so much happiness and fulfillment. Until next time, my love. <3

#tarot #tarot reading #pick a card #pick a card reading #spirituality #messages #guidance from spirit

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bluegreenandpurple · 3 years ago

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Friends

Hi! Remember the HP Romione Popcorn Drabble thing? I was tagged by @honouraryweasley12 with the prompt "What did you just say to me?".

We're reaching the end of Autumn where I live, so to honour this yellowish season, I tag @thecanadiananimagus with the shedding of leaves as a prompt. Feel free to explore the concept in whichever way suits you, it doesn't have to be literal.

Without further ado, here's the drabble.

I hope you enjoy this Pre-Hogwarts AU, Rating PG-everyonecanreaditssafe .

---------

Hermione Jean Granger was unfriendable.

She was unable to establish a relationship with another kid. In her previous school, she thought she couldn’t befriend anybody because they disliked her since they were toddlers.

But having moved to another town and consequently to a new school, she couldn’t blame anything but herself. Despite all her efforts – and she had tried her best – the children of Ottery St Catchpole hated her. They called her names, they called her horrible words, they even sang her mocking songs.

So at the sweet age of eight, she had concluded that she carried a curse, a condition, a life sentence for loneliness. She could see it so clearly, an older version of herself with the same untamable hair, only grey, surrounded by cats. She would have to prepare herself and read about feline ca–

‘I hate when you’re so quiet, sweetheart.’ Her grandma's voice snapped her out of her head. ‘I know you’ve had some difficult days at school,’ she continued, ‘but you know what never fails to make me feel better when I’m sad.’

‘To do something nice?’

Grandma nodded and turned her head to look across the street, her eyes landing on a red-headed boy that was curled up on a bench. He appeared to be around Hermione’s age, and his face was full of worry.

She groaned internally as she realised what her grandma was thinking. She wanted her to help the boy. But Hermione was wary of talking to him as she didn’t fancy an extra dose of bullying; she’d had enough for the day at school.

School.

The redhead boy didn’t go to school!

So he wouldn’t know any of the names her classmates had given her and seeing that he was alone on a bench instead of playing with the other kids, the chances that he had made any acquaintances appeared to be small. Hermione felt a rush of excitement running through her. If she did well, she could still have a friend.

She would help the boy find his parents. He would see how kind and considerate she was and will want to become her friend. It was perfect! As she walked towards her soon-to-be friend, Hermione prepared a speech, practising many times in her mind until she was close enough to speak to him.

‘Are you lost?’ she asked shyly.

The boy jolted in his spot at the sound of her voice and hastily turned to face her. He looked surprised as if he wasn’t expecting anyone to talk to him. His astonishment, however, was short-lived, for his raised eyebrows went down into a frown as he retorted.

‘I’m not lost! I just don’t know where my mum is!’

‘That is – by definition – being lost!’ Hermione scoffed. Who did he think he was? How dare he talk to her like that when she was only trying to help?

‘S not,’ he mumbled, seemingly ashamed of his previous outburst. Then his eyes opened wide as if he had just had the most brilliant idea, ‘My mum knows where I am! If she didn’t, I’d be lost. But she does, so I’m not. I’m just… in the wrong place.’ He finished with a proud smile.

‘That is not – ‘ the retort died in Hermione’s throat as she processed his words. He was right.

‘See it now, don’t you?’ he said with a wide lopsided grin.

Hermione felt how a smile spread across her face on its own accord. He chuckled as he saw her friendly gesture, and she let out all her nerves in the form of giggles. They locked their eyes and, for a moment, they both froze. Then, as if a switch had been flicked, they burst out in laughter. Hermione felt her knees get weak with the excess of happiness and took a seat on the bench next to the boy.

When the laughter subsided, and they collected themselves, the conversation began to flow. Hermione was eager to get to know him better, so she asked a myriad of questions. She was afraid that he would be annoyed by her but, on the contrary, he seemed to be thrilled by all the attention she was giving him. When she ran out of questions, she talked to him about her life. She felt at ease with him, and somehow they ended up talking about school.

She told him about her classes and her professors, but he didn’t seem particularly interested in them. He then asked her if she had friends, so she shared her experience within her few months of schooling at Ottery St Catchpole. She confided not only how hard it was for her to attend a place where no one liked her but also the atypical events that had been haunting her the last weeks. She was so caught up in her story that she almost lost his following words.

‘You’re a–!’ he stopped mid-sentence and looked around with cautious eyes, then he whispered, ‘You’re a witch!’

‘What did you just say to me?’ she snarled.

He was smiling, but as he took in her face, his eyes went wide open and his grin turned into a grimace. He began to fidget with the edge of the bench, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. Hermione waited a moment, giving him time to take back his words, but as he kept gaping, she felt anger and frustration waving over her.

‘You just called me a–’

‘No, I didn’t!’ he squeaked.

‘You did! You just–’

‘Did not!’ he cried again, shaking his head with short, energetic movements.

‘Yes, don’t deny it!’ she shrieked, ‘You just called me a–’

‘RONALD WEASLEY!’

Both the kids jolted at the roar of a stern, feminine voice. At the same time, they turned to the source to find a short woman with the same flaming red hair as the boy walking in their direction. The woman was angry, Hermione could tell, and she felt relieved not to be the object of her rage. But whoever this Ronald was, he was doomed. She almost felt sorry for him until she turned back to the boy.

Realisation hit her like a train. Ronald was sitting in front of her, resting his elbows on his knees, his face buried in his hands.

‘I’m so dead!’ His voice was muffled, but Hermione could tell he was defeated.

‘If she knows, she will kill me!’ he whined. Then he lifted his head and looked at Hermione ‘Look, I’m sorry, okay?’

She was pleased that he was apologising, but she wouldn’t make it easy for him. So she crossed her arms and frowned. Tucking his hands in his pockets, he began to move his foot, playing with a stone. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and shy.

‘M sorry I called you a witch. I’m not supposed to say that to Mu–people. But I didn’t mean it as an insult. You see, to...to my family, that is not a bad word. It just slipped out.’

Hermione stood still, studying him. His eyes were bright and blue… and honest. And somehow, when she looked at him, she felt calmer. She felt–

‘You never, NEVER, do that to me again! Did you hear me?’ Ronald’s mum had just reached them, and as soon as she had him at hand, she grabbed him by the arm. She was throwing daggers at him with her eyes as she resumed her scolding.

‘You almost killed me! I thought I lost you! I–’

Hermione couldn’t stop the laughter that erupted from her as she saw Ronald’s face contorting in pain, as if his mum’s words were hitting him. It was hilarious. Just then, his mum seemed to become aware of Hermione’s presence. She hastily let go of her son as she turned to the girl, her expression changing from the angry nagging ogre to friendly and welcoming.

‘I’m sorry, dear. But I’m afraid I have to take Ronnie home. I hope he didn’t bother you so much. I apologise for being so rude, but we’re late; we have to leave. Goodbye, sweetheart.’

She made a gesture to her son to follow her as she turned around and began to walk away. Ronald shrugged and waved goodbye before running after his mum.

Hermione felt her chest become heavy as she saw him leave. She couldn’t wait to tell Grandma about Ronald. Would he be as eager as she was to tell his family about her? Would he talk to them about his new friend, Hermio– Oh, no!

She knew his name, but she hadn't told him hers!

Hermione began to run as fast as she could to catch them. She yelled his name, making them stop. He turned, and when he saw her coming, he ran back, meeting her halfway.

‘Hermione,’ she panted, ‘my name is Hermione Granger!’

‘Nice to meet you, then. Hermione Granger.’ He chuckled as he lifted his right hand for a handshake, ‘You can call me Ron.’

‘Nice to meet you too, Ron.’ She said as she grabbed his hand.

‘Will I see you again?’ Hermione asked as their hands broke apart.

‘Of course you will!’ he said as he began to step backwards. ‘You can’t get rid of me now,’ he continued as a wide grin took over his face.

‘We're friends!’ he shouted out in joy before he turned around and jogged back to his mum.

Hermione beamed as his last words echoed in her head.

Friends.

#HP ROMIONE POPCORN CHALLENGE #romione drabble #Pre Hogwarts #romione au #ron x hermione #hermione x ron #hermione granger x ron weasley #romione #ron weasley #hermione granger

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ptergwen · 4 years ago

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let’s just pretend

w/c: 3.5k

warnings: rom com references, drinking, and a little bit of angst

summary: you cope with your feelings for peter by getting drunk on halloween

a/n: ok i really really love this and i loved writing it too? it’s the first like original idea i’ve had in a while so maybe that’s why but yeah i hope y’all enjoy and that this puts you in a halloweenish mood :-)

there’s something about fall that makes you nostalgic. the same images pop into your head whenever you hear the word october. pumpkin patches, colorful leaves, and hot coffee. it reminds you of being a kid. only when you were a kid, all you could think about this time of year was what you were going to be for halloween.

you’d spend weeks getting your costume together and coordinating with all your friends. trick or treating was literally the only thing that mattered. if you wanted to get good candy, you had to have a good costume.

the high school version of candy is alcohol. everyone just goes to parties so they can drink the whole night. no one even dresses up usually. you personally would rather have chocolate than cheap beer. your whole friend group agrees on that.

that’s why you decided to throw your own party this year. anyone who misses the old halloween can come hang out. so far it’s only peter, mj, ned, betty, and the rest of the decathlon team coming. betty invited everyone for you. she also asked liz, but she’s going to flash’s party. he only gets so many people because his parents are never home and don’t care if he raids the liquor cabinet. whatever.

you’re out finding something to wear with peter and mj a few hours before it starts. ned and betty already picked their costumes. she’s going as an angel, and he’s going as the devil. you think they should switch. they’re out shopping for snacks while the three of you hit up spirit halloween.

mj groans every single second there’s silence, and peter keeps getting scared by the motion sensor decorations. he eventually ends up having to go somewhere in the store that doesn’t have any. so, it’s a lot.

“why don’t you be a vampire?” mj asks in her fake interested voice, taking a pair of fangs off the rack in front of her. you scoff. “i think i did that in sixth grade.” she puts them back with a huff. “witch?” she’s just suggesting every costume she sees so you can get out of here. her lack of enthusiasm makes you want to take longer.

“no.”

“zookeeper?”

“eh.”

“what about cat in the hat?”

“mj, what? no.”

“uh... school girl?”

“ok, that’s just offensive.”

“you’re right. why do they have that?” she eyes the costume suspiciously. you cover it up with a random cloak that fell onto the floor. you’re never going to find anything at this point. maybe it’s a sign you’re too old for this. just when you’re about to lose all hope, peter comes over.

he’s holding up the plaid yellow skirt and blazer cher wears in clueless. it’s one of the most iconic rom com outfits. you grab it with a gasp, peter giving you a knowing smile. “oh my god! wait, where did you find this?” “they have a section with movie stuff.” there’s a han solo costume in his other hand.

you throw an arm around his neck for a quick hug. peter squeezes you and chuckles when he pulls away. it gets a sigh out of mj.

“sure you don’t wanna be the guy she ends up with?” she elbows peter’s arm. the two of you share a disgusted look. “josh? ew, he’s her ex stepbrother,” you dismiss her. “they’re, like, related,” peter adds. mj rolls her eyes almost to the back of her head and starts to walk away. “someone needs to unplug both of your tv’s.” you and peter follow after her.

of course she would suggest a couple’s costume. she was probably trying to make you both get weird. you’re always being teased for spending so much time together. even your parents and may make little comments about it. you can’t help the fact that you have almost everything in common.

peter is the only person your age who doesn’t try so hard to be cool. when you’re with him, you can be the biggest nerd and wear fluffy pajamas and play with legos. it’s a judgement free friendship.

you’ll admit you’ve wanted it to become a judgement free relationship. there’s no way he doesn’t feel your heart beating against him when you cuddle during movie nights. he has to notice your goofy smile whenever he calls you a nickname.

but, it could all be platonic in peter’s mind. maybe he sees you as more of a sister. that would make josh the perfect costume to go with you as cher.

you shutter and try to push the idea out of your mind for the rest of your time at spirit halloween.

it’s almost time for the party to start when you get back to your house. your parents let betty and ned in to start setting up on their way out. they’re going for dinner so they aren’t around to embarrass you. you have until midnight, then there’s nothing you can do. that gives you four hours.

mj is changing into the coraline costume you made her get, which she actually doesn’t hate. betty is helping you do some last minute decorating. peter and ned are putting out snacks. it’s a really good system you have.

“love the the plaid, y/n. you look so fetch!” betty compliments in between throwing fake cobwebs over your couch. you snort and finish stringing up some lights. “wrong movie, but thanks.” “oh. oops,” she shrugs and gets back to cobwebbing. “peter found it for me.” all the lights are up, so you go to plug them in. betty giggles on your way over.

your living room has an orange glow to it now. dusting your hands off, you admire your work. the moment of admiration ends when you notice how betty is looking at you. “what?” “peter found it for you,” she repeats suggestively. “when he was getting his costume, yeah,” you say like it’s nothing because it is nothing.

“so, what i’m hearing is he wanted to see you in a skirt.” you furrow your eyebrows at her. “what? no, he just-“ she wiggles her own eyebrows at you. you’re going to start sweating if you talk about this any longer. too aware of yourself now, you pull down your skirt and trudge over to the stairs. “i’m gonna go check on mj.”

you’re in the middle of convincing her she looks great and to leave your room when everyone calls your name downstairs.

“what?” you shout back from behind the closed door. “you should get down here.” it’s only peter this time. mj widens her eyes at you, but you’re gone before she can say she isn’t wearing this again.

you make your way down the stairs. the three of them are huddled in front of the door. “is someone here?” you mouth, ned looking off to the side awkwardly. they all move out of the way so you can see who it is. it’s flash. you’re obviously surprised to see him at your house, especially since he’s supposed to be having his own party right now.

“um, what are you doing here?” you try not to sound mean. “didn’t you invite the whole decathlon team? i’m on it.” you’d forgotten about that. peter says he’s only an alternate. flash side steps past you to get inside. you didn’t say he could come in. he heads straight to the chip bowl on your living room coffee table. you’re left shaking your head in pure confusion.

“dude, kick him out,” ned whispers to you. you wave your hand dismissively and walk over. he’s kicking his legs up on the table when you get there. “dope outfit. you look good.” he winks and crunches on a tostito. peter is clenching his jaw, but no one sees. “why are you in my house, flash?” you push the bowl away from him. “oh, yeah. my parents came home from vegas early.”

mj finally gets downstairs, squinting at whatever is going on with you while she walks over to everyone else. “i thought we could combine parties.” flash eyes your friends in a way you don’t like. “all your guests are pretty much here, so don’t worry about space.”

you look back at peter to see what he thinks. he shakes his head no. betty is nodding her head so fast you’re pretty sure she’s going to get whiplash. ned agrees with whatever she thinks, and mj doesn’t care. majority rules. plus, you could use one of flash’s playlists to liven things up. how bad could it really be?

“text everyone my address.”

people are flooding your house in the next fifteen minutes. like, your entire grade might be here. flash hooks his phone up to your speakers and blasts his songs. people grab fistfuls of candy and dance around. you’re running low on soda, but one guy brought extra drinks. alcoholic drinks, which you’re uneasy about. that was a big reason why you wanted to have your own party in the first place.

you don’t want to be a lame host, so you let it slide. a girl is sitting on top of your kitchen counter making out with someone. people are yelling so loud you can’t make out a single conversation. this is all going on and yet somehow, the most surprising thing is that they came in costume. some are more casual, like cat ears and lifeguard hoodies. it still counts.

feeling a little bit lost in your own house, you search for peter. he’s sitting on the top stair just watching what’s going on. you get his attention by throwing a mini packet of sour patch kids at him. he catches it, grinning when he realizes you did that. “i love these.” “good. they were the only ones left.” you take a seat next to him and scratch at the material of his vest for emphasis.

“i can’t believe you said yes to him.” peter opens the sour patch kids. the first one is yellow, so he offers it to you. sharing food with him always works because you each seem to like what the other doesn’t. “neither can i, but i think betty would’ve actually hurt me if i didn’t,” you joke while chewing. he rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling. “please. she’s too nice.”

you lean your head on peter’s shoulder and grab another gummy. he pokes your arm in protest. “this bag is small. get your own.” you’re nuzzling your cheek against him. “i told you they’re gone.” he’s about to put an arm around you when someone screams downstairs. you quickly sit up.

“i’m gonna go see what the hell that was. i’ll find you later?” peter does his best to hide his disappointment. “yeah, of course. good luck.” you clench your teeth and run down the stairs. this is somehow flash’s fault.

it’s been an hour and a half, and peter is nowhere to be seen. the chaos was just that someone really liked the song that was playing. it didn’t take you long to figure that out. when you went to tell peter, he was gone. you’ve looked everywhere for him since, except the backyard.

a pretty big group of people is out here either playing catch or talking. someone also brought a case of beer outside. you spot mj huddled up by the fence with a bottle. it doesn’t necessarily surprise you. it’s weird to see, either way.

“have you seen peter?” you walk up to her. she uses the bottle to gesture somewhere. he’s in the middle of a conversation with liz. your entire body feels like it’s collapsing into itself. it didn’t cross your mind she would be coming even when the party moved to your house.

she’s nice and all. you don’t have any issues with her. not that she knows about, at least. peter had the biggest crush on her for about a month, then it fizzled out. that’s what he told you. unless, he said that to save face.

you’re speechless. mj figured you would be. she gives you a sympathetic smile and holds out her beer. “yep. drink up.” your instincts tell you to take it, so you do. she heads back inside and leaves you alone with your thoughts. that’s not good for you. the only to way to get rid of them is by chugging the rest of this bottle.

you’ve never had your own drink before, and technically you aren’t now. this is still the most alcohol you’ll ever have in your system. before you can change your mind, you take a generous swig. it’s bitter. you don’t hate it as much as you expected to, though.

your eyes land on liz touching peter’s shoulder. that inspires your next big gulp of beer. you finish off the rest, and it hits you fast. you’re understanding why this is such a popular vice. you don’t feel anything but how tipsy you are. light and floaty. you decide to stumble back into the kitchen and find out what other drinks people brought.

the bright color of your costume catches peter’s attention. he was wondering where you were. excusing himself from liz, he follows you in. you bump into betty on your way to the punch bowl someone filled. she’s holding a red solo cup with the mystery liquid. both of you buzzed, you laugh and grab her arm.

“sorry. s- sorry.” you’re squeezing behind her, her angel wings brushing against your face in the process. you have to weave through everyone to make it to the drink table. peter meets you there when you’re getting a cup. he’s shocked.

“y/n?” smiling lazily, you take a sip. “hey, peter. pete.” the sober voice in your head tells you to stop talking. he probably shouldn’t know you’re drunk. then again, your cup gives it away. “y/n, have you been drinking?” he sounds concerned. everything is funny to you right now. you giggle out a “yes.”

peter doesn’t want to be that person, but you’re not acting right. he reaches for your drink. you pull it away too abruptly, and some of it spills onto the floor. “you... you’re so...“ you start losing your balance. “woah.” peter wraps an arm around your waist to steady you. he takes the drink out of your hand and sets it on the table.

frowning, he throws your arm around his shoulders so he can help you get upstairs. “come on, y/n/n.” you don’t argue this time. you’re at the part of being drunk where it doesn’t feel good anymore. peter holds you close to his side and walks you out of the kitchen. he stops to talk to ned for a second.

“hey, man. y/n’s parents are gonna be home soon. could you get everyone out?” he says into his ear. “why can’t she do it?” peter moves out of the way so he’s not blocking you. ned sees. you’re completely faded. “oh, shit. is she okay?” he whisper yells. “i’m gonna take care of her.” “i’ll tell everyone to go.” peter presses his lips into a tight smile, then he’s taking you up to your room.

you flop down onto your bed face first. peter shuts the door behind you. “you okay?” he chuckles, you nodding with your face smushed into the comforter. he’d think it was cute if you weren’t piss drunk. gently nudging you, he moves you so you’re on your back.

“let’s get you out of this.” “ooh, betty was right. you do like me in a skirt,” you giggle and bat your eyelashes at him. he huffs. “no, i mean you have to put on pajamas.” you’re pouting now. “you don’t like me in a skirt?” after going through your drawers, he comes back over with a big t-shirt and fuzzy pants. “i never said that.”

you grin again and grab them from him. “ha.” “do you need help changing?” he sits at the edge of your bed. you’re still laying down. he’s not sure you can handle getting up. “no. don’t be creepy,” you say completely serious. peter has to remind himself you’re drunk. “you were the one who thought i wanted you naked, but ok.”

making peter close his eyes, you peel the costume off your body. you got pretty sweaty. you kick everything onto the floor and start putting on your pajamas. your head gets stuck in an arm hole by accident, so peter has to fix that. the rest is fine. he’s about to bring you into the bathroom to brush your teeth, but you face plant into his lap. you’re out.

the next morning, you wake up feeling like ass. your breath is hot and tastes disgusting. your head is pounding. you could throw up. you’re not even sure how you ended up in your bed. then, you notice peter sitting at your desk. he must have helped you in.

a vague memory of him tucking you under the covers while you whined comes back to you, along with a few others. one of them is of him and liz. the whole reason you did this to yourself.

“hey.” your voice comes out hoarse. “hi.” peter nods and points to your night table. there’s a fresh glass of water. you drink it all down as fast as humanely possible, a hand on your heart. it doesn’t phase him after what you did last night. you set the empty glass down and pat the spot next to you. peter sits by your side.

he’s still dressed as han solo, but his vest and belt are sprawled out on the floor. the boots are under your desk. he actually stayed all night for you.

“i think i’m hungover.” you rest your head against his arm. his body relaxes. “you didn’t drink that much. mj said she gave you half a beer,” he almost laughs, you groaning. “that means i’m a lightweight.” “for now.” your arm wrapping around his, you look up at him.

“sorry you had to deal with me. am i in trouble?” “nah, your parents don’t know. we cleaned everything up before they got home.” he lightly pats the top of your head with two fingers. you squeeze your eyes shut when he does it. “you did? thank you so much, wow.” peter nods and smiles for a second.

he lays his back against the pillow on his side. “let’s just pretend that never happened.” “you’re good at pretending,” you mumble to yourself. you’re not as quiet as you think because peter hears it. “um, what?” you feel too woozy to come up with a cover. letting out a breath, you take your head and hands off of him.

“i saw you talking with liz.” “she wanted to know if i could lead decathlon practice next week. she’s not gonna be in school,” he says slowly, not getting it. “why?” having to spell it out is making you frustrated. “didn’t you say you don’t like her anymore?” “yeah, i don’t.”

“so, why was she being all... touchy?” the jealousy is clear in your voice. peter shrugs. “that’s how liz is. i still don’t get why it matters.” you ease yourself to sit up and turn to face him. those three words you’ve been meaning to tell him are on the absolute tip of your tongue. they’re about to come out.

then...

“i like you, y/n.”

peter says them for you.

you’re so surprised you nearly vomit for real. or, it could be the possible hangover. almost a minute has gone by when you realize you’ve been sitting there with your mouth hanging open. you swallow your spit. “you... you do?” “a lot. i kept trying to tell you, but there was never a good time.” his voice is softer now.

“i realized after homecoming. i wished i went with you instead of...” he doesn’t have to finish the sentence. you nod, a small smile spreading across your face. peter’s eyes are so hopeful. “i like you, too. a lot.” your gaze trails down to his lips.

“i’d kiss you if my breath didn’t stink.” “i’ll let you owe me one.” he’s fully grinning now, and both of you laugh. they’re the kind of laughs you do because you’re so happy you don’t know what to say.

peter presses his lips to your temple, your eyes fluttering closed. “get some more sleep. i’m gonna ask you out when you wake up,” he mumbles against your hair. you grab his hand that’s resting on the comforter. “can you stay with me?” “of course.”

he lays down next to you. you pull back the covers so he can get under them. your head is resting on his chest, an arm around his torso. both of his hug your waist. you’re instantly comfortable cuddled up in his embrace. you drift off to sleep with a smile.

this feels like such a dream. it’s the exact type of situation you’d make up in your head. but, it’s real. peter is still holding you when you wake up. he’s not going anywhere.

#tom holland #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #tom holland smut #tom holland fluff #peter parker smut #tom holland x reader

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ramblesofajester · 3 years ago

Text

whispers of a witch (chap1/?

this is just a self indulgent fic for me to write when I feel like shit and yes it will have nsfw

info: they/them, curvy body, glasses, anxiety.

The cool wind sweep past your cheek as you squat down, fingers numbing and turning blue from the constant foraging across the forest floor to fine the herbs you require, its late winter and you have just run out of several herbs you use quite frequently for personal use and when healing the villagers. of course as always there is a catch when you need to get something done. one, you where delivering a baby a good portion of the day, then doing your normal round with the villagers, so soon night is to fall, two the Lycians have been testing there luck with the village borders as of resent, three the only place those herbs are left growing are near Heisenberg's land due to you harvesting all the more accessible ones previously. and just to top it all of duke wouldn't be able to gather a shipment until the next new moon, that being two weeks away so here you are right before dusk cut plants with frozen fingers outside of a missive chain-link fence in the middle of the woods. Gazing around, you are in a small clearing, the village is about a mile, mile and a half to the south west of here. the factory's smoke stacks just visible over the tree line. Sighing you focus on the task at hand, slowly griping the base of the plant you say thanks to the earth and pull it up root and all, listening to the birds as there song slowly drifted thru the trees. standing up you, make your way over to the next bushel of plants emerging from the thin coat of snow. suddenly all the brides stop singing setting off of several alarms in your brain knowing its wasn't you who disturbed them wiping around, franticly looking you hear and see movement all around you just out of sight in the brush you cant tell what it is. assuming it to be Lycians or and angry bear or even a stray ghoul from the castle grounds. garbing the dagger from your boot you crouch down to an defensive position slowly making your way toward the path you came from. as you take a step back slowly a few Lycian emerge from the tree line teeth bared eyes holding a burning hunger. a soft gasp leaves your lips if there are this many you know more are soon to follow

"well shit, I couldn't just go and have an easy day now could I?" you ask the Lycians sarcastically not really expecting a reply. a deep chuckle caught you off guard and in your shock you hear the swift shifting of metal. the feeling of cold steel on your ankle stealing your attention from the fast change of gravity as you are hoisted into the air, dangling like a prized fish. attempting to regain your bearings. you look around seeing the Lycian pack now completely surrounding you.

"well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in," standing clear in the path arm outstretched to hold the chain around you feet taking a step further with every word.

"a lost little bunny, who is hoping around where they should not be..." he says in a little tune with mirth in his step. finally stopping right in front of you raising you so your face is level with his shoulders you reach out attempting to swipe at him with you dagger, as soon as you weapon is revealed is ripped from your grasp and now spinning around you and the lord. a large gloved hand grips your face forcing you to look at lord Heisenberg.

"now I cant tell if that was stupidity, or bravery little bunny but I'm guessing you dont know who I am." he speaks with amusement as he examines your face and, forces you to look at him. you stop squirming long enough to stare at the round shades perched on his nose. this being the first time you have seen the lord this close ,its usually only in passing or from the shadows as to not be noticed, but now you have to admit the stubble and scars, the cocky smile, the smell of oil, pine, smoke, and Tabaco is actually not that bad.

"No I know who you are, just really dont care cause I'm a little busy" you immediately wiggle from his grasp and start reaching for the chain around your ankles. a boisterous laughter is released from behind you and suddenly your falling about a meter, back connecting with the ground a large "oof" emanating from you. Rushing to get the chain from around you ankles it fly from your hands. jumping to your feet you face Heisenberg head held high

"oh... you do know me, so it must be stupidity, that must explain why your on my land as well" Heisenberg ponders aloud." so you must either be lost or have a death wish" he says with a chuckle

"nope not lost, just need some of the herbs here and if you live in this village and haven't runaway or offed yourself you have a death wish" you reply flatly brushing the dirt of of yourself as you stand to gather your things. "now" you say turning back to him "my dragger if you'd please" extending you hand cautiously with and expectants look.

"wow, you've got some balls on you" puffing on his cigar "you better watch that attituded bunny" you are suddenly painfully aware of the small pack of hunger Lycian circling you both "and remember who the man in control is" hand still outstretched you snap back with

"listen hear 'lord Heisenbitch' I am sorry for trespassing on you land but I need 7 different herbs and at least 5oz of each, I need them before tomorrow evening, some of them for mother Miranda, as well as a women who just gave birth in the village. Now unless you wish to explain to Miranda why her healer is missing, and her people dead due to illnesses I would like my dagger back and you and your fine fuzzy companions to kindly fuck of." you knew your words where dangerous but at this point in the evening you really didn't give a fling fuck and the shock on Heisenberg's face when he recognizes you almost made it worth it.

"Wait your Miranda's prized witch, oh man this is great, how have you lasted so long, your so small bunny" this just pissed you off more you want your dagger back but he's just so infuriating. your dont have time for this

"Fine, just keep the dagger" you say shoving past him. Growling at the Lycians blocking the path they stay there ground and growl back, only to glance behind you whimper, and slowly back away clearing the path. A chain roughly wraps around you waist spinning you around and pulling you flush against Heisenberg before returning to his trench coat pocket. blowing his smoke in your face he drawls

"wow wow wow, slow you roll peter cotton tail I ain't being stingy, I just wanna talk a little" as he says this he wraps his arm around you waist slipping your dagger back into its sheath leaving his hand to rest on the dip of your hip, the other griping your chin forcing you to look up at him

"Let. Me. Go!" you hiss out never braking your gaze of his glasses

"now what would Miranda think of this, her pet of the leash, not respecting or listening to your lord" he teases not lessening his grip at all

"I dont give a scraggly rats ass, just let me go you bastard!" you spit at him, resaving a chuckle as a reply .

"ohhh I like you bunny, you've got fight not a lot of that left hear any more. but I need something from you darling, so we are gonna take a little walk back to your place, your gonna help me, then ill help you with your little situation how does that sound there bunny?" spinning you around arm still securely on your waist, he starts to walk still puffing on his cigar, quickly you realize you have no choice in the matter. the Lycians slow start to follow you keeping there distance at about 3 meters back this continues for a wile and it might have even been pleasant having company for once on the walk, you if you ignore the hungry Lycians and the fear Heisenberg will get angry or be done with his little game. slowly the forest edge and the village come in to the distances well as a small well worn foot path leading into a thick pine forest near the base of the Benevento valley

"so bunny, which way is it" Heisenberg ask moving his arm up to rest on your shoulders using the other to jester at the path ways.

"This way" you mumble out, gesturing to the pine foot path. now moving forward on you own accord tiered of being user around like a lost child. you dont make it very far seeing as soon as you start to move away he tightens his grip

"ohh come on bunny, no need to get cold feet. your getting something good out of this too, you just chill a little there thumper" he says smirk never leaving his face.

"well it sure as hell dont feel like it, this feels more like a kidnaping only we are headed to my own dwelling" you watch as the pine trees grow thicker with every passing second drawing closer to your burrow. soon a large moon gate covered in rosemary and lavender comes into a view just beyond it several greenhouses small and large soft light emanating from a few

"Now hold up thumper if you have all of these, what were you doing traipsing around by my factory? you weren't trying to get my attention were you?" he jabs at you obviously trying to get a rise out of you.

"What I was looking for I do not grow because it is local and I had a store of some, but it a since been exhausted, lots of sick ones this season." you replied tiredly seeing as dusk has passed a wile ago and you had been called out well before day brake. now you where just too tired to deal with his shenanigans. continuing forward you approach the door and tap the center of the door with the old iron key handing from your neck three times then you insert it into the keyhole and twist it three times to the right and it slowly creeks open. rushing forwards in an attempt to put some distance between the two of you you start to tend to the fire stroking the coals and adding a few logs. while your bussing your self Heisenberg makes himself at home pulling out a chair and throwing his feet on top of the table and popping a new cigar between his lips . Turning to grab your tea pot you see this unfold waltzing over to him and slapping his feet of the table

"That is mahogany" as you say this he goes to protest " no 'lord' Heisenberg you in my domain now no feet on the table" you snatch the cigar from between his lip and toss it into the fireplace "and no smoking in the main room."

"alright, alright," he says holding his arms in the air "one you could have just put it out and handed it back thumper, and second of all watch who your talking to darlin" to this you quickly respond with

"Still dont care" he gives you grunt as a response

"third of all I still have yet to disclose the nature of my visit I need you to look at something for me" and with that he stands up his chest now centimeters from your nose he reaches for his hat and sunglasses setting them on the table, tossing his trench coat on to the chair. your face quickly turning a shade of red dark enough to rival the radishes out in garden as you realize just what he is doing. pulling of his shirt with a wince. Holding his shirt in his hands, you try not to make your gaze obvious, he slowly turns to reveal a large, deep laceration very poorly bandages and clearly in the throes of a terrible infection. you immediately push all other thoughts aside concern taking its place, you recognized this wound, you where present when he resaved it .

flashback

"you stupid man child, you know nothing you should just leave the talking to the adults like a good little boy"

"shut your dame hole you bitch"

they have been going at it for 37 minutes and counting Alcina said something Karl disagrees and so the back and forth begins about 5 minutes ago Karl brought out his hammer and been waving it out in the open. tensions have been rising and your a little worried it is about to get violent. Anggie who had been watching the argument from you lap starts to vibrate with joy sensing the approaching violence.

"ooooooooohhh its aaboutttttt tooo get goooooodddddd!!!" she sings while hoping off your lap to sit closer on donnas lap seeing as you are perched by the back wall behind Miranda. and just as you both had predicted disaster struck.

"you insolent fool." Alcina suddenly cry's, swiping her hand forward as Karl turns his back to her slashing from shoulder to hip. you immediately rush forward, only to be stopped by mother Miranda holding her arm in your path.

"ENOUGH, stop the foolishness NOW!" Miranda's voice ringing out clear through the entire hall "Heisenberg my son, stand," she demands. he slowly makes his way to his feet now facing mother Miranda "your actions have been stupid and reckless as punishment, I shall leave you with this burden to care for. maybe it will teach you how much effort it takes heal rather than destroy. and what if feels like to live with ones mistakes." you hand covers your mouth as you bite your tongue. you may not like Karl that much but he still is not as bad as they say.

end scene

"BY THE GODS, how has this not healed yet!? have you been rubbing dirt in it? I knew this was a stupid lesson. I knew I should have gone against that two faced, false goddess, pretensive ass, bitch and marched my happy ass to that factor. THAT WAS TWO WEEKS AGO, this should have been gone ages ago!!!" you shout while carefully examining the laceration. quickly you pull out the char he was previously siting on out, so he could sit on it with his back to the fire and lean on the back of the chair. grabbing Heisenberg's shoulders you gently shove him into the chair. rushing around you grab several herbs hanging from the ceiling in bundles. then over to the counter you produce a mortar and pestle along with several oils and extracts

"woooow, thumper slow down, slow down," he chides calmly garbing your shoulders, your arms still packed full of items. slowly he starts to set the items on the table. "now I didn't rub dirt in it, but there might be some oil, its not healed because I have no idea how to treat a wound this large. and what's this about Miranda being a bitch and ignoring orders?" as he says this you realized just how bad you have fucked up.

"OH MY GODS, I didn't mean a word of it lord Heisenberg I meant no disrespect please I am so sorry dont tell mother Miran-" you franticly bow keeping your eyes to the floor hoping he would ether spare you make you death quick. while he clearly doesn't like Miranda or her family he was still a part of it.

"hay hay hay thumper calm down your alright. I'm not gonna go all psycho on you, and your secret is safe with me, your not the only one with unsavory views on that bitch Miranda." your slowly look up at him in shock it is widely know that he disagree with the other lords but this is a first. you gingerly make your way over to the table and start to mix together several herbs and flowers. "and thumper just call me Karl" he says with a flirtatious grin, you blush but grinding the herbs into a powder

"only if you stop calling me thumper." slowly adding some drops of oils to the mixture making a thick green salve.

"well I gotta have something to call you bunny" he say grin stretching across his face as you blush even more now

"well my name is (Y/N) ok, now stop" you say while puffing up you cheek in a pout. rushing behind him so he can no longer see your face and you can apply the salve" this is going to sting" not give him tome to proses any thing you said you rip off the bandages and start to carefully apply the salve. a shout bubbles up in his throat the second the salve touches his shoulder

"SON OF A Bitch..." he snarls" maybe a little more warning next time y/n" as soon as he growls out your name you short circuit you hand no simply resting next to his wound "y/n... y/n" he waits a couple of seconds before trying again. "y/n!" jumping a little you come back to reality " you all good back there" Karl questions

"almost done just need to finish this up, then I will apply bandages, and all you need to do is rest for a day or two" as you Finnish saying this you reach for he bandages and gently begin to properly wrap the wound "this is how you properly wrap a wound Karl" you make sure to say first his name. "go all the way around and over and around the shoulder" slowly and carefully placing the bandages showing him the movements and positions. you move around to the front of lightly wrapping his shoulder "dont go to tight when bandaging joints, it increases mobility but not lose enough to move" as you speak solely focused on you task at hand you dont see Karl staring at your face, a look of adoration on his face which he is quick to drop once you turn to him. gently patting his shoulder "now all you need is a lot of rest and a hot meal" smiling you slowly make your way over to the fire removing the teapot and hanging a medium sized cauldron over the fire. turning kettle in hand you see Karl putting on his hat and going to pull his coat on having already put his shirt on

"well thumper its been wonderful but I have to get back to my-" you cut him off taking his coat and hanging it by the door.

"oh no you don't, you need rest and real food, and not to make any assumptions but I doubt you'll get any of those in your factory" as you say this you put the chair back in its normal position swiftly going to a small spare room on the side. grabbing a thick blanket you walk to the table, and drape it over the back of the chair. patting it flat you open your arms and jester to the chair "now please have a seat food will be done shortly" you say with a smile as he just stand there slack jawed at you attempting to boss him around. slowly he take a seat and just watches as you prepare a cup of tea for you both "hear this should help with the pain" you say handing him a large mug that still looked too small in his hand. you turn and head back to the counter and start dicing us vegetables and some fish to put the cauldron.

"thank you" he mumbles quietly watching you dance about the kitchen a soft smile on his face. "so what's your story? you obviously dont like Miranda so why stay and be her little pet healer on her beck and call." Karl jests wanting to know more about you now that he has the chance with out his stupid family there

"well a long time ago I has someone I had to look out for, they needed help I could not provide it, Miranda could. So I made a deal, help her, and ill do as wish. So I comply to keep her safe and happy, if it went for her, I would have sent that false deity to her flaming grave decades ago." you finished cutting the veggies and meat depositing it in the pot, you make your way opposite of Karl at the table and take a seat. slowly sipping your tea. "now I just tend to the villagers for Miranda and visit my belladonna"

"wait who is belladonna" he askes a look of confusion overtaking his features

"my apologies, I mean donna, before Miranda adopted her and gave her her gift she was a sad and lonely child with parents too ill to save, so after her parents passing, I watched over her and loved her as my own" you say a soft smile on your face looking around the room I was the only one she let touch Anggie, she was such a kind child asking so many questions behind closed doors and always eager to learn new skills" you reminisce the old days setting your now empty cup on the table. "but now she's grown and well, and happy, so that is all that matters" you say curtly standing and heading over the the bubbling pot of stew and giving it a stir.

"so wait your telling me you the witch who raised Benevento," Karl spouts astonishment clear in his voice. "One how are you not dead yet? Two that's why you spend so much time in that spooky ass house, and three how come you aren't an old hag you dont look a day over 25?" even in shock this man some how still manages to throw in a flirt. you give a small chuckle.

"well when I struck my deal with Miranda," you make you way over to a tall cabinet and withdraw two wooden bowls and a large ladle ." donna was just become a young adult, so she new what excepting Miranda's gift would entitle, including the prolonged life." returning to the stew and scooping a hefty serving into Karl's bowl and only filling your half way. "after her parents suicided she couldn't handle the loss another parental figure, her words not mine, she refused the treatment unless Miranda changed me as well." hanging the ladle on the wall and carefully turning back to Karl and making your way to him. "I had already had my go at life and helped as many as I could so I agreed not expecting to come out alive," you say calmly sitting down in the seat acres from Karl. "unfortunately my will was to strong so hear I am now, a fail experiment serving out my end of the deal" you give a sarcastic smile and do a little jazz hands as your story comes to a close. Karl is still for moment then burst into a deep laughter, but still alarmed at your willingness to except death.

"I'm sorry bunny I dont mean to be insensitive," he attempts to suppress his chuckles. "you are really the one that raised donna?"

"yes I am I know its a little hard to believe, but yes." you say solemnly feeling a little weird everyone who knew you too be donnas nanny have long since passed.

"no no no, there ain't nothing wrong with that darlin! In fact you did fucking awesome, out of all of us monsters she has the best manners and turned out the best." he says in a panicked tone, afraid he has said something wrong.

"Karl none of you are monsters, and your ok you didn't say anything wrong" you say quickly adding " none of you are monsters! you and the other were forced into the experiments, unlike donna and I. your only a monster when you subject an enter village to a false religion just to slaughter them for her experiments under the name of a sick false family she has not love for!" you say venom and hate for that hag dripping from each word. a stern but caring look on your face as you look rights in his eyes as you say this "you aren't a monster. you where a kid with out a choice, and now you are a man surviving and your doing amazing in your situation." you cautiously grab his hand resting in the table " you are not a monster no mater who has told you that including your self" He pulls back lightly but does not remove your hand from his., allowing you to rub his knuckles.

"but I-" he starts but you dont let him continue

"nope you cant convince me other wise, I'm the village crazy witch I am all knowing and wise." you say in a cherry tone, garbing his hand with both of yours. using one to tap out a small tune on the back of his hand. that nice deep laughter made an appearance again you have to admit its nice to hear him laugh instead of ague with everyone.

"well dame bunny, can't argue with that logic now can I " A large toothy grin takes over his face little crinkles show at the corners of his eyes. shaking his head he gives a chuckle then picks up the bowl of stew and finishing what was left in the bowl in a few gulps. setting the bowl down he asks "shit that hit the spot, can I just take you home with me and have you cook for me every night that some dame good stew" he jokes. laughing a little you finish your bowl, garbing his you stand and bring them to a bucket at the end of the sink.

"no I cant come home with you every day" rinsing the plates before setting them in the bucket you continue. "but you can come over when ever the lantern on the porch is light, if its not I am either in the village with a patient, or visiting donna or Miranda, or foraging. I am a busy witch Karl, just a warning." he chuckles

"ill make a note of that expect me often that shits good." he says pointing at the pot hanging over the small flames.

"well in that case ill put some in jars so you can take it with you when you leave tomorrow" you say off handedly while making your way over to the pot fishing the leftovers out, and putting it in two large mason jars. out of the corner of your eye you see him deflate a little when you when you mention his departure tomorrow. moving over to a wall of cupboard you store the two jars "to night you can take my bed or the cot in the guest room, though I dont know if you'll fit" you say walking over to said door and opening it reveling a small room with a vanity in the back left corner to the left of the door was a small sink and counter with a basin next to it. opposite to that was a small cabinet and in the back right corner a small wooden cot about half the side of the man now standing directly behind you in the doorway. so close, when he took a deep breath you could feel his shirt brush your, and his warm breath fans across your neck. now with bright red face you make you hastily make you way to the cabinet to the right of the door and start to grab a large quilt and a pillow or two. Karl enters the room looking around taking in the new environment and casually making his way over to the cot and taking a seat. you head over to him staring at the blanket hoping that he would not see your face

"thank you, y/n you really could've just sent my packing I really appreciate it I do" he says with a soft smile resting on his scared face, 'it suites him,' you think to your self 'he should smile more.'

"well hear you go this should be think enough it gets pretty chilly in hear and I haven't fixed the heater yet so if you need more there are some in the cabinet you say gesturing to the cabinet with your head. holding the blanket and pillow out for him to take he reaches hands grazing against yours as he takes them from your hands pulling them closer"

"thanks bunny I re-" he is abruptly cut short by a sharp wine of wood under duress followed quickly by a loud snap of the cot braking a the loud thud of Karl's ass hitting the floor. "OH FUCK" Karl was now the one looking up at you. slapping a hand over your mouth to suppress the laughter about to burst from you.

"OH by the gods, are you ok" you say still trying to hold back the onslaught of giggles offering a hand for him to take

"so this is what the weather is like down here" he says jokingly as you hoist him off the ground carful of his shoulder and back. gently slapping his chest

"I'm only a little shorter than you, ya know" you say "but in light of me needing to purchase a new cot from duke, I guess you'll be sleeping in my bed tonight." he gives you a flirty look

"dame thumper if you wanted me in your bed that bad all you had to do was ask not buries my ass first" he says with a deep chuckle.

"I am not tying to get you in my bed" you say panicked face exploding with red. "I wont even be in it with you, and secondly it wasn't that far of a drop so the only thing damage was you ego and my cot obviously. now come follow me please." you say now attempting to lead him out of the room. Karl looks at you as if he was trying to figure something but soon trailing behind you like a lost puppy. you lead him through the main room down a hallway with three doors heading to the furthest down you push open the heavy wooden door. letting Karl enter first you make your way to the bed garbing your favorite pillow and a thick blanket off the bed spread "well she's all yours" you say jokingly waving your arm over the bed as a invitation dont lay on your back or shoulder" you say making your way back to the door arms now full "sleep well." and with at you turn to leave only to be stopped by a hand on your shoulder.

"wait if I'm sleeping here and I just demolished your spare bed where will you be sleeping" he ask concern lacing his voice a he turn you around to face him

"well ill go clean up the old cot and then ill just use some spare blankets as a mattress for the night." you say with out a second thought.

"no no no, I will not let you do that you have done enough for me. I'll just go back to my factory and be out of your hair." your face scrunches up.

"you say that as if I am annoyed by you, but I can assure you, you do not annoy me. next I wont let you leave this hut you need to rest and I need to change those bandages as soon as you wake." you say no room for argument evident in your voice. "and if you have such an issue using my bed but I apologies its the only one, and I wont let you sleep on the floor with that wound." you with finality.

"then I guess well just have too share it. cues I will just jump through a window to go back home" he say with a laugh. you have no idea if he was joking or not. still, gazing up at his face the smirk remained "so" he asks "which will it be will you join me or and I gonna have to practice my long distance sprint." you sigh growing tired with every passing second your long day finally catching up too you. no longer having any energy to argue.

"fine" you huff out walking over to the bed where Karl was I like the right side" climbing in you take a body pillow from the back of the bed putting it in the middle " you better stay on your half of the bed old man" you say climbing back down from the bed and heading a dresser under a large window. you produce a pair of sleep thin pants and a large think white long sleeved shirt. "I need to change so ether steep out or just dont look." to tired to care at this point you look over your shoulder and see him turned away from you sitting on the left side of the bed. replacing your dirty clothe with fresh sleep pants and a oversized top. garbing a spare pair of large sleep pants and shirt before making your way back to the bed, flopping onto it comically ,while tossing the change of clothing on his side of the bed "hear you go, this should fit" he looks down at the articles of clothing.

"well thank you bunny," undoing his belt and changing his pant, completely ignoring the new shirt. "but uhhh I dont think that shirt is gonna work though" he says smirk evident in his voice.

"and why would that be-" you ask confusion clear on you face as you roll over to face him without thinking. face exploding in color as you freeze up, now staring at his bare chest brain loosing any train of thought.

"my eyes are up hear now bunny," he says with a deep chuckle "but please dont let me interrupt your staring. as for why I never sleep with one its confining" smirk never leaving his face, as he lays down on his half of the mattress. quickly you roll over

"I wasn't staring, I zoned out. Just toss the shirt on to the top of the dresser" he gives another chuckle but says nothing. pulling the thick comforter up to you chin due to the chill, reaching over you turn the knob on the lantern smothering the flame. "good night Karl sleep well" you say without a second thought closing your eyes slowly, reality fading out as you hear Karl

"goodnight thumper sleep well" a gentleness to his tone that sends the rest of the way to sleep.

word count: 5884

ps: please forgive my horrid grammar

#karl heisenberg #karl heisenburg x reader #resident evil #res 8 #res evil #donna beneviento #re8 angie #re8 donna #re8 karl heisenberg

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daydream-believin · 4 years ago

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What About the Smaller Picture (3)

Summary: Merlin knows best. And what he feels is best for you and Douxie right now is to sit around and wait for him to come back from New Jersey, Merlin-knows-when. (3) You’ve adjusted to Arcadian life pretty well. (1) or (4)

Warnings: Swearing, sleep problems?

Word count: 2474

A/n: sorry this wasnt out sooner I’ve had a week

The curtains were blue. They had a little pattern of navy and white flowers and curvy lines like pottery painted with indigo. You had moved one of Doux’s bookshelves to be the second wall to allow the curtain rod to even be in place. This layout effectively created a nook of sorts around your little bed. To be frank the curtains weren’t absolutely necessary. The space kinda gave you university dorm vibes with the two twin beds across from each other. But there was no way you were letting this guy you barely knew watch you sleep. Even if you were good friends, you wouldn’t let him watch you sleep. That kind of vulnerability was special, reserved for only those closest to you.

Speaking of closeness, Douxie had been very adamant about you not calling him by his full name anymore. Made him feel like you were reprimanding him, he said. You could relate to the feeling, and so you were now being careful to replace all ‘Hisirdoux’s with ‘Douxie’s in your head. Or at least a ‘Doux’. Not ‘Babe’. Who told you that. You definitely never referred to him as Babe in your mind. Nope. That Is Not Something Friends Do.

“And,” Douxie rubbed the back of his neck, “Normally when people call me Hisirdoux nowadays it’s because they want to kill me. Only strangers and enemies call me that. Or Zoe when she’s pissed. So yeah, just Douxie is fine.”

“Just Douxie?”

He chuckled, “Yeah.” You looked up at him with a smile.

“Douxie.” He flushed, nodding. “Well, Douxie, what do you want for dinner tonight.”

That little nook you’d built hadn’t stopped Douxie from trying to talk to you all night, however. You’d think the curtains would be a clear message of don’t talk to me I want to be left alone but Doux hadn’t really taken that hint. You tried your best to brush him off the first few nights, even pretending to fall asleep. It didn’t stop him. By the fourth night you spent in Arcadia, you gave in. You had trouble sleeping anyways, as it was apparent so did your roommate, so might as well indulge him. It’s not like ignoring him did any good. Instead of staring at a blue-light screen that messed with your circadian rhythm, you talked about nonsense with Doux. And it was good nonsense. He was way too funny. Or maybe it’s that thing where if you’re into someone then everything they say is hilarious. You’ll never know. But it was nice, either way.

The funny thing was that not only did you actually start to like this, but now it was becoming hard to sleep without it. He helped. Your whole life you stayed up late, and then tossed and turned all night anyways. Now your bedtime routine was talk to Douxie for a few hours, slowly falling asleep, and then you’d sleep the whole night through like a baby. No more restlessness. No more waking up over and over again. Even if you did, you could just listen to him snore for a bit and fall right back to sleep. You guessed it was the feeling of safety he provided. Like someone was watching over you, even when you were at your most vulnerable. You’d never really had that luxury before.

You had started noticing the trouble coming back when he would stay out late sometimes. And Douxie was gone one night and you suddenly couldn’t sleep at all. This was bad. A problem, if you will. But no matter. There were more pressing things to worry about.

Like the fact that all week, Douxie had been hinting that he had something you two were going to do soon. He would not tell you what it was. In fact he was taking quite a bit of joy in dangling this “surprise” in front of your face but not telling you anything about it. It was driving you a little crazy. You hoped what he had planned was nothing too wild, though. It’s not that you weren’t down, you were just tired. But you could use a little shaking up. This bookshop existence was boring. You weren’t boring. You had enough crazy stories to last an immortal lifetime from growing up in New Jersey. Not just modern-day Urban New Jersey. Early colonial Quaker-dominated New Jersey was wild too. Especially as one of those infamous New England witches. Maybe Douxie was taking you on some magic errand. That would be great, you were dying to do something actually in your job description ever since you got here. Not that working in the bookshop wasn’t nice, it just wasn’t magic. You were craving magic.

But alas, as the sun was setting and the last patrons left the store, life moved on as mundanely usual. You flipped over the sign, scratched a sunbeam bathing Archie behind the ears, and started the process of re-shelving all the damn books that customers left strown about. The sunset turned the bookshop pink. There were fewer cars rushing by. Now that there were no customers, it was very peaceful. Just you, Archie’s snoring, and the soft lute music playing. The music was lute covers of popular songs, and at this point you were pretty sure it was Douxie himself who recorded this shit.

Speaking of Douxie, you hadn’t seen him all day. It had made working the bookshop extra extra boring. Like if he wanted you to be free labor, he could at least give you the decency of his lovely presence. But no, it was just you, all day long. All by your lonesome, with nary a cute theater-kid adjacent wizard to keep you entertained with his company. It was a travesty really. But anyways, where was he. Better not be having fun without you.

You like to think your thoughts summoned him. He came in through the back door, panting, disheveled. Singed? He frantically looked out the door’s window into the alleyway from which he had just came from, looking for something. Whatever it was, he must have seen it, since he looked panic-stricken. In a painfully obvious attempt to swallow the fear, he turned to you, trying his best to sound nonchalant.

“SO. You know that thing? The surprise? Well. It is here a little sooner than I expected it to bE—” A loud crashing noise came from the alleyway. “Oh, fuzzbuckets.”

You dropped the book in your hand. “WHAT DID YOU DO.”

There was another very loud crash, this time closer. Douxie glanced back for less than a moment before rushing over to you, taking you hand.

“I’ll just have to tell you on the way love, come on!”

You two fled out the front door of the shop like your tails were on fire. Speaking of tails on fire, once you rounded the shop to the alleyway, you found out just what Douxie had been running from that was making such loud noises. Hellheetis. Five large hellheetis. Blazing bright in the Arcadian dusk. How the neighbors haven’t already called the cops or the fire department was a mystery. The large lion-like creatures growled, stalking down the alley. It was only a matter of seconds before they smelled and or spotted you and went back into the chase. You had to make a plan and fast. Distracting you from your thoughts, Douxie nervously laughed beside you.

“hehe, uh, could you believe there was only one of these at the start?”

You slowly turned to the wizard, “Did you,, hit them, Hisirdoux?” You could call him that now because you were in fact pissed off at the moment.

“Only twice.”

“Only twice… Okay”

“I may not be the best at monster identification. Or remembering which tactic to use for which.”

“I can see that.” You tried to keep your voice as calm as you could, which got a little easier to do as the hellheetis turned down a different alleyway, putting some more distance between them and you. They were still searching though, that was apparent. Thankfully the stench of the alley trash was keeping you covered.

“Believe me, Archie gets onto me about this all the time.”

“It’s okay… just. I think I have a plan. But one of us has to be bait. And it’s going to be you.”

“That’s fair.”

You sprinted up the stairs of the bookstore and up through the ceiling hatch onto the rooftop. You first instinct was to get them to the center of the square, where you could use the fountain as a water source. The alley they had started going down opened up to the square anyhow. It would have been a straight shot. But dear Mr. Casperan made a fuss about that being too out in the open or whatever.

Next solution. The bookstore’s rooftop had a facet, Douxie told you. You’d like to imagine it was put there so some nice old lady could have had a sweet rooftop garden without too much hassle. Maybe you should start a sweet rooftop garden. You and Douxie could have a little oasis in the city up here. You could grow veggies and flowers for your table. Maybe make a cute little picnic area. Stargaze at night. The facet. You quickly found it and made work of turning it on. Or at least you tried your best. You could hear roaring, getting louder, getting closer. The scary growls and roars were punctuated by Douxie’s frantic footsteps, grunts, and gasps. Please don’t get eaten, Douxie.

The facet was so rusty, it took all of your strength to get it to budge. And then nothing came out really, the hose attached to it lifeless without so much as a trickle. You tried to unscrew it from the facet to see if there was a problem and the metal part of the hose disintegrated in your hand. Okay. No water was in fact coming out of that facet.

Imaginary sirens rang in your ears. You had to get water, fast, or your partner was gonna be kit & kadouxle. Hellheeti chow. Growl mix. Douxies. Fiery feast. The big cats were gonna eat him okay. After managing to get the facet turned as fast as you could, fueled on pure adrenaline, and still getting little to no water, you made a judgement call of fuck that. Magic time. To be completely frank here that should have been what you had done in the fucking first place, but hey, fear dulls the mind.

Gathering up as much water as you could, like, metaphorically feel in the pipe, you pulled that shit out with all your might. Aaaannddd because of this you may have not actually remembered that you would need to catch said water in order to, you know, use it. Instead of a nice bubble to be used at your discretion, a magic roof-water tidal wave washed over you and over the side of the building into the alley below. Thank your lucky fucking stars that Douxie just so happened to have gotten the fire felines to the right spot in time. The uncontrollable rain rushed down, dissipating the hellheetis, soaking Douxie darling, and flooding not only your alley but all the alleys connected to it. Holy shit, stop it! STOP IT! It took a second, but you did finally get the river to stop pouring out of your rooftop. Fingers crossed there were no basement windows open and all your neighbors had flood insurance. And that no one saw. Can’t be connected to you if no one saw right. Shhhhhh.

You peered over the ledge to see if Douxie was alright down below. He looked like a cat caught in the rain himself. You probably did too. Douxie’s soaked bangs covered his eyes. Nevertheless, he was able to see you up on the ledge and gave you a thumbs up. You awkwardly returned it.

Toweling off your hair, and now in nice dry pajamas, you walked out of the bathroom to join Douxie on the couch. His own hair towel hung around his shoulders. You took a moment to enjoy how cute he looked all ready for bed, cozy in the blankets on the couch. And that semi-wet hair was looking pretty nice too. You only allowed yourself to linger on this for that moment however, as you remembered you were supposed to be mad at him right now. You crossed your arms as you approached the wizard.

“SO, dearest Hisirdoux, may I have the decency of getting to ask the question, WHY.”

“Funny story really.”

“Really?” You raised a brow

“Really.”

Douxie fidgeted with his hands. You watched this little nervous gesture intently as you sat down next to him. He took a deep breath before beginning,

“First thing. You’ve been here for some time now, and I thought it was enough time for me to start sharing my little, er, excursions with you,” Douxie’s face flushed a little, “I like monster hunting, and now that I know that I like you, I thought I’d like it more if I brought you along with me?”

Your face was flushed a little too now. “Hey, stop it, I need to be mad at you.” Yeah well the smile you wore gave up any pretense of that. Sorry.

“I didn’t know how familiar you were with monsters or how skilled at fighting you were, so I decided to go get some test monsters from Mervin the Monster Dealer, just to make sure our first time would be safe. FIRST TIME MONSTER HUNTING TOGETHER.”

You stifled a chuckle. “And you didn’t just ask me?”

“It was supposed to be a cool surprise okay.” He buried his face in his hands.

“… Hellheetis?” Safe monster your ass.

“Yes, I mean no, I- Mervin sold me the wrong thing alright. I thought I was buying those cute little fire sprite things you can easily just put out with your boot.”

This time you did not hold back that laughter. And you laughed, and Douxie laughed, and soon both of you were uncontrollably cackling until you were out of breath. Archie came in to see what the commotion was about and then promptly turned back around to go back to his spot in the window. You clutched your chest, still cracking up despite the lack of oxygen. Douxie wiped some tears from his eyes you were sure hoping were just from laughing too hard. You rubbed a hand on his back.

“So, I think I’ve had enough excitement for one day. How bout movie night?”

Douxie’s tired eyes smiled at you, “Yeah, I think that would be lovely.”

“Hey, I had a good first monster hunt, Douxie. Thank you,” You pulled your cold feet up under your legs, “But could you stop hogging the blankets!”

#douxie x reader #hisirdoux casperan x reader #douxie x y/n #tales of arcadia x reader #douxie imagine #hisirdoux casperan imagine #Douxie Casperan x reader #tales of arcadia imagine #douxie #my writing #watsp

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needtherapy · 4 years ago

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The Necromancer’s Apprentice

Xue Yang has seen The Dark House and he’s heard the rumors that a zombie, a witch, and a necromancer live there. It’s stupid, obviously, but...well...maybe he’ll just sneak in one night and find out.

It’s better than doing nothing. It’s better than going back to the group home. It’s better than sleeping on the street.

Aka, three mildly feral twentysomethings are forcibly adopted by one (1) very feral thirteen-year-old Xue Yang.

Read on AO3

Many thanks to @coslyons for co-writing this with me (all the funniest parts belong to them) and @kevinkevinson for beta.

There is a Dark House in Ballard, and people say to avoid it.

It is probably not called the Dark House because evil lurks inside, although there is some debate about that. It is called the Dark House because it is black from threshold to cupola, from shutters to frames, and it looms on a block where whimsical shops of brick and steel are far more common. Unlike the thrift store and the record shop, the hiking outfitter and the vegan patissiere, no ivy reaches toward the roof of the Dark House. Unlike the local yarn store, no dogs sniff the Dark House’s gate, although at least two cats—also black, naturally—are always sitting on the porch.

It may not be fair to judge a house by its color, but the local legends are clear. If you step on the cracks in the sidewalk, the Dark House will steal your soul. The wrought iron gate of twining snakes comes alive under the light of the full moon to snap at unwary joggers. Children who walk alone after dark get eaten, and the yard is full of bones that wail songs of their murders.

Xue Yang sits on a bench, across the street, eating ice cream and admiring the house. He wonders about the sanity of people who mow the lawn and trim the roses, yet painted their pretty little house black, until it occurs to him that he could just go inside and find out.

He waits until dark, not to stay hidden, but because it’s a more terrible idea, and Xue Yang always gives himself permission to do more terrible things whenever he gets the chance. The high iron fence buzzes with a strange kind of energy that crackles in his palms, so Xue Yang wraps his hands tightly in his flannel shirt as he climbs over. His mother always said he was a practical boy, back when she was still around to say things.

Xue Yang lands in the backyard with a quiet thump onto thin and scraggly grass. The center of the yard is dark under the watery moonlight, with the dirt churned up and loose, and for the first time, a tiny twinge of warning pings in the back of his mind.

He ignores it.

With a flick of his wrist, he summons his knife, a long black switchblade that is seven kinds of illegal and which he loves more than anything else he has ever had, not that there is much competition. With nimble and practiced hands, he slides the knife between the door and the frame, twisting just right when he reaches the lock. With a grin of triumph, he turns the handle, shaped like a gaping mouth, and opens the door.

In the center of the room, there is a long sort of table that seems somehow to pull all the darkness of the room toward it. The shadows gather most thickly around a large, human-shaped lump laid out stiffly on top of it. Xue Yang reaches out to poke it and feels something unexpectedly warm give slightly under his finger.

The shadowy lump on the table sits upright with a sudden jerk.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Xue Yang shrieks.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” the shadowy lump shrieks back.

“Why the fuck is everyone yelling?” a voice says, and the room is suddenly filled with light.

The shadowy lump rips off the sheet and turns into a guy in his early twenties with a scraggly little beard and wicked bedhead. The voice belongs to a grumpy-looking woman wearing a fluffy pink bathrobe. She squints at him in the oppressive brightness, glaring for a long moment before apparently deciding to deal with the man on the table first.

“Wei Wuxian, I’ve told you a thousand times that the workshop is not a place for sleeping.”

“Technically—” the man begins, before being abruptly cut off by the woman.

“If the next words out of your mouth aren’t ‘yes, Wen Qing,’ then I don’t care. Go to bed.” She rounds on Xue Yang and he takes a tiny, involuntary step back. “You. What are you doing here?”

Before Xue Yang can answer, another guy—this one with long hair, killer tats, and a dedication to the goth look Xue Yang has to admire—runs in with a baseball bat held in his hands like a club.

“Jiejie! Is there something wrong?”

The woman—Wen Qing, she’d said—pinches the bridge of her nose and says, “It’s fine, A-Ning. I’m just trying to figure out what this little hooliganthinks he’s doing breaking into my house and tripping all of my wards while I’m trying to fucking sleep .”

Xue Yang is now convinced that what he’s broken into is some kind of madhouse, and he pastes a charming smile on his face, the one he uses when fists are clenched and the smell of alcohol burns in his nose. The smile whispers words like “anger issues” and “prone to destruction,” and it’s usually weapon enough, but he holds his knife a little tighter too, just in case.

The woman snaps around like she’s felt his fingers grip the handle of the blade and holds out her hand. “Give it to me.”

No. He will not. His chin tips dangerously, his smile grows icy spikes.

Her eyes narrow. “I could just take it.”

They face off for a minute, the tension almost palpable. Actually, Xue Yang thinks, it’s not tension after all. There’s something else in the air. It reminds him of the buzzing fence, and he doesn’t like the way it confuses him.

“Ah, Wen-jie, let him keep her. Can’t you tell? The kid is scared, they’re both scared, and it’s not like he can hurt us.”

Xue Yang is offended. He is not scared, but he’s relieved that Wei Wuxian spoke up all the same, because even though Wen Qing purses her lips and looks annoyed, she drops her hand.

“Fine.” She crosses her arms again. “Wei Wuxian, make sure our little guest leaves. I’m resetting the wards in five minutes and going back to sleep.”

“Yeah, sure.” Wei Wuxian grins and shoots finger guns at Wen Qing. “Sleep well and dream of me.”

Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “Yes, because I love having nightmares.”

“Oh shoo.” Wei Wuxian flicks his hand at the goth man and Wen Qing. “To bed with you both. I can handle it.”

Their footsteps creak on the wooden floors as they walk further into the house. Xue Yang and Wei Wuxian wait in silence until the footsteps quiet, and then Wei Wuxian turns to Xue Yang. The grin he’d been wearing drops off his face and he looks serious, his eyes shaded and dark.

“Look kid, you should know better than to piss off powerful witches. It tends to be bad for the health.” The side of his mouth just barely tilts upwards, more wry than mirthful, and he looks old now. Old and grey and tired. “So, we’ll just call this a learning experience, and you’ll never come here again, right?”

Xue Yang snorts. “Are you kidding? If you’ve got real magic why the fuck would I leave now?”

“Toddlers shouldn’t swear.”

“I’m almost fourteen, fuck you very much.”

“Ah yes, I am now so convinced you are an adult.” Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “It’s two in the morning. You want to go home and go to bed. There’s nothing here for you to be curious about at all.”

Something sibilant and musical weaves its way through the words, and Xue Yang has his hand on the door knob before he fights off the slithering compulsion.

Holy fuck that was cool.

“Nah, I think I’ll stay,” he says, sauntering back casually, pausing to look at a weird painting of a monster facing off with an axe-wielding guy in front of a lighthouse. He feels a very strong sense of camaraderie with it right now.

Wei Wuxian sighs. “Sure, maybe you’ve got a little gift. But you’re a kid. Don’t you have parents who are going to, you know, notice you’re missing?”

Xue Yang stares him in the eyes, willing himself not to flinch. Something tells him this is a chance he’s never going to have again, a chance that requires honesty.

“No.” Xue Yang lifts his chin stubbornly. “I don’t.”

Wei Wuxian stares back, and Xue Yang gets the feeling that he sees all the years and all the disappointments that fit into that no. He doesn’t care. No one gives you what you want unless you take it.

This standoff lasts forever, or maybe it’s only a few seconds.

“She’s going to kill me,” Wei Wuxian mutters, and a little louder, “You can sleep on the couch tonight, but I’m locking you in the room and if you touch anything, I will turn you into a mannequin.”

He turns to leave, but looks back with a frown. “Wen Qing builds beautiful, elegant wards that you’ll never feel, never even notice if she doesn’t want you to. Mine will hurt. Don’t. Touch. Anything.”

Xue Yang decides, in the principle of magnanimity, to agree. “Whatever.”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head and points a finger at Xue Yang. “Go to sleep, kiddo.”

The words hold Xue Yang’s hand and lead him to the couch, make him lay down, and within minutes, he is asleep.

He opens his eyes to piercing sunlight and a pale face inches from his.

“What the fuck!” he yelps, instinctively grabbing for his knife and snapping it open.

“Mr. Wei, he’s awake and noisy,” the face says, and Xue Yang focuses on its features.

It’s the goth guy. His arms have full-sleeve tattoos, matching patterns of stark black geometric lines and circles, but his neck has weird black veins tattooed on it. His eyes, which are still way too close to Xue Yang’s, are so dark they’re practically black.

“Where’s the witch?” Xue Yang asks, sufficiently recovered to be an asshole.

“Boiling children,” Wei Wuxian retorts. He’s leaning over the table and taking notes in a tattered book, poking something with a tiny screwdriver. “It’s the only reason we let you stay.”

“Really?” Xue Yang can’t decide if that’s cool or terrifying.

“He’s always like that in the morning,” Goth Guy says conspiratorially. “By ten, he’s pretty nice again.”

“I’m never nice,” Wei Wuxian grumbles. “A-Ning, can you take our miscreant home, please? The last thing I need is cops knocking on The House door asking if we’re kidnapping children. Again.” “Okay, Mr. Wei.”

Xue Yang panics. He can’t go back there. Not since they found him alone with the fire. He knows what they’ll do, and he can’t go back. He won’t . He ducks under Goth Guy’s arm and has his knife angled under Wei Wuxian’s chin before he’s even processed the motor function commands “get up” and “don’t let him send you away.”

“No! You have to…” He scrambles though thoughts, desperate ideas, each one crazier than the last before he hits on words that work themselves loose from his mouth. “You said I had a gift, you have to teach me to use it.”

Wei Wuxian frowns, but instead of being afraid or angry, he tips his head and whistles, two notes that almost sound like a name. To his great shock and horror, Xue Yang’s knife vibrates in his hand, and his fingers snap open like a broken trap, dropping the knife onto Wei Wuxian’s waiting palm. He carefully folds the blade back into the handle.

“Jiangzai,” he says, almost affectionately.

It doesn’t mean anything, but then it does , and it hits Xue Yang so hard he collapses to the ground. The knife has a name, and he knows it’s right as soon as Wei Wuxian says it. Xue Yang’s heart pounds, and he hates it. He hates this motherfucker who just took his knife away and he hates the Goth Guy who is helping him back to his feet. He doesn’t want to stay anymore, and he shakes off Goth Guy, wishing he could throw his kindness on the floor and stomp on it.

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “Okay, maybe you have a little bit more than a little bit of a gift. But you still can’t stay, and I’m not teaching you anything.”

Xue Yang snatches his knife— his Jiangzai—out of Wei Wuxian’s hand and stomps to the door. “Fine. Fuck you.”

He gets as far as yanking the door open and slamming it against the wall before he realizes that there is a person in the way, and she doesn’t look inclined to move.

“Here you go, kiddo,” she says, handing him a bag. “I bought you some clean clothes and a toothbrush. A-Ning will show you where the bathroom is. Come back down for breakfast when you’ve changed.”

This is somehow more terrifying than when she was yelling at him. Yelling he understands. Now she’s just being...creepy. He stares at her belligerently, and she sighs.

“Listen, you little shit,” she says, bending over to look him dead in the eye. She doesn’t have to bend very far, he realizes. She’s actually tiny, even though she seems as big as the Fremont troll. “You will either go willingly with A-Ning, who is very nice, or you can test my patience and get buried in the yard with all the rest of the naughty children who break into my house. Your choice.”

Yeah, that’s more solid ground.

“Fine.” He grabs the bag from her and waves at the Goth Guy. “Lead the way, A-Ning .” He means it to be an insult, but Goth Guy just grins.

Xue Yang hears Wei Wuxian ask, “Wen Qing, what the fuck,” before Goth Guy herds him up the wide staircase, and he doesn’t hear any more of her answer than, “A-Xian, I can’t let him leave. You don’t understand, I did a location…”

This close to the Goth Guy, Xue Yang decides to acknowledge that the pale translucence of his skin is probably not makeup.

“I’m Wen Ning, by the way. I doubt Mr. Wei or jiejie introduced me,” Goth Guy—Wen Ning—says in a casual tone.

“So are you actually dead or what?” he asks Wen Ning, and Wen Ning grins.

“Or what,” he answers enigmatically, and gently shoves Xue Yang in a bathroom with pink tiles and a claw-foot tub.

Once he’s bathed and changed, Xue Yang heads back downstairs. Breakfast is bacon, eggs, and toast, and he doesn’t even pretend it isn’t the best food he’s eaten in a week. It is, in fact, the first food he hasn’t stolen in a week, and that alone is a novelty.

He’s halfway done with his food when Wei Wuxian, who hasn’t touched a bit of his and looks as sullen as an orange, says, “I have been informed that there is some arcane rule about teaching a gift you discover, and my...how did you put it, dear Wen Qing? My immortal soul and earthly being will be in danger if I don’t capitulate to the inevitable?”

He glares at Wen Qing, and she smiles sweetly at him.

“Whatever,” Xue Yang says around a mouthful of eggs. “Are you going to eat that?”

Wei Wuxian passes him the plate of food, and Xue Yang closes his eyes in bliss. Food is amazing.

“There are conditions—don’t look at me like that, Wen-jie. I agreed, okay? I get to set conditions. First of all, you do whatever I tell you. If I tell you to sell turnips on the street corner, you better sell some goddamn turnips. Second, you don’t touch anything unless I say it’s okay. A lot of this stuff,” he waves his hand around the white and yellow room, which looks surprisingly cheerful for a kitchen in a black house, “is priceless and dangerous, so…”

Wen Qing clears her throat and glares at Wei Wuxian.

“Uh...don’t touch anything.” Wei Wuxian finishes, snaking a piece of bacon from Xue Yang’s plate and shoving it into his mouth before disappearing back into his workroom.

Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “I promise he’ll actually teach you stuff once he pulls his head—” She visibly checks herself. “Once he stops being an idiot. More bacon?”

The rest is on AO3

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #xue yang #wei wuxian #wen ning #wen qing #Seattle #modern au #modern with magic #found family #the untamed fic #13k words #I just think teenage Xue Yang would have been very different with a family

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meantforinfinitesadness · 3 years ago

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ruin Song Lyrics

y’all! The Amazing Devil came out with a new album seven (7) days ago and I didn’t know about it until today! I’ve been listening to it all day!

That being said.

Here are my favorite lyrics from the songs.

I seriously recommend this album! It’s so so so so good!!!!!

Secret Worlds

if I have to be who I was, Do I have to be who I am?

Didn’t the trees tell us their stories? Yeah, but we, we called them all liars

I look at those secret worlds you call eyes

I’d call as you climbed, and I’d catch you ever time you fell

Write me well my love, write me weird, write me willing, write me well

And on that tree I’ll carve your name, ‘Cause in years to come we both know we won’t be the same

But if you ask me for my fire, just watch me burn

The Calling

I walked into the river to wring those embers from my broken heart and broken liver

But there’s more than water in these Autumn hands

I look into the waters and see a face I don’t recognize

I can’t wait to show you how much I know you can be

And I promise you I’ll write “I love you” with my fingers on your sleeping hand

In the waters I see a face I don’t like look back

Do you like my dress? It’s got pockets

Long ago that current caught us and we tried

Drinking Song for the Socially Anxious

Untangling my headphones ‘cause sometimes they’re the only things that keep my head in place

‘Cause though my jokes are my armor and my kindness is my sword

and I do my best to breathe but they’re stealing all the air

I’m not lonely, I just like being on my own

Because I don’t find this easy like you

Gonna go home and show my cat some memes because he’s awesome, like me

Now I’m lying on a bed full of coats, trying desperately to cope

I ask if you play D&D and your face lights up like you’ve woken up from this endless fucking nightmare of pretending this is you

This is us, this is me, this is how we’re meant to be, But your smile tells me I’m safe

‘Cause if God made us all in his image, then God’s a fucking nerd

Gonna go home and dress my cat up like Batman ‘cause he’s awesome, like me

Gonna go home and tell my cat I’m not lonely if I’m with you

We share a pair of headphones ‘cause sometimes they’re the only things that keep our heads in place

Blossoms

To the dark I said “pour” and forgot to say “when”

As I make myself acquainted with the saint of never getting it right

My dress is on fire, And I hurl myself, I heal myself, I drag myself like a rug in the rain

And my saint she is dancing as every step I choose to take begins to set the world aflame

And for the first time in all my life, I know I’m more than what I fear

and I scream out to the sky “you do not get to hurt me just because I asked you once if you were alright”

I whisper aloud to my saint “oh we, we’re gonna get on”

Chords

Remember today that you are loved

Pick your chords well, love, but sing your notes off key

And if your voice begins to crack, if you ever feel alone

They might laugh because you’re leaving, But we’ll sing your name when you come home

Remember today hey we did our best

Remember today you’re enough

Know they love you

We built our castles to watch them wash away

Go walk into your waves, my loves, tell them all your names

‘Cause we’ll be all that you hate about yourself so you can grow

‘Cause life begins by leaving, and our love is shown in the letting go

We were the winter nights so you could be the morning snow

and know we’ll always love you, even though you’re leaving us behind

The Old Witch Sleep and the Good Man Grace

They’re just shadows searching for light, they can’t stay

My head’s not yours, it’s mine, ‘cause you are in the earth of me

‘Cause laughing right now it’s all, it’s all that I have

You’re not a coward ‘cause you cower, You’re brave because they broke you, Yet broken still you breathe

‘Cause I’m not trapped with you, you see, You’re the one who’s trapped with me

‘Cause I’ve been here so many times before, don’t I look pretty curled up on this bathroom floor

Sometimes I fall to pieces just to see what bits of me don’t fit

‘Cause when I stand, those folks will run, And tell the tales of what I’ve become, They’ll speak of me in whispered tones, And say my name like it shakes their bones

‘Cause we’ll dance together so close we’re sharing breath, But now I’m leading, doesn’t that just scare you to death?

ruin

OKAY, TBH, I WAS GONNA TYPE THE LYRICS BUT THEN I REALIZED THAT ALL OF LYRICS ARE REALLY GOOD SO YOU’LL JUST HAVE TO LISTEN TO IT AWIEFAW;OFIJAW;EF

but, some honorable mentions, I guess?

I will bring you ruin in everything I do, it’s never my intention, but it happens all the same

We didn’t talk, We made universes out of bitten lips and broken hands

And your finger brushes mine, And I promise to be patient, And you promise to be kind

Inkpot Gods

Oh what, these? these aren’t tears, It’s just the rain that wasn’t brave enough to fall

And when the rain came down, I made a vow out to the Gods, Please let her live just one more day, ‘cause she is so much more than all her scars

And what you hear is not silence, It’s just the trees waiting to hear what next you’ll hum

And to those Gods I will speak bluntly, We’ve an accord, If you ever touch or harm him, Please rest assured, That you might not fear a man, But to a woman you’ll kneel and plea

And I wish I could take his hand, but where I’m going is for me and me alone

And I can hear her sing, If I don’t make it back from where I’ve gone, Just know I’ve loved you all along

#the amazing devil #ruin #lyrics

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angelic-holland · 4 years ago

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Halo Effect ‣ demon!Tom

Y/N just wants to save her little sister. What happens when a handsome stranger promises her so much more?

“I was too busy noticing all of the intricate ways in which the house at 11 Blackthorne Road seemed to collapse in on itself, that I failed to notice the horns peeking through your messy brown curls.”

Word Count: 11.2k

Warnings: mentions of cancer, supernatural elements, demons, hints at a possible mental illness/delusions, talk of death, open ending (take that as you will), psychological horror/thriller (I guess), mild smut

Author’s Note: i deleted this because I adapted it into a play but if people from irl find me here... welcome to my sins!

October 31st, 2019

Your hands shook as you kneeled in the dirt of the road, digging a hole big enough for the small wooden box in your hands. You double check the contents. A polaroid picture of you and your sister, before she got sick, you were pushing her on a swing, her mouth was wide and mid-laugh and you had the brightest smile on your face. A small mason jar full of dirt from the graveyard. A yarrow root. And the bone from a black cat. It took finding the creepiest small ‘remedy’ shop in Salem, but when you told the woman what you were looking for, she was able to sell it to you for a hefty sum. That price didn’t matter. What you would get from this was priceless.

You look around you, the crossroads incredibly obvious, four roads that all met together, all dirt. The city never bothered to pave them, the only thing down one road was a big farmhouse, a run down bar along the other, the road back into the main town of Salem, and then there was your road. Sort of. The dirt road that led to 11 Blackthorne Road. Your house. It was old, built in the 1800s and you swore the entire foundation moved when more than two people were inside the house, but it was yours. You and your sisters. You smile slightly before you bury the wooden box, standing up. You don’t know how long this would take. Almost everything you read about summonings told you that they appeared in an instant. You check your watch, it was a little past three in the morning, the witching hour, the time at which you were most likely to summon one. The moon was high above you and reflects off the glass of your watch. You look around, feeling a slight breeze that sends a shiver down your spine and goosebumps up your arms.

You jump when you see him, his beauty takes your breath away. That definitely should not be the first thing you notice about him. It should be the way that his eyes seem to glow red before quickly disappearing to reveal a light brown. You notice the freckles and a little divot in his chin, the way his nose was just slightly crooked.

“Are you-, you’re-,” you stutter out, eyes roaming the body of the man standing in front of you. He’s wearing dress pants, a matching dark blue suit jacket, a fitted white shirt, shiny black and blue shoes. His hair is nicely done, dark brown curls brushed back out of his face, and his head is tilted to the side. It’s as if he enjoys watching your reaction to him.

“Who else would I be? Who did you summon?” He takes a step towards you.

You take a step back, stumbling over the pile of dirt you created. He catches you before you can fall, one hand on your back, the other holding your hand as he pulls you back up. You feel heat rise to your cheeks as he steps back again.

“You’re the, you’re a crossroads demon?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. He didn’t look like a crossroads demon. From what you’ve read online and in the books they were terrifying. Glowing red eyes and a hideous demeanor. This man, if you could call someone who looked so young, a man, is almost ethereal.

“The one and only,” he holds his arms out and laughs slightly, shaking his head, “not really the one and only, but the one you summoned.”

“Well how would you- did I choose you? How do you decide who gets to, you know, show up?”

You have so many questions, so many curiosities that you almost forgot the reason you summoned him in the first place.

“So you can grant wishes?” You ask, watching as he chuckles.

“I’m not exactly a genie. But I can give you something you want, it will cost you.”

“How much?”

“Your soul,” he answers with a shrug, this was nonchalant for him, a business deal of sorts.

“My soul?” You take a sharp inhale, logically, you knew that was what it would cost. Everyone said it. Everyone that agreed to their deal lost their soul after a specified amount of time. That was how this worked, to get something you had to give them something in return. But none of what you read really had much proof. They could very well have been ramblings of crazy people, much like so many centuries ago people accused ordinary women of being witches in your very own hometown.

“Your soul, not now, no, you can enjoy your soul for, how about one year?”

“Only one?” you nibble on your bottom lip, thinking about how little time one year seemed to you. That is, until you remember that one year for your sister was a lifetime, it was a shot in the dark, something that seemed impossible. Until now. Until a demon was standing in front of you, agreeing to give you anything you could possibly want for something that seemed incredibly trivial in return. You were never quite sure what a soul was. There were lots of conflicting philosophies regarding souls, consciousness, the afterlife. You felt that a soul was only a small part of what made you who you were. Surely your brain and heart were much more important than something without a physical representation within your body.

“I mean, I could just go,” the man begins to turn and you throw your hands out.

“Wait, no, one year, I’ll take it, please don’t go,” you sound desperate, but that was because you were, there was no hiding that. It was 3 in the morning, and you stood, shivering under the pale moonlight, begging someone that shouldn’t exist to take your soul in exchange for something. And it wasn’t just anything. It wasn’t something selfish like so many deals you read about. People sold their souls for money, for power, for fame. Apparently five of the United States presidents only won because they sold their soul for the pleasure of working at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Saving your sister in exchange for you soul wasn’t selfish, right? You aren’t saving her for you, not completely. You want to give her years and years of a life she never got to live.

He pauses, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth, raising an eyebrow before nodding, “Now, I’ve got your soul, in a years time, what is it that you want?”

“My sister, she has Ewing sarcoma, a type of cancer and she’s dying. All the chemotherapy, the radiation, it stopped helping since the cancer spread to her lungs and brain. There’s no-,” you suck in a sharp breath, hope. There’s absolutely no hope, except for him. He was the last ditch option that you thought was a scary story kids told each other. That is, until he showed up and promised to give you something in exchange for your soul.

You don’t notice the way his brain seems to go elsewhere as if he’s looking for something while you ramble. You don’t notice the way his eyebrows turn in and his lips turn down ever so slightly as you continue to talk.

“So we stopped treatment, she relaxes at home now. But she’s in pain, I know she is. She keeps telling me that it’s okay, that she’d rather spend her last few days reading at the little blue cushioned window seat but I know she’d rather have a lifetime of doing that. She deserves a lifetime of that. I want to give her a lifetime of that.”

“So that’s what you want? You want your sister to be healed? No more cancer?” He asks, watching the way you tap your fingers against your thigh, partially hidden by your thick wool sweater sleeves. You are tapping out a tune, a song you would sing to your sister while she was going through chemotherapy years ago.

“Yes, she’s dying. I want you to save her.”

“And what do you need?”

“My sister! I told you! She’s dying. That’s what I need. I need you to save her.”

“You want that. And I will save her. She’s a done deal. But that’s what you want. What do you need?”

“I don’t understand,” you shake your head. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Maybe you were dreaming and he was actually an angel, a sign telling you that everything would work itself out. That you didn’t need to sell your soul to a demon to make sure your sister was okay. Maybe a new treatment would come out tomorrow and this deal would be for nothing.

“There has to be something you’ve always needed, maybe you were too busy giving everything to your sister to take anything for yourself.”

“I mean,” you pause, shaking your head, “no, this is stupid, I don’t need that.”

“What is it?” the man implores. You don’t step back when he takes a step towards you.

“Love. I mean, I’ve never gotten the chance to do much since my sister got sick at such a young age. It’s dumb right? To want a boyfriend, or something, while my sister is sick? I’m so fucking selfish,” you sigh, rubbing the back of your neck self-consciously.

“Quite the contrary, you’ve taken care of her for so long, you never got the chance to take care of yourself.”

He smiles but his eyes are sad, deep bags under them, he looks exhausted. You wonder if demons slept.

“I guess so.”

“So that’s what you need?” the man asks.

You nod, glancing back up at him, “what’s your name? How does this contract work?”

You have too many questions. You want to invite the man back to your house for coffee and stay up until morning finding out everything you could about him. It is as if you were on a first date.

“I’m Tom,” the man says, holding a hand out, you stare at it for a moment.

“Is that how you seal the deal?” You ask.

Tom laughs, shaking his head, “no, not at all.”

“Then how do you-,”

“A kiss.”

“A kiss?” You raise an eyebrow as he puts his hand back in his pocket.

“Or I could go,” Tom begins to take a step back. You follow him.

“No! Let’s kiss, and then it’s done? My sister won’t be sick and I’ll-,”

“You’ll find love, that’s correct.”

“Okay,” you’re only an inch away from Tom now. He cups your chin, bringing your lips to his. Your eyes flutter shut before you can see the way his eyes glow red and his other hand rests against your hip. It’s warm above your wool sweater and there’s a pain that sparks up your side, seemingly wrapping around your ribs, gently scraping against them.

“Ah,” you cry out as Tom’s lips leave yours.

“It’s the contract, etched into your ribs, an unbreakable bond,” he holds you as the pain begins to subside in one side before sparking up the other.

And then he kisses you again. It distracts you from the hollow feeling inside each of your newly carved ribs. It distracts you from the fact that you just sold your soul to him. Your hands find the back of his head, one holding his lips against yours, the other running through his curls.

“It’s done,” he breathes out as he pulls away.

“Did you want to meet my sister?”

He nods, his fingers slipping easily into the space between your own, “lead the way.”

“You know, I still don’t think you’re real,” you flush as the sleeve of your sweater brushes against his watch.

“You just kissed me, didn’t you?”

“I’ve kissed people in my dreams before.”

“This isn’t a dream.”

“How can I be sure?” you quicken your pace down the dirt road, passing trees with dark red and orange leaves, they seem to turn in on themselves as you walked past. You can only focus on the way the moonlight reflected off of To’s shoes. You pass your mailbox, running your fingers along the chipped paint, over the wooden curves, over the indented ‘11’ of 11 Blackthorne Road.

“Tomorrow morning, you’ll know. Your sister, she’s going to wake up and she won’t feel any pain. She won’t lie about it either, she’ll have the brightest smile on her face.”

“How can I trust you?” you ask, he doesn’t need to know that you already trust him. That he has already given you so much in that one instant with his lips on your own than you could ever give him in return. You forget for a moment that you gave him something priceless as well. You handed over one of the most important parts of yourself without thinking twice about the implications of what you’ve done. A year was a long time. You have 365 days with Lexi that you wouldn’t have gotten otherwise.

“When you realize your sister is okay, that she can do things you wouldn’t have ever dreamed she would be able to do before, that’s when you know you can trust me.”

You walk up the four steps to your porch, your hand digging into your pocket to grab the key that would unlock your door. You know Lexi is asleep, so you tell Tom to be quiet. You freeze in your spot when you noticed that the doorknob was on the left. It was odd because the door always swung open to the left, the doorknob has always been on the right. You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, maybe the man who appeared out of nowhere at the crossroads was a sign that you were dreaming. Why else would the door change like that?

When you open them, the doorknob is on the right, and the door swings open to the left. The foundation doesn’t move when you and Tom walk inside.

All is well at 11 Blackthorne Road.

You and Tom sit at your kitchen table, two mismatched seats on opposite ends of this old rickety table that was at the house when you moved in. His chair is a light blue metal one, yours a dark brown wooden one, three of the five back slats missing. You watch as he wraps his hands around the warm mug, he waits for you to speak as your foot taps against the white tile.

Eventually the silence is too much for him. No matter how many centuries he spent in hell, deafening silence as he was tortured, learning how to make deals, drowning out the quiet with his own tormented screams, this is somehow worse.

You have so many thoughts, so many things you want to say, to ask, but you can’t seem to think of a single one at the moment. You can’t form the questions on your lips.

“How long has your sister been sick?”

The question takes you by surprise, the genuine curiosity in the way his voice raised at the end of the statement. You figured demons were all knowing beings. They could grant wishes that otherwise weren’t physically possible. They could perform better miracles than the Catholic church. But Tom sits here and looks genuinely interested in learning more about you.

“She’s had cancer for a little over eight years. At first it was just Ewing Sarcoma, she noticed it one time, we were on the playground, she was 8, I was pushing her on the swingset and asked a mom who was playing with her little boy to take a picture of us. I just told Lexi a joke, I can’t remember what it was now, but she was laughing so hard when the mom took the photo of us. On the bad days, when she’s in so much pain she can hardly get out of bed, I try to imagine her like that. A little kid, happy, laughing, without a care in the world. But after the woman handed me the polaroid camera, Lexi stood up. She felt this horrible, horrible pain shoot up her leg. I took her right to the hospital. Our parents met us there. The next day she was diagnosed. They started her on chemotherapy, radiation, a whole medicine cabinet worth of drugs. She was in and out of the hospital for so long. One day she looked at me, the cancer spread to her lungs, her brain, she said ‘y/n, I don’t want to live out the rest of my life in a hospital bed. Take me home, let me enjoy the little time I have left.’ So I did, and we’ve been here ever since.”

You watch Tom’s eyes wander along the wall behind you, watching as the moon slowly crept along the horribly ugly wallpaper. It illuminates different parts of it, like a never ending tapestry, it appears to tell a story. When it shone on the curve of the darkened yellow, it is a bulging throat, full of unspoken words dying to get out. As the night progresses the moon shines on the part where the dark yellow drew in. The words came easier and easier and the throat is cleared.

As the sun replaces the moon you hear Lexi’s footsteps come padding down the stairs. Her cup of peppermint tea waiting for her in between you and Tom. You count the steps as she comes down. Thirteen.

“Lexi! There’s someone I’d like you to meet!” You call out to her.

She isn’t out of breath as she enters the kitchen like she normally is.

“Good morning,” she smiles brightly, raising an eyebrow at the unexpected guest sitting opposite of you.

“This is Tom, he’s a friend of mine.”

“Well hi Tom, friend of y/n,” Lexi smiles, picking up her mug.

“How do you feel?” You sit up, glancing at Tom excitedly.

“Great actually, I don’t have a headache, my leg doesn’t hurt. I think I’m going to open the window and listen to the robins sing while I read,” she smiles as she walks past you and you ruffle her hair.

She slips out of the kitchen and makes her way to the living room. You turn back to Tom, a wide smile on your face as a tear slips down your cheek.

“She’s really okay?”

He nods, his gaze still caught on the wallpaper an inch above and to the left of your head.

“And so are you,” he responds.

“I don’t know how to thank you.”

He shakes his head and chuckles, it bounces off the walls and echoes around his empty mug, he taps his ribcage. You’re reminded that he isn’t a doctor or a miracle worker. He isn’t an angel or a god. He is a demon and you sold him your soul for this. You would’ve gladly done it all over again.

You hear Lexi quietly reading her book, humming along to the song the robins sang.

You tell Tom you have to head into work later, at the Salem witch museum, the job you’ve had since high school.

“Is it alright if I head into town with you? Maybe pick up some clothes?”

“You want to stay?” You ask, face lifting up into a smile as Tom nods.

“If you’ll have me.”

“Sure, there’s this great thrift shop next to my work that has all types of clothes, you’d probably fit in best around here if you wore something other than that fancy outfit.”

“Business deals require business casual,” Tom stands up. And you remember that this was business as usual for him. Maybe he is just going to stay the night, to make sure you didn’t try to turn back on your deal. Maybe he’d be gone before the moonlight could force more words out of the ugly yellow and bloated throats that rise and fall on the wallpaper.

“Right, I uh, I’ll show you where the store is, and Lexi can let you in since you’ll be back before I’m out of work. I’ve only got one key.”

You change and Tom sits on the thirteenth step, feet tapping against the floor until he hears you coming down the stairs.

“Bye Lexi! I’ll be back by dinner time!” You call out to your sister and she calls back, she tells you she loves you and you call out a quick love you before locking the door behind you and Tom.

Your hand slips easily into Tom’s. It was as if your fingers were hand carved and crafted to fit between the space of his own. You point out different parts of town as you walk towards it. Even as the wind and cold bite your skin, he keeps you warm. Just his gentle hand in your own keep a fire burning low in your stomach. When you get to Main Street you point out the thrift shop, Tom squeezes your hand once before slipping inside. You smile, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before opening the door to the museum.

“Hi Sally,” you wave at your boss who’s sitting at the information desk. You’re about to walk towards the employee room when she stops you.

“Y/N, I didn’t expect you to be here today. You can take the next few weeks off, I uh, I should’ve called you, I’m sorry. Why don’t you see about coming back on November 15th?”

“I’m here though, I can work, I uh, I’m okay to work.”

“It’s okay honey, really, go home, rest.”

“Okay? I guess I’ll see you on November 15th.”

“And if you need more time that’s okay as well,” Sally rests her hand on your shoulder but it feels cold. You nod, walking backwards out of the door and meet Tom inside the thrift shop.

“I thought you were working?” He asks, a bundle of winter clothes in his arms.

“I forgot I took some vacation time off the next two weeks,” you shrug, “I have such a scatterbrain sometimes when I’m running around trying to take care of Lexi.”

The weeks passed and the other shoe never dropped. Lexi’s left leg no longer ached, her migraines that used to keep her in bed all day were gone. You go back to work on November 15th like you told Sally you would. She greets you with a warm hug and Jeremy, the boy who you went to high school with, smiles when you sit down at the information desk with him.

“How are you?” He asks.

“I’m good, how was your Halloween?” You strike up casual conversation, never quite finding it easy to talk to Jeremy during the dull time in between visitors.

“Pretty good, how was yours? I mean, nevermind,” Jeremy shakes his head, looking disappointed in himself for asking. Before you can ask what he means, a family walks in.

You greet them, they ask you different questions about the Salem Witch Trials. They are visiting from Wisconsin and are really into the haunted history of your town. You walk with them throughout the exhibits, falling into the easy routine of telling the history of the trials, pointing out different artistic depictions of the time period. It felt easy, you’ve been giving the same speeches for over seven years now.

When you get home that night you fix up Lexi’s favorite sandwich, turkey and cheese on wheat bread. You set it down next to her, she hums and thanks you. She hasn’t quite gotten her appetite back. You figure it was only a matter of time before she did though. She’d beg you for apple cider donuts and you’d have to fight the box away from her before she ate them all and made herself sick.

And Tom stays. You didn’t think he would. But he did. He didn’t quite explain himself, but you didn’t mind. You want him to be here. He likes to ask you questions. While Lexi was too busy buried in her book, sitting up against the frosted glass window, Tom talks to you at the kitchen table. He sits in the blue metal chair. You sit in the wooden one. Just the other day it was missing 3 slats. You stand up and looked at the chair, counting the slats and the holes where the slats should have rested.

One.

Two.

Three.

There are only three slats total, two missing. You sit down again, maybe you aren’t looking at it right, you feel one slat against your back so you close your eyes and sit so your back doesn’t touch the wood. Your thigh almost falls off the chair, it has to have been smaller than the last time you sat in it.

“I said have you always lived in Salem?” Tom asks, distracting you from the way you felt like the edges of the table were closer together than they were when you sat down.

“Yeah, I uh, yes, we have,” you nod. Your fingers tap against the wood of the table. It feels hollow.

***

Tom doesn’t sleep. You figure as much when he would keep you up very late asking you all sorts of questions. You’d lay on your side of the bed, the homey indent felt safe. He found a spot next to you, and slowly, as slowly as the frost hardened the grass and snow began to fall from the sky, his side of the bed became indented as well.

The next morning you wake up, your head finds his chest and his hand finds your shoulder. He presses a burning kiss to your forehead, you appreciate the gesture at 11 Blackthorne Road, for it has no heating and as December is drawing to a close, you are getting colder and colder.

“You don’t sleep do you?”

“Hmmm?” Tom asks as you sit up, swinging your feet off the edge of the bed and standing up. You pause as you listen to the fifth floorboard creak underneath you.

“Do you sleep?”

Tom stands up. The floorboard under him doesn’t make a sound.

“No,” he begins to get dressed for the day, you didn’t care for an explanation. It all seems routine now, he would change in the bathroom, you would change in the bedroom. Then you’d knock and join him to brush your teeth. The bathroom is always twelve steps to the left of your bedroom. Today you only took eight. When you see Tom smiling widely at you, toothpaste and all, you convince yourself you just took bigger steps to get to him quicker.

He kisses your cheek, leaving a toothpaste stain which you wipe off with a grimace. You playfully scold him until he wraps his hands around your waist and sets his chin on your shoulder.

“You look really pretty when you frown darling,” he kisses your cheek again.

“I feel like I look better when I’m smiling,” you begin to brush your teeth as Tom smiles against the skin of your neck.

“You always look great,” he shrugs. You can’t help but wonder if the mirror in front of you is smaller than when you walked in.

***

You’ve never had a better Christmas than this one. Honestly, the last good Christmas you can recall was when you were 15 years old. It was the last Christmas before Lexi was diagnosed. It was the last Christmas you spent with your mom, your dad, and her in your small apartment above the laundromat on Main Street. Every Christmas since then was spent in a hospital room or here, alone, with Lexi too sick to get out of bed. She is in somewhat of a bad mood, but you convince yourself that with a cup of peppermint tea she will be feeling better.

Tom laughs and pokes your side as you pour a glass of eggnog for you and him, “maybe she’s finally going through the angsty teen rebellion era now that she’s better.”

That shouldn’t make you smile as big as it does, you couldn’t help but break out into laughter as you bring the glasses down the hallway towards the living room. You laugh so loud you almost don’t count the 28 steps it should take you to get there. You freeze at the door, it only took 20 steps.

You shake it off when you hear Lexi’s gentle hum from the windowsill.

“Could I get some more tea?” she asks, sticking out her empty mug.

You look at it, bright yellow bumblebees painted along the old white ceramic.

“Sure let me grab you a new mug and I can wash this one later-,”

“No!” Lexi snaps at you as you take the mug from her hand.

“What is it?” You ask, raising an eyebrow at your sister. She crosses her arms over her chest and huffs out a sigh.

“I don’t want a different mug.”

“You can use mine, the one with black cats on it, I’ll wash this after we open presents and-,”

Then Lexi does something you’ve never seen her do. She stands up and she gets angry.

She’s been angry plenty of times before. Angry at the world for giving her cancer, angry at a God she didn’t know if she believed in, angry at the snow that fell that one December five years ago, obscuring your parent’s vision on their drive to the hospital and taking them away. But she’s never been angry at you.

“I don’t want another mug! I can’t have another mug!” She screams, eyebrows knitted together as she almost dares you to do anything but decide to walk the 28 steps to the kitchen and wash her mug.

“Why don’t you and Tom relax while I go clean this then? Tell him about the different ornaments on the tree,” your voice shakes as Lexi rolls her eyes but sits down on one side of the tree.

Tom gives you a gentle smile before sitting down next to Lexi. You smile back, watching as he asks her about the witch sitting atop the tree in lieu of an angel.

You count only 17 steps to the kitchen. You walk to the sink as tears blur your vision. You know this is Lexi acting out, acting like the teenager she never previously got the chance to be. It still stung that she is as cold as the winter. It sends an uneasy shiver down your spine, you clean her mug, smiling at the bumblebees, three of them painted in light yellow and a strikingly contrast black.

When you get back to the living room she smiles when you hand her the mug. But then she is upset when you try to give her a present, it’s just a book. An old copy of The Awakening that you found at the thrift store a few days ago.

“I don’t want the Awakening! I like reading Frankenstein! Can’t I just read Frankenstein?”

“Of course! You can read Frankenstein! You can read whatever you want, I was just giving you something you might like.”

“Well I don’t want it.”

“Okay,” you set the book down by your side, she doesn’t even touch it.

You were never one for getting gifts, she doesn’t get you anything. She doesn’t have to. She gives you her time, she gives you warm smiles and humming by the window even though it is all too cold. She gives you a purpose in life. What use would a silly Christmas gift be?

Tom gives you a beautiful satin black nightgown. You almost cry when you take it out of the bag and run your hands across the material.

“It’s beautiful,” you smile through teary eyes. You don’t expect the reaction from Lexi that you get.

“So now all of a sudden you want presents?” She crosses her arms over her chest.

You take a deep breath before looking out the window. You notice that no matter how wide and expansive it once was, it was now no bigger than a normal size window. You see the snow falling on the ground. You wish you and Lexi could make snow angels. A gentle squeeze on your hip from Tom and a snide comment from Lexi brings you back to reality.

“What does he give you that’s so special? Do you love him more than me?” She stands up and you drop the nightgown, standing to chase after her.

“No! Enjoy Christmas with Tom, he clearly means more to you,” Lexi storms out of the room, slamming the door behind her. There is only six floorboards where there should be nine.

You don’t drink any eggnog and Lexi’s peppermint tea gets cold.

Tom carries you up the stairs, your head tucked into his neck, the nightgown clutched in your hands.

Because you aren’t walking up the steps, you don’t notice that there are only twelve instead of thirteen stairs.

That night you don’t do anything routine. He doesn’t change in the bathroom, you don’t kiss his cheek with a toothpaste smile.

Instead you cry while he helps you change. And he calls you beautiful even while you have tears running down your cheeks and the moon reflects the redness in your eyes. He feels that they almost glow red like his own. There is something deeply intimate in the gentle touch of his hands on your skin, taking your sweater off, unzipping and pulling down your pants. He is a gentleman, keeping his eyes on your face the entire time, kissing your forehead as he stands back up. He helps you hold your hands up and pull the nightgown on, kissing the palm of your hand to your inner elbow. Every touch sets your skin on fire. It distracts you from the aching in your ribs.

“I’m scared Tom,” you whisper.

“Why darling?” He asks as he pulls the covers over the two of you, letting you rest your head on his shoulder and a leg over his own. It isn’t needed, he keeps you so warm there is a fire that burns incredibly deep inside of you, you can’t help but feel terrified that maybe it is filling your lungs with smoke. But even so, you would gladly let him.

You cry into Tom’s shoulder, “I think something’s wrong with Lexi.”

“And why do you think that?”

“Because, I feel like she’s changed.”

“Changed how?”

“Her personality. Like she’s harsher and she gets very angry easily. I don’t know, she’s different.”

You can’t help but notice the change that blanketed over 11 Blackthorne Road and its occupants. The way that there isn’t the right number of floorboards or the way Lexi snaps at you, the way the mirror is smaller than when you first moved in or the way you allow yourself to cry for the first time in years, and the way the window seems to draw smaller and smaller each day or the way the newest occupant never seems to move the foundation of the house.

“I know you think she’s different, but she’s 16 right?” Tom asks and you nod.

“Darling, like I said earlier, maybe she’s just being a moody teenager, I wouldn’t think anything of it.”

Tom presses a burning kiss to your forehead and you fall asleep in his arms in your new nightgown. You almost don’t notice the way that you have to huddle close to Tom because the bed is getting smaller and smaller.

***

As the snow melts and the trees begin to perk up with beautiful green leaves, Lexi seems to be happier. At the very least she is eating. She insists on making her own meals, she always ate at the window before you wake up or when you are at work, but you notice the dishes from her food piled in the sink. She even makes grocery lists for you. You ask her if she wants to go with you one day. It is April, it’s been about two weeks since it last snowed.

You are standing at the sink, making small talk about an upcoming exhibit with Tom. You’re washing the dishes, he is drying them.

“Why?” Lexi crosses her arms over her chest and even though you aren’t looking, you know she is rolling her eyes.

“Just thought it would be nice for you to get out of the house, but if you don’t want to, you don’t have to. Are you feeling okay?” You turn, nervous now. Maybe she is starting to feel sick again. Maybe she would feel another pain in her leg and you’d go to the hospital and the doctors would sit you both down and say ‘I know you thought you were cancer free Lexi, but cancer has a funny way of showing up at the most inconvenient of times’. You glance at Tom wearily, he rests the dish towel on his shoulder and moves a gentle hand to your waist.

“I don’t feel up to it today,” Lexi shrugs.

“Okay, anything else to add to the list?” You dry your hands on the dish towel, setting it back on Tom’s shoulder.

“Could you pick up those apples? Not the green ones, the like almost yellow ones?”

“Of course,” you nod and are taken aback when she hugs you, arms wrapped tight around you. You smile until you feel how cold and skinny she is, you pull back, “Why don’t you put on a sweater and close the window before you go back? You’re freezing.”

You hurry Tom along at the grocery store, afraid if you take too long and if you leave Lexi alone at 11 Blackthorne Road for much longer that she will sink into the blue window seat and never be seen again.

***

It is July and you take Tom to see the fireworks down at Salem Willows. You ask Lexi to come with you, but she shakes her head and says the noise would give her a headache. She blows up on you.

“Can you stop trying to get me to do things?” Lexi crosses her arms over her chest.

“I just miss all the fun things we used to do together Lex, don’t you? If you’re better now, why can’t you come with us?” You feel tears in your eyes.

“Just let me go when I’m ready! It’s not up to you if I feel up to going places! Why don’t you just forget about me and run off with Tom? You hardly pay attention to me anymore anyways.”

Lexi has to know that that wasn’t true. That you spend every single day waiting for the other shoe to drop, that you are terrified of this change that has crept inside of Lexi’s heart and makes her cold.

But you don’t want to argue with her. You will gladly let her yell at you now if it means that at some point in the future she would get the courage to go outside. See the fireworks, walk around town, visit you at work, go apple picking.

Tom guides you out of the house, you only count three stairs down the front porch. He keeps walking too quickly for you to stop and count them again.

Tom holds your hand as you walk through town, thumb rubbing soothing circles into the skin as you say hello to various people in town.

“It’s so nice to see you y/n,” your old high school English teacher hugs you, pulling back to smile at Tom, “and who might this charming young man be?”

“Name’s Tom miss, I’m y/n’s boyfriend,” he smiles as he slips his hand back into yours.

The word feels amazing coming from his lips, and spread a huge grin on your own as you lay out the blanket. Tom kisses you under the fireworks, his hand rests on your ribcage over your tank top, you cup his face, fingers brushing over his freckles.

You walk back home with your head on Tom’s shoulder, your hands intertwined and swinging between you. You don’t notice as you walk up two steps to the front door instead of four.

***

The leaves are beginning to change colors again, from crisp green to soft reds and oranges. People flock to the town of Salem at this time of year, the museum was always busy with tourists wanting to learn all about the Salem Witch Trials. It keeps you busy. You are starting to enjoy the times you aren’t at 11 Blackthorne Road. When you walk through the exhibits of the museum, telling people all about the history of your town. When Tom and you walk hand in hand to the grocery store, he likes to kiss you in line at the check out, one hand on your hip, the other gently curled around your side, gliding up your ribs. You look forward to your grocery store trips.

When you walk home later that night, after a particularly long shift, Tom is sitting in the kitchen, you can smell peppermint tea and you shiver as you slip your shoes off by the front door. You pass the living room door, pausing when you notice the window is open. Lexi is probably going to catch a cold if she is sitting at the window the entire day, the cold air isn’t good for her. You tsk, attempting to rub warmth back into your arms as you count the floorboards to the window seat.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

There is supposed to be nine. You furrow your eyebrows, shaking your head as you shut and lock the window. You promptly turn and count the floorboards as you walk back to the door.

Nine floorboards. You exhale as you walk to the kitchen. Tom is sitting on the wooden chair, you sit down opposite him in the blue metal one.

“How was work?” Tom asks, taking a sip of his tea.

“Not bad, very busy, all these kids wanted to know if the Bloody Mary myth was true, I had to explain to them that it wasn’t. They kept asking me if all of this paranormal stuff was real, ghosts, demons, I had to bite my tongue,” you let out a laugh as Tom reaches his hand across the table and traces a line in your palm.

“Probably not the best idea to tell them that demons are real,” he smiles, biting his lip.

“Yeah, then they’d try to steal you away from me.”

“Never,” Tom trails his fingers up to the crease of your inner elbow and gently taps at the skin.

“Want to get ready for bed?”

“Sure, let’s go darling,” Tom rests a hand on your hip and follows you up the stairs. You don’t realize there are only twelve instead of thirteen steps.

You both brush your teeth in the bathroom, and he places a toothpaste covered kiss on your cheek, which you groan at and wipe off. You return the favor before rinsing your mouth out and making your way back to your bedroom.

You change into your nightgown, the black satin one Tom got you for Christmas almost a year ago. You have a warm smile on your face as Tom opens the door and walks towards the end of the bed, the moonlight casting a shadow across his face. It doesn’t scare you when you can’t see him fully and completely, it only brings a warmth to your belly when he stands right in front of the bed, the moon shining high above his head now.

“You keep saying that I’d find love Tom, but love was right in front of me this entire time,” you watch as he gets closer and closer to you.

You sit back against the headboard. You ignore the way it seems to warp against your body. You ignore the way his shadow on the far left wall is inverted and shorter than it should be. Or maybe it’s the wall that’s shorter? You scan the green wallpaper, the very top corner curling in on itself, shrinking.

“You love me?” He asks, kneeling at the edge of the bed. Your legs are stretched out in front of you, his knees almost touching your toes.

“I mean, I didn’t want to admit it for a long time, but you were the person I found love in. Is that such a bad thing?”

Tom smiles and shakes his head. “No, because I love you too.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“No actually, after you said your sister was better, I figured I could leave. I would let you fall in love with that nice boy who works at the museum with you. He’s had a crush on you since high school you know?”

Heat rises to your cheeks and you shake your head. You have no idea Jeremy even gives you the light of day. But he doesn’t matter. You love Tom. You love the way the moonlight curled around the side of his face, whispering up his jaw, across his cheek bone, trailing up his hair to rest gently above his head. It stands out against the green wallpaper, Tom’s biceps standing out against his white T-shirt, for a moment you swear the moonlight turns into a ring and sits atop his head like a halo. You gasp as his warm hands gently run up your legs and he settles between them.

“I love you too, I love you because of your selflessness. I love you because you let me into your life, a big scary demon, and you accepted me for that. You didn’t love me because of that. You didn’t love me despite that. You loved me as a completely separate entity from the worst quality I have that I can’t get rid of. You are the first person I’ve met in centuries of deals that has ever made me feel anything at all.”

“Tom,” you feel tears well up in your eyes as you sit up. The headboard stays warped and you cup his cheeks in your hand, bringing his lips to your own.

“I love you because I can’t picture spending eternity anywhere but right next to you, on top of these blue sheets, making peppermint tea and eating apple cider donuts,” he admits when he pulls back slightly.

“I love you Tom,” you smile, focusing on his eyes instead of the way the wallpaper continues to curl in on itself, then the wall, slowly the door is closer to the bed than it should be. The moon reflects off the very top of the door instead of the corner of the room. He helps you lie back on the pillow. The headboard is smooth again.

“May I?” He asks, running his hand up your thigh, watching as you shiver beneath him.

“Please,” you nod, his fingers brush against the edge of your black nightgown.

He pushes the satin material up past your waist, kissing across the skin of your thigh, passing your underwear, trailing soothing kisses along the skin of your stomach, his chin lightly pressed against the top of your panties.

“You’re beautiful,” he mumbles and you whimper as his fingers inch higher and higher, hooking into your underwear, “may I?”

You nod, giving him permission with a breathy moan.

Tom can’t help but notice how bittersweet you taste.

You can only focus on one curl brushing down in front of his eyes, and the way one of his hands tightens on your thighs, leaving fingerprint bruises as you cry out his name. You are gasping for air when he brings you to completion. You are utterly overwhelmed by the feeling of his fingers inside of you and the way the moon reflects over the white door to your room.

But that isn’t where the moon should be. You glance over at your clock as Tom kisses up your body. It is 3am. The moon should be right in front of you, staring back at you. You close your eyes as Tom’s lips press against yours. You feel his fingers brush against your ribcage and you whimper as you remember the contract etched into your bones.

“Do you want me to stop?” His lips wet and red against your neck.

“No, please, I need your love Tom,” you feel hot wet tears on your cheeks and then his burning kisses taking them away.

“You have it,” he whispers, kissing you as you run your hands under his shirt, across his stomach to rest against his beating heart.

He sits up, helping you take his shirt off. His skin seems to be on fire, blotches of red patches stain his chest, you stare in awe as he helps you take your nightgown off.

“You’re so beautiful darling,” Tom whispers as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

He takes off his sweatpants and underwear and when you wrap your legs around his waist and he fills you so completely, you swear you feel the edge of the bed creep up against your shoulder. You have to close your eyes as he buries his face in your neck because you’re afraid if you keep them open the bed will be reduced to something so small neither of you will fit. And you don’t want this moment to end because 11 Blackthorne Road decides to grow smaller in the most inconvenient way.

So you keep your eyes squeezed shut. And you don’t notice the hazy red glow of Tom’s eyes. You don’t notice the way the upper corner of the wallpaper curls away from the wall, revealing the old stained wood and insulation. You don’t notice the way the back legs of the bed scrape against the twelfth floorboard instead of the eighth. You don’t notice that the floorboards get thinner and thinner, that even though they seemed to multiply, the room continues to shrink.

You gasp into his mouth as you come, his hand seems to curl against your side, almost past your skin, past the muscle, like his fingers whisper against the bone, tracing the words he put there what seemed like so long ago.

You’re cold after everything. You thought Tom would’ve set your insides on fire like he always does, and he did, from the time his lips attached to your own and his hands ran up your sides. He reached inside of you with red wispy tendrils of fire. You are still cold. His arms are tight around your bare middle, but you are freezing cold.

You both clean up, he lets you wear his grey sweatpants after you pull the covers over both of you and you are still shivering in just your nightgown. Then you take that off and change into a sweater. When you open the closet to grab it, you falter for a moment. Your hand collides with solid wood where the doorknob should be. The doorknob is always on the right. The door swings open to the left. But now the doorknob is on the left. You close your eyes. You think of Tom’s fingers whispering hidden universes into your sides and his lips breathing beautiful smoke into your lungs. You allow the fire to settle in your stomach. You open your eyes and the doorknob is exactly where it should have always been. The door swings open to the left. You pull your sweater on and climb back into the homey indent your body made, curling up next to Tom. You rest a head on his bare chest and he maneuvers an arm around your shoulder.

All is well at 11 Blackthorne Road.

****

October 31st, 2020

You wake up with your head resting on Tom’s chest, it is peaceful, the sun shines in through the dull green curtains, illuminating the freckles and bumps and grooves in his skin. He is lying awake, his mind elsewhere until you speak.

“You know, sometimes I think you’re really an angel,” you smile into Tom’s bare chest as he runs a hand up and down your arm.

“Why’s that?”

“You gave me everything I could have ever wanted. You gave my sister the miracle of remission. You gave me love. Besides, I read about it. Demons are only supposed to give someone one thing in their deal. I’ve read about deals between humans and demons they’ve documented. None of them are given more than one thing in their deal. Tangible or otherwise.”

“What makes you think I gave you anything else?”

“What?” You sit up, pushing your back against the headboard and staring down at Tom. He rests his hand under his head and raises an eyebrow at you.

You feel a warp in your headboard that wasn’t there a moment ago. The wood seems to bend to the shape of your body and you pull away from it, standing up and scrambling to grab your bathrobe, pulling it over your suddenly all too cold body.

“What is it?” Tom asks, running his hand along the bedspread, the indent where you were just laying.

“What do you mean by that?” You ask, stepping back, the floorboard is supposed to creak here, it always did when you stepped on it. The house is all too eerily quiet. You step forward, not because you want to go back towards Tom, but because you need to hear the tiny squeak that the floorboard always makes. It is the 5th floorboard that makes that noise.

There’s a sharp pain in your ribs as you stumble back, “what’s happening?”

“I couldn’t tell you,” Tom’s voice is laced with pain as he sits up and the bed groans.

“Couldn’t tell me what?” Tears sting your eyes as Tom stands up. You glance at his side of the bed. The headboard isn’t warped. There’s no homey indent in the soft blue sheets. He takes a step towards the end of the bed, towards you. The eighth floorboard squeaks. Or is it the seventh? Your eyes wander to the faded green wallpaper, scanning to the baseboard running along the bottom of the wall. You count the floorboards with bated breath.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Tom is standing on the eighth floorboard.

When you first inherited the house, after your parents died and you and Lexi packed up your things and moved to this old plot of land that belonged to your mom’s family for centuries, you felt like this room was the largest room in the entire house.

It has a huge lovely window opposite the door, dusty green curtains that to this day, no matter how many times you washed them, still collected dust easier than it reasonably should have. You should have known though. Nothing in this house is reasonable. Not even yourself.

Now the window seems to be hardly the size of a piece of paper. You could barely look out of it. You notice how the curtains would make a lovely scarf.

The dark oak floorboards were wide and ran horizontally from the window to the door.

Nine.

Ten.

Eleven.

Twelve.

Thirteen.

Fourteen.

Fifteen.

The floorboards seem to get thinner and thinner. Even as you counted them, a watchful eye inspecting their change down to the millimeter. They are sneaky. But they shrink anyway.

Tom shifts his weight from one foot to the other. The 8th floorboard creaks again.

It doesn’t make sense, it is your side of the bed that has the creaky floorboards. And it isn’t the 8th, it is the 5th, it was always the 5th. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. On the exhale you shift your weight and the floorboard under you creaks

Your eyes dart to the baseboard and you begin to count again.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

You look at the floorboards underneath your feet, just as wide as when you dragged this old bed up here years ago. The fifth floorboard creaks underneath you.

“Y/N, what’s going on?” Tom’s eyes are nothing but full of concern as he joins you on the fifth floorboard, resting his hands on your shoulders so he could look you in the eyes.

“What couldn’t you tell me Tom?” Your voice raises as your hands shake at your sides.

“The last good day,” he breathes out, as if saying that lifted this incredible weight off his shoulders.

“What do you mean? Come on, don’t talk like that, just say what you mean to say.”

“Your sister, her last good day. October 29th, 2019.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It was her last good day. She sat on the window seat, it was still worn down and indented from how often she would sit in it. She drank peppermint tea and read Frankenstien. It was an old copy, one you found at a bookstore on Main Street when she begged you for new books to read during chemotherapy. She’s had to have read that book hundreds of times. It was one of the only books she read.”

“Stop, Tom, what are you saying?”

Tom just smiles sadly and continues, “You went to give her her pain medication, she just smiled at you and said she didn’t need it. That she wasn’t in pain. She said that maybe later that day the two of you could go apple picking. You laughed, it seemed like a ridiculous request, she hasn’t walked without a walker or stepped foot outside of the house in over a year. She wanted to go apple picking? And then she looked at you and shook her head, she said that ‘today, y/n, I can do anything I want.’ You ruffled her hair, and she scowled but she secretly loved it. You agreed with her, said that you could drink apple cider and eat apple cider donuts, that maybe you couldn’t pick the apples, but the apples could come to you instead. Then you told her you were going to run to the store, you needed to pick up those groceries. She said she loved you, and you said ‘love you too Lex’.”

“Tom, stop,” your lower lip trembles as bits and pieces of that day come flashing through your mind.

You remember a skip in your step as you walked back to the house, a bag of apples in one hand, in the other were a box of apple cider donuts and a half gallon of apple cider. You were going to be sick of apples after that day, but you didn’t mind because Lexi wanted apples. You remember the way the police sirens signaled to you the end of the world. You remember the way the red and blue ambulance lights reflected against the trees lining the dirt road up to your house. You remember dropping the apples, stumbling over them and crushing one underneath your foot. You remember dropping the apple cider and donuts, the cider splashed against your pant leg as you took off in a sprint towards your house.

You remember the noise you made, the high pitched scream as your knees collapsed beneath you and they told you she was gone.

“Lexi,” you gasp, pulling away from Tom’s hold and running out of the room, you run down the hallway, it seems to narrow, the area where the staircase was is now a small pin in the distance. You keep running. You’re out of breath by the time you get to the stairs. You count them as you gasp for air.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

Eleven.

Twelve.

You stumble and fall to the wooden floor, there is supposed to be a thirteenth stair. There has always been a thirteenth stair.

Tom’s footsteps tumble down the stairs behind you as you struggle to stand up.

“Y/N, please, wait!” Tom shouts as you run towards the living room. You run right past the door. It’s supposed to be here, you stop and turn, face to face with the light yellow wallpaper that wraps around the hallway down towards the kitchen.

You take two steps back, why is the door here now? Tom watches your confusion. Is the house getting smaller? Each pass down the hallway the living room door seems to inch closer and closer to the front door.

You throw the door open, eyes landing on the empty blue window seat. The soft indent where Lexi usually sat is no longer worn down, you run to it, almost colliding with it. It should be nine floorboards away from you but it is only six. You fall to the ground as your fingers grasp at the soft material of the seat.

“You only gave me one thing,” you gasp for air, trying to smell the familiar scent that seems to seep into the walls of 11 Blackthorne Road. Peppermint tea. Golden apples.

“I couldn’t have given you what you wanted,” Tom says, kneeling down next to you.

You feel tears drip down your cheeks as you remember.

You signed your sister’s body over to the medical examiner, Lexi always insisted her body be donated for science when she died. You had to give her what she wanted. You almost didn’t sleep that night, you curled up on the blue window seat with her Frankenstein book. That very next morning, you woke up to a gentle nudge on your shoulder.

“That’s my seat,” Lexi smiles at you, snatching the book from your hands.

“I couldn’t give you Lexi’s remission. She was gone when you decided to summon me.”

“You’re lying,” You shake your head, “that was a nightmare, the next morning she was there, she took the book from my hands and sat back down in her seat. She asked me for her pain medications and her peppermint tea. I knew I had to help her, help her more than I ever had. And I did! I found you! You made her better! You took away her pain!”

“Where is she now? If she’s alive where is she now?” Tom asks, he’s pleading with you.

“She’s gone for a walk, she wanted to, she wanted to go apple picking. You know what? She’ll be back soon, I should make her some tea before she gets back,” you brush Tom’s hands off your shoulders and stand up. There’s an indent where Lexi sat. You busy yourself counting the steps towards the kitchen. There should be twenty eight. Exactly. You catch yourself before you can almost walk right out the back door. You turn and walk back to where the living room door is. Then you walk towards the kitchen again. Sixteen steps to the entrance. You don’t have time to recount, you know what 11 Blackthorne Road is doing by now. You know it is closing in on you. But you don’t have time to fret. Lexi would be back soon. You have to get her tea started.

You turn on the stove, setting the kettle on top of the flame. You step one foot to the left to grab the peppermint tea from its spot in the cabinet, you tilt your head because the cabinet isn’t there anymore and take a half a foot to the right. Was the cabinet always this skinny? It seems to stretch upwards for a mile, you have to reach up on your tiptoes to grab the box. It is empty.

“Tom! I’m going to run to the store to pick up some peppermint tea, turn the stove off when the water finishes boiling!”

You count twenty eight steps to the living room door. You slip off your bathrobe and hang it on the staircase, slipping into your shoes. You tug at your wool sweater, the sleeves hung at the tips of your fingers and as you shut the door to 11 Blackthorne Road behind you you have to wrap your arms tightly around yourself. The autumn breeze nips at your skin as you kick a rock down the old dirt road. You pass the crossroads where you met Tom all that time ago. You continue walking as goosebumps rise on your skin. You buy three boxes of peppermint tea. It’s best to stock up, that way you won’t have to leave Lexi alone too often. The woman ringing you out smiles sadly as you tell her your sister is out apple picking and you are going to make her a nice warm cup of tea for when she comes home. You kick the same rock back down the dirt road. You pay attention to that rather than the billowing smoke rising up from 11 Blackthorne Road. You look up, red embers reflected in your irises.

Tom stands amongst the flames, hand outstretched, beckoning, inviting.

You drop the paper bag from your hand.

You watch as the house gets smaller, the wooden shingles of the roof burn, the wispy green curtains seem to evaporate, the porch steps engulfed in flames, fire whispering up the sides of Tom’s dark blue dress pants.

You run your hand along the wood of the mailbox, fingers tracing the ‘11’ of 11 Blackthorne Road. A jagged piece catches your thumb, tearing the skin. You watch the blood drip onto the dirt in front of you.

You notice there are only two steps up to the porch. You squeeze your eyes shut and think of the flames that Tom’s fingertips always seemed to draw out from your ribs. You think of the way his lips felt on your own. You think of the hazy red glow in his eyes that you ignored. You think of the moonlight shining over his head, etching along the green wallpaper of your bedroom as he showed you how much he loves you. You think of the words that tumbled easily from your mouth and the bulging throats of the yellow wallpaper of your kitchen. You think of how much you love him, the curl of his fingers against your ribs, the gentle brush of his lips against your skin, the soft brown curls that always managed to fall into his eyes so you could brush them away, the toothpaste kiss he would press to your cheek. You open your eyes again. There are four steps leading up to Tom, like there always were.

How easy would it be to slip your fingers into the space between Tom’s. How incredibly easy would it be to let him press a burning kiss to your forehead. How terribly easy would it be to collapse in on yourself as the house at 11 Blackthorne Road collapsed in on you.

All is well at 11 Blackthorne Road.

***

Tagging people who liked my post about this: @kickingn-ames // @littlekidsteve // @parker-holland-osterfield // @rebekkah4766 // @mysmileyspideyboi // @beelzebubsgirl666 // @sexytholland // @definitely-not-black-cat // @goofycactusbear // @truly-y0urs // @bombing-daisies // @hollandcreep // @bi-infinity

#tom holland #demon!tom #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #halo efffect #tom holland x reader smut #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfiction

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timextoxhajima · 4 years ago

Audio

Playlist Feels: SHORT SERIES PART 2

PART 1

Member: stripper juyeon

Genre: angst, drama

“i know it hurts to smile but you try to.”

the end.

it was almost traumatising -- no -- it was traumatising.

to see juyeon listen to your command.

the last time you will see him was the view of his back, a single, lone tear dribbling down his left cheek as he looks back.

almost like he was looking back at your past with him.

like he was bidding you a painful goodbye.

now, five years into the future, his eyes were different.

maybe it was the makeup, or the hair, or the clothes.

but this is not the juyeon you recognised. this is not the man you met in the library. almost ten years ago.

he is stone cold, he is a professional at this job, even if it was a raunchy, controversial one. he is hardened concrete and he is a piece of stone that medusa looked at and turned to rock.

he is a dead flower that you failed to care for.

you’ve tried convincing yourself that it wasn’t your fault. that juyeon had, in fact, been a terrible boyfriend.

who leaves their girlfriend hanging on edge for days and then gets himself involved with another girl?

then again, your mistake on its own was one to be reckoned with.

despite the reputation of the club you were sitting in, juyeon doesn’t take off a single piece of clothing.

the skin of his neck and chest and occasionally, the skin on his arm when the shimmering outer layer falls over his shoulder, is pale under the spotlight. pale like it belongs on a corpse, and it takes you awhile to decide who felt more dead given the circumstances.

you wonder if he’s seen you, or recognised you or even let you have some kind of effect on you.

watching him dance wasn’t terribly new, but you’ve never seen him perform something of a similar genre or dancing technique ever.

the material of his leather pants was wrapped so tightly and snug around his thighs, your eyes find trouble peeling themselves away from his legs. the whites of the shimmer on his clothes do no good from preventing your attention to gloss over his collarbones and his adams’ apple.

your throat runs dry with anxiety when his dark orbs finally look up and they pierce through yours for a solid second.

the eye contact sends violent shivers down your spine and throughout your body, not realising that your ears were naturally cancelling out the music because all you could pay attention to was that juyeon was having more of an effect on you that you’d like to admit.

it was terribly arduous a task to ignore the bitter taste of displeasure on your tongue when you notice the way your friends were looking at juyeon.

he is no longer yours, and he is just doing his job. it is none of your business how people look at him.

but confusion overwhelms you like a spell being cast over your head, the witch condemning your demon back to hell and into the realm of truth which you’ve kept away in a coffin for so long.

“you lie but i don’t let it define you.”

he is looking at you like he knows your secrets. the sharp edges of his eyes feel like knives against your neck and his hair makes him look like he has demon’s horns growing out of his head.

the red and black lighting makes you feel like you were truly in hell, and a strangling ache begins to crush your lungs.

juyeon is dancing with every strand of emotion he has in his blood, and you feel it more than you know your friends were feeling it.

he is moving with the music with the ripping of his heart he remembers when he saw you with sangyeon.

he is reaching up into the air with the vulnerability he presented to you when he cried.

he is walking away with the reluctance you remember seeing printed all over his back when he leaves your dorm room.

your deep breath was shaky, at a complete loss of stability when you find yourself nearly choking up. your friends burst out into cat calls, standing up and applauding the performance.

they scream something at you, probably encouraging you to stand up and clap too or something, but you don’t register it. not when he’s disappeared into the dark without even taking one last bow.

barely twenty minutes later, you were sat in a private room with a classy-looking karaoke set-up, and your friends were already on their third song, screaming the lyrics of The Weeknd and Post Malone like they were tone-deaf.

it distracts you every now and then, but the version of juyeon that’s strutting around in the building has buried itself in some burrow between the muscles of your brain.

your friends down way too much beer for this amount of screaming, so they end up ditching you for the bathroom after they scold you for being such a spoil-sport.

they are almost tripping over one another on the way out, leaving you inside the private room with your phone, a disco-ball and some tracks playing in the background.

you hope looking through the documents you’ve got saved on your phone for work will pry your mind away from where you were, and it was working until the door clicks open again.

the brightness of your screen makes it difficult to identify the face that walks in, but it’s not too perplexing to recognise the height, the build, and the fact that he was alone.

medusa freezes you when his face comes under the light, and he pulls the blinds over the window on the door.

“your friends paid me to do this, so just let me do my job.”

his voice reminds of you of something similar to a siren. sirens who sing and seduce shipmen to lure them into shipwreck.

when were the gender roles reversed?

just the way he looks at you in the dim lighting was enough to make your skin crawl.

your phone remains lit up, in dire need of providing you a brighter source of illumination besides the television that was flashing on the wall of the room.

reluctance was dripping off the edges of his clothes as he walks towards you, his costume unchanged and his makeup and hair looking like they were just reprinted onto his head altogether.

his eyes glowed an eerie darkness in the lack of light, his fingers coming around your phone and gently pulling it away from you, locking it in the process as he places it on the table behind him.

had you not known this man, this might’ve been sexually appealing. but it was because it was juyeon, he knew all the right buttons to push.

he knew where to gently brush his hand across your neck and cheek and he knew how much pressure to press into your skin to make goosebumps erupt all over your skin.

but now, he is running his hand up your arms like feathers, fingers gently brushing against the hairs on your arms with his neck right over your head, in a bid to make his provocative dance more exciting.

the scent washing off him slaps you back to when you hugged him for the first time, and it makes you realise he hasn’t changed his cologne since.

the nauseating memory becomes a terrible reason for you to abruptly shove juyeon off you, and you back off to the other end of the sofa while he looks at you, surprised but not entirely amused.

“i highly doubt you’re allowed to touch customers. female customers...”

he runs an exasperated hand through his hair, looking away with such disdain, you wouldn’t have missed it even though you were in a dark room (which you were).

“it is part of my job, y/n. as long as i don’t touch any intimate parts or if the customer sounds out about being uncomfortable and i stop, i’m all good.”

it is a freeze frame again, the only things moving in the room were the circles of light reflected off the discoball in the room.

“in any way,” he rubs his jawline with his thumb. “i was paid to spend thirty minutes with you, and i’m not allowed to compromise it after i receive payment.”

the air was filled with a horrid mixture of beer and cologne, his cologne, and you reprimand yourself for not being able to block him out.

your sins have come back to haunt you, and it doesn’t seem like it was going to go away that easily.

“i’ll make sure nothing happens to your pay,” your legs come off the sofa and meet the floor, trying your best to maintain your composure while you reach for the cup of beer. “just don’t... don’t touch me.”

the television warrants your attention while you try your best to ignore him awkwardly standing at the edge of the C-shaped sofa lining the curved wall of the room.

the uncomfortable atmosphere was making the beer churn in your gut like it was a washing machine.

juyeon sits down by the edge of the sofa, a safe distance from you as he takes a can and cracks it open without asking.

“what are you doing here, juyeon?”

the question comes out sounding like a command instead of a query, a frown forging itself on your forehead without looking at him.

neither does he look at you while he gulps down easily half the can of beer, and he sucks his lips between his teeth before placing it down on the table.

“part-time job.”

“does your day job not pay enough?”

“my day job doesn’t let me do what i like to do.”

you smirk to yourself, picking up your cup of beer and finishing what was left in it.

“so you went to a dance academy for four years and graduated from it... only to not do something related?”

you watch as he turns to glare at you from the corner of your eye.

“fun.”

it feels like the witch living in the back of your skull was dribbling curses all over your tongue, making you say things you know you shouldn’t say, making you feel things you know he had every right to feel as well.

rage. jealousy. hurt.

“i’m sorry, did i happen to miss something important here?”

“did you?”

he looks away, an exasperated smile of disbelief printed on his lips. his arm reaches out and rests on top of the backrest of the sofa, his thumb fiddling with the metal rings he had on his fingers.

fingers that were once interlocked with yours; fingers that once caressed your cheeks and your eyes.

“i can’t believe five years didn’t do much to your maturity.”

“maturity?” his words leave paper cuts on your skin. “you really want to talk about maturity?”

“oh, sure. definitely better than running off and sleeping with a club alumni, right?”

your body feels like a puppet being controlled by the resident witch in your head and she pulls you to your feet, your blood already beginning to boil like poison and potions in a large, black pot over a fire.

juyeon is still sitting down, one leg crossed over the other as he looks at you. under the shitty lighting, you could see that he was hurt. he was in pain, from the sole reason that you were standing in front of him.

your deep breath was shaky, and your eyes flutter shut for a second in attempt to calm your nerves. your clenched fists were by your thighs, and the music in the private room was starting to wash out with everything that’s going on in your head.

juyeon was arguably the only person you’ve ever loved who wasn’t related to you by blood, so remembering how you ended things with him was one too torturous a deal to forget.

“was he good in bed?”

it takes you awhile to process juyeon’s question, but it only pushes all the wrong buttons all over again.

“leave him out of this, sangyeon has nothing to do with it--”

“how does he have ‘nothing to do with it’ if he was the one who shoved his dick into my girlfriend--”

“your girlfriend? you disappeared off the face of earth for god knows how long--”

“i was busy and caught up with work--”

“and it leaves ‘your girlfriend’ no time but you had time to go out with someone else--”

“she was my project partner--”

“what project? a performance project? bet you had fun laughing the night away in the studio with her--”

“and i bet you had fun letting someone fuck your brains out when i wasn’t around to do it--”

“so you do know you weren’t around to do anything?”

juyeon turns away at your last blow, and you realise tears were collecting in the corners of your eyes.

the roles really have reversed.

back then, he was the one who cried first because he caught you with another man. now, you’re the one breaking because you were feeling the hurt in the relationship before he did. his reaction just drowned your pain out back then.

“where the hell were you when i needed you?”

silence.

“we had a deal that you’d be there for me if i needed you, and even then i tried my best not to rely on you completely because i knew how much you wanted to get into that academy.”

no response.

“i thought i was being unreasonable for wanting you to be around. but at some point of time, it really did feel like we weren’t together anymore. it felt like we had a break up and i didn’t know about it.”

the tears roll down your cheeks despite your efforts to keep them in your tear glands. the back of your hand meets your skin on your face and the wetness cools your eyes in the air-conditioned room.

“i blame myself for sleeping with sangyeon but it doesn’t feel like you’re blaming yourself for forgetting about me.”

you reverse in your steps to grab your purse, walking the other way round the table so you didn’t need to pass him on the way out.

your heart was relentless in pushing out all your grief in the form of tears, and you push past your friends when they meet you in the hallway.

they are shocked and surprised, probably worried that the stripper they hired was being inappropriate, but the security footage of the room would clear juyeon’s name anyway.

by the time you were home, you are exhausted. it feels like your soul had been sucked out and shoved back into your body with a complete absence of mercy.

it feels like your bones had been pried and yanked out from under your muscles and nerves, tendons and flesh being ripped and snapped with splatters of blood flying everywhere.

the witch has cursed you into some agonising dimension of pain and torture where you could see your own blood on the walls, where you’ve been picked apart like a lego artwork and then haphazardly put together again.

all because of juyeon.

it is ironic, to realise and to be fully aware that you are only feeling this magnitude of anguish because you still loved him.

five years spent trying to let those feelings for him wear away, by convincing yourself that he was a shitty boyfriend for forgetting about you and then be angry when he realises you’ve replaced him.

you can’t deny it was your fault for sleeping with sangyeon, but had he shown a little more care and concern without frolicking about outside with another girl, you would’ve been more secure. you wouldn’t have opened your heart out to sangyeon, who was kind and caring and gentle.

so what if sangyeon was good in bed?

so what if juyeon might be better?

he’ll never be able to provide you the same amount of safety and warmth sangyeon did, and he had proven it himself.

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

to be continued

#juyeon #lee juyeon #the boyz #the boyz juyeon #juyeon angst #juyeon fanfic #juyeon smut #the boyz fanfic #i am in pain

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solartranslations · 3 years ago

Text

AF2 Debito Chapter 6 (1/ 2): A Magician’s Smile

There are many rare items up for sale during the vibrant and energetic masquerade…

~*Scene: Nordia Town Square*~

Felicita: Oh, that store’s masks look interesting

Debito: You sure are having fun

Felicita: Well, you did ask me on a date, and…

Felicita: You don’t see this kind of thing in Regalo

Debito: Yeah. Every place has their own customs

Felicita: I’m sure Mama was surprised by a lot of things when she first came from Giappone

Felicita: Maybe that’s why she said I should experience foreign countries

Debito: It’s like a reward for me too

Felicita: Huh?

Debito: It means you’re not the only one who wanted us to go on a date

Felicita: Umm…wow this store sure has a lot of red things

Debito: The custom of giving red gifts on cenone is famous after all. Maybe they’re leftovers that didn’t sell

Felicita: Let’s see if they have anything cute

Debito: *chuckle*, of course

Debito: Hey, Bambina. There’s a different kind of red thing that I want besides what they’re selling. You know what I mean?

Felicita: Uh… you mean wine?

Debito: Sure, but, I was thinking of something that was more close by…

Felicita: ??

Debito: Not that what I want would ever fail to sell out

Debito: I wouldn’t allow it

Debito: Since I’d be the one to buy it all

Felicita: Wait, you mean…

Felicita: (…Could he mean me?)

Debito: The rest isn’t something I should say out in public

(*blush) Felicita: …!

Debito: Remember that suspicious person from before? There was some strange movement around Agata…

Felicita: Is Agata in danger? Could it be related to Vir and the Tarocco…?

Debito: Who knows? But when I get a bad feeling, I’m usually right

Debito: …So. Wouldn’t someone with your powers be perfect to guard Agata?

Felicita: It’s true that I’d be able to sense danger quickly by reading the heart of anyone suspicious

Felicita: But anyone could tell right away if I used my powers when I’m wearing these clothes

Debito: How about you just stay close like this then?

Felicita: !!

Felicita: It’s embarrassing for me even if it isn’t for you, Debito…!

Celine: Red gifts are stained with blood

Debito/Felicita: !?

~*Scene: Nordia Alley*~

Celine: When the masquerade ends, so will Agata’s line

Felicita: You’re…

Celine: You two sure were having fun earlier

Debito: And that’s a nice song you were singing. Sure you’re a magician and not a minstrel?

Celine: *laugh* I’m glad you remember me, but I’m not the one who wants to talk with you

Man A: The governor’s security was giving us way too much trouble

Debito: Heh. Agata’s pretty popular despite being a married woman…

Felicita: …!

Man B: I don’t care if they say she’s a witch. There’s plenty of people who want her done with

Man B: You’ve done nothing wrong as her guests. But we need to do this to get what we want

Man A: Don’t worry, we won’t kill you. Roughing you up a bit is enough

Man B: Haah!

Parry!

>Hit

(+10 Amore)

>Miss

(-20 Amore)

Felicita: *dodge*

Man A: Damn!

(*whack) Felicita: Guh!

Man A: Hah! Pathetic!

Man A: No hard feelings!

Felicita: *dodge*

Debito: Tra Coppo Scomparire…!

Man B: …!?

Man A: Hmph…

Felicita: (The one with the dagger isn’t attacking. The other one’s busy with Debito…!)

(*whish) Felicita: Hah!!!

Attack!

>Hit

(+10 Amore)

>Miss

(-20 Amore)

Man B: Damn it!

Man A: Some attack that was

Man A: So the girl’s the one who wants to get it first?

Dodge!

>Hit

(+10 Amore)

>Miss

(-20 Amore)

Felicita: *dodge*

(*bang!)

Felicita: !?

Man A: What!?

(*bang bang!)

(*click) Debito: I’m the one you’re fighting!

Man A: The hell did you come from!?

Man B: Guh…

Man A: Damn it…!

(*click) Debito: Felt like I was getting soft lately so this is some perfect exercise…

Man A: —!

Felicita: Debito!?

Debito: …It wasn’t me

Celine: Bravo!

Felicita: !!

Celine: *laugh*. Spilling blood was unavoidable for today. Sorry~

Man A: …ah

(*collapse)

Celine: And you two are even better than the rumors say. You’ll be worth negotiating with

Debito: …You’re not exactly giving us a chance to negotiate here

Celine: It’s all part of the job. But—

Celine: That white feather I gave her was a gift. You wouldn’t want it to get stained, no?

Felicita: …

Celine: So can we talk then?

Debito: Bambina, let’s give “our powers” a try

Felicita: (…Gli Amanti)

>I’ll use The Lovers

>I won’t use The Lovers

Felicita: But, is this really the right way to use Arcana powers?

Felicita: Celine says she wants to talk…

Debito: …Right now, it is

Celine: Hey, Miss…

Felicita: …….

Debito: Bambina…?

Celine: What? Not talking? There’s no need to be suspicious of me. Then—

Celine: Why don’t you take a look with your “powers”? It’ll be faster than if I were to explain

Felicita: …

Debito: Did you make them attack us so we would use our powers?

Celine: I told you, this is a job. I want to negotiate with you. They want to cause trouble for Agata

Celine: Besides…I can’t understand why such special powers are locked away in an island as small as Regalo

Felicita: You know about Regalo too?

Debito: …Songs, feathers, those attacks…are you with Luce?

Celine: I don’t know which “Luce” you’re talking about, but you’re right

Felicita: Luce…the Lucellino Company?

Celine: Yup. We’re an organization, but it’s pretty secretive. I don’t know all the members

Celine: There might be some near your Family too

Debito: You’re not here just to chat though, right Miss Celine?

Celine: No. But you’ll be out of the loop if you don’t do some chatting. I didn’t say anything that wasn’t important

Celine: I’m here to purchase those powers

Celine: You get what I mean right? Didn’t she come here to Nordia in search of power?

Debito: You’re sure well informed

Celine: And…I came to negotiate with the one who hates the scent of blood but is already stained with it

Debito: Tch…

Celine: Well, it’s normal for people to seek pleasure

Felicita: …You’re mistaken. We’re not like that

Celine: Our organization is well aware of how the Executive of the Coins does his job abroad. Are you?

Felicita: I don’t know and I don’t care. I won’t let it happen either

Celine: Miss, please keep quiet

Debito: …I didn’t do that because I wanted to!

Celine: Stop being so stubborn

Celine: …I’ll be using the parting gift my father left me then

Celine: “Awake to that night”

Debito: That night…!

Felicita: Debito!

Debito: Guh…

>I’ll use The Lovers on Celine

(No Amore)

>I’ll use The Lovers on Debito

(+10 Amore)

>I won’t use The Lovers

(+20 Amore)

Celine: I’m not the one you should be worrying about

Felicita: What did you do to Debito?

Celine: My father is the one who hypnotized him. Not me

Felicita: …!?

Debito: No, no, no. This can’t be…

Felicita: That was…

Felicita: Debito, it’s alright. I’m right here

Debito: …Ah

Celine: He’s waking up!? …Not if I can help it!

Felicita: !?

Debito: You…

❤≪Celine≫ ❤≪Debito≫ ❤≪Debito≫

Link: It’s what my father entrusted me with…

Daily: I’ll find my own path with Lucellino. By any means necessary.

Regalo: As it is now, Regalo has no future

Pain: “7 years ago” “A small house” “A gunshot”

Person: “Dead men tell no tales”…isn’t that what you said?

???: (I can’t see very well here)

Person: He said to forget. “7 years ago” “A small house” “A gunshot”

Pain: On that day…who was I pointing my gun at?

???: (I can’t see very well here)

Celine: So? You remember now?

Debito: That’s…an illusion. A dream. It’s not real…

Celine: The silver cat of Regalo…that’s what my father called you

Felicita: Your father…

Debito: … Karel

Celine: Getting her was a bonus. I only wanted to tell you what my father kept hidden

Celine: Have you woken up then? Once you’ve fallen into the darkness, you can never have a place in the light

Debito: ……

>You don’t get to decide that

(-10 Amore)

>You’re wrong!

(-10 Amore)

Felicita: Debito’s not trapped in the dark…or his past anymore

Felicita: He has me now. So he’ll be fine

Debito: Felicita…

Celine: How so? I think this is better for him in the long run

Felicita: You’re wrong because that isn’t what Debito wants

Celine: *laugh*. You’re so naïve saying that. The happiness you have is blinding

Celine: We’ll see how far meaningless words like that will take you. And besides—

Celine: Are you really okay with always letting her and my father protect you?

Debito: Protect me…?

Debito: Karel always just said how well suited I was for jobs like this…

Celine: That’s what he wanted you to believe since you were weak

Felicita: Stop it already. This isn’t getting anywhere

Celine: Yeah, you’re right. My father has nothing to do with my current organization

Celine: So let me give you some advice. The tournament day is the key to your business with the governor. Stop it from happening, and you’ll be loved by “Luce”

Felicita: Tournament…

Celine: Decide what you want to do by then. Ciao!

Felicita/Debito: …

~*End of Scene*~

(Continue to Debito Chapter 7)

(Back to Directory)

#debito #arcana famiglia #arcana famiglia 2 #chapter 6 #solar translations #psp game #translation #releases #wait if milena's letter was a warning #how does she know about lucellino?#hm....

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the-hilda-librarians-wife · 4 years ago

Text

A Familiar Soul - Chapter Two

Summary: Hilda decides to be completely honest with her mother, surprised when she seems to be a lot more in on magic than Hilda had expected her to be.

With her daughter’s association with witches, Johanna is forced to face some secrets of her own, bringing her back to feelings and people she’d rather have left behind

Dealing with insecurities and inner demons of her own, Kaisa finds herself face to face with the very issues that brought her to be so displeased with her own abilities

Or: the one where Johanna is Kaisa’s familiar

Notes: Hey there! Just wanted to mention that Henrietta being the name for the tall witch from the Committee comes from @cinnamon-sparrow-scout! Hope you enjoy!

Read it on ao3: (chpt1) (chpt2)

Being in the library again after all those years was a strange feeling, to say the least, having avoided it like the plague ever since she was eighteen. Going to that place had always been the most surefire way to find her, which was the last thing she’d wanted to do. Unfortunately, that was exactly what Johanna had come for that day.

The scent of old books and the sounds of pages turning and patrons whispering were all familiar to her like a song she liked but hadn’t heard in a long time. Simultaneously unpleasant and nostalgic, those sensations made her feel like squirming, as if suddenly her skin was too tight. She kept herself composed and continued walking, though. There was a reason why she was there.

It didn’t take Johanna long to spot the librarian’s book cart between two shelves on the first floor, as if it had been put there to close the entrance to the small corridor the space between the shelves formed. It was a clear sign that Kaisa would be there, reshelving.

Johanna squared her shoulder, trying to make herself look braver than she felt. The part of the library they were in was secluded, which served her just fine. She rolled the cart forward to allow herself in and walked closer.

With her headphones on, it took Kaisa a moment to notice she had company. She turned her head to the other woman with a disapproving face, expecting to see a patron which hadn’t respected the ‘do not enter’ message that the cart positioned at the entrance gave. Now Johanna could see why that corridor would need to be closed for reshelving: the two shelves were so close that Kaisa was all but cornered by Johanna in the narrow corridor.

The librarian was good at masking her emotions, always had been. However, even if just for a second before she picked herself up, her eyes widened and her eyebrows shot upward at the sight of Johanna. Good, Johanna thought, I hope I gave the bastard a good fright.

“You need to stop this.” Johanna said with a resolution in her voice she didn’t really feel all the way in her soul. Already recomposed, Kaisa crossed her arms over her chest and deliberately lifted an eyebrow.

“Well, hello to you too.”

“I mean it.” Johanna walked closer, fully aware that she was being rude to someone she hadn’t talked to in so long. Seeing Kaisa again after so much time had gone by awakened something in her which made her want to cry, scream, and kiss her stupid face all at once. “Even you are better than this. Is this some sort of revenge? Trying to put my daughter in danger as well?”

Kaisa blinked, the confidence on her face wavering. In the few moments she’d had, she hadn’t even managed to recover from the shock of seeing Johanna again, a ghost of the past in the middle of her books, and now another blow was thrown at her.

“Daughter?” She asked, hating the disbelief in her voice.

“You know what I mean. You’ve been helping Hilda get herself in trouble, and what for? Getting back at me?”

“Oh, so Hilda is your daughter, is she?” The moments she’d spent with the girl were replayed in Kaisas’s mind, and with this added layer of knowledge, she could now see there had been something about the girl that had struck her as familiar. The irony of Hilda being Frida’s familiar did not escape her either; maybe it was something of a genetic trait? “Congratulations, I would never have guessed such a lovely girl would have been raised by you.”

With one firm step forward, Kaisa tried to squeeze herself between the shelf to her left and Johanna. She wanted that conversation to be over. It was too overwhelming for her to keep up her act of calm for much longer. No such luck, however, since Johanna slid herself to the right and blocked her way.

“You mean you didn’t know she was my daughter?” There was a hint of doubt in her voice when she asked. “Why do it, then? Get her involved with magic?”

“I do not spend nearly as much time thinking about you as you seem to think I do.” Kaisa huffed as she bumped on Johanna’s shoulder with her own, trying to get her to move so as to allow her out. “It’s not my fault she has a wild heart. I just hope she doesn’t let her selfish mother get in the way of what she loves.”

“Stay away from my child, Kaisa.” Johanna glared down into the witch’s eyes. “You know nothing about who I am, so keep my name out of your mouth.”

Kaisa met her gaze with as much intensity, all of Johanna’s anger reflected on her eyes. Johanna didn’t think they’d ever had this bad of an argument before. Even when they had fought, Johanna hadn’t been one to pick the battle. There was one difference this time, though, and it was that this time, Hilda was involved.

“You are a coward, Johanna. I see that still hasn’t changed.” She said with a smug grin that Johanna was dying to slap off of her face. Having no interest in facing charges for attacking the librarian, she instead walked away with an angry groan, feeling like it was much easier to breathe once she was out of that corridor.

With the confrontation over, she noticed her heart rate had picked up pace, and that her breathing was ragged. Thoughts scrambled in her head just like emotions in her heart. Kaisa had to somehow know Hilda was her daughter. She desperately wanted it to be true, because then there would be a reason why her daughter was always going on those crazy quests, why she hadn’t been telling her anything. Because then Johanna would finally be able to tell herself that Kaisa was indeed bad.

And yet, with one small, tragic exception, she knew her old friend was not a liar.

She walked quickly, taking big strides. Her crowded mind made it so she didn’t take much of her surroundings in, until another voice she hadn’t heard in years reached her. It was melodic and overly sweet, at least when she was calm, and Johanna turned her head to see the woman sitting on one of the more comfortable armchairs in the library.

“Johanna? Is that you?”

The woman’s long hair was split in the middle, one half of it orange and the other a creamy white. Johanna remembered that when she was a child, that hair used to remind her of a calico cat. Instead of her usual black dress, she was wearing another ankle lenghted dress, dark pink with a brown sweater on top. Something about seeing her out of her witch clothes made Johanna uncomfortable, or maybe it was just because of the encouter she’d just had.

“Abigail.” She greeted. “Yes, it’s me. Been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“Oh, how much you’ve grown!” Abigail said, and Johanna had stop herself from saying she hadn’t aged at all. For some reason, Abigail looked surprised to see her there, and Johanna figured it was probably just because it had been a long time since they last saw each other, and not the best circumstances either.

The witch’s gaze was focused on a spot behind Johanna, and she glanced at it for long enough to realize Abigail was looking at where Johanna had just come from, where Kaisa, too, was now leaving from among the shelves.

“Pity, isn’t it?” Abigail said unprompted. “Such a promising witch, she’d been. And yet, she turned out to be so… self-centered.”

Johanna sighed, hugging her torso. “I agree. I once thought I knew her, you know. I cared about her, deeply. But now I’m afraid she doesn’t even deserve my compassion. I recently found out she had been endangering my child.”

Abigail brought a hand to her heart with a soft, almost inaudible gasp. “This upsets you, doesn’t it?” She asked in a low voice.

“Deeply. She’s… she’s doing to Hilda the same she did to herself. It’s happening right in front of my eyes, and I can allow it no longer.”

“You mean the blue haired girl?” Her head was tilted to the side. “Oh, I’ve seen the sort of thing she does with Kaisa’s support… they’re certainly not fit for a little girl. You are a good mother to try and protect her. I, too, shall see what I can do to try and keep her safe.”

Johanna let out a heavy sigh. Few things could stop Kaisa when she had something on her mind, and much less Hilda, but having an ally in the Committee of Three was something of a win. She knew very well about the power they had.

“Thank you, Abigail. It was good to see you again.”

“The pleasure was all mine, dear.”

The witch had barely finished speaking when a shrill hiss interrupted her.

“Abigail, what are you doing?”

Abigail turned to look behind herself, and Johanna noticed the voice, which she also recognized, was coming from a gap before two bookshelves that hadn’t been there before. Another one of the many secret passages the witches had.

“”Henrietta.” Abigail exhaled. “Must you be this way? I’m just talking.”

“With a non-witch!” The other woman snapped. From the gap, Johanna could only see her black clothes and hair split in half, the same colours as her younger sister’s.

“We can’t go our lives without talking to non-witches, you know?”

Henrietta glared at Abigail in a way that Johanna was sure had a meaning between them. Uncomfortably, she noted that they still talked about her as if she wasn’t in the room.

“Well, maybe we should. This place is witch sacred space! You shouldn’t be communing with them here!”

Before they could continue their argument, Johanna cleared her throat.

“I was already going anyway. Good evening.”

As she walked away from the library hastily, she wasn’t sure if in that visit she’d managed to solved her problems, or only to create more.

_#_#_#_

With her small hands, she placed the violets on the cold stone, one upon each grave. Kaisa didn’t like picking flowers. She knew it hurt the plant and often upset the nature spirits that took care of it. For her parents, though, she made an exception, and when she was allowed to visit them she’d always bring them a flower.

Their graves were side by side, just like they would want them to be. Kaisa remembered few things about her mother, because the woman had died when she wasn’t much more than a baby, but she’d heard stories about her. After she got pregnant and revealed that she had a non-witch lover, the witch community had been revolted. Heartbroken at not having her kind accept that romance, she’d decided to leave any affiliation with witch kind behind.

It was a noble decision, Kaisa thought, but not a very smart one. For her choice, she had her magic completely removed, and it made her terribly weak. Even though sometimes witches would take long to manifest their magic, they always had it in them, and taking it away was the same as cutting apart a piece of their soul. Her mother had gotten weaker and weaker, the harrowing experience of childbirth only making her situation worse, which eventually led to her death.

Without the woman he loved, Kaisa’s father hadn’t lasted long. He was with her for long enough for Kaisa to remember the sound of his laughter, which had always felt forced, the scent of the porrige he used to make them every morning, and to fill her young head with stories of how great her mother had been before she had her magic stripped from her simply for loving, how she’d been the most powerful and wise member of the Committee Of Three. Then, illness had taken him.

Her father had no parents in Trolberg, and her mother had no close family to speak of (none that hadn’t disowned her, anyway), so at a very young age Kaisa had been on the verge of being completely alone. Luckily, her mother had had one friend left, one woman who didn’t agree with the rest of the witches, and who had been kind enough to take Kaisa in.

“Come, little one.” Tildy said gently as she put a hand on the child’s shoulders. “Let’s go home.”

“Why don’t they come to visit me?” Kaisa asked suddenly, making the older woman involuntarily squeeze her shoulder. “Ghosts come to visit what was theirs, you said so yourself. But then why won’t they come visit me? Do they blame me for what happened?”

Tildy made her way to stand in front of her and kneeled down to her level. Age was beginning to make her movements less agile, but it wasn’t something that she ever allowed to stop her. Gazing into the girl’s big, melancholic eyes, she knew there was a long road ahead to get her to heal from the terrible experiences she’d had at such a young age. No child should have such a thought on their mind.

“Oh, sweetheart, of course they don’t blame you.” Resisting the urge to lock Kaisa in a tight hug, Tildy cooed. “You see, ghosts don’t usually come to visit people because… the thing with loved ones is, eventually they die too. And then everyone’s together again! It’s not because they don’t like you at all. They loved you so much, little one. You were a miracle in their eyes. I promise they’ll be looking at you with a lot of pride.”

Kaisa nodded. She didn’t look forward to dying, but at least she knew she’d see her parents again then. She knew what she had to do in this world, in the meanwhile.

The woman took her home again, and baked her her favorite cake, which she always did when she wanted to cheer her up. Kaisa was infinitely glad for Tildy’s warmth in her life, comforting and uplifting her. It was all she had. That, and the burning certainty in her soul that she had a debt to her mother which she had to pay.

She had to change the system that had gotten her killed, because even if Kaisa herself wasn’t the culprit of her death, she’d always feel responsible for her mother’s downfall if she didn’t do something. Kaisa would be great, she knew it. She would have to be if she wanted to make her mother proud.

#my fic #fic: afs #sketchbook ship #sketchbook ship hilda #sketchbook ship fanfic #kaisa hilda fanfic #johanna hilda fanfic

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