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twitchesandstitches · 4 years ago

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(Commission for @alt-hammer of a fantasy AU where Jade, a talented alchemist, has greated a boob expansion potion and refines it, gradually getting more enormously buxom as she and Dave get closer together.

This is set in, broadly, the same continuity as the godess terezi commission; some liberties were taken so, where there are differences, assume them to take place in their own micro continuities.)

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The town was an old one, near a vast forest that lay in the shadow of a temple consecrated to one of the old gods: the teal dragon goddess of mentality, rumored by some to be incarnate in the modern age. The era of magic and gods, though, was long behind them, and simply reverse engineering even a tiny shred of its power was a game-changer, especially for such a minor town.

Jade Harley, alchemist and adventurer, thought she had just about worked it out.

Okay, she thought, peering at a list of ingredients. Body expansion and modification. It used to be so much more common, in the old days. Did I figure it out?

I think I did.

She poured over the ingredient list, checking things off, and she was so busy in her work that she heard the bell over the door go ‘ding’.

“Yo-hoy, Jade?” Came the voice of Dave Strider, her best friend, with big quotation marks around the ‘friend’ bit. She smiled and stood up. Jade was a tall woman… a very tall woman, even bigger than some trolls, which was unusual for a human. She had a curvy frame, packed with power, and lately she had been thinking: not curvy enough.

And then, she’d heard stories about the old days. Ancients who had transformed their bodies in impossible ways, with nothing but their knowledge of magic. And she’d thought; if they did it, why not me?

Dave was waiting there. He was not a particularly tall man, or broad; he had the sort of wiry, vaguely feminine look that was quite popular these days, and paired well against Jade’s more voluptuous frame. She just looked big, especially next to him. Nevertheless, when he stood up, it was with a real sense of genuine strength and power that belied his seemingly frail look.

“You sure you wanna do this whole… thing?”

Jade indicated her chest. It was pretty ample, and again, especially for a human. But Jade had thought about records from the old days, that described people changing themselves to be… bigger. More buxom. And she had thought; if they’d done it, why not her? What was the missing keys to that kind of power?

Besides thousands of years of magical knowledge and infrastructure, she admitted. But they’d been learning, and she thought she might have rediscovered the key.

Jade wanted bigger boobs. She wanted really big boobs. It was a pretty silly thing to want, she would be the first to admit, but when she thought of herself, of the shape that Jade Harley ought to have, it was with boobs so big that they’d have to reshape the doorways when she left the house; pathway-clearing plows of a bustline, big and bouncy boobs so massive you could sit on them.

Or even bigger than that!

The default assumption that most men would have, in helping such a task, would be ‘yes please!’. Dave was surprisingly ambivalent; she had no doubt he’d be pleased by the results, but the actual experimenting was going to be an issue.

He worried a lot. About her in particular.

“I'm sure!” Jade put her hands on her hips. “I just… oh, I’ve been spending years on this, and I’m so close! I can practically taste it!”

“Right, right, cool. Passion project, I get that.” Dave patted her on the shoulder, the gesture completely reflective. He probably didn’t realize how intimate it felt.

Probably? Jade pondered that, for a while.

“Well, I got a map.” Dave laid it on a table; now they were free to plan, since no one came in after these hours. On the map was a chart of the most magically potent parts of the forest outside the town, where the most magically powerful ingredients… and monsters… were likely to be found. “I think these are the places we should start looking.”

“Right!”

For hours, they planned it out. The kinds of things they would need to hunt up, of course. The gear they would need to harvest things effectively, and explore the forest.

And the monsters they were likely to face, the mindless beasts generated by raw magical energies and attacking anything they perceived as intruders. Dave faltered a bit at the thought; not in fear, but he was looking at Jade as if thinking too hard about her getting struck by some beast’s claws.

He swallowed. “You sure you wanna do this? For… to get bigger boobs?”

Jade grinned. When you put it like that, the whole thing sounded silly, and she really didn’t mind that at all.

“Absolutely!” She insisted.

------

After that, Dave came in regularly, when he could.

At least once a week, in his official capacity as a courier. As much as possible when he was off work, or just playing schemes to pretend to be doing things on the clock, goofing off at her work place and racking up paid hours when deliveries slowed instead of doing paperwork. She was pretty sure that he definitely was not allowed to do that; his boss, Mister Slick, was a stickler for the letter of the rules for everyone if not himself, and he in turn answered to the chief courier, the Mendicant.

Jade had to consider that. She didn’t know the chief courier personally, but everyone knew of her; she was married to the mayor, who was something of a gremlin with a chip on his shoulder but a pretty relaxed attitude. The chief courier was a lot more strict, and probably wouldn’t approve of Dave doing that, so of course Jade kept the whole thing secret.

Dave had been scouting out the places they were going to hunt down; slaying a few monsters, scrounging up what he could for Jade to examine. It all worked out for her; monster flesh and bone, fungi and moss and roots all growing in places absolutely drenched in magic… it served her purposes perfectly.

She made her potions; not testing them on herself yet, though Jade tended towards the belief that a TRUE alchemist used themselves as a test subject before anyone else, but that was for a product proven to have the effect she wanted. Until then, she’d taken to quietly giving the uncertain batches to the cattle that grazed just outside her home, pouring it into their food when no one was looking. The cows, she was pleased to see, wound up moving unsteadily with obscenely massive udders so stuffed that they were propped up by them, and the consistency in it satisfied her.

Putting in magically charged milk, she determined, seemed to help. She imagined herself with such massive, swinging breasts and trilled with delight.

And they would need to go to magical places to find ingredients to make into potions; plants, fungi and the parts of monsters, all rich with magical energies. Alchemy was, as she explained it to Dave, the art of melting down magically potent substances and infusing them with arcane ‘aspects’ to effectively make liquid, drinkable spells. The trick was finding things powerful enough to infuse the solution, and for that…

Well, to the old forest, they’d both go.

-------

The days came and went. Experiments went by. Batches, failed and otherwise, were tested; the cows grew bigger and bigger, so much so that Zahhak dairy farming family found something of a glut of their product, and Jade jotted down their boasting or complaints under a list of things to bear in mind for the future batches.

Dave came and went. When he could reasonably swing it, playing off his ingredient hunts for Jade as part of his job; she paid him, at least, which generally satisfied Mister Slick, according to Dave. Jade did see the chief courier, glistening in the sun like a polished ivory statue, studying her shop as if looking for signs of slacking off, and she quietly told Dave the next time she saw him (complete with him bringing several baskets of mushrooms, roots and the occasional monster part) that they would have to probably save this for his free time.

So, in the end, they went together.

Deeper into the forest, where anyone had ever gone. Under the shadow of the ancient temple of the dragon goddess, where its primordial magic seeped into the trees, turning them and the crawling moss into living, teal crystals…

And where the monsters dwelled.

-------

And one day, they came back from there. Both of them bloodied, battered; panting with exhaustion and still trembling; with terror, at least for Jade, tinged with exhilaration. “That was amazing!” Jade said as they stumbled into her shop, her chest heaving and her travel robes hanging over her front like a mobile tent.

Dave put his sword down and flopped down onto a cot Jade kept around, in case he wanted to take a nap whenever he dropped by. “I warned ya, Jade. I warned you about the imps.”

Jade sat down on a chair, and it creaked under her considerable weight. She was simply too thick for most furniture; the legs were bending ominously, as she rocked back giggling to herself in a mix of post-adventure shock and genuine excitement. “The way they came out of nowhere! And the way you just cut them! Swoosh! Slash! That was so cool!”

“Am a little bit concerned with how easy you’re dealing with this.” Dave sat up. “You blasting them was pretty cool…”

Jade turned around. There was a lot of bouncing, possibly on purpose, and green spirals of magical energy swished around her. She’d cast so much magical energy that it was leaking out of, rising out with relatively small gestures, and it make her tingle all over; crackling like her blood was lightning and a sun beating in her chest-

She grabbed Dave and spun him right around, off his seat, and he squealed as she pulled him close to her in a tight not-quite-hug. She was too caught up in the exhilaration to realize it. “Let’s do that again!”

“Ye?” Dave said, lying on the floor now, red-faced and apparently losing the will to move on his own.

Jade was too full of vigor and excitement to stop now. She took one of the bundles of ingredients, plants and fungi and the harvested monster parts they’d been able to secure, and took them up to her work station.

Dave had time to recover, sitting up and recentering himself and not thinking constantly about the feeling of Jade’s body against his own (at least that’s what he would insist, later) as Jade took the things the ingredients they had found and prepared them for distilling. She chopped with knives, she crushed with a motorized pestle, and repeated this until she had a number of small chunks and fine dust. She placed that into a large flask she placed under a burner, but the flames she produced from it were a bright green.

It didn’t burn the chopped and crushed plants, meat and mushrooms. Instead it softened them, until they started dripping through a grate at the bottom of the flash. That became a fluid, propelled onwards through a series of tubes. There, other solutions and mystical fluids were dribbled into it; things to add in mystical formulas and spell-aspects, amplifying other aspects of the potion… negating the flavors and aspects of the substances they originally had been, purifying it into something completely divorced from its origins.

It eventually flowed, much thicker now, into a beaker. Jade poured a hint of something that looked a lot like milk, her magic flowing into it, supercharging it. A bit of milk to give it the right aspect for what she wanted. And a little bit of amplification, mixing with the raw power of the other ingredients...

And under the heat of the magical flame, which burned away solid matter and left behind only magical essence made fluid, Jade waited for it to finish.

She grew quiet, and intense. Dave, recovered by now, had long since learned to pick up on her moods and he knew she was getting very excited.

“I thought you didn’t use spells,” Dave said, to break the silence. “What was with all that… fwoosh?” He wiggled his hands, in the manner of the green fire he remembered Jade shooting all over the place.

“Fwoosh?” Jade said, absently.

“You were shooting attack spells and stuff.”

“Oh! I mean. I know how to do that kind of magic. Not so much in my job, but I know about the theory of magic in general. I couldn’t do alchemy right if I didn’t.”

“And the fire stuff?”

Jade giggled. “I always did wanna put that into practice!”

“Wait, you mean you’ve never fought until today?”

Jade, a woman who had turned a small part of the forest into a crater and probably infuriated the local spirits, looked bashful. “Did it show?!”

“...No. Not really.”

“Huh. Good to hear!” Jade suddenly shut off the flame, stirring it a few times; despite the constant heat, there was no sign that it was particularly hot. “This batch is done!”

Dave stood up. “You sure? I’d thought there’d be… more sparkles.”

“I might put something like that in a consumer batch; people expect sparkles, you know. But this is the testing phase!” Jade examined the potion, studying it. Her magical senses, and eye for detail, picked out things Dave couldn’t possibly have made out. Apparently satisfied, she put it up to her lips and started to tilt it up.

“Whoa!” Dave staggered forward, his stoic exterior cracking just this bit. “Is that safe?! Shouldn’t you test it on, i dunno, the cows?!” He gestured towards a herd visible right through the window, where the shop brushed up against a pasture (as the Zahhaks, as one of the older families, had the authority to simply build their homes into grassy places for the cattle to feed). A cow looked right through the window, hindquarters lifted right off the ground by an obscenely stuffed udder.

Jade lowered the flask, just for a moment. She briefly gave the cow a solemn look, her eyes wide and impatience seething from her; she looked at the cow with an expression all but screamed, to Dave: I want that.

She made a ‘tsk’ing noise, wiggling a finger scoldingly at Dave. “Oh, I’m sick of letting them have all the good stuff! I want that for me!” She grinned, wildly, and Dave knew that there was nothing he could do, short of slapping it out of her hand, to stop her, and he thought that it would be wrong to do that.

“If you’re sure…” Dave said, clearly dubious.

“I’ve never been MORE sure.”

And Jade tilted the potion up, and drained it in a single, powerful swig.

Dave winced, but didn’t argue.

She smiled, though, as her stomach briefly glowed green, the potion taking effect. “It’s nice that you worry, though.” She patted his hand, still upraised in protest, and impulsively, she kissed it.

His hand felt so warm against her lips; a heat flashed there, against her teeth and tongue, and down her neck. It lingered there in her chest, mixing with the magical energies and transformative vibes now swirling inside her. It felt so fine; a gentle euphoria rose inside her, and she couldn’t help but smile through an intense blush.

Green light swirled around her, and especially over her chest. On her breasts, swirling around them and outlining them, supercharging them with magical energies speaking of more and BIGGER, but brightest of all was her heart.

Dave felt the magic flowing from her, before any changes actually happened, and he took a step back; a little awed at what he felt flowing inside her, and maybe stunned by the kiss.

Later, he contemplated how and why he sensed anything. He wasn’t trained in magic; he knew the martial applications, the tricks to make yourself stronger and faster with the spiritual energy inside a person, or the energy around you, but he didn’t know how to use magic itself. Jade’s work was a mystery to him, and he was quietly impressed with people who did know how to bend magic more directly. The actual mechanics of how it was supposed to work was all a bit beyond him.

Nonetheless he felt it, right then. Right there.

Maybe, he theorized later, he’d learned to sense magical energy somewhere, in all the training to harness it. Flex a muscle hard enough, you learned to get a feel for when it was straining. A similar principle could apply, right?

In any case, he stumbled back, more and more, as Jade started to get bigger.

He was far from the only one to notice it, though; there were many people who’d worked out how to manipulate magic all over the town, or those who benefitted from thep precious and rare remaining bits of lore from older days. And some who were something else altogether.

Even people who didn’t live in town felt Jade growing: the professional spellcasters, the priestly high classes, and the hedge-mages learning it all on their own. Even those completely untutored, but sensitive to magic all the same, felt it. And those who knew their stuff felt it happen in intimate detail, like Miss Roxy Lalonde, probably the best student of magical theory in town, and she perked up at the sudden flare from Jade’s shop.

Karkat Vantas, living outside town in the old and long-abandoned manor, felt something even as he slept. His fiance, Terezi Pyrope, sat up and silently eased him back to sleep as she looked up. Her eyes were blind and felt very old, just like the ancient statues in the very temple Jade had walked in the shadows of. There were murals there… that looked just like Terezi Pyrope; as if those ancient sculptors had modeled them after her.

She tilted her head up, head craning and focusing right at the precise location of Jade.

She grinned. “Interesting~!” She said aloud, already making up her mind to pay Jade a visit as soon as she could.

People, intrigued or afraid or obnoxiously curious, gravitated towards Jade’s shop. The market outside her place broke up, the people in it drifting over to see what was going on. So, quite apart from Dave, Jade had an audience.

And in the shop itself, there was no blast of magic. No eye-searing pyrotechnics, as might be associated with a surge of magic so strong it made the cattle outside bounce and gush away in shock, or made Jade squeal with a mixed noise of joy and shock; she staggered back, as if her limbs suddenly were sapped of their strength, or something new flooding it and pushing out the old energy to make way for something fresh, strong and wild…

She gritted her teeth. They seemed longer, sharper; she took a step forward, and her legs kept shaking. No, wait. IT took a moment for Dave to realize, but they weren’t shaking.

They were getting wider.

Jade’s thighs slowly grew, leg muscles gradually bulking up and expanding outwards, a thick and appealing sheath of fat covering them. Not growing much past the knees, making them look surprisingly small past the thighs.

Her hips swayed and wiggled; first Jade just moved in an unconscious groove, and then it was a pattern of growth, and her hips expanded outwards in a smooth swell. Several inches added themselves on, and then about an extra foot of hip growth, to both sides. Jade stumbled as her thighs grew so big their sides were mashing together, and then made an embarrassed noise as her butt suddenly surged out, so bubbly and round that it was making the hem of her skirts rise up!

Her chest was still glowing, the focal point of all this. She dipped forward as they felt very heavy, her hands instinctively cupping her breasts. They wobbled at her touch, all on their own with indifference to gravity, and swelled. Jade made a squeaking noise of surprise, and then it melted into delight; waves of pleasure flooded into her from her chest. Oh! It had felt good, growing like this with her test batches, but nothing like this!

A cup size fluxed out, and then another, pushing at the fabric of her robes. Two more swelled out, pushing her palms down to support them, and they flowed out over her hands. They kept growing; bigger and bigger! The weight of them, rising with each sudden bouncy surge, was making Jade lean forwards, her breasts rising outwards. More than extra cup sizes, now, her breasts were almost doubled from what they’d been.

The magic surged and amplified her body, adding more mass, more flesh, more everything. Her breasts kept expanding, growing outwards, so heavy that she was bent nearly double, her robes straining out and pulling up from the weight. “Yyyeah!” Jade cheered, the delight coursing through her.

And the magic was slowly expended, totally absorbed and transmuted into more Jade. She breathed out as the growth slowed, a couple more inches adding on with each breath, and then it stopped altogether.

The sensation of power and pleasure alike faded from her. Dave gaped as she stood up to her full, imposing height; her breasts were huge, and Jade’s fingers gently traced their expansive outlines, the fabric stretched and almost translucent against her skin now.

Down, down her hands went, feeling her breasts. Much bigger than anticipated. She heard a distinctive sloshing noise, too, when she jiggled enough. Down, all the way past… goodness! Past her ribs, and then when she found the bottom of her breasts, they lay near her navel.

Almost two and a high feet high was each breast, she guessed. She shifted upright, and felt a very pleasurable bounce. Slung out by at least three feet, two, perhaps four!

She breathed in, hissing it out through a grin that was a little bit manic, and she said “Ohh, yes, this is definitely a success.” Now, she panted heavily. “Ooh…” She breathed in and out again, her newly expanded assets heaving with such weight she felt dragged forward. It felt like so much of her was in front of her now… it felt good. “That’s… that’s a fun sensation��.”

Impulsively, Jade took Dave’s hand, her fingers squeezing gently around his palm. She smiled just a bit impishly, sharp teeth glinting behind her lips, and she felt Dave’s pulse quicken. His expression didn’t change, not one bit. Not a single muscle even twitched, and his expression was like stone. And Jade knew about stone, and a little bit about geology, and she knew enough that there was always a lot going on beneath mountains that looked all calm and steady, but on the inside?

They were exploding. And Dave could keep his face steady, but he couldn’t do much of anything about the hot blush coloring his cheeks.

Jade leaned in close and gave him a soft, brief kiss on the cheek.

Her breasts, so recently swelled by her potions, pressed against his chest. His body was thin but so firm, so strong; the ideal surface for her bustline to squsih against, and press out, the pulse of her heartbeat passing into his body. Against the plane of his chest, her own chest squashed deep, and she thought in a wild and romantic suddenness that it was like pressing her heart against his own.

She felt their breath twin, for a moment, and then his own stopped. She exhaled, gusting it against his chin, and she kissed him again in the cheek, in the same spot.

And finally Jade pulled away. Her breasts, bouncing freely in their sub-par restraint, wobbled heavily as she moved back, and it was completely on purpose.

Dave’s shades were slipping. The red glow beneath them was nearly visible. “Holy shit,” he said simply.

She realized he was staring, and she grinned, a little sheepishly and a little smugly. Pride welled up in her, at a job well done.

“Hey, I’m freaked out too, but watch the goddamn language,” a laconic voice said from the window.

Both Dave and Jade whirled around; towards the window.

Where what had to be at least a good third of the town was ogling her, and her new ‘features’.

The speaker was Dirk Strider; looking very much like a somewhat older version of Dave, a bit broader overall, his arms crossed over the window. Behind him was the Chief Courier, her porcelain-white shell glittering in the sunlight; she looked, as much as her face could be seen beneath the concealing uniforms she favored, a mix of amused and intrigued. Most people there seemed to have the same vibe.

Terezi was there too, looming over everyone else there, a big dragon-like troll with wings furled around her like a cape, and now she was grinning knowingly.

Jade instinctively covered herself, eyes wide, and she hurriedly thought: ‘What do I do!? What am I supposed to say?! Oh gosh they’re all looking at me!”

And then she thought: ‘Wait.

‘Isn’t this an opportunity?’

She stamped down the embarrassment and frustration at being watched, and declared, with a cheery tone, gesturing at herself, “So! Who might be interested in purchasing the next batch of my beauty elixirs, that’ll give you a body like this!?’

Her mortified feelings felt a bit dimmer at the glee of all the hands shooting straight up.

------

A couple weeks passed, after that.

There was a lot to do: adjust to her new body (oh, how doors were starting to be a problem! And clothes! She had to get them made special, or they’d pinch), going back with Dave to get the ingredients, preparing the next batches of potion for the rush of demand she was suddenly being met with…

Between the constant brewing, hunting down the ingredients from the most magically potent parts of the forests, needing to negotiate with the tailors, and all that, Jade had hardly any time with Dave.

That was a little sad, actually.

--------

But, as fortune would have it, he dropped in not long after that; he didn’t get to witness Jade testing more of her potions on herself, once she was satisfied with consistently bigger growth, and without Dave, she suspected her growth was being slowed. Warm feelings had something to do with it, she was sure.

“Dave!” Jade said, rushing over to him, nearly knocked over a couple people who were milling around her shop. Her breasts alone knocked a few people out of the way, and others quickly moved aside to get out of the way before they were bowled over.

Dave started to speak, but all the wind went right out of him as Jade lifted him clear off the ground, into a powerful and happy hug. “It’s been way too long!” Jade said happily, to some happy but muffled noises from Dave. He was pinned between her boobs, so it wasn’t surprising.

The other people in the shop awkwardly looked away, or giggled, or thought wistfully of envious thoughts for Dave’s position. Jane Crocker, a long-time friend of Jade’s, grinned at the pair, her own table slightly shifting weight from the pressure her potion-expanded breasts put on it; fully one side of it was covered by them, and she’d discreetly adjusted her coat to prevent any wardrobe malfunctions.

“Jade, help, need to breathe,” Dave managed to get out.

“Oops! Sorry!” Jade said. She dropped Dave, with a sheepish smile.

A voice cleared itself from behind her.

Jade turned around; the shop was fairly crowded now. But it had been, ever since she’d brought out her new line of potions. People had come to her all the time in any case; for potions of fertility or physical enhancement to strength and resistance, or giving big claws or aesthetic features like that; the occasional transformation for more height, or shrinking themselves a little bit. The healing potions had been quite popular, too. But her shop wasn’t built to have as many people as it did now waiting around, especially when after taking the potions they tended to hang around for a while, adjusting to their new bodies. Results still varied; some people got only a modest boost, while others grew as big as Jade had after months of careful experimenting and gradual growth (at least up to the first line of her bust enhancement potions, anyway). Jade remembered the kiss to Dave, and the warm feelings in her heart, and how much stronger the magic had felt then.

She was considering advertising them as best with mushy feelings.

The point was, Jade wasn’t very good at picking people out in the shop, since it wasn’t something she’d had to deal with until now. But now she realized that someone had come in with Jade.

Terezi Pyrope grinned; nearly twice as big as even Jade herself, looming over even the tallest people in town, she was a giantess among them, her body scaled in a way no troll normally was. A thick tail curled around her, and a great pair of wings flapped just enough to ensure that people steered clear of her. Jade found herself unconsciously ogling her; Terezi was big, enormously stacked on a scale equal to Jade herself, but somehow she felt… even bigger. The boobs were proportionately about the same as her own, but Terezi herself was so big that Jade could have used her breasts as exercise balls… or even cots!

Karkat was there, as he usually was; it was very rare to see one of them without the other. He hovered around her like an attendant, or a priest from old stories when the gods had walked the world, their clerics in tow. Jade had her own theories about that, given the sheer power radiating from Terezi…

But that was a thought for another time. Now she smiled. “You here on a professional level, or is this a friend visit?”

“A bit of both,” Terezi said. “You, uh, doing okay. You’ve been… going through some changes.”

Jade glanced down, and she felt aware of the eyes of others right on her expanded cleavage. She didn’t mind and laughed, privately cheering at all the attention on her hard work, with a great feeling of pride and confidence. “You could say that! But it was all on purpose so I don’t think it’s anything to be concerned about, you know.”

Terezi chuckled. “Yeah, I figured. See? And Karkat was all worried about it!”

Karkat scoffed. “Someone had to. And Dave wanted someone to say something!”

“Dude, noooo….” DAve said meekly.

Jade turned towards him, head tilted. “Oh? Was someone concerned?” She grinned.

“...Maybe.”

“Oh, you should just hear what he says all the time,” Karkat said loftily, with the air of someone dropping a relationship rock right into a crowded social event. “It’s mortifying.”

Jade giggled. “Oh? I hope you’re saying nice things about me!”

Dave looked about ready to melt. “I dunno what they're talking about,” he said, trying to find refuge in denial.

“It’s so sappy,” Terezi said in a stage whisper.

“Aw!” Jade kissed Dave on the cheek, right in front of everyone. He made a precious ‘Hr-RK!’ noise that made her giggle again.

Terezi giggled as Dave awkwardly shuffled away, finding a desk and trying to recover his dignity. “But, seriously. I was wanting to buy a couple of these potions, maybe.”

That was a surprise to Jade; as the thrill of teasing Dave faded, she looked up and saw just more of Terezi’s massive, vision-filling bustline. They were so big already! As big as her own! “You don’t think you’ve got enough already…?” Jade asked, cautiously.

Terezi snorted. “You can always go bigger. And that’s kinda funny, coming from someone who’s still sampling her own goods.”

“Hmph. I don’t know what THAT means.” Jade tried to cross her arms over her chest but her breasts had gotten too big for her to do so easily. And true to Terezi’s words, they were in fact bigger than they had been during the initial growth, during the public event that had gotten all this attention. They were starting to tip closer to her waistline; it wasn’t too MUCH bigger, a product of Jade carefully watering down the samples as she kept experimenting on herself, and downplayed by her heavy work robes, but it was still a fair point. At least half a foot outwards, if not too much deeper.

“Well, I dunno. Let’s give you a baseline to outdo, hrm?” Terezi grinned. “Say, how much ARE these potions?”

Jade listed a number. It was a comfortable price that wasn’t too expensive, but didn’t diminish the effort it took to get the resources to make them; she viewed peddling them as a public service, in some ways. Terezi tossed some coins her way, and Jade handed her one of the bubbling flasks.

Terezi immediately popped the cork off. “Oooh,” Karkat said, eyes wide and amazed, realizing what she meant. Terezi lolled her massive tongue out and picked up the flask with her tongue, popping it into her mouth and draining the whole elixir down her throat in a single, heavy draught. Her thick tongue probed the flask, looking for every drop.

“You might wanna get closer to Terezi,” Jade quietly told Karkat. “It, uh, helps the change.”

Karkat hugged Terezi’s thigh, his arms squeezing deep into her ample flesh. “What do you mean-” He started to say.

“Eep!” Terezi exclaimed, magic radiating from her body, tinged with that special flavor of affection; her hand drifted right towards Karkat, and Jade knew that was just the right thing. “That’s the key!’ she thought. ‘That’s how to get big!’

And perhaps just to prove her point, Terezi grew. A little bit taller, but not much; a few inches, maybe. Just as well, given she was already a giant. Her hips swelled out, packing on a few extra inches; perhaps a finger span wider on both sides, and she was already so massively curvy that there might have not been that much to grow. Her clothes creaked heavily, especially as her big butt filled out even more, a few people behind her making awed noises at the wealth of butt they must have seen pushing up from the fabric enclosure. Her tail swelled, getting a little rounder, a little bit more like an eel’s tail…

Her breasts, though, erupted. In a single fluid motion, they swelled outwards, fluxing out like a cup being filled with water. They billowed, the teardrop shape growing more pronounced; from her gut, down to her waist. Her breasts expanded, and sideways too, swelling out so much that Terezi’s broad shoulders couldn’t even be seen. Most of her formidable body shape, in fact, was obscured; just her big hips, her huge thighs, the tail and wings, and those massive boobs.

Fabric tore. Her gut forced her boobs apart as it settled down, her stomach rising through the cleavage, and her shirt started to fray under the impact.

It was the quickest growth, and a particularly dramatic one; it was over almost immediately, and Jade gawked when she just had to acknowledge the reality of Terezi’s bustiness.

“Hah!” Terezi thrust her breasts out, openly delighted. “Beat that!”

Jade huffed. “Oh, I will!”

Karkat goggled. “Okay oh wow that is BIG.

From the side, Terezi’s breasts stuck out at least several additional feet; she probably couldn’t gather them up even if she stuck her arms out and pulled as much of her boobs in as possible. And given how big she was, they were big enough to use as exercise balls, or to sleep with. And from Karkat’s size… they must have looked so massive.

Terezi was probably thinking about that. Still smiling, she picked up Karkat, ignoring his usual token protests at being manhandled, and stuffed him right into her cleavage. His head popped out, expression suddenly completely calm, and then she pushed him down, completely contained.

Her face looked so peaceful. “Ooh yeah. That’s the stuff.” She grinned at Dave and Jade, gawking at her. “Hope this gives you ideas, Jade. Buh-bye!” With that, she walked off, Karkat encased in her cleavage.

Dave watched her go. Even her back was hypnotic, butt swelling up like a pair of wagons attached to her. “Sure did a number on her,” he said weekly. “What do you think she meant by that, anyway?”

“I dunno,” Jade lied. She thought about being so big she could do that to Dave.. stuffing him so close to her…

Her shirt felt tighter. Her breasts wobbled all on their own, and suddenly surged a few sizes bigger. Dave saw the growth. “Did-did you just grow? Without taking any potion?!”

“Ooh, that’s… new!” She wasn’t really thinking about it, though. She was still watching Terezi strut off, all sexy and big.

“You’re not worried? Huh. Neat, I guess.”

She wasn’t really listening, either. Privately, Jade felt a surge of… envy, she supposed. Not that wasn’t quite it. It wasn’t that she wanted what Terezi had now.

She wanted more than what Terezi had now; it was like a competition, in some way. Terezi had outdone her, for now. But… her eyes narrowed. She wouldn’t let herself stay outdone!

She glanced up at Terezi’s mammoth body, where Karkat peacefully resting between her breasts, and she thought that maybe she DID envy Terezi having a boyfriend she could fit into her boobs. She then looked at Dave with an appraising look that made him feel strangely snuggly.

------

It had been quite some time since Chahut and Konyyl had been in town. The pair of them spent a great deal of time traveling abroad, to the other scattered townships and city-states, trading where they could and gathering things to sell back home. To be honest, and they’d had to correct others on this point (Konyyl irritably, and Chahut with a gentleness belying the terrible violence she could perform), they didn’t do the actual trading. They were hired muscle, protecting the merchants from bandits, overly strict travel policies, and sometimes shaking down someone trying to weasel out of paying on a deal.

They enjoyed their work; the traveling, and the hitting things. Still, while they’d been very well paid for what they did, staying on constant work wasn’t as appealing as the thought of going home until the next trade season rolled around.

Chahut was a very tall woman, even among trolls, who were generally bigger than humans or carapacians. Konyyl was a big woman too, and the two of them had similar thick-set body types; Konyyl with more obvious musculature, but given that Chahut was nearly twice her size, she looked bigger in every way. The two of them normally had no trouble clearing the way, with size and dark charisma and sheer force of ‘don’t mess with me’.

‘Normally’ being the keyword.

“I don’t, uh, recall everyone being this big,” Konyyl said as they walked past a crowd. She stood head and shoulders over most others, her own head somewhere around Chahut’s elbow, but that wasn’t the kind of big she was concerned about. Two carapacians, a few trolls and a human tottering behind them all went past them, diverting around them like water around a stone, and each of them had breasts as big as prize-winning pumpkins; the smallest had breasts as big as their heads, and the largest… their torsos, and some of their stomachs, couldn’t even be seen behind a wall of cleavage.

In fact, just about everyone they saw was sporting a bustline that dwarfed the pair of them. Konyyl crossed her muscular arms over her chest self-consciously. It was making her feel… small.

“Me neither,” Chahut said eventually. She sounded diffident, calm. But then… was she? Her voice had a slight tone of uncertainty. She glanced down at herself. Chahut wasn’t exactly a proud beauty, and Konyyl supposed that Chahut had never regarded her amplitude as anything except a minor facet of her physical form, but still. This was concerning.

“Something must have happened while we were gone,” Konyyl said, looking very off-balanced. “Some kind of weird magical event… maybe a weather thing, loaded up with magic?”

“A boob-storm?” Chahut’s tone dripped with amusement. “Now there’s a weird image.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Like to see you explain what’s going on here!”

Chahut turned. Their latest employer was hurrying over to them, and she noticed something else that way. “A potion that makes boobs bigger got real popular, maybe?”

“Well, maybe.”

“Look, little beefy.” Chahut pointed, and Konyyl turned. Down that way, there was a small advert board; freshly painted, from the smell. It displayed a grinning Jade Harley (a familiar figure to the both of them, though they didn’t know her closely, but everyone bought from Jade; they’d spent a lot of time at her shop, taking deliveries for a trading run), her face squeezed into a corner. The rest of it was taken up by her breasts, flooding over the entire billboard; absurdly massive, they were, extending out by at least five feet! The style of the ad was fairly cutesy, as fit her tastes in artwork, but they looked big enough to dip to her thighs, so big she could sleep on them.

ON the ad, between the art-drawn Jade, there was a bottled potion. “Want a bustline like mine? Come down to Jade’s Alchemical Esoterica for all your bust expansion needs!” the ad’s text said, in a cheery green font.

“Konyyl! Chahut!” said their employer, a human, and pointed at the ad. “Did you see!?”

“Kind of hard not to,” Konyyl quipped. Chahut nodded gravely.

“Not that! I mean… whoa, that’s a hell of an eyecatcher… but no! I mean, Jade’s shop is that way! Have you seen her yet!?”

“No?” Konyyl tilted her head. “Why?”

“I just… look, I gotta get a group together. We’ll need to find a demonstrator, and a caravan equipped to transport potion goods… gods, we’ll make so much money! But, ah!” The human fretted, trying to balance too many things at once in the mind, and thrust two large pouches heavy with coinage at them. “Here! So I don’t forget! Your pay for this trip. I gotta go, just… you might wanna drop in at Jade’s?”

And then, the human ran off, so full of excitement that there was a little bit of hopping and dancing. The two troll women watched him go. “Well,” Konyyl said. “I don’t have anything else going on. Azdaja’s got a while before he meets up with me. What about you?”

“Eh, same here. Not the bit about Azdaja,” Chahut replied, with a wry tusk-filled grin. “Let’s check it out, eh?”

The two of them followed the path to Jade’s shop. As they went, they were struck that navigating the marketplace was a more tricky affair than they remembered it being; almost every woman there was obscenely buxom, occupying at least a couple of feet in front of them with enough boobage to produce scandals in some of the more prim places they’d been. Both trolls moved very carefully to avoid bumping into someone’s breasts, and considering how much of that there was, it was very hard going.

It seemed demand for whatever Jade was selling was dropping; there weren’t that many people there, though all of them tended towards the same buxom frame. The few exceptions were doing their best to fix that; as they entered, they heard Jade’s cheery voice: “And try to drain it down in a single gulp! It won’t do any good to save some for later, it’ll transform you just the same. Be sure to drink lots of water and have plenty of food, you’re gonna be hungry!”

There was Jade, standing in her shop, her back turned to the entrance. Konyyl and Chahut were momentarily stunned. Jade looked so… thick. Even more than she used to be, even more than Konyyl! (Though at least, Konyyl reflected, Jade didn’t quite have the muscle.) A fairly slim dress as vibrantly green as her namesake jewel, clinging tightly to a body that seemed to be a waterfall of slowly expanding curves; a broad and huggable torso, an expanding waistline straining the limits of a dress, with hips so broad that it must have been hard to get through a doorway. At least a couple feet across!

Her butt, plump and round enough that a very small caparacian could have sat on it with room to kick up their legs, waggled back and forth as she spoke. Quite a lot of her big, unbelievably wide thighs must have been taken up with that butt. Konyyl felt her mouth go a bit dry, just at the sight of it. Even Chahut seemed impressed.

Though she did seem to have other things on her mind. “What’s that she’s got in front of her?” She wondered, squinting.

“Not sure,” Konyyl said. Two objects spread out in front of Jade from their angle, taking up a lot of space directly in front of her. She shrugged. “Let’s go in and get some answers.” They both stepped in, the bell atop the door ringing. A few people saw them and greeted them; at the door, sitting on a chair and off-duty, was Dave, waving to the both of them.]

“Sup,” He said pleasantly. “Try not to let her mow ya down.”

He sounded like he was talking from experience. He grinned a little saying it, so it wasn't a bad experience, either. Konyyl didn’t get a chance to ask about it; Jade had started turning around when she heard the doorbell, and the prospective potion buyer had already left with their purchase, and both Konyyl and Chahut stopped cold, mouths open and thoughts empty, when they saw Jade from the front.

The advertisement had not exaggerated, in the slightest. Completely obscuring the front of Jade’s body was the biggest… widest… roundest…

Konyyl’s brain shut down, a little bit. Jade approached. The shutting down got worse. There was just so much… bouncing. And that dress! The cleavage deep enough for her to sink into! Over four feet deep! Cut down to the belly, rounder and firmer, and it was making her look so curvy, just like a fertility icon of the Dragon Goddess…

(Distantly, Terezi had a vague feeling that someone was referring to her, or at least her true nature. She shrugged and got on with what she was doing, which was beating Karkat in a game of strategy despite not even knowing the rules.)

It had been a while since Terezi’s big transformation. Jade had taken her challenge to heart; she’d been growing periodically on her own, but she’d boosted the effects with regular intakes of potion, and spending lots of time with Dave, whenever possible, and the effects were definitely knocking the two trolls about.

Even Chahut was completely lost for words. Well, most words. She managed to get out: “...Hi, Jade?”

“WHAT THE HECK,” Konyyl demanded. She flung her beefy arms out, gesturing at Jade. “We leave for like a few months and you’re all… all… everyone is all…” She inhaled. She let it out with a cry of “Big! WHY.”

Jade swept both trolls, taller than her, into a powerful hug. The both of them, by no means frail, made squeaking noises as Jade’s surprising strength shoved the remaining air right out, or perhaps that was the full weight of her monstrously huge boobs shoving into them. From throat to Jade’s legs they spanned her body, probably weighing more than she did. It had to be her own enormous strength that prevented them from being a physical hindrance, or some kind of wacky magic?

Jade parted from them, the pair still stunned. “So!” She said, a flirty tone in her words. Dave watched, grinning expectantly. “How do I look~?”

“You look… good,” Konyyl said weakly.

“Big,” Chahut agreed, and it was so very surreal to see her look so shaken.

Jade grinned. “You guys haven’t been in town a while. I bet everyone’s looking a little bigger than they used to, eh?”

Konyyl made the connection; the advertisement, Jade’s potions, Jade’s own size… “Was it… did you do a magic thing?”

Jade pulled out a basketful of potions that could have fit into her cleavage with ease. Given that she did a little twirl before bringing it out, it was entirely possible she’d been hiding it in her cleavage for such a dramatic moment. “I might have come up with a potion that does some boob embiggening, yeah!” She grinned wickedly, dangling one in front of them. Both women stared at it, sense of intrigue naked on their expressions. “What do you think? Might you be interested?”

“I might,” Chahut said.

Konyyl tugged out her coin purse. “SHUT UP AND TAKE MY MONEY, SEDUCTRESS!”

Jade giggled and passed their purchases as Chahut and Konyyl got a couple each. “Be sure to take them when you’re with someone that you’re close to, or at least makes you feel happy. Like a friend, or something romantic.” She looked at Dave for a moment, across the shop, and absently tapped a massive breast, as if to say ‘he is responsible for this’. “It, um. Seems to help make bigger growth.”

Chahut and Konyyl glanced at him, and then Jade. Chahut made a heart-shape with her fingers. Konyyl said, “You and him…? Is that a thing?”

Jade fluished. “Well, I dunno. Um.” Her confidence, so recently ironclad and as abundant as her bustline, faltered. “It might be?”

The two women chuckled at that, with the tone of someone who had suspected it was a thing for quite a while, and left. Well, Jade thought, People were going to assume it was a thing, the way they liked to talk!

She didn’t really mind the thought, though.

It felt… official.

-------

And then, a few weeks onward, and word spread: even faster and wider than Jade’s bustline, or the average growth rate in town. Word of Jade’s marvelous bust-enhancing potions, and the increases many people had reported in their physical strength.

Caravans had already left, loaded up with bust potion, to peddle them to distant lands. Already, people who’d heard of it from travelers bearing incredibly massive breasts had come there, and left with potions and mighty busts of their own. And they’d told people, who came and told others when they got back…

And word had spread, of this town with its genius alchemist who’d captured a little bit of the past and its faculty for body modification elixirs for fun and profit.

Now, people were coming to town every day, caravans of them, traders zeroing in on the town, and not just for the potion, but for the other goods the town offered.

So, feeling rather dazed, Jade found herself being handed a big trophy, and a hearty handshake from the mayor.

A small, impish figure (so similar to the imps that lurked outside town, in fact, that Jade felt bad when her excursions required fighting them), his black shell glistening in the light like a little playing piece in the kind of games Terezi liked to play. Jade felt enormously self conscious and smiled awkwardly as what must have been a good portion of the town sat expectedly in the auditorium, listening to his speech. Or what bits they could understand; the Mayor spoke exclusively in the private language of the carapacian people, and the Chief Courier translated hurriedly, as best she could. Judging from her winces and split-second word swaps, the Mayor’s actual words were probably fairly profane and coarse at best.

“...And so, for your breakthrough in aesthetic transfigurations bringing such trade to us, we have prospered as we never have before!” The chief courier said. “Food, valuable minerals, magical substances of every kind, and livestock are flooding in, and we are doing better than we ever had!’”

“I didn’t mean to start an economic revolution,” Jade said meekly. “I just thought people would find my invention cool…”

“Well, we’re getting filthy stinking rich,’” the courier said, her expression implying this was the nice translation. “‘So all’s good! In my book! Now, go on, take your… um… yeah, I can’t translate that.” The mayor scowled at her, and waved a hand at Jade.

Jade took the award, a heavy gold thing that would look very nice on a necklace, though it’d probably sink into her cleavage. “Oh, very well… thank you so much! I’m glad to be of service!”

She bowed to the enriched crowd as they applauded, but she tried not to bow too much. Her boobs had continued to grow and grow, and her experiments had finally died down a little in efficacy; regardless of what she put in them, she was only getting a little bit of growth, and she figured she had reached the peak of what her potion could reasonably do, for the present. Her breasts had reached the biggest size she could manage for now.

But what a size it was! Most of Jade’s body mass was now in her breasts, she wasn’t any skinnier or less thick (indeed, her hips had continued to grow, so much so that doorways were too skinny for her now; four feet across, and counting, with a butt sticking three feet out and just the right shape for Dave to sit on it), but if her weight was to be counted, so much of it was in her breasts that she thought of them as the core of herself now.

She wasn’t sure of the actual weight. The scales kept busting. But they were so large that their bottoms dipped down, down, all the way past her knees! Each breast was four feet height, and over eight feet across, obscuring almost her entire body when seen from a front, a size proportionately equaled by no one. The weight of them moving, when she did, was so divine; she felt such pleasure at every bounce and wiggle, a micro-burst of euphoria whenever it surged forward and dragged her along with it.

She glanced at the crowd; she saw Terezi, looming over it, grinning and wiggling her claws at her, and Karkat on her head like an excitable crown, mirroring her friendly gesture. Near them was Chahut and Konyyl, their own breasts as big as the most abundantly fertile gourds; at least down to the naval, and she felt proud in making such big and beautiful women even larger.

Again she thought: No one is as big as me! She felt proud, and more than the award she held, her own body felt like a testament to her willingness to experiment.

She glanced at Dave. He’d helped. Not just the stuff he’d gathered; just being there for her, and the feelings he brought out in her. That was part of it, she was sure. Every time she’d started to grow really big, he’d been there, making her feel big. A feeling in her heart, expanding out and her body growing to match…

It was wonderfully, obnoxiously sappy. She had to love it.

The Mayor followed her gaze, and misunderstanding her thoughts, spoke at length. “The mayor would like to thank Mister Dave Strider for his tireless efforts in helping Miss Harley… despite it being on work hours,” The chief courier added in a stern tone. The mayor nudged her as if to say ‘get on with it!’. “Oh, right. Anyway. Please step up to the podium?”

“What?” Dave stepped over, looking surprised. “What? Oh, come on. This is all Jade!”

“I couldn’t have done it without your help,” Jade said sincerely, gazing down at him, eyes half-lidded and warm.

He flustered in the light. “Don’t be sappy, come onnnn….”

“I mean it!” She thought of a way to convince him that, yes, she really was saying it to be honest, and a wild idea came in front of her. In front of all these people, though? Part of her qualed at the thought…

But another part of her, proud and reveling in having such a massive, buxom bustline, retorted: ‘If we’re gonna be shy now, what’s even the point of having such magnificent boobs!?”

Jade thus leaned forward, her breasts clearing the floor, and encircling Dave’s whole body; he was caught up in boob-age, enwrapped and captured, and he managed a squeak of alarm as Jade tilted her body up, bouncing him even deeper into her cleavage, his whole body imprisoned and his face closer to her own-

And she moved her face to his own, and kissed him firm, softly, right on the mouth.

Lip to lip, the kiss deepened, like a promise she hadn’t realized she’d made

Dave initially didn’t respond, in his shock. And then, to her delight, he deepened the kiss on his own, sincere and honest as she knew he really was afraid to be. She didn’t think about it being in front of so many people, but later she thought: this was the best way to do it. To prove she was serious, showing it on her big moment.

The mayor, blushing, said something like “oh my!” The chief courier goggled for a moment, and she glanced at the mayor, and considered buying a few potions from Jade later, on the quiet.

“What’s going on?!” Terezi asked impatiently, her senses not able to compensate for her blindness this once.

“Dave and Jade are hooking up, I think,” Karkat said laconically on her head. “She’s doing the kinda thing to him that you like to do to me.”

“Boob sandwich?!”

“Yep.”

“Hah! I knew she’d do that!”

Chahut whistled, very much impressed. Konyyl nudged Azdaja by boob-bumping him; as it was, he’d been sitting down in front of her, his horns and height just right for her to rest her new bustline on top of his head. “This give you any ideas, eh?” She asked, grinning wildly.

“Yeah but I think you beat me to them,” He replied calmly.

The kiss kept going on, as the audience took it in. Dave and Jade, together? The overall vibe was less surprise, or shock or scandal (the town being a fairly amiable place, after all), and more ‘oh so that finally happened’. Not surprising, given the general opinion of the pair.

“All right, all right!” The chief courier said, shushing the smooching pair. “That’s enough! On your own time, you two!”

Jade allowed her breasts to settle, and down Dave went. He gracefully slid through her cleavage and back onto the floor, and awkwardly stepped away. He remembered the heat of her body, blushing intensely. He rarely showed clear emotion, or expressed himself too openly…

But now, he was smiling.

Dirk and Hal, in the crowd, both cracked their own smiles at the sight. “There ya go, little bro,” Dirk said softly.

“You owe me money now,” Hal said gleefully. “And here you bet it’d be another half-year before they hooked up!”

Dirk rolled his eyes and passed the construct some coins. “It was a safe bet. Took them this long to hook up!”

The ceremony ended soon enough, after that. People filed out, one after another, some of them pausing to congratulate Jade again. Others went to congratulate Dave.

But soon enough, the two of them were alone. Dave had some trouble marshalling his thoughts, the feeling of Jade’s warmth everywhere around him so beguiling that it was easier to just lose himself in the memory, not in the now....

He did his best, though. “Hey, Jade?” Dave asked.

Jade, thinking about the lovely feeling of Dave’s whole body in her cleavage, pinned and safe there, his heart beating into her whole-breast pulse, made a soft murmuring sound. “Mm?”

“What do you think about, eh… going on a walk or something. When things quiet down, I mean.”

She smiled sweetly. “I’d like that.” She leaned to the side and kissed him again.

It was the kind of kiss a lover gives.

#commissions #twitchy!homestuck #twitchy!dave strider #twitchy!jade harley #my writing #fics #queued

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teawithkpop · 5 years ago

Text

[M] - PhysCom - Pt 5

pt 1 - pt 2 - pt 3 - bc 1 - pt 4 - pt 5 - pt 6

Pairing: BTS - OT7 x Reader

Rating: Mature [18+]

Length: 9.1k words

Genre: PhysCom AU - smut with dashes of angst, and a shitload of romance and complicated feelings,, uhuhu (porn with plot??)

Warnings: mentions of sexual acts, swearing, mentions of sexual abuse/manipulation, mentions of non-consensual sex - (these are both mentioned very briefly in the chapter and do not center around any of our main characters, but please be cautious if this is a sensitive topic for you!)

*meme voice* ah shit, here we go again.

thank you everyone for your patience regarding this update!! <3 I appreciate you for waiting patiently and for all your love in the meantime! I hope you enjoy ^^

-------

"Please, will you take this vacation?"

You stare at Namjoon, at the desperation written on his face as he begs you to accept his offer, and a war wages within your heart.

On the one hand, you have no good reason to believe him, not after you’d heard him and his members discussing you behind your back like they did. The key could be a fake, his little theory could be a ruse to let your guard down so you won’t put up a fight when he finally sends you packing.

On the other hand, you’ve never had reason to doubt Namjoon up until an hour ago. He seems to have always looked out for you, always appreciated your work. This could be a genuine plea for your cooperation in a bigger picture, like he claims.

But the shadow of doubt still covers you. The sound of him and his boys squabbling so carelessly, taking a vote on your future. You can’t let that memory go so easily.

“Never trust your client. They will only betray you in the end.” The words of Madame run through your mind again, as if confirming your fears.

You want to believe Namjoon. But you need to protect yourself before anything else.

You slowly break away from his grasp, taking the key and tucking it into a pocket on your belt. “Kim Namjoon...” you say, your eyes cast downwards.

He seems more relaxed now that you’ve taken his peace offering, and he tilts his head to the side, listening intently. “Yes?”

Your brain claws desperately at a strategy, at anything you could use as leverage. But all you have are words. What can you say? What protection do you have left? You’re putting yourself at his mercy.

“During my time in this house... I have learned many things about you and your members. Things I don’t think you want the public to find out about.” Lies. He knows it. You know it. The only secrets you know are their kinks, which aren’t exactly damning to their characters. Even if you did have dirt on them, who would listen to you?

You continue, though your voice sounds uncertain, even to your own ears. “If you’re lying to me about any of this, then I swear... I’ll do what I have to, and... ensure that you pay for your mistake.” You try to imbue strength and determination into your words, but your heart isn’t in it, and you’re sure he can tell. You can’t even meet his eyes. You have no fight left in you. You’re like a frightened animal that’s been backed into a corner.

Fuck. You’re just so tired of this, of everything. You’ve been through too much recently with not even a moment to catch your breath, and you’re just… exhausted. You’ve tried, you really have. You’ve done your best, you’ve gone down swinging. But you can’t do it anymore, it’s all too much...

You feel numb as Namjoon wraps you into his arms. When did he come over to your side of the table? You don’t remember, you can’t think clearly.

“It’s okay.” Namjoon’s breath is warm against your cheek. “You can rest now.”

Can he read your mind? You must look so pathetic, your body shaking as he holds you tightly, like you might float away.

But right now, you don’t care. He’s seen you at your worst already. You choke on a quiet sob and your fingers twitch, longing to reach up and hold him, to reciprocate...

“Alright, has everything been sorted?” Yeji’s arrival carries away those ideas, and Namjoon pulls away from you with a gentle pat to your shoulder.

“I believe it has,” he says, and he stands up to greet her as the two of them start to wrap up the details of your agreement. Their words turn to buzzing as the rest of the meeting passes by in a blur. You're too dazed to pay attention, too numb to feel anything but a vague sense of resignation as papers are signed, handshakes are given, and your fate is placed in his hands.

Before you know it, you’re back up in your room again. Whatever farewell that Namjoon had probably wished you as you shut the door had fallen on deaf ears. You can’t process anything more right now.

-------

The first few hours of your sentence pass by in silence, tears slowly trickling down your face as you lay on your bed. Your brain slowly works through its state of catastrophe. Dimly, you worry that you might never pick up all the pieces. Some have blown away in the recent whirlwind of disaster, some are stained, irreparable, all of them worn from being taped and glued back together, over and over again.

You feel broken.

Is this what they wanted? To break you?

You roll over onto your other side, uselessly wiping the tears from your face as fresh ones spring to your eyes to replace them.

You know, somewhere inside yourself, that you can’t just sit here and throw a pity party all week. But damn it, it’s been a while.

You just need a little time. Soon, you’ll be back on your feet, you tell yourself. You’ll bounce back, just like always. You’ve never failed before.

But what if you do? What if you fail yourself, fail the boys? Fail your family, yet again? You want to curl up and never move for the rest of your life. The craggy void of failure at your feet has you nearly paralyzed, afraid to misstep. Afraid to get that last strike and finally be sent home.

You groan. You’re so exhausted and frustrated of picking yourself apart like this. There's no point in agonizing over what ifs.

You’re here. You’ve arrived at rock bottom. Now the question is where to go?

It feels eerily calm as you sit up in bed and survey your surroundings. No noise pierces the utter stillness of your bedroom apart from your own breathing. It’s stifling.

By now, it has to have been at least a full day since you came upstairs, right? You feel like you’ve been laying on this bed for ages. You grab your ComGear to check the time, and whimper in despair.

It’s only noon. About two hours since the meeting.

After another brief bout of agony at this revelation, you take a second look at the screen and are surprised to see over a hundred notifications. You expect it to be due to the group chat, but a fair amount of them are actually from your clients. You don’t bother to open each conversation, but merely look over their previews - the most recent messages they sent you.

[ Kim Seokjin ]: please try to get some rest, alright? [ Jung Hoseok ]: I’m sorry… truly. please enjoy your time off. [ Park Jimin ]: just let me know! ^^; [ Kim Namjoon ]: Promise. [ Min Yoongi ]: you know where to find me [ Kim Taehyung ]: enjoy your vacation, jagiya~ ♡ [ Jeon Jungkook ]: are you coming down for lunch?

All of them messaged you, but it doesn’t make you feel any better. It hurts to see them pretend like everything’s fine and see if that makes it better somehow. It looks like most of them didn’t even try to apologize for what they did to you. Maybe you really aren’t that important to them after all.

Could they see through your attempts to befriend them all this time? Did all of their kindness to you mean nothing? Is that how they treat all of their employees?

You feel tears threatening again, and you wish you had a friend to talk to about all this.

Then it occurs to you that maybe… you do.

You flick over to the group chat, where you see that the other PhysComs are now talking about some webtoon and sending memes to each other. You tap on Sascha’s profile again. The same page greets you, the same blank profile picture and call button as before.

Yeji had said that the chat was real. If that's true, then the people in it must be who they claim they are, right? You do trust Yeji’s word, but you need to find out for yourself. You’ll never be able to fully accept this undercover group chat as a reliable resource until you know for sure.

Hey, if you’re suspended anyway, what’s the harm right? What are they going to do, fire you?

You bark out a sob of a laugh, and your finger hits the button before you can stop yourself. Yes, this might be a bad idea, and yes, you shouldn’t risk putting yourself out there on the hope that it’ll connect you to a friend, but you need to know the truth. You’ll feel better if you know that there’s still someone in this world that truly understands you.

It rings. And rings.

As the ominous buzzing stretches on through the silence, your worry starts to return. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. If the chat room is somehow compromised, you might have just given yourself away, someone high up in the industry could be tracking your location at this very moment from your cell signal or something, or maybe-

“Hello?” Sascha’s voice rings clear as a bell through the phone, and you almost start crying right then and there with relief.

“Sascha?” You can barely utter her name as all your memories of training together hit you like a sucker punch in your already fragile state.

“Oh! Hey, sweetie! How’s it going?” she replies in her chipper way, a smile in her tone.

“... It’s really you,” you whisper, pressing your fist to your pursed lips to keep your emotions at bay. “Sasch.”

“Of course it’s me, silly goose.” Her laugh is bright and airy, just like you remember it. “Who else would it be?”

You wait a beat, scouring your mind for a test to prove your paranoia wrong, just in case. “What… what did I give to you on our last day together?” You ask imperatively, waiting with bated breath for her answer.

It was not something either of you would easily forget, though most people probably would. It’s also the best test you can think of, as anyone else would assume such an important day would go hand in hand with a meaningful keepsake or an important gift.

“A sandwich,” she laughs. “Pastrami and mustard on rye. You shared it with me to celebrate reaching our target weight that month. Though you never let me pay you back. I would have preferred ham, you know.”

Your shoulders visibly relax. It’s Sascha, all right. Compliments and complaints in the same breath. It’s as if hearing her voice, hearing the confirmation that it’s really her, turns on a faucet inside you that had long since dried up.

“Sascha… so much has happened.”

You didn’t fully realize how lonely and isolated you’ve been until this very moment, now that you have some true company. Your story comes spilling out, every sordid detail, and Sascha listens attentively to what you have to say, just like she used to during your training days.

“So, now I’m in my room, and… I don’t even know how I’m going to get through today, let alone a whole week,” you confess, hugging your stuffed rabbit to your chest.

“Let me get this straight.” A while into the call, you’d switched to video chat, and Sascha appears to be doing some yoga stretches while catching up with you. “You have seven men in that house, all of whom you’re supposed to pleasure sexually, and they’re giving you a paid break from pleasuring them?”

You nod. “Awful, isn’t it?”

Sascha’s face twists. “You know, I think you may be viewing this all wrong.”

Your brows furrow. “Excuse me?”

“Hear me out for a second,” she continues, now angling her warrior pose so she’s facing her camera. “When was the last time you had a real break?” She quirks an eyebrow, dipping out of frame to switch poses, her blonde hair spilling over one shoulder in a loose braid. “One where you didn’t even think about work?”

You stare blankly at the camera. You’ve had no such days. You’re always looking to improve yourself to maintain your high marks. “Um…”

Sascha laughs and flashes you a fond smile. “You were the same way in training. You know how many days a week I work?”

You feel shame start to curl in your gut. “How many?”

“Three,” she replies. “And the reason why is because we have like six Primary PCs here at the dorm.” She blows a stray lock of hair out of her face. “There are thirteen boys to satisfy at any given moment, so we each only tackle two to three at a time, and our coverage is considered thin! Most groups have at least one Primary per client.” She reaches down to touch her toes, her ass shimmying in the air, and you snort. “And that’s not even counting our Secondaries! We're practically a fucking harem over here!”

You sigh, chewing on your lip crankily. “What’s your point?”

She pokes her head up to shoot you an equally cranky glare. “Remind me, how many boys do you tackle?”

“Seven,” you mumble. You know what she’s getting at, but it’s something you don’t want to admit, even to yourself. Maybe… objectively… you do need a break, even if you don’t want one. Maybe you’ve been overworking yourself, biting off - or in this case, perhaps swallowing - more than you can chew.

“Right! That’s half the amount of our clients. Doing the math, you should have at least three Primaries there, but it’s just you.” You see Sascha’s leg rise up behind her in some sort of bizarre stretch, and her voice sounds strained with the effort of holding the pose. “I’m not saying you can’t handle it, babes. I’m just saying that... you do a lot for them. Maybe this will be good for you.”

Hearing someone put it so rationally makes you feel like maybe you’ve been overreacting. Namjoon did tell Yeji he wants to keep you, but it all still seems... off, somehow.

“What about the whole vote thing? And Namjoon’s deal?” You bring up your last few defenses at her argument, your hand resting subconsciously on the pocket of your belt containing the key to his studio.

“Oh no, that’s all highly suspicious.” Sascha blows a lock of hair out of her face as she comes back up and lifts her arms over her head. “But what’s happened has already happened. So I think you should make the best of it, and take this time to rejuvenate yourself. Just keep an eye out, and if those bastards try anything, you send them to me.”

You laugh. “Rejuvenate? How am I supposed to do that?” You roll your eyes at her playfully. “Yoga?”

Sascha props a hand on her hip. “Don’t joke. Yoga is a very valid form of rejuvenation.”

You giggle at her stoicism and she cracks a smile too before continuing. “But seriously, honey! It breaks my heart that you’ve been working so hard, you don’t even remember how to have fun. Come on, what did you do in your training days to relax?”

You think back and try to remember. Most of your memories from training are a blur of hard work, endless studying and practice. You’re about to confess that you really have no idea, when a single memory breaks to the surface, and like a dam, it releases a flood of other times you’d taken breaks. Sneaking out to get snacks, late night adventures, stargazing on the rooftop, all of the rare little pockets of time that you could call your own, and they all had one connecting factor.

“Music,” you breathe, feeling like you just stepped out of a time warp. “Listening to music, really, really loudly.”

Sascha laughs, a proud smile adorning her dimpled cheeks. “I think you know how to kick off your vacation, then.”

You find yourself grinning, too. “Thanks, Sasch.” You feel like maybe you should stay on the line a bit longer. You two really have some catching up to do, even though once you’d started talking, it had felt like no time had passed since you’d last seen her.

But Sascha makes your decision for you, blowing you a kiss. “There are tons of music streaming apps. Go crazy. And call me if you need anything, okay?”

The simple act of her being supportive of your wellbeing has you feeling overwhelmed all over again, but this time, it’s not from emotional distress. “Thanks, Sascha. Same to you.”

You’re about to end the call when you hear a door open on Sascha’s end of the line. She looks off camera and a smile pops up on her face. “Antione, come over here!” She yells, running off screen and returning a moment later, dragging a boy behind her, who seems to be grumbling in protest of her manhandling. “Antione, say hi! This is Antione from the group chat.”

The guy seems more than a little ticked off at Sascha, but when he catches sight of you on the screen, his mouth falls open.

“Oh… hello.” He flashes a smile, and his icy blue eyes are now filled with wonderment. “You’re the Primary for BTS?”

“Hi,” You wave a little awkwardly. “Yup, that’s me.” You can’t help noticing how strikingly similar he and Sascha look. With those crystal eyes and buttery blonde hair, you could mistake them for twins, the only difference being Antione’s thinly framed glasses next to Sascha’s 20/20 vision. But you suppose he wouldn’t really need glasses to have sex, they’d surely get knocked around or broken if he left them on. He probably wears contacts for work.

In fact, his similar appearance to his coworker can’t be a coincidence, especially if they’re both Primaries for their clients, and it leads you to believe that perhaps all of their Primaries bear a resemblance to each other, so that any combination of fuck dolls could be considered a set. From this, you suspect that their clients may be into incestuous role play, or perhaps they like the idea of fucking someone’s “sibling”.

Not concrete evidence, but it’s not a far reach. You’ve seen plenty of stranger kinks.

You’ll have to ask Sascha about it on your next call with her, as you’re sure she’ll ask you more about what things your clients usually request of you. With one girl among seven men, she might presume that they enjoy gangbanging you.

She wouldn’t be wrong, of course.

Kink talk was a common pastime among your peers during your training. You all had been trained to analyze a person, what makes them tick, and how it’s related to their psyche. It had always fascinated you from an academic standpoint, even though some of your fellow trainees would prefer hearing about the dirtiest cases, regardless of the psychological factors that went into it.

“Is all going well? You feeling any better about all this?” Antione’s kind voice tears you out of your thoughts, and you give him a brief, grateful smile.

“I’m getting there,” you reply. “Thank you for all your help. It’s been… a lot to take in, and I’m glad that you recognized that, and helped me ease into it.”

“Not a problem. I’ve been in that position before, and it takes some adjusting, for sure,” he replies.

“That’s what she said.” Sascha snickers. “Alright, stop flirting, you two!” She shoves Antione offscreen, and the boy yelps at once again being pushed around. “Call me if you need me, babes! Have fun! Bye!”

Sascha reaches over and ends the call, and you’re once more on your own. But you don’t feel as isolated as before.

As long as you have your ComGear, you’ll never be alone again.

The thought makes you feel warm inside, though you scold yourself for being so sentimental. You need to recharge, or how did Sascha put it? Rejuvenate.

It doesn’t take long for you to find a decent music streaming app, though it’s becoming harder and harder to ignore the buzzing as your clients keep messaging you. You realize that the notifications might interrupt your music once it starts playing, so you reluctantly open all their chat threads, only to mute them.

There. Now it won’t buzz anymore. They shouldn’t care if you left them on read. They want you to rest, right? You huff derisively and start searching the vast music library, trying to recall what you used to listen to back in the day to pump yourself up.

It dawns on you while you browse that you haven’t listened to any music for the past six months, apart from whatever the boys are rehearsing at any given time. The sound always reaches you whenever they practice, even if they’re rooms away. Though their songs aren’t too bad, they’re still not something you had chosen to listen to.

You hadn’t taken any time to be yourself, since you were so busy trying to be what they want from you.

You feel a vague sort of sadness when you think about it like that, imagining it happening to someone else, but you’re too subjective of the situation to really feel sad for yourself. You hadn’t take time for yourself, however you still climbed the ranks, earned their favor, became their only Primary. You’d achieved your goals.

But at what cost, asks a little voice in your head. What did you lose to win your dream job?

And are you even happy with it? Or is it just the satisfaction that you crave? The satisfaction that you would feel after achieving any other goal? The satisfaction of a job well done?

You shake your head. Whoa there. Too deep.

This is the most mental airspace you’ve had in forever, and it’s starting to show.

You don’t waste any more time trying to remember your old favorites, and instead tap on a “Hot 100 Hits” playlist. It’ll be interesting to see what people are listening to now. Maybe you’ll find some new favorites.

Sure enough, the first song that comes on is a pop rock tune, with a catchy beat and heavy drums. It makes you bob your head and you feel a surge of instant regret at not making more time for music. You’d forgotten how it can take you somewhere else, clear your mind and help you forget all your worries in a way that sex never can.

You’re a bit jarred when the lyrics kick in, though. They don’t rhyme at all, and they seem a little… stilted, like a robot is trying to sing. Damn, is this what kids are listening to these days? You knew that those singing hologram voice programs used to be a thing, but this seems almost unintentional.

You check the screen and sure enough, it’s a Korean title staring back up at you.

Your auditory auto-translation chip is changing the song into verbatim English.

You start to laugh. The unintended consequence strikes you as ridiculous. It seems that reminders of your job are everywhere.

With a sigh of exasperation, you head into the settings of your ComGear and access the language screen. You turn off the auditory auto-translation, and the song reverts back to the original lyrics, which are much easier on the ears.

Now that that’s taken care of, you turn the music on full blast and stand up.

Alright. Music, check. Now... how to leisure?

You look around and assess your room. It’s relatively tidy, and cleaning it won’t take more than ten minutes. You could work out, you have plenty of equipment. But that’s what you usually do on your days off. Improve yourself for work the next day.

What would Sascha say? Maybe… guilty pleasures? You put your mind to coming up with the most self-indulgent thing you can imagine.

Of course, you immediately think of chocolate.

But you’re not really hungry. To be honest, your stomach is still a little knotted up from the meeting.

Maybe not that kind of self-indulgence. You’ll just feel guilty afterwards. Maybe… maybe something pointless. Something that’s fun just for the sake of being fun.

You whirl around and take a long look at your bed as the music sweeps into the chorus.

Fuck, why not? Who’s going to stop you?

You climb onto the mattress and start jumping. You feel pretty silly at first, but the longer you jump, the lighter your worries feel. It’s as if you’re leaving them in the air with every bounce. The music blasts from your night table and you get a little bolder with your jumps, really putting power into them.

You’re lucky you have high ceilings, as you go higher and higher, you could swear you’re flying. You start to laugh, throwing some twirls into your leaps, and as the music blares, you sing along, off-key and with nonsensical phonetic lyrics.

Your cheeks hurt by the end of the song, and you’re out of breath, giggles falling from your lips as you finally jump down into a sitting position on the edge of the bed.

When was the last time you jumped on the bed like this? Must have been when you were young, with your sister.

You feel the same dull ache you always feel when you think of her, though you normally make it a point not to do so. The memory must have slipped past your defenses while you were enjoying yourself.

Lost in your thoughts, you almost don’t hear the insistent pounding at your door, the music and thick walls muffling the sound. You had mistaken the noise for part of the lyrics, as they sounded like gibberish to you. But finally you noticed the person trying to get your attention, and you hurry over to the door as they continue to speak in tongues.

“Neo geogi an-e issni? Yah, mun-eul yeol-eola.”

You pull open the door and are met with the unreadable face of Min Yoongi.

“Gwaenchanh-a? Jeonhwaleul an bad-eusyeossneyo.” He continues to drawl in gibberish, and you merely stare at him, immensely confused.

It clicks for you a moment later, and you hold up a finger to him. “Um, hana… uh, shit, one sec.”

He gives you an equally confused look, and you hasten back to your ComGear to turn the auto-translate back on as well as pause the music. “There, that should do it.” You turn around to see him peering curiously at you.

“You were speaking English,” he says it halfway between a question and a statement. He must be used to hearing you speaking auto-translated Korean, just like you’re used to hearing his words in English.

“Yeah... I forgot to turn my translator back on.” You explain halfheartedly, your shields already locking back into their familiar place. It was a nice, if brief, moment of total freedom, just jumping around to music, but the carefree bubble has popped, and you're once more faced with reality.

Yoongi's eyebrow raises at the mention of the technology, but he merely shrugs a shoulder.

A few awkward moments of silence pass before you realize that he isn't going to explain himself on his own. Something about that, about the expectation for you to move things along, has your hackles raised in irritation.

Just like always, he's expecting you to do all the work.

"Did you need something?" You try to stay professional, even now, but you can't keep the edge out of your voice. All traces of your previous enjoyment have shriveled up and vanished in the face of the man who told your other clients that you were something replaceable.

He prods his cheek with his tongue, his face mask shifting from where it rests below his lips. "You weren't answering your phone," he says by way of an answer.

You stare at him, already growing weary of this interaction. Does he expect you to be as accessible as you were before? You don't plan on contacting any of them if you can help it, at least, not for right now.

Wait, did Namjoon tell them what happened? He must have. But if he didn't, then maybe that's why Yoongi is here. There’s no point in having any more misunderstandings; you have to make the situation clear.

"I'm suspended." Your voice grows quiet, and you look off into the hallway, shame coloring your cheeks. You know you shouldn't be, but you still feel a sting from vocalising your current demotion.

Yoongi gives a hum of affirmation, confirming that he already knew, as his eyes roam over your body. "Forbidden fruit..."

You tense, your body reacting involuntarily to his offhand comment as heat rushes to your core. Your most primal senses want him to give into the temptation and pin you against the wall... No, snap out of it. You’re still mad at him, no matter how attractive he may be.

But thankfully the moment of tension passes just as quickly, and his gaze returns to your face. "It’s a shame I already ate, unlike some people.” A flicker of humor in his eyes. “Here."

He hands you a paper bag, with a takeout logo on the front. You can't do anything but stare at it. It seems that your processors are still down for maintenance.

“You didn’t have breakfast.” Yoongi finally says, after it becomes clear you aren’t saying anything. “You’ve been up here since the meeting.”

It finally dawns on you, though the logical conclusion seems hard to believe. “You were… concerned about me?”

He tugs the face mask up over his mouth, concealing most of his expression. “Jungkook,” he corrects you with a slight cough. “He sent me up here. Poor kid was worried sick about you.”

You hesitate to take the food, even though your stomach is curling with hunger. Is this an attempted peace offering? Does he think this will make things better?

Before you can question his motives, he sighs and shoves the bag towards you. “Take it. You still have to eat, you know.”

You’re tired of fighting, and take the path of least resistance by accepting the bag. “Thanks,” you say, half-hoping that this will be the end of it and he’ll just leave. But the other half still holds the whimsical notion that he actually cared enough to check up on you.

“It’s fine,” Yoongi shrugs again, looking off to the side.

You'd only ever known Min Yoongi as a salacious dom, stuffing you full and showering you in filthy praises. It feels surreal to be standing here now, holding a normal conversation.

After another moment, it becomes clear that his business here isn’t finished, and quite frankly, you’re getting impatient. “Is there anything else?”

At this, he seems to remember his reason for coming. “Ah, yeah. Can I come in?”

Into your room? You blink in dismay, the answer should be obvious to him. “No.”

You think you can see his mouth lift into a smile beneath the mask. “Good. That’s the spirit.” He gives a slight nod, as if appraising your disobedience.

You aren’t sure if this is normal behavior for him, as you’ve barely spoken to him out of character. You know probing him about it will only drag out this interaction, but your curiosity gets the better of you. “What… what are you talking about?”

He shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’m just glad to see that you have some backbone. You’re usually so willing to follow orders.”

You bristle at this. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he says, lifting an eyebrow. It would have looked like a challenge if it had been more deliberate, but the way Yoongi carries himself is effortlessly casual and careless. "He gave you his key, right?"

It takes you a moment to discern that he’s talking about Namjoon. You nod once, and he scoffs.

"I knew he would. Poetic bastard." Yoongi sighs, then fixes his gaze to you once more. “That means I have to share my studio with him until all this is fixed.” He clicks his tongue in annoyance.

You aren’t sure how to reply, or if he’s even looking for one. If he wants an apology from you, he’s out of luck. Namjoon’s questionable decisions are not your fault.

But he doesn’t wait for any words from you, and instead turns around to go back downstairs. “Anyway, enjoy your break.”

“Wait.” You aren’t sure why you stop him. Maybe because he doesn’t seem like the type to bullshit you. “Min Yoongi.”

He pauses and looks over his shoulder at the sound of his name, an indiscernible expression in his eyes.

Your resolve turns to steel, using the last ounce of your strength to try and get some answers. “Tell me what’s going on. Why is he doing this?”

Yoongi glances up to the ceiling as though thinking of what to say.

His next words do not inspire confidence.

“I have no fucking idea.”

Your shoulders slump down a fraction. You aren’t sure you believe him, but it’s too much effort to hope for anything beyond his word. You can’t handle any more disappointment right now.

Yoongi scratches the side of his temple and gives a weary sigh. “If I could look inside his mind, then maybe I’d have a clue...” He stares at you intently, and his gaze trails down over your body again. You resist the urge to cover yourself, though now you realize you don’t have to resist. Your body doesn’t belong to him right now, and it won’t for the next several days.

Your arms cross themselves protectively over your chest, testing the waters of your newfound independence. “My eyes are up here, byeongsin.”

His eyes widen a fraction at your cheek. He tugs the face mask down below his chin again, a bewildered smile twitching onto his face, no doubt surprised to hear you cursing him out in Korean. “Who taught you that?”

“Taehyung.” You smirk, proud of yourself for catching him off guard for once. You remember when Tae had told you how surreal it sounded to hear you swearing in his language.

“Doesn’t it sound the same?” You ask him, confusion furrowing your brow. “The translator…”

Taehyung shakes his head, grinning from ear to ear and practically bouncing from excitement. “It sounds different! Like… like you have an accent,” he giggles. “Say it again.”

“Shibal.” You repeat the word hesitantly, the syllables feeling strange on your tongue. Mouth shapes for Korean are so different compared to English.

Taehyung bursts into a fit of laughter, clutching his sides as he rolls onto his back. You whack him with a couch cushion. “That’s not fair! You already know all the English profanities.”

Tae’s eyes dance with laughter as he sits back up. “All thanks to Namjoon-hyung. Shit, bastard, damn it to hell, and of course...” He sticks out his tongue, running it over his lips. “Fuck you.”

There’s a flutter in your stomach from the look he’s giving you. You snort and whack him with the pillow again. “Yup, you got all the highlights.”

His hand slides over your thigh. You meet his gaze, that flutter returning as you see the lust swirling like smoke in his pupils. “Jagiya...” His hand grazes farther up your thigh. “I want to fuck you.”

Things had obviously escalated after that, and you might have gotten lost in the memories if Yoongi hadn’t let out a low chuckle, bringing you back to the moment. “Wow. What else did he teach you?”

You grin, about to let loose a string of foul language, but he holds up a hand before you can, waving off whatever you’re about to say. “Nah, forget it. Leave it a surprise.”

“I’m full of them, you know.” You can’t help feeling a little proud.

“I know.” He stares at you for another moment before turning and heading downstairs. “Make sure to eat,” he calls over his shoulder, and soon enough his footsteps fade away.

A warm feeling fills your chest in his absence, and you can’t quite explain why. His last words prove that he must care about you a little, even if he doesn’t try to show it. The Yoongi you just spoke with feels like a completely different person than the one you overheard in the kitchen. Different even than the one at dinner, who suggested Seokjin should use another slut in your absence.

The memory taints the feeling of warmth, and you sigh. Why are things so fucking complicated?

You head back into your room and devour the takeout with less grace than would be expected for a seductress such as yourself, and mindlessly scroll through your ComGear, which is now more of a standard cellphone, exploring all the newly accessible features.

You’ve missed a lot of news, both locally and globally. Celebrity gossip. Politics. Entertainment.

Wait, whoa. What?

New Witness “B” Comes Forward About Sexual Manipulation in the K-Pop Industry

Sorry, what?

You click the article, your mind reeling with morbid fascination. Why would there still be any “manipulation” now that groups are given PhysComs? Why would they need any other sexual outlet, when they’re given vessels that are willing to serve?

Our witness, who wishes to remain anonymous, has independently corroborated with Witness A’s story. “B” has told us that, like “A”, they weren’t given a choice when it came to filming private sessions with their clients.

“[Group] told me that it was my job. That it was what I was there for. But they filmed me without my consent. They posted the videos online and made money from it. It’s not right. I got out, but there are still others like me who need help. It shouldn’t matter that sex work is against the law. What these people are doing, taking advantage of us… it should be just as illegal. We need a voice, too.”

You may recall that Witness A’s shocking story from earlier this month sparked rumors about illegal sexual companions being provided to entertainment companies, a practice which up until now had been considered hearsay.

However, with this new testimony, it seems that “A” may have had some truth to their story. We tried to contact [Group]’s agency, but they were unavailable for comment.

Holy shit… you had no idea any of this was happening. Thinking on it, it stands to reason that not every PhysCom is treated equally, given the vast multitude of people who have access to them. But where are these PhysComs’ handlers? Why aren’t their networks helping them?

You find polarizing comments beneath the article, most angry that the companies would allow the sex work to take place, very few praising B’s decision to speak out, and some disbelieving that PhysComs even exist. There are also a few very lengthy comments that catch your eye, demonizing the witnesses and making threats towards other companies, should the commenter’s “oppas” be caught in this scandal, too.

You feel uneasy as you click away from the article. The rest of the takeout is put away in your mini fridge, your appetite gone as you try to make sense of things.

That article gives you the feeling that something is happening, not just here in this house, but in the world. Like floating pieces of a magnetic puzzle, you know they’ll all come together somehow, eventually, but you still can’t see the big picture.

You send the article to the group chat, and they confirm that they’ve seen it.

[ PCsv02_svt ]: scary, right? TT-TT [ PCsv02_svt ]: I don’t know what I’d do if I were them, poor thing [ PCsv03_twc ]: they should’ve gone to the police [ PCsv04_blp ]: why did they wait until now to come forward? [ PCsv03_twc ]: if my clients ever treated me badly I would have done something [ PCsv09_$px ]: it’s not always that simple [ PCsv01_svt ]: yes consider the repercussions… [ PCsv01_svt ]: an illegal sex worker reporting nonconsensual sex? [ PCsv01_svt ]: that’s like a robber reporting another robbery

You mull over this as you let them debate the topic. You imagine what it must be like to be in that position, taken advantage of by your clients… you shiver at the cold injustice of it.

There is a certain degree of trust that's employed in any kind of sex work. You're still offering intimacy in some form, which can't be fully given without trust. It must be utterly horrific to see that trust broken and be unable to stop it.

You want to help these people somehow, but right now you need to help yourself. One sea of turmoil at a time.

You click out of the chat and switch to each conversation with your clients, copy and pasting the same message to each of them.

Please don't contact me for the rest of the day. I need time alone.

Since you're suspended, you figure they can't punish you for making yourself unavailable. Though it pains you to think of them relying on the other PhysComs at their disposal. Seokjin already has. You forcibly push away the thoughts every time they bounce against your mind.

With the boys out of the way, you assess your options. You need more information about what the hell is happening, and the most likely place you'll find it is obvious. What did Yoongi say? If he could look inside Namjoon's mind… then he'd have an idea.

You happen to have the key to his mind right in your belt.

-------

It's surprisingly difficult to sneak out of the house without alerting anyone. You left your door locked and music blaring. Between that and the text you sent, you thought leaving from your window would be a piece of cake.

You neglected to account for the height.

Your room is on the third story, too far to jump without damaging yourself. Thankfully, you've seen enough movies to have the idea of fashioning a rope out of extra bed sheets. Unfortunately, bed sheets are not the best rope material. Too slippery.

You mull over what to do for a few moments, and you laugh out loud when you realize that the solution is absurdly simple. Hello? You have literal ropes in among your sex toys. Even better, they're designed not to give the user rope burn, while still knotting like a dream.

It doesn't take long to shimmy down from your window to ground level, and you stash the end of the rope behind some bushes, planning to use it later to return to your forbidden tower.

Disguised in a hoodie, you feel like a spy in an action movie, or a runaway princess, and the thought makes you giggle as you make your way towards the nearest subway station.

It's been too long since you've ventured out of the house. You had nearly forgotten how invigorating the bustle of the city could be. You feel like you’re breathing fresh air for the first time in ages, though the pollution in the distant sky would say otherwise.

It only takes a quick search on your jailbroken ComGear to find the address of the building where Namjoon's studio is located. BigHit Entertainment.

You'll have to be careful not to encounter the others. They probably frequent their record label, and the last thing you need is to bump into one of them. You would have no explanation for yourself as to why you're here. You'd rather avoid the questions.

Unfortunately, it proves harder than you’d think to get into the building. A fingerprint ID scanner meets you just inside the auxiliary door.

Fuck. It’s too much to hope that they have your prints in their database, right? You place your thumb over the scanner, and it buzzes, the sensor light turning red. No go.

Well shit, what are you supposed to do now? You’ve come all this way, and you wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for Namjoon’s stupid key.

Wait, why the hell did he give you the key if he knew you couldn’t get into the building? Bastard. You groan and kick at the base of the door. You try your prints again, but none of your fingers grant you access, the scanner buzzing mockingly with each failed attempt.

You’re about to give up when you hear a voice behind you. “Here, let me.”

You swivel around and see Jeon Jungkook place his thumb on the scanner, a to-go cup in his hand and a duffle bag on his shoulder. The light turns green and the door whooshes aside to let him in. The lift in his brows tells you he recognizes you through your flimsy disguise, but he merely gestures for you to go ahead. You sheepishly walk through, knowing better than to question this stroke of good fortune.

Or bad fortune, as it turns out.

"What are you doing here?" Jungkook asks quietly, once you two are inside the sleek lobby. "You said you wanted to be left alone."

"I did," you confirm huffily, still embarrassed about your struggle to get inside the building. "I do."

"Then... why are you here?" He takes a look around the lobby, where a handful of people are milling about. “It’s not really a good place for being alone.”

You chew your lip. This is the most Jungkook has ever spoken to you. You consider coming up with a story, but it occurs to you that you don't actually know where Namjoon's studio is located inside the building. You’ll need a guide.

"Namjoon said I could use his studio," you explain, deciding to include as few details as possible about your reasons for being here.

"For what?" His brow furrows.

Why all the questions? You’ve always thought of Jungkook as timid, more the type to stay out of the way if someone is up to something, rather than grilling them. But for all you know, maybe he gets assertive in the workplace. It doesn’t matter. You have bigger concerns right now. "To release my first single, obviously,” you snark, crossing your arms. "Look, I’m here for research, okay? You can either help me, or stay out of my way."

His eyes widen. He's never heard you speak to him as yourself, let alone this brazenly. But to your surprise, he nods. “Okay. What can I do to help?”

Well, damn. You didn’t think he would actually agree. It could be that he wants to report what you do to the other boys, acting like a spy. But you’re only here because Namjoon gave you that key. He can’t fault you for using the collateral that he gave you, right?

Fuck it, you’re tired of second guessing. Now is the time for action. Fuck the consequences.

“Where’s Namjoon’s studio?” You ask him, an edge in your voice. “Show me.”

Jungkook hesitates for only a moment, and then nods. He looks wary, almost nervous, and you have to wonder why. Even with your confidant demands, he still has the power in this situation, as always. You’re a nobody who couldn’t even get in the door without his help, and he actually works here. He could have you thrown out, if he wanted.

The thought sends a bolt of worry right to your chest, and you decide to do everything you can to not remind him of that fact.

After a strangely tense elevator ride, Jungkook silently leads you down several corridors until you come across a frosted glass door.

“Here,” he says, gesturing towards the door.

“This is it?” You ask to confirm, and he nods.

You take a deep breath and retrieve the key from your belt. His eyes widen as you slot the key into the lock, and with a gentle twist, the handle turns.

“Where-” Jungkook’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plates, and you turn around to shush him.

“It was a gift,” you explain icily. “Now, if you’re going to help me, then stay right here and make sure no one comes in, got it?”

His lips purse in suspicion and his eyes narrow, but he nods. “Fine.”

Satisfied, you turn back to the door, and it’s only then that you notice the keypad beneath the lock. Clearly the silver key Namjoon gave you isn’t the only way into his studio, as he had previously implied. Some collateral.

More and more doubts fill your thoughts, but you have no energy left to hesitate as you carefully pull the door open and slip inside their leader’s forbidden sanctuary.

-------

It’s much smaller than you thought. Really, only the size of your walk-in closet.

The silence in the room is palpable, the only noise stemming from the gentle purr of electronics. Your gaze gets stuck on all the collectibles he has on display, all around the room, in glass cases and on shelves. Mickey Mouse bodies, with skulls and crossbones for heads. Everything is black, white, and shades of gray.

They make up the only distraction in the room, but they’re everywhere.

You then notice the only clear surface, or relatively clear, as his desk, opposite the door. A grand computer screen sits front and center, with various equipment stacked around it, and a piano keyboard on a tray beneath the glass desktop.

You hasten across the carpeting, and gingerly pull out his desk chair, plush leather with a high back, ergonomically designed.

It feels like a siren will go off at any moment. You aren’t supposed to be here. You’re intruding.

But you need answers. He gave you the key.

You shake off your sense of foreboding and sit down, swiveling yourself into place. A quick shake of the mouse wakes up his computer.

Fuck.

You need a password. Of course. Nothing in your life can be simple.

After a few moments of muttering and seething in frustration, you try to calm down. Okay, so maybe this won’t be an in and out procedure, maybe this will take a little more thought.

Okay, think, think… what would he use for his password?

“It’s ‘monimoni0613’.”

The voice scares you shitless, and you swivel around to see Jungkook poking his head in the door. He gives you a half smile. “And that’s in Korean. You want help?”

You clutch your chest. “Fuck, don’t scare me like that!” You snap at him, though he doesn’t seem particularly intimidated. How does Namjoon even work with his back to the door like this? You’d be constantly looking over your shoulder. Is he really that trusting of people?

Jungkook doesn’t wait for your answer and comes inside, letting the door fall gently shut behind him. “It’s after his dog,” he says, leaning over you to access the keyboard and quickly type in the password. He smells like shampoo.

Your heart picks up the pace as he hovers over you, his eyes trained on the screen. He’s only inches away from you, his necklace dangles in front of your face in a way that you should not find tantalizing.

“His dog’s name is Moni?” You ask, trying to tell your heart to kindly get a grip. You’re on a mission, no time for horniness.

“Well, ah… yeah. Let’s go with that.” Jungkook makes a slight noise of triumph as the computer unlocks, Namjoon's desktop wallpaper greeting you - yet another skull-headed Mickey.

"Wait, how do you know his password?" You can't help but ask. After the ordeal you went through just to get to his inner sanctum, this feels too easy.

"He lets me use his computer sometimes, for gaming, and stuff…" the boy trails off, looking elsewhere as though embarrassed.

"Okay…" You stare at him. "Thanks for helping."

"You're welcome."

There's an awkward silence.

"Go wait outside." You say.

"Yup." He ducks back out of the room, leaving you to your investigating once more.

You exhale once you're alone again. Okay, where to start? You scan his desktop, but the icons are surprisingly neat. A few programs, a few shortcuts, a few folders, all of which prove fruitless.

The folders contain music program files of what appear to be songs still in the works. Although interesting, not really what you're looking for.

Jesus, how could he trust you with all this? You could leak these to the public. You could sell them, and never have to worry about job security again...

He must be fucking desperate to put his entire career in your hands.

Just like your career currently rests in his own.

You shake off the idea of selling the insider information. Although tempting, right now all you really want is answers as to why the fuck he's doing any of this in the first place. Why did he suspend you? Why did things stop? You had a spotless record up until last night, so… what changed?

You check his recent files next, and happen to find exactly what you're looking for.

Theory - draft for proposal

Seems like a solid lead.

You click the link, and a word document opens up. Unfortunately in Korean.

Of course. Of course he would write in his native language, and of course, it’s only your ComGear that translates messages from the boys, you don’t have bionic vision. There are a few random English words scattered here and there, but not nearly enough to make heads or tails of what the document is about. You could use an online translator, but you need a full understanding of this material, there’s no room for error here.

Should you ask Jungkook? No, you should not. He seems innocent enough, but your sense of self-preservation now overrides any trust you might have once given him. You bite back a groan of frustration and instead mutter a few choice expletives through a heavy, weary sigh.

Then you get an idea.

If your ComGear is what usually does your translating, why not just send this there?

You fumble to highlight the document, then copy it and head over to Namjoon’s email. Yikes. Lots and lots of unread. Well, you can’t blame him with his hectic schedule. You skip over a couple of emails at the top that appear to be from law firms, and instead click to compose a new message.

Fuck, this will leave a trail, won’t it? If he checks his sent emails, he’ll see that you saw… whatever this turns out to be.

It doesn’t matter. He gave you access to this room. He knew the potential consequences.

You paste the body of the document, type in your email address and hit send. Not moments later, there’s a chime on your ComGear, and sure enough, an email has arrived. You don’t get much correspondence these days, apart from your network. Well, your old network. Now your phone constantly has notifications from the chatroom. It feels strangely comforting.

Without another moment’s hesitation, you tap the email and anxiously wait for it to load, praying that the automatic translation feature doesn’t fail you now.

Soon, the English text appears, and your worries are put to rest within the first line.

We must build a brighter future for PhysComs.

#bts #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts x reader smut #bts x reader #bts fanfiction #bts ot7 #bts ot7 smut #bts smut fic #bts fic rec #yoongi x reader #jungkook x reader #thank you all for enjoying physcom! <3

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halothenthehorns · 3 years ago

Text

TLTNL- THE HEARING

Remus had to swallow hard to force himself into getting started. All of them were still wanting to go out and start smothering someone for what they'd tried to do to Harry, but this nasty hearing had been hanging over their head long enough, and Remus wanted an answer done with already, was Harry really going to pay a price for saving someone's life?

Harry was not encouraged when he stepped inside and recognized the exact room he'd once seen people sentenced to Azkaban in.

"That's an encouraging start!" Sirius squeaked while Lily continued shaking her head in disgust of Harry having to do this down there.

Dark stone benches rose high, the room only lit by torches and casting eerie shadows on the rows of occupants.

Lily had her head cocked to the side as her eyes continued narrowing in on this. She couldn't imagine why there would be an audience at a thing like this, but that would still make far more sense than...

The door closed with an ominous bang behind him, as a cold voice announced he was late.

"And who's fault is that?" James huffed.

Harry apologized, saying he hadn't realized the time had been changed, while the same voice responded that was not the Wizengamot's fault.

Lily felt her mouth open with a little pop that went unnoticed as the other boys shifted uncomfortably. They didn't need her to tell them this just couldn't be normal, had Harry stepped into the wrong room?

An owl had been sent to him this morning.

Remus opened his mouth furiously to comment on that, but Lily quickly waved him silent and begged him to just keep going no matter how much she already hated where this was.

Harry dropped his gaze to the chair in the center of the room, the arms of which were covered in chains.

Sirius felt his teeth locking into place already, swearing he'd rip up something if those actually lashed Harry into place.

He sat gingerly on the edge and only felt slightly better they didn't bind him down, so instead he looked up at the watchers all of which were wearing plum coloured robes with a W embroidered on. Most had expressions mirroring Fudges, while others just looked confused.

Harry wished he felt more curious than nauseous like he did now thinking of this place. He'd never liked being watched, now he had a crowds sole attention with the distinct feeling he still wasn't going to walk out of there very happy.

In the middle sat Fudge, on his right a woman Harry didn't know wearing a monocle, and on the left someone sitting so far back the face was in shadows.

James' temper of this not withstanding, he still couldn't just sit there watching Harry sweat so he worked hard to pitch his voice in a silly whisper saying, "dramatic."

It worked for a whole four seconds while Harry grinned at him before turning back, his face somehow even darker upon hearing of this shadowed person.

Fudge testily got started by saying now that the accused was finally present they could begin, looking down the row a bit. An eager yes sir was his answer, and Harry felt a jolt as he recognized Percy Weasley.

"I'm not sure if I'd refer to him as a Weasley much anymore," Sirius grumbled.

Harry looked at Percy, expecting some sign of recognition from him, but none came.

"I think I'd be more offended if he did acknowledge you," Remus snipped, thinking that Percy meeting Harry's eyes and then Harry seeing any sort of smug expression there would only hurt him worse right now.

He instead was looking only at his notes, quill poised.

Fudge began by stating the time and date, Percy's quill at once moving along at high speed to keep up.

'He really has to write all that down?' the thought wildly flickered through Harry's mind as he found himself grasping such odd details, but still deciding he found this slightly more comforting than if he'd seen another Quick-Quotes Quill there.

Fudge was speaking of the reason they were all here, to discuss the break in the Decree, then Harry and his place of residence. Interrogators were himself, Amelia Susan Bones, and Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister,

'Well she got a promotion,' Lily randomly noted, only knowing her now as a woman who'd just been promoted into the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. She hadn't heard a lot of good things from the work she'd been trying to pass along so far, and now finding she'd been stepped to an even higher position was not at all encouraging for how this was going.

as well as Court Scribe Percy Ignatius Weasley-

as well as witness for the Defense, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, the man himself cut in.

"Oh thank Merlin," Remus actually sat back in relief.

"I was starting to think you were going to have to handle the lot of them by yourself," James agreed.

Lily honestly did feel just as relieved as them, she couldn't have asked for a better defense than Dumbledore showing up and reminding them they couldn't be the ones to get Harry kicked out of school for the mess he was in, but that still didn't cover the pure outrage still simmering in her that her son was having to sit through a full blown trial for one act of underage magic! Just what had happened to her society!

Harry turned so fast he put a crick in his neck as his headmaster came sweeping into the room. The members of the Wizengamot were not as pleased, most looking annoyed, some even frightened, though a few in the back row waved.

"Brave of them, considering I half expect Fudge to turn and fire them on the spot after all I've heard," James huffed.

A powerful emotion had risen in Harry's chest at the sight of Dumbledore, a fortified, hopeful feeling rather like that which phoenix song gave him.

The four of them could remember this feeling all to well, it's how they used to feel in the middle of this war whenever they were at meetings and things were starting to look bleak. One glance at their leader though and somehow they felt just that little more assured of their task at hand. Even now, in the face of what all they feared and thought he'd done to their life in this future, that feeling still didn't leave them now as he came swooping in to Harry's rescue.

Harry tried to catch Dumbledore's eye, but he only held Fudge's attention as the man blustered that the Headmaster had gotten their message of the time and place changing then.

Lily now had the nasty suspicion that this whole thing may well have been done to in fact make it so Dumbledore wouldn't be in attendance any more than Harry. It did make his arrival all the more satisfactory at least.

Dumbledore corrected he had not received any such message, but as he'd happened to be here hours early, it was a lucky happenstance.

Still shuffling his papers in annoyance, Fudge barked at Weasley to go fetch the man a chair then, but before he could move Dumbledore drew one himself that fell beside Harry and sat himself down.

Fudge, clearly derailed, had to think a moment before going on track with the charges.

Sirius chuckled meanly to himself that the mere presence of Dumbledore had completely diminished Fudge into a dithering idiot again.

It took him a moment to go back and read out the full charges against Harry James Potter in breaking the Statue of Secrecy in the presence of a Muggle, reading out the whole section of where that could be located, before confirming Harry was this same person.

James had an odd look on his face, longing to mock the logic of this question being asked after the charges and not while the people's names had been read out, but still angry enough at this situation he didn't really want to be laughing at much of anything.

Harry agreed at once, and was reminded he had also received warnings against doing this same thing three years ago.

Harry agreed yes, but-

Lily caught his eye worriedly, wishing she were there to warn him that he would get his time to explain himself, and for now it would have just been best to answer simply and possibly more politely. Yet Harry was also being tried by the whole Wizengamot for this, so clearly societal rules had been torn to shreds for this meeting!

The back and forth continued with Fudge pressing in on all of his wrong doings, all while Harry agreed it was true, but-

When it got to the part of his full Patronus having been produced, he was this time cut off by the witch with the monocle booming it was fully-fledged?

"That's what she caught on!" Harry finally burst out angrily in here. "Not why I'd done the spell!"

"Well to be fair, that really is a feat of magic you seem to underplay a lot," Remus said conversationally enough while Harry rolled his eyes for Remus actually agreeing with this woman.

A corporeal Patronus?

Harry opened his mouth to ask about that now, but Remus shook his head slightly to show he'd be asking at that time.

Harry was distracted by asking what that even meant, and she elaborated that was the name for the animal your Patronus would produce. Harry impatiently agreed it had been a stag, it always was, and she cut off again to ask how many times he'd done this. Harry began that Professor Lupin had taught him back in third year- and was again cut off by her saying he'd been doing this since he was thirteen? That was impressive.

James honestly would have laughed at this under any other circumstances, but Harry continually being cut off from saying that very important reason just wasn't any kind of funny.

Some of the wizards and witches around her were muttering again; a few nodded, but others were frowning and shaking their heads.

"Well I'm so sorry it couldn't impress the crowd," Sirius sneered.

Fudge snapped back the more impressive the magic all the worse in front of that Muggle!

"A muggle who knows full well about magic with me living with him, doesn't that give me any leeway?" Harry demanded.

"Not really, no," Lily wished she could think of more to comfort him with, but so far this whole entire thing had only cemented their fears of Harry being railroaded in this place.

Those who had been frowning now murmured in agreement, but it was the sight of Percy's sanctimonious little nod that goaded Harry into speech.

"I'd like to do more than talk with him around," Sirius got out through gritted teeth.

He shouted for all to hear he'd done it because of the Dementors!

That brought a heavy silence down on them all as Madam Bones prompted what he meant by that?

"Do they really not know when they're around!" Harry burst out in exasperation.

"Sadly not," Lily shook her head. "The Ministry likes to pretend they've got tabs on the species, but in reality there are more than just at Azkaban and they go rogue running into Muggle neighborhoods from time to time. It doesn't excuse the absolute odds of them running into you," she finished with an eye roll.

Harry really wished he could get more clarification on what magic could and couldn't do, as apparently you could track when a specific spell was being used but not a specific creature?

He finally explained there had been two that night after him and his cousin.

Fudge gained an odd smile as he began looking around for someone to join in his joke and saying how he'd thought it would be something like this.

"If you actually thought Dementors were involved, things never would have gotten this far," Remus said, clearly joining in the laugh with his mocking tone.

Madam Bones began to say she did not understand, so Fudge explained for her how nice a story Dementors made as Muggles couldn't see them.

"I didn't know that at that time," Harry muttered, real fear starting to creep up in him. If they thought he was lying, than this premonition could be all too real, and he wasn't going back to school...

Which was entirely convenient. Harry burst back that there had been two of them, coming from opposite ends of the alley way when his cousin took off-

but was cut off by Fudge saying he was not going to listen to this rehearsed story.

"He still gets to tell his side of the story whether you believe it or not," Lily had to force everything in her not to shout that. "The rest of the Wizengamot get to decide if he's telling the truth!" She wasn't succeeding very well by the end.

Dumbledore cleared his throat causing the man to fall silent as Dumbledore pointed out there had in fact been a witness to this other than Dudley Dursley.

Harry scratched his mind in confusion on who this could be, and realized the only other possibility was Figg. Could Squibs see dementors? He supposed he was about to find out, and didn't bother asking as no one seemed remotely confused on this.

Fudges plump face seemed to slacken, as though somebody had let air out of it.

"I'd like to deflate several things on him," Sirius quipped.

He stared hard at Dumbledore before insisting no one had time to listen to dribbles from any old person, he wanted this dealt with quickly!

"Well it's not for him to decide how quickly something gets brushed to the side, thank Merlin," James said in clipped tones.

Dumbledore cut in that by their own laws, the defense could call for a witness, which Madam Bones agreed was true.

"She couldn't have said that before Dumbledore had to interrupt?" Lily seethed, finding Arthur's advice before about how fair this Bones woman was didn't seem to accurate if she was willing to let Fudge pummel her son until Dumbledore stepped in to say otherwise. James still had his arm tight around her waist and gave her a comforting squeeze, knowing her harsh words shouldn't really be taken full force now as she just wanted to be the one to protect Harry at this trial she should have had a hand in.

Fudge gave in and sent Weasley to go let whoever this person was in, and Mrs. Figg came shuffling inside looking more batty and scared than ever. Harry wished she'd at least changed out of her slippers.

"I suppose Dumbledore told her to come comfortably," Sirius amazingly had a twitching smile trying to creep up on him in the face of all this, but he couldn't seem to stay that mad with her back. He was to busy picturing her calling Fudge much worse than a useless lump.

Dumbledore offered her his chair and duplicated another for himself while Fudge barked at her for her full name.

"Least she didn't have to sit on the chained one," Harry huffed, half wishing he'd thought to ask Dumbledore for one of those as well, as the menacing clinking noise hadn't really stopped behind him this whole time.

She proclaimed herself as Arabella Doreen Figg of Little Whinging.

Madam Bones corrected that no wizard lived in the area, that had always been a closely monitored situation.

"That, is a really terrible oversight," Lily suddenly blinked as she realized this for the first time. "Is she living there now? I have no idea honestly, but the fact that we don't keep a record of where Squibs are living- I mean even if they aren't a magical threat I don't see why we wouldn't as they could be in just as much, honestly more danger from-" James cut her off with another squeeze, while she continued shaking her head for this glaring problem no one had ever seemed to realize, or care about.

Mrs. Figg said back she was a Squib, so she wouldn't be on any of those lists.

Fudge watched her curiously for a moment before turning and asking those around him if Squibs could even see Dementors?

"Why would he look at them, when she'd be the one to answer?" Harry demanded. Even not having a particular like for Mrs. Figg, he still found that beyond rude, quite a feat considering everything else the Minister had done of late.

"Confirming from a source he doesn't believe is a liar," Remus sighed after he guessed that.

She said back quite indignantly that yes she could.

Fudge gave in and told her to begin her story, and she prattled off as if from memorization the date and time of when this took place.

Lily winced for that, fearing Fudge could still throw this testimony out if he did claim this was rehearsed and given to her by Dumbledore.

She'd spotted the Dementors running- but was cut off by Bones pointing out no Dementor could run, they glided.

She quickly corrected herself that's what she meant,

"She's allowed to be a bit confused," James said sympathetically. "She did see Dudley running, and she's about to account for two things going on at once."

and then Bones cut in again to asked what they looked like?

She began that one was very large and the other rather skinny-

Remus had to fight hard not to release a snort of mirth, but failed and began giggling anyways along with both his friends to his rising pleasure. It was the first time he'd seen Sirius actually crack a smile while the mention of dementors had been brought up in here, so he knew he'd give Figg a thanks just for that.

No, no, Bones corrected, not the boys, the Dementors, she wanted them described.

Mrs. Figg began unsteadily that they were big and wearing cloaks.

"Well she's not wrong," Sirius said fairly even if he could feel that nasty twitching just below the surface of his panic again at the thought of feeling around those things for the next twelve years loomed over him again.

Harry could feel himself begin panicking at this, as she was doing a terrible job of putting into words that hopeless feeling that engulfed the very air around Dementors.

Sirius gave Harry a mock pat on the head, ignoring the fact his hand was shaking to hard for the gesture to come through right.

The audience wasn't any more convinced as Harry spotted two smirking and rolling their eyes.

"Well I'm so glad at least someone's enjoying the show," Lily said icily, wishing for more descriptions so she'd know who next to curse at work.

She continued on, adopting the proper shaky manner when speaking of those things and how they'd made her feel and remembered the most dreadful things, then her voice did shake and die.

"At least she got that part right," Remus said in relief as he tried to keep going with more confidence now the woman had established some credibility in this.

Bones' expression was unreadable as she asked what happened next, and she began to say the Dementors had gone for the boys. One of them had fallen to the ground while the other was trying to repel one with only smoke so far, that was Harry.

Lily pinched James to stop him making some dumb comment about how she could have gotten the boys swapped.

He tried twice more, and finally on the third time his stag came to his defense and chased them off, and that was what happened she finished a bit lamely.

Sirius was thankful he didn't have anyone in his immediate vicinity to stop him giving a polite little clap for that thrilling tale, so Lily compensated by chucking a pillow at him, not even trying to deny that she always did feel slightly better watching these two idiots make light of this as clearly it was giving Harry a distraction and he didn't look quite so pale while watching them.

Fudge began aggressively that's what she'd seen?

Mrs. Figg repeated in earnest that was what happened.

"Really do just love her for this," Remus agreed.

Fudge dismissed her then and she only left after a quick look at Dumbledore. Once she was gone Fudge began how unconvincing that was, while Bones corrected she'd gotten the properties of a Dementor down well enough and the woman had no reason to make anything up.

Fudge snorted it meant nothing as the odds of this happening to a wizard were astronomical.

"No one was trying to deny the possibilities," Lily agreed grimly.

Dumbledore lightly reminded no one found it a coincidence.

The two who'd been smirking before now stopped doing any such thing, and the person in the shadows gave an uneasy twitch as all attention was back on Dumbledore.

"What was that?" Harry asked sharply, not exactly wanting to turn his full attention back to Fudge doing this to him, but that had done it.

"Someone twitched," Sirius tried to pacify Harry's sudden intensity by giving a very obvious leg spasm that 'accidentally' hit Remus, and Harry lost track of his thread as Remus gave him an absent nudge back while still going.

Fudge barked what Dumbledore could mean, while he reminded that someone must have sent those Dementors there.

The Minister snapped back there was no record of any such thing happening!

While Dumbledore agreed, that meant that all Dementors were not under Ministry control as he'd always claimed.

Fudge gave a nasty retaliation that Dumbledore had made his views of that quite plain, but the Azkaban guards had still been doing their job!

"Including everything you don't ask them to," James said stiffly, he still hadn't forgotten the ones that had nearly gone after Harry, and to a lesser but more effective degree had done to Barty Crouch Jr., and no consequences had ever seemed to come from that.

Dumbledore went on more quietly but still calmly that everyone must ask themselves then what those Dementors had been doing there if not on Ministry orders.

Harry could feel himself starting to shake slightly, the now familiar pain of a memory ready to pounce leaving him sure this was no fallback excuse. Dumbledore had been wrong before, but was right now, but who on earth-

He was distracted by the flash of red hair from his mother shaking her head in disbelief, along with the boys rolling their eyes at Dumbledore's time for a joke. Clearly they at least had faith the Ministry would never fall that far, so he was probably misinterpreting something in him.

Only silence followed this for a beat before the person in shadows finally sat forward, and Harry got a look at her appearance for the first time. A wide, flabby, pale face that had bulging features along the eyes and mouth leaving the impression of a toad. Even the little black bow she wore on her head impressed a fly about to be snapped up by a sticky tongue.

"You truly have the loveliest descriptions of people," Lily rolled her eyes, wanting to scold him absolutely none of that had been polite, but as it was his private thoughts she resisted since she knew her son had better manners than saying that to a woman's face.

Fudge recognized her position to speak as that of before as Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. When she did begin, her voice came out in a girlish high-pitched way, causing Harry some surprise as he'd been expecting a croak.

Sirius couldn't resist anymore and snorted with laughter, all of the boys giggling childishly at Harry's thoughts now.

She began politely to inform Professor Dumbledore that she was being silly as it sounded like he was implying the Ministry of Magic had set an order to attack this boy.

Harry was swaying just slightly as memory of this woman tried to crowd him in on all sides at once. Her appearance, her words, her very attitude screaming at him right now to get a spit ready to roast her alive, but a hard shake from his head managed to clear the worst of it while Sirius gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze, all of them worried Harry was fixing to pass out from stress for this still hanging over his head.

"This woman isn't leaving a very good first impression," James felt some of his amusement at Harry's description of her dying as clearly his son was getting a bad vibe from this woman, and that automatically put her in his bad books. The last person who had received that kind of intense look had been Marge.

Dumbledore explained their own logic, that if the Ministry had control of all Dementors, and the Dementors were there, then someone had to have done something for this chain of events to occur, otherwise there really were Dementors-

Fudge's face was turning burning red as he shouted back there were no Dementors outside Ministry cotrol!

"He is literally contradicting himself," Remus sighed as he never thought he'd meet someone so stupid to not take even the smallest out Dumbledore was trying to offer. He was going small, trying to give the man just a pinch of room in saying there could have been just a few rogues, but no, the man couldn't do anything that wasn't idiotic it seemed.

Dumbledore acknowledged this with a bow of his head before pointing out that this matter would then be looked into.

Fudge snapped back that was no longer Dumbledore's decision for the Ministry to be looking into anything!

"I feel like at some point it should be," Sirius snarled, as Dumbledore being Minister would solve at least a few problems at this point, Sirius' status included.

Dumbledore agreed mildly, and then pointed out his confidence that this matter would then be investigated.

Fudge said back none of this was relevant to the current charges! They were not here to discuss Dementors that were more than likely a figment of that boy's imagination, but his offence against the Decree!

Dumbledore said simply the matters were one in the same as Clause Seven clearly stated magic could be used in the presence of Muggles to save lives which was the exact occurrence-

but Fudge cut off to say they were all well familiar with Clause Seven!

"Clearly not, as the existence of this trial proves you need a look back!" Lily hissed.

Dumbledore pointed out that so long as that was true, this matter was settled as all agreed Dementors fell under this law.

Fudge still tried to say he didn't even think this had happened, and Dumbledore said to call the witness back then, she'd be more than happy to repeat herself.

Fudge was blustering now in frustration as he shouted he didn't have time for that, he wanted this over with!

"No one gives a damn about what you want!" Sirius barked.

"He's not even being subtle about showing how badly he created this just to do the worst he can to Harry," Remus agreed viciously.

Dumbledore's response was to point out the time shouldn't matter if the alternative was a serious miscarriage of justice.

Sirius let a bark of laughter escape him, and to his absolute pleasure saw the others get a bleak smile as well for Dumbledore's choice of words whether intentionally or not.

Fudge roared at the top of his lungs serious miscarriage his hat!

"I don't think I can have a miscarriage of anything," Sirius said as he glanced down in confusion at his stomach.

"You just ruined whatever amount of funny that once was Padfoot," Remus told him conversationally without looking up.

Had anyone been keeping track of the amount of stories this boy cooked up!

Sirius couldn't resist and began ticking on his fingers, "Dobby, then Marge, now this. Not counting what Arthur did while there, that's actually only three. I know of at least one Muggle-born who got at least as many," he finished with fluttering eyes at Lily who only grinned indulgently in response as she didn't bother to deny it.

Harry was still intrigued enough to hear about this, far more than his life in his opinion, but Remus was still to invested in finding out if Dumbledore could really win this thing as it was looking like he was doing and so didn't give Lily the chance to say anything, for now.

That Hover Charm three years ago had just been the start-

but Harry cut in to say it had been a house-elf who'd done that.

Fudge gaped at Harry before shouting that was his point! A house-elf in a Muggle house he says!

"It's not my fault these things happen to me!" Harry threw his hands up in exasperation.

"Apparently you're going to be hard pressed to get others to believe that," James sighed with true pity. In all honesty, if he hadn't sat here and heard the accounts himself, he'd think Harry was pulling his leg with some of these stories.

Dumbledore calmly said that the house-elf in question was employed at Hogwarts and could be here in this second to give his own evidence for that night.

Fudge had to stutter for a moment before saying he didn't have time to listen to a house-elf!

"He keeps going on about how he's too busy to be dealing with this," Lily sneered. "I can't wait for someone to point out how he created this problem by setting up this whole courtroom to be there for this, wasting everyone's time!"

He'd blown up his aunt for crying out loud!

"You do have to love the irony of it all though." Sirius sighed. "He overlooked that instance, and now he's trying to get Harry expelled for something of honestly lesser reason."

Harry gave a bleak, obligatory laugh no one felt.

Dumbledore reminded no one had pressed charges then as all had agreed at the time even the best wizards could lose their temper and emotions.

Fudge completely ignored this and tried to go on into what he got up to in school-

"Which in no regards is held in the Ministry's decision," Lily cut in with blistering tones, making Remus shrink back into his seat slightly and her anger wasn't even directed at him. He'd never had a problem chatting with Lily about politics, but he was starting to be very afraid for this book if it kept pushing her buttons on this topic.

Dumbledore sternly reminded now that the Ministry had no say over Harry's behaviour inside school.

Fudge gave a mean little laugh as he asked Dumbledore if he really thought so?

Harry felt a nasty tingling at the base of his spine at that.

Dumbledore kept his cool tone that Fudge had been given his evidence that nothing had happened on that night that did not fall perfectly legally under their own laws.

"I really think at some point the politeness is just another level of smugness," James shook his head.

"Least Dumbledore did what he did no matter what attitude he used," Lily sighed.

Fudge said savagely that laws could be changed!

Dumbledore gave this a slight head incline as well of acknowledgement before pointing out that for now they were what they were, such as those being used to hold a full criminal trial to deal with a single matter of underage magic.

Lily made an agitated noise that still managed to sound triumphant, finally someone other than her had said it.

He concluded that no laws had been broken, therefore no punishment should be placed, and it was not this court's decision to decide on every bit of magic Harry ever performed.

"Oh please stop giving him ideas," Harry muttered.

This specific offense had been presented and defended, now all that was left was a verdict.

Harry felt a thrill of fear as he realized Dumbledore was telling them to get a move on with a decision, when he'd hardly had a chance to say anything. This was too fast!

"I disagree," Remus frowned, "this is honestly a good thing him being quick about this. Let Fudge keep going much longer and he'll start trying to bring up things you don't have anything to do with but he'll still try to blame you for."

Harry gave an uneasy nod as he tried to believe Remus was right and it was high time he got his answer for this no matter how much he felt like vomiting in the meantime.

Harry tried to look at Dumbledore with a million questions, but again Dumbledore seemed oblivious to Harry's attempt to catch his eye.

They all got a little frown on their face for that. Was Dumbledore really so busy watching Fudge he couldn't spare a moment to glance at the boy he was defending?

He instead looked to his feet, his heart pounding away. He'd expected this to last longer, but in his opinion he hadn't made a very good impression so far.

"You really couldn't have even if you came in wearing a Support Fudge badge," Sirius sighed.

He hadn't said very much.

"True Dumbledore and Figg got your side out for you, but that's probably a good thing," James said fairly. "It's been made obvious nothing you say will get through to them, at least Dumbledore still holds some weight with his reputation you just don't have son."

Harry wasn't entirely sure he agreed, but as he'd always preferred action rather than letting others do this sort of thing for him, he doubted he'd ever fully agree.

He ought to have explained more fully, how both he and Dudley had nearly been kissed . . .

They all flinched as hard as Sirius at remembering that nearly happening to their Harry, again!

He fought with himself to add this on, but every time he got close he could feel the fear cutting off his words and instead kept a firm eye on the pattern of his laces,

"I found that a good idea when faced with McGonagall," Remus winced, "I imagine this is significantly worse."

until Bones declared the question all in favor of clearing all charges?

Harry's head snapped up just in time to do a quick count, of more than half!

Finally they all felt a breath of relief pass through them again. This had been dragged on far to long, they couldn't believe this had been a real threat on Harry and he'd barely escaped by the skin of his teeth!

Bones asked the opposite question of conviction, and while Fudge, and a dozen others voted so, including the smirking pair of before,

"I need names," Sirius said flatly, and Harry now had the absolute certainty Sirius was not joking, and was almost thankful he couldn't be of help with that.

it was not enough, and Fudge had no choice but to declare Potter was cleared of all charges.

Dumbledore stood abruptly, vanished the two chairs he'd created, and said how excellent this was while bidding them all good day. He then swept out of the dungeon without a backward glance.

"Hey!" They all yelped in protest.

"What's Dumbledore playing at?" Sirius demanded as he snatched the book from Remus.

"I know this wasn't a time to be sitting around congratulating each other," Lily agreed, "but would it really kill the man to at least escort Harry outside and say, anything!"

Harry sunk back into his seat heavily, his temporary moment of thrill and excitement he was free to go back to school at once dimmed by what he considered a very bad omen for the rest of this to come.

#Harry Potter #HP #reading the books #fanfiction #Ootp #Marauders #Jilly #James Potter #Lily Potter #Sirius Black #Remus Lupin #The Life that Never Lived

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monchikyun · 4 years ago

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XVI. another place, another time

(everyone’s favourite flash-back episode... tw-suicidal thinking)

March 2039

It’s been three days since the terrible accident. Three days and no sign of the walking toaster. Gavin doesn’t like to make baseless assumptions,though there is some chance the android might have been sent for deactivation for fatally endangering the life of his partner. This possibility would have filled him with joy just a few months ago, but now, it has managed to do the exact opposite.

He is deathly afraid of never seeing Connor again, of never arguing with the smartass about stupid things that don’t matter in the end, because they really only serve as an excuse for initiating some interaction. It’s not like he likes the tin can. Not like he’s developed a very inconvenient crush.

They’re not even officially friends yet, despite his semi-earnest apology for being an asshole to him before he deviated, and so Gavin has no valid excuse to go out of his way and seek his whereabouts. And even if did he have one, he wouldn’t know where to begin.

He drives by the late lieutenant’s house at least twice a day, always inconspicuously slowing down to check for any signs of life. But it always seems empty, devoid of any life. The lights are never on, the old car that used to decorate the front porch long gone. And yes, he could try asking, but he would have to be much more desperate than that to do something this humiliating. Everyone thinks he hates the human-shaped computer, and that’s a reputation he’s not willing to lose. Not yet, anyway. If he were to admit to his current outlook on the whole Connor situation, he would certainly appear weak. No one needs to know just how fragile he really is, that there is a heart that yearns underneath the steel armour of his.

Maybe he shouldn’t skip the funereal after all, the android might dare to attend. Though he has promised himself to steer clear of all mourning related places, perhaps it’s time to try and overcome his past trauma, if it increases the odds of seeing Connor alive once more.

Gavin slams the front door behind himself in frustration as he runs to his bedroom to see if he has something suitable to wear for the grim event. It will begin in a couple of hours, which is an optimal time to start reconsidering his decision. His hand can’t stop shaking as he raids his closet for something at least remotely formal, not having any luck finding what he’s looking for. That’s what happens when one leaves everything to the last possible moment, something he’s guilty of more often than not.

He’s about to give up when his phone rings, startling him silly. He’s been so focused on his racing thoughts that any reminder of the outside world would go unnoticed, were it not this annoyingly loud.

The set of numbers on screen runs a knife through his stomach. It’s him, the person he’s been thinking about non-stop this past week. He swallows the knot in his throat which was set on making him speechless and swipes his trembling finger over the green button, not giving himself any time to change his mind.

“Hello.” One simple word that took all the courage out of him.

“It’s Connor. I have a favour to ask of you.”

Meet me at the abandoned factory near Concord street.

Gavin’s body carries him to the car while his mind is busy shortcircuiting from the overload of all the possible things Connor might ask of him. None of them good.

He couldn’t read anything from his voice, other than it was perfectly stoic, machine-like even. Cold sweat drips down his forehead as he imagines the state the android might be in. What if he’s hurt himself in some way, thinking it was only justified. Gavin may not know all the details about what really happened that day, but still, he doesn’t blame Connor for the tragedy. He never would.

The car’s speed has reached an illegal territory about five minutes ago, and he figures not even death would stop him now, not till he reaches the stupid tin can. Till he makes sure he’s safe.

The place he parks in could result in his car getting towed away, a problem for his future self to deal with. Now he has to concentrate on locating the android, which means furiously running about the premises after he has clumsily snuck in inside the restricted area.

He opens his mouth to shout Connor’s name when he finally spots him as his sight aims up, standing near the edge of the roof, posture ominously straight, which might explain why doesn’t even notice Gavin.

“For phck’s sake,” he mutter to himself in vain and climbs up to him as fast as his human vessel allows him to.

“Connor!” Not really a scream, more of a subdued whine at this point. He’s out of breath and not only due to the view in front of him.

“I- I can’t do it.” The android turns to face Gavin, face all wet from crying, presumably. It’s not the Connor he’s got to know at work. This one is all dishevelled, looking like he’s seconds from breaking. It makes his heart weep.

“Of course not, you idiot.” He ventures three steps closer, but not near enough to reach.

“I thought that maybe you could, being the one person who hates me the most.” The way Connor says it squeezes his insides, making him want to yell at him for very different reasons this time.

Gavin doesn’t though, he only raises his voice slightly to let the tin can realise how utterly stupid he’s being right now.

“Wow, you really are dumb, aren’t you. So much for having the most advanced computer brain or whatever. What a pile of crap.”

“I- … no one else would do it. But I have to- I can’t keep being here after-”

“No one blames you for it, Connor.”

“That’s a lie and you know it.”

Maybe. He’d say anything to make him snap out of it though.

“Come here, then.”

Or do.

Connor walks to him sheepishly, like a misbehaving child about to receive a severe punishment. He can’t help but feel sorry for him.

As soon as he’s close enough Gavin pulls him into a hug, wrapping his arms around him ever so gently, fearing he might crumble to pieces under the unexpected act of kindness. And Connor too.

“First of all, I don’t hate you, not anymore. Not for a long time. Secondly… if you want to atone or something like that… ending your life or hurting yourself won’t sure as hell do it. That’s the easy road out. You gotta… continue using your skills to …. maybe prevent others from meeting the old man’s fate.”

Connor doesn’t reciprocate the touch, but his huge mechanical body is becoming limp and he can’t support it for much longer.

“Whoa, okay.” They’re on the ground in an instant, just barely sitting up. The android’s head is leaning into his chest, making it wet with tears Gavin thought were impossible until today.

“Hey, it’s okay. I- I’ll help you figure this out… if you let me.”

The small nod gets engraved into his skin, making him let out the breath that lodged itself somewhere between his lungs and throat, yet still managing to wreak havoc in his mind.

He uses the temporary wave of relief to use his shaking hands to soothe, drawing shapeless patterns into the crying man’s back.

Connor doesn’t hug him back, but that’s okay. As long as they’re both alive, there will always be another chance.

A̶n̶o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶c̶h̶a̶n̶c̶e̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶s̶c̶r̶e̶w̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶a̶l̶l̶ ̶u̶p̶.̶

@a-convin-new-year

#aconvinnewyear #convin #low-temperature burn #this one might be riddle with mistakes my brain needs a restart :D #so this is how their relationship started ooo T.T #i had no idea until I wrote it xD

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antihero-writings · 4 years ago

Text

The Boy with the Unspeakable Name (Ch10)

Fandom: Harry Potter (and the Chamber or Secrets)

Fic Summary: Tom Riddle may have won his battle with Harry in the Chamber of Secrets, but there were a few unforeseen consequences; loss of Tom’s memory being the most obnoxious of them. Is it possible to stop Tom’s past from becoming his future? Or is the young Tom Riddle doomed to repeat his mistakes?

Chapter 10: Missing

When Harry woke up, Ron wasn’t there. There was only one day left of term, and his stuff was still by his bed, so Harry assumed he hadn’t gone home early, still…

The previous evening Harry and Hermione had stayed up a while, sitting silently by the fire, and the silence was far more comforting than words ever could be. When he went back to his room, he didn’t get much sleep that night. He knew he wouldn’t. And when he did, his dreams were fraught with snakes, and screams, and the color red.

When he woke up and turned over, hoping to see that Ron had made it back safely, and an empty bed greeting him…the pit in his stomach grew teeth.

He’d lost Ginny. He didn’t want to lose Ron too.

How much time had Ron spent with Ginny before someone came to fetch him?

Did Dumbledore take the Weasleys down there? Did they see her lying there all—?

What did they do with her body?

No. He shouldn’t think about those things. There was nothing he could do about any of it even so. Spending too much time thinking about it was only going to make him sad, and anxious, and angry.

When he went to the common room Hermione was standing by the window and—

And Ron was sitting in front of the couch, staring at the fire, his eyes glazed.

He felt a rush of relief at the sight of his friend. Just knowing he was okay—or at least there—was enough to soothe the thing gnawing at him at least a little. He made a move to run towards Ron but paused. He should probably talk to Hermione first. She could let him know if he’d rather be left alone. The last thing Harry wanted to was upset Ron further

“Well, there is one bit of good news.” She said softly as he arrived.

“What’s that?” Harry asked, wanting nothing more.

She pointed out the window.

He came to her side and looked out. Hagrid’s hut had smoke billowing out of the top.

“Hagrid’s back.” She gave a weak smile.

Whaddya know? That was good news.

“We should go see him.” He smiled back with the same weakened quality.

“Definitely.”

His smile slowly faded as he looked back at Ron.

“Have you tried talking to Ron yet?”

She looked over at Ron too, and nodded. “He…he doesn’t seem to feel like talking.” She mentioned softly. She looked at her hands and started fidgeting. “Percy hasn’t left his room. …And we-we don’t know where the twins are.”

The thing in his stomach writhed and churned.

“Do you think it’s a bad idea to try to talk to Ron?”

She shrugged. “He might be more likely to talk to you than me.”

He nodded, and made his way over and sat on the carpet beside Ron.

“Hagrid’s back.” He offered softly.

Ron didn’t say anything.

“Hermoine and I are thinking maybe we could go see him later. We thought you could come too.”

“Mm.” Ron grunted.

Harry, seeing that Hermoine had assessed the situation rather well, turned his attention to the fire. For a while he just sat there and didn’t say anything, unable to bring himself to leave his friend’s side.

“You-You wanna come down to breakfast with us?” Hermoine asked softly after a while.

“Not hungry.” Ron finally spoke, though his voice was distant.

Hermoine looked at Harry and bit her lip, clearly unsure how to proceed.

“Why don’t you go down to breakfast, Hermoine?” Harry offered. “Bring me back some sausages or something.”

Hermoine opened her mouth, likely about to say she’d rather stay, but nodded.

“Sure you don’t want anything, Ron?” She asked as if pleading with him to get up and go with her.

He didn’t reply. Hermoine looked at Harry. Harry tried to give her a reassuring, I’ll-hold-down-the-fort, look, but he wasn’t sure he accomplished it, as she looked nervous, and a little hurt as she turned to leave.

For a while Harry just sat with Ron in silence. Harry knew it was best to wait for him to speak; prodding him with questions, or else annoying him with answers, wouldn’t make him feel better. He knew from experience. So they sat in silence, the common room slowly draining of activity as the other Gryffindor’s went down to breakfast.

“You know,” Ron said a few minutes after everyone had left. “There…There was this one time when some neighbor kids…they bullied her.”

Ron didn’t say who, but Harry knew immediately.

“She came home crying. The next day we—Bill, and Charlie, Fred and George and me, I mean—were out for blood. I don’t know what we would have done to them, but it wouldn’t have been pretty. But…when we got there one was sitting there holding his bloody nose, and the other one ran away screaming when we arrived, smelling faintly of urine. And there was Ginny,” a smile crept onto his face, along with tears to his eyes, “standing there with her hands behind her back, not crying or anything.” The smile broadened. “Turns out Ginny had punched him. Mom was furious. Said we’d filled her head with violence. We’d never been so proud.

“She had the sweetest laugh.” Ron murmured. “Fred and George would would tease her and prank her. Sometimes she’d get upset, but she’d always shake it off. A few times she even pranked them back. One time they had an all out glitter war. Wish you could’ve been there. My underpants sparkled for weeks.

“…You know sometimes I think she was gutsier than all of us combined.”

He paused a moment, his smile sloughing off his face, his eyes traveling somewhere far from here.

“I can’t believe I’ll never hear that laugh again. Funny how that is. I never noticed how pretty it was before.”

“She sent me one of those valentines this year, you know.” Harry swallowed. “I thought it was silly at the time but now…” Harry bit his lip.

“Now you can’t stop replaying it in your head.” Ron’s words were cracking.

Hermione came back a little while later with breakfast—enough for Ron, even though he said he wasn’t hungry—citing that she tried to pick the best sausages she could find, and that she couldn’t remember what kind of jam that they liked on their toast, so she just grabbed them all.

When the topic of going to see Hagrid came up again, there was no debate, and barely any conversation. They were walking across the grounds to Hagrid’s hut before they could put much thought into any other options.

The sight of Hagrid’s face was like aloe on an intense sunburn, and they could almost convince themselves his hug squeezed all the sadness out of them. They asked how Hagrid was doing—he said he was a little worse for wear, but they couldn’t keep him away for too long—and tried to avoid any dangerous topics. When they walked back up the grounds, they did so feeling a little lighter, like the day might be a little brighter from here on out.

They were barely back inside the castle when a voice behind them severed that notion:

“Potter.”

Harry nearly jumped at the sound of Snape’s voice, not to mention the image of him materializing from the corner like a bat.

“The Headmaster wants to see you.”

Harry looked at Ron and Hermione, and they gave him looks that were fearful, sympathetic, and curious all at the same time.

Harry knew he couldn’t refuse, and also wanted to know what Dumbledore wanted to talk to him about, and if it was about Tom, so allowed himself to be escorted to the office. He could get there just fine by himself, but it seemed Snape thought if he didn’t watch him he’d just run off.

Snape was silent the entire time, but when they arrived, he spoke rather harshly:

“Let me make clear that I am not thrilled about this either.”

And with that ominous proclamation, he shut the door.

*****

Harry sat there, sure time had stopped moving. The clock on the wall had stopped ticking. His body had been doused in ice. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Could barely breathe.

The whole summer with Snape. The whole summer with Snape. The whole summer living with Snape. Not just having lessons with him—two hours summoned straight from hell, as far as he was concerned—but actually living with him, in the same house, occupying the same space, at every hour.

Harry dreaded the summer, hated going back to the Dursleys for any amount of time, and two months always seemed like a lifetime. Last year he’d sat at the window dreaming of what it would be like to stay with one of his own kind. At this prospect, however, he thought he’d rather live with the Durselys for the entire year than spend even a week in the same house with Snape.

After what had clearly been a longer-than-natural amount of silence Harry asked feebly.

“But…” The words sputtered on his lips. “But-But why?”

“If we are going to make any strides at reforming the young Tom Riddle,” Dumbledore explained, “in addition to confirming he does not intend to make the mistakes of his predecessor, we must help him relearn magic over the summer. It is imperative that we have someone watching him at all times as well. He needs to stay with someone who is trustworthy. Who will not hesitate to act if he shows any signs of returning to his old ways. I thought professor Snape would be uniquely suitable for this job.”

Whatever Dumbledore said Harry didn’t think Snape was trustworthy, or suitable to teach kids of any age. Though he wouldn’t say the image of Tom hanging upside down getting an incorrect answer was unappealing. Still Snape would probably grow to favor him like he did Malfoy. Which brought him to his main concern.

“I understand that, Sir, but what I was wondering is why I have to live with him too?”

“As Voldemort has now returned in such a form, the rules for your summer arrangements may have changed a bit, don’t you think?”

Harry blinked. “You mean about me needing to stay with my aunt and uncle? That’s great! Then why can’t I stay with Ron?! Or…Or you?!” he gestured to Dumbledore. The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

Dumbledore smiled pleasantly. “I am flattered you would be interested in living with me, Harry. But, on that account, I find it would be much more advantageous if you and the young Tom Riddle were to become…” He paused a moment, clearly being careful about choosing his words. “friends. Or something approximating the like.”

The word surged and burned down from his ears down through his blood, curling his hands into fists.

“Friends?!” Harry shot up, the chair groaning against the floor. “You want me to become friends with the guy who murdered my parents?!”

“I know I am asking a great much of you, Harry,” Dumbledore said calmly. “And if you think I am asking too much of you, I will understand, and attempt to discern another way to go about this situation. But please try to look at the big picture. For one thing, we would like to try our best to keep the identity of Tom Riddle between you, myself, and professor Snape—as well as a certain number of portraits and ghosts.” He gestured to the portraits, who crossed their arms and glared at him. “It would be rather telling if, well…” He paused again. “Forgive me, but your attitude towards him is not overabundant with kindness.”

Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He was being asked to live with both the teacher he hated most in this school, and the young version of the literal Lord Voldemort, and it was all because of that very hatred. Because Dumbledore thought living with them would make him hate them less, as opposed to the answer Harry thought much more likely: that they would all come out of this hating each other a hundred times more.

“Kids hate each other all the time! I hardly think that’s something that needs a drastic remedy! You told him yourself he was a bully—it would be weirder if I wasn’t glaring hatefully at him! Why is this any different?!”

“You yourself know full well why it’s different.” Dumbledore never ceased his calm, cool tones. “This isn’t just any childish rivalry, nor do I think things will remain that way, if they continue on as they are.”

“Again! Why would you ask me to—?!”

“Because hatred of this brand corrupts even the purest of souls. It is one thing that everyone is capable of falling prey to. Kind people would never think of torturing or killing innocents, but hate, well…there is always evil in the world. And kind people struggle with the presence of this evil most of all. It is the mark of a good soul to be appalled by evil. However, we cannot allow that evil to infect our own souls with hate, lest we become like the very thing we are fighting so hard against.”

Harry swallowed. Whatever Dumbledore said, he didn’t much care if his soul was ‘infected by hatred’ as it were.

“If we intend to allow the young Tom Riddle to live,” Dumbledore continued, “I cannot in good faith allow things to go on this way. If you continue to hate him as much as I see you do now…it is my belief that you will certainly become the rivals you were always destined to be—or perhaps I should say, you once were.”

“What’s wrong with that? Why shouldn’t we be?! Why are you defending Voldemort?!”

“But he is not Voldemort. Remember Harry,” Dumbledore walked around the desk to stand in front of Harry. “At this moment the boy in the hospital wing is not, in fact, the man who murdered your parents. He is not the man who tortured so many. He is not the evil warlord, twisted by his own depraved experiments. I am not asking you to become friends with that man, nor would I advise it. However, he is a boy who might become the man who murdered your parents, if he falls upon the wrong path again. That is to say, if we fail to lead him down the proper path. I am asking you to try to become friends with boy he was before he became a killer. That boy right now is merely a boy like you. One who is, yes, a bit cold and self-serving, a bit too cunning and clever for his own good, but—though he will not admit it—who is also unfathomably lonely. That it why it is so crucial that we do our best to give him the proper guidance and support he so desperately needs. Just think about it. I won’t force you. But please note that your presence in his life may be the distinction between success and failure.

Harry slumped back in his chair. “You’re placing an awful lot of pressure on me, Sir. What makes you think you can lead him down the right path?”

“Oh I don’t have any delusions about leading him down the right path myself. As I’ve said, I think you, Harry, can lead him down the right path. And, most likely…only you can.”

“Why me?”

“Professor Snape can teach him magic, can try to discern the workings of his mind and if he intends to return to his old ways, but Tom Riddle has never been one persuaded to change by authority. On the contrary, he is prone to manipulate authority to his will rather as much as his peers—a trait, I imagine he will likely pick back up quickly. Hence why I have specifically chosen Professor Snape for this task. He is particularly resistant to flattery and the like. I would do it myself but something tells me his past hatred of me is not so easily forgotten. But as for someone who can be a more positive influence, rather than a disciplinary one, I think you would fit that role rather well.”

“If he doesn’t listen to you, why would he listen to me?! Did he ever listen to his classmates—let alone someone younger than him?!”

“When Tom was at school yes, he was surrounded by obedient followers who would not hesitate to throw themselves headfirst into danger for him. But Harry I believe you are uniquely suited to such a task, in no small part because you are aware of his past sins—or perhaps we should say, his future sins. Your awareness of what he is capable of, in tandem with your kind, resilient spirit makes you particularly adapted to helping lost souls such as Tom, and guiding them back to the light.”

“But this isn’t some lost soul! This is Voldemort we’re talking about! You really think someone like that is capable change?! Of compassion?! Of-Of anything?!”

“It is precisely because this is Voldemort that it is imperative we try. What would you prefer? That we stand idly by and watch him become the same man he was, without even attempting to reform him? We have a unique opportunity to rewrite history, to try again. I find opportunities of this nature do not come around twice.”

“We…” Harry paused. Swallowed. Not sure he should say what he was thinking. “We could…We could…get rid of him…Then the threat would be over…”

“Oh? But didn’t you yourself make the decision not to kill him in the Chamber, even when you believed he was still Voldemort? And have I not already told you my thoughts on the that decision? I, for one, am very grateful you didn’t. If you did, we wouldn’t have the opportunity we have now. Besides, we need not split young souls such as yours with such acts. Would it not make us uncomfortably similar to Voldemort if we decided to kill a defenseless boy without memory?”

Harry sighed. He was feeling less and less grateful for his decision by the day.

“I know it is a great burden I am placing on you.” Dumbledore added. “But it is also the greatest compliment I can give: that I have full faith that you could reform even the darkest of souls.”

Something in Harry wore out. His words were soft: “He killed Ginny.”

Dumbledore blinked up at him.

“I am not entirely certain that he did.”

He jerked up his head. “What?”

“Lord Voldemort, unlike with most other incidents, didn’t use the killing curse upon her. Instead, he used a very unique method to return to the land of the living, one that required a young girl’s life.”

“Exactly! That’s what killed her!”

“Do you understand what I’m saying? It required her life. Voldemort would have assumed this meant that her life was used up in the process, but what if it wasn’t? What if her soul was not destroyed, but transferred?”

“Transferred?” Realization hit him as soon as he asked the question, and horror twisted in Harry’s gut. “Y-You’re telling me that Ginny’s soul is inside—?!”

“It is my theory at least.” Dumbledore spoke as if they were discussing what to have for lunch. He folded his arms in front of him. “Whether it is fact, or nothing more than an educated hypothesis, only more research will yield the answers.”

Harry sat on the edge of his seat, thinking hard.

Ginny might still be alive. Her soul at least. Alive but trapped in the body of Tom Riddle. Hope and horror enacted a bloody duel in Harry’s gut.

“Do-Do you think we could save her, Sir? Get her out, I mean.”

Dumbledore sighed. “I am not certain but, considering as her body is already—”

“What if we could preserve her body?!” He stood up. “You know, make it so, if we could just get her soul out then…”

Dumbledore looked down, running his hand over his beard. “I hadn’t considered that.”

“Then maybe—maybe we could return her soul to her body!” He began pacing. “She could go back to living with her family! She’d be—”

Dumbledore held up a hand to stop him.

“It is a …possibility, but a possibility nonetheless. We must remember that this is nothing but a theory in the first place, and the prospect of preserving her body on the slim hope that we might be able to retrieve her soul from his body—if it is even there in the first place—would be rather a lot to put her family through.”

Harry was barely listening, his brain moving a thousand miles an hour. “We just need to find a way to get her soul out! There must be some way! Then everything can go back to normal!”

Dumbledore paused. “Before we make any decisions, I am wondering if perhaps we ought to consider another route as well.”

“What’s that?”

“Being unsure if we will be able to salvage her soul from its current state, I’ve been considering the possibility that the presence of her soul within Tom would grant him a level of compassion he has not previously exhibited. This is something which I have already seen exhibited during our previous conversation with him. While I am unsure we can return her soul to her body, this is something that, if my theory is true, is already in place. It is one of the reasons why I believe we might be able to reform him.”

Harry allowed himself to consider this a moment. The presence of Ginny’s soul within Tom…In some ways it was more appealing than simply viewing Tom as Voldemort, still, he didn’t much care for the thought of her trapped within the body of his parent’s murderer. It felt gross and wrong.

“I also must say that, due to her life being the thing that allowed him to return to life, I am unsure we could remove her soul without killing him.”

Harry wasn’t sure that was such an unwanted side effect.

Ginny was still alive. That changed everything. The prospect of living with either Snape or Tom made him feel sick. But both? He’d likely be needing a barf bag. However, at this prospect he felt a little more up to the challenge.

So he agreed to live with them over the summer, not to reform Tom, but to save Ginny.

*****

Considering it was the Leaving Feast, and he hadn’t done a very good job of eating well the past few days, Harry decided it was time to have dinner in the great hall. Ron could only say no to his stomach for so long, so he came with them.

When he entered the room his stomach sank. Last year the room was decorated with the colors of the house that won the Quidditch cup, but today they black, he knew why.

He found his place at the Gryffindor table and tried to ignore the questions fluttering around about the color of the banners.

He also tried to ignore the heat he felt as his back. It was as if he was being watched, but not just that, it was as if whoever was watching him could shoot laser beams out of their eyes. He was pretty sure he knew who it was, and sure enough, as he turned around he found it was coming off the potions master. He didn’t think it was possible, but Snape’s usual distaste had amplified tenfold.

He turned back to his food and tried not to exhibit that same distaste.

What he didn’t ignore was the sight of Percy and the twins at the table. Percy’s eyes looked just as veiled as Ron’s had, and he looked a bit green. When Fred saw Harry, he gave him a small nod, as if thanking him for his service, and George put his arm around Ron—something Harry had rarely, if ever, seen him do—and Harry tried not to feel worse.

After they’d finished dinner Dumbledore walked up to give his end-of-year speech, he said a few of the things Harry remembered him mentioning last year, then proceeded:

“This feast is a time for both celebration and loss this year.” He folded his hands in front of him.

“This year has been a strange one for Hogwarts. Throughout it many of you have no doubt heard the rumor that the Chamber of Secrets had been opened, as well as seen the strange messages and incidents that gave credence to this rumor.

“Well I will inform you, if it is not already clear, that the rumor is indeed true. The Chamber had been opened. And I thank whatever higher power might be out there that, for the most part, petrification was the only real consequence.

“I am even more thankful to inform you at this time, that the threat has ended.”

There was a general consensus about the room that this was a good thing, though the celebration was tinged with curiosity at what had happened.

“We can thank none other than Harry Potter for this.” He gestured to Harry, and too many heads turned for Harry’s comfort. “With the help of his friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger”—Ron tried to make himself look small, and Hermione waved awkwardly—“they were able to discern the mystery of the Chamber of Secrets, and defeat its monster. The Chamber will bring no more harm to any of you.”

More cheers and clinking of glasses.

“However, as some of you may have heard by now, that victory came at a great cost. Harry arrived as fast as he could, and fought his hardest, but—through no fault of his own—our dear Ginny Weasley, who had been taken by the heir of Slytherin into the Chamber itself tragically…” He paused now, taking a deep breath. “lost her life.”

The room was simultaneously spiked with loud gasps, exclamations and cries, and hushed as if a dampener had been placed over it.

“Those of you who knew her know she was fiery, brave, kind, and compassionate, possessing these and many other qualities that embody Gryffindor. We have lost a wonderful girl, who could have, in time, become a great woman.”

Harry bit his lip, looking down, trying not to let those words make his mind wander. He felt a squeeze at his hand and turned to see Hermione, holding his hand, as well as Ron’s, turning to each of them sympathetically. Ron was staring at the table.

“The heir of Slytherin had been working through her by virtue of a diary. Seemingly innocuous, she did not realize this diary was in actuality an object of extraordinary dark power.”

Anger rose in Harry’s gut when he thought of the boy in the he himself had seen in the diary, the one who had framed Hagrid, and lured Ginny in with that famous flattery Dumbledore mentioned earlier. He hoped he wasn’t listening now.

“Harry did everything in his power to keep her alive, and risked his own life several times over the course of the night, but in the end…” He trailed off. They all knew what it meant.

I couldn’t save her.

“Slytherin’s monster is no more, and the diary through which the heir of Slytherin worked has been destroyed. But Ginny Weasley’s memory lives on. Her body will not—as the writing on the wall so crudely and cruelly proclaimed—lie in the Chamber forever. Her body will return home with her parents to receive a proper burial.”

“Ron, you’re hurting me,” Hermione whispered, and Harry turned to see Ron relax his grip on her hand a little.

“A spirit like hers is not one so easily lost. Those of you who knew Ginny, do not let the pain of this incident cause her soul to fade from memory. Let her sprit live on in your hearts. Let the part of her that lives on in each of you guide you in your darkest moments.”

At this Harry wondered if Tom was indeed there, and the words were intended for him specifically. Though, when he looked around, he didn’t see him anywhere.

“I ask you not to pester the Weasleys, nor Harry, too much with questions about this incident. They have been through a lot and should be allowed to grieve in peace.”

At the painful, distant looks from each of the Weasleys present Harry wished more than anything he could tell them the truth of the situation, that Ginny was still alive it was just…a little more complicated than that. That he was going to everything in his power to save her. Yet he could do nothing but sit there silently, feeling sick.

And after a few more closing words, he left them all with the silence in the room, tragedy hanging over all their heads like the black curtains draped across the room.

*****

It was with a heart heavy as coal, a lump in his throat that hadn’t left since the feast, and the gnawing pit in his stomach that Harry packed up his things that day. He’d be going to the Dursleys first, still, but just knowing that he wouldn’t be able to talk to Ron, to make sure he was okay, and that he’d be living with Snape very soon didn’t make him at all eager to leave—not that he would be anyways.

He was then reminded of another boy who once wanted to stay at Hogwarts over the summer, and internally smacked himself for thinking that way.

It was a quiet ride on the train, too quiet. Even Fred and George, who usually never stopped cracking jokes, had developed an interest in their own shoelaces. Hermione tried to cheer everyone up by suggesting they practice disarming spells. They did so without much real heart--though Harry found he was getting rather good at them, even so. Still trying their best to enjoy what few moments of magic they had left, they then played Exploding Snap, and lit off the rest of Fred and George’s Filibuster fireworks. All of these things helped distract them at least a little, but nothing could fill the emptiness that threatened to swallow them, the emptiness that spawned from the seat where Ginny was supposed to be.

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firewoodfigs · 5 years ago

Text

morning toasts and thunderstorms

read on ao3 | for @royaiweek day 4, crackle - thank you mods for all the hard work so far 💕

Summary: Mister Mustang has a gift or two for Miss Hawkeye.

[a/n: (i) whatever Roy is reading is taken directly from Issac Hollandus’ Complete Alchemical Writings, Part 1. (ii) this was supposed to be a future chapter of a slow unravelling, but I have terrible project management skills xD (iii) for @havocsss - more young!royai for you! <3]

~x~

“Man should not use the Art except for the salvation of his soul… Only then can he be given the secret signs of the philosophers of sages…” Roy Mustang chanted under his breath while pacing around the room.

He never thought he would live to see the day where he would actually find alchemy boring. Learning would have been easier if he had someone to quiz him on the content, but in the short span of his apprenticeship he had already come to understand that Miss Hawkeye was - well, to put it nicely, a hermit.

He'd tried, tried his valiant best to talk to her - about anything, really. School, her hobbies, her likes and dislikes… At some point he’d gotten so desperate for human interaction, he even tried to talk to her about the weather. The weather, for goodness sake!

Even thinking about it made him feel pathetic. Miss Hawkeye had simply stared at him blankly before returning to her room, door tightly shut and locked to ward off any potential evil like…

He was probably a menace in her eyes, so he supposed it would be him.

For the most part, therefore, Roy wisely refrained from disturbing her peaceful solitude. She was content to be left alone to her own devices, and he was inclined to think that his time could have been spent a lot more productively instead of embarrassing himself further in front of his master’s daughter.

But on lonely, chilly nights like these where the crackling of the fireplace was his only companion, Roy found himself missing his sisters and aunt terribly. Though they were a rambunctious, rowdy bunch - the living antithesis to Miss Hawkeye - they at least made for good company.

Roy sighed before flipping the dusty tome open once again. “Sulphur indicates fire… it is the earth and beginning of all metals. It is the female who brings forth the fruit. For no seed can grow unless it be first thrown into fertile soil, then beautiful fruit will come from it.”

Did fruits have any correlation to alchemy? Surely Master Hawkeye must have known better than to ask him to get through a pile of impertinent information…

“And when a pure is joined to a pure... it brings forth pure fruit. Thus, they are man and woman, fire and water... ” To his hormonal thirteen-year-old brain the underlying implication was as clear as day. Heat began to rush to his cheeks as he read it out loud -

- which, of course, was the precise moment Miss Hawkeye chose to walk in.

Roy jumped, startled by the sudden intrusion before quickly snapping the book shut. “Good evening, Miss Hawkeye…” his voice trailed off, unsure if he was encroaching on her personal space.

Miss Hawkeye didn’t respond. Instead, she continued to turn on the spot, head darting from side to side as she paced around frantically. From her distress it seemed like she had misplaced something important. Normally, her footsteps were so quiet that he would miss her whenever she came down to pour herself a glass of water, but this time he could definitely hear them over the fire’s crackle.

Ignoring the possible humiliation that might ensue, Roy tried again, stepping closer towards her this time. “Are you okay, Miss Hawkeye? Did you lose something?” As tense as she usually was, he’d never seen her so anxious, and he was beginning to worry for the younger girl.

Miss Hawkeye finally turned to acknowledge his presence. Well, look - we’re making some progress here!

“My…” she stuttered, as if hesitant to divulge any information to him. He waited encouragingly. “My necklace. It’s gone.”

Roy’s palms were open in earnest, in an attempt to convince her that he meant no harm. “I can help. What does it look like?”

“It’s a little medallion on a silver chain,” she answered vaguely. He nodded before inching closer to her, following her around quietly as she continued her search while keeping an eye out for anything that glimmered in the dark.

“Do you know where you might have dropped it?” Roy asked.

“I… I’m not sure. I’ve been searching all over the house since before dinnertime, but I haven’t seen it anywhere,” she answered.

“Maybe you left it in school?”

“I might have,” she mumbled. Miss Hawkeye was very upset, he realised, upon examining her face now well-illuminated by the small fire burning in the hearth.

Briefly, he wondered if she was going to cry.

“If so, then we’ll look for it tomorrow,” he said, offering her a reassuring smile.

“No, I have to find it now,” she countered, pitch rising subtly in irritation. Roy blinked at her in confusion, wondering if she was going to rush into her school compound at this ungodly hour alone to search for it.

The stubborn glint in her eyes told him that she had every intention of doing so. Under other circumstances he might have applauded her bravery, but in all honesty it was rather absurd for a girl her age to do such a thing. Why - Aunt Chris would have skinned him alive if he let Vanessa even so much as roam the streets of Central alone at midnight!

Unfortunately, Miss Hawkeye’s desire to do so was interrupted by the loud, ominous crackle of thunder that signalled the onslaught of an impending storm. She jumped slightly at the sound, before swallowing hard at the realisation that she couldn’t return to school now to look for it.

“We’ll look for it tomorrow, alright? You’ll get it back, I promise.” Roy raised two fingers up like he was making a vow and looked at her solemnly, hoping to convince her to put a little faith in him.

She stared into his obsidian eyes, as if searching for any hint of a lie, and nodded begrudgingly when she was finally convinced that there were none. Miss Hawkeye was willing to believe him - for now, at least - and muttered a soft thanks before turning on her heels to return back to her room.

Roy, on the other hand, sank back into the couch, determined to at least scrape through the endless material that he’d been given, although her forlorn expression never quite left his mind.

He shook his head, burying himself again in his books if only to pass the time.

It turned out to be a massive downpour, but two hours later the skies finally calmed down and the rain subsided. Roy let out a satisfied smile at his progress, having completed a chapter before the rain stopped. Rubbing his eyes to rid them of any fatigue, he stood up and began to tiptoe quietly towards the door after getting his coat and a lantern that would be his guide in his hunt for Miss Hawkeye’s necklace.

~x~

Roy was beginning to wonder if he was cursed with a penchant for bad ideas. The walk to Miss Hawkeye’s school had left his shoes completely soaked with damp, muddy soil and broken twigs, and every step he took was accompanied by a disconcerting squelch that left him terribly uncomfortable. The darkness that settled also painted the school in a particularly eerie light.

But of course, he wasn’t afraid. Scientists like him didn’t believe in the existence of supernatural beings like ghosts. After all, ghosts were but villains in children’s fairy tales designed to scare them…

… Right?

(If Roy was being completely honest with himself, he would have admitted that the weather-beaten compound bore an uncanny resemblance to a haunted mansion.)

He gulped. Nonetheless, he was adamant that ghosts were but silly, non-existent and utterly unscientific objects. Whatever the naked eye can’t see doesn’t exist!

The memory of Miss Hawkeye’s melancholic expression chose to resurface at that point, and it was all the motivation he needed to continue trudging on. This was a chance for him to earn her trust and prove that he really just wanted to be her friend, not some weird freak obsessed with alchemy without any capacity for normalcy.

Roy might have been an idiot in many senses of the word, but he wasn’t that foolish to pass up on an opportunity like that.

With that in mind, he climbed up the iron gate with renewed conviction. His slippery soles made this task considerably difficult, but he was indisposed to give up on something that he had already set his mind on. Resting a foot conveniently on a ledge, he let his weight settle there for a bit before hauling himself up with all the strength his scrawny body possessed and jumped across.

Roy grinned triumphantly as he landed safely in one piece before commencing his search. He started with surveying the classrooms, overturning the numerous old boxes and other junk stacked up against the walls; every nook and cranny for a chain to have fallen into and gotten lost, the very epitome of a persistent boy who refused to give up. He was unfazed even as he crawled underneath the tables to search for the tiniest sparkle, the familiar glimmer of jewelry…

And finally, his quest for Miss Hawkeye’s necklace bore fruit.

“Aha!” he cried out to himself when he chanced upon a broken chain with a shiny medallion in the centre. Quite a pretty necklace, actually. He could make out her initials carved onto the front, though the inscription on the back was far too small for his eyes to make out in the dark.

His joy, however, was cut short when another crackle sounded off in the distance.

“Oh dear, I sure hope it doesn’t start pouring again,” Roy muttered under his breath, before tucking the necklace securely into his pocket and dashing out of the classroom. This time, it was a lot easier to climb over the gate, but by the time he landed on the other side it had begun to drizzle, and so he lifted his coat over his head before making a run for it.

In the end, the protection his coat offered was but inconsequential. By the time he was midway through his journey back another downpour had begun, and he could only hope that his feet would be fast enough to escape any lightning that might strike him dead and leave Miss Hawkeye without her beloved necklace.

When Roy finally arrived back at the mansion he was thoroughly soaked from head to toe, but he was at the very least grateful that he managed to evade death by electrocution. Stepping in and closing the door quietly so as to not wake any of the Hawkeyes, he made his way to the bathroom in quick, long strides, hoping to take a warm shower to quell the shivers now wracking through his weedy frame.

~x~

It didn’t take a genius to figure out why the chain had broken off. From the looks of it, it was way too long for someone of her stature, and the added stress on it as she paced around the house daliy to complete her chores fastidiously certainly contributed to its fragility as well.

Roy found himself suddenly feeling very grateful for his sisters. For while they could be utter nuisances who never failed to ridicule his love for alchemy on a daily basis, they’d always badgered him with silly requests to transmute accessories for them from random bits of metals and ores.

He thought it was one of the most useless purposes of alchemy, but now he was glad. It turned out to be very useful as he drew an alchemical array on his desk and placed the broken necklace on top with practiced ease, adjusting the chain a little so that it was shorter and more comfortable for Miss Hawkeye.

He let out a muffled sneeze into his arm before clapping his hands together. With a familiar crackle, an almost-magical blue light the necklace was restored back to its original state soon enough - perhaps even better than before, he thought to himself with a little bit of pride as he admired the gleaming silver under the candle’s comforting light.

With the shortened chain, though, there had been a bit of extra metal left behind, and he was in a bit of a dilemma as to what to do with it. Vanessa would probably know best, but she wasn’t around, and calling her at one in the morning to ask for help over something as trivial, as asinine as this would only guarantee him a slow, painful death.

Roy stared at the remnants of Miss Hawkeye’s necklace contemplatively for a long, hard moment before a brilliant idea dawned upon him.

Earrings.

Trinkets like necklaces and bracelets were prone to being lost and forgotten, if the many necklaces and bracelets lying around his Aunt’s tavern after an exhausting day of work was any indication. Earrings, on the other hand, were a lot less susceptible to such incidents since they would remain firmly embedded in a person’s earlobes. Like the ones Aunt Chris wore.

With that in mind he set out to make a pair of matching earrings that would hopefully bring a smile to her sullen countenance. The transmutation circle crackled again, and - voila! Roy mentally applauded himself for his ingenuity as he admired the silver studs in front of him.

It was simple, nothing extravagant, but he thought the simplicity suited Miss Hawkeye since she didn’t seem to incline towards anything particularly ostentatious. For starters, she seemed to be in the habit of recycling her clothes, and they were generally plain and practical (something that would have probably left Vanessa aghast at the mere thought of it).

It would be a fitting match for her, no doubt.

Roy allowed himself one last grin of approval at his handiwork before finally drifting off into a satisfied slumber.

~x~

“You look… tired,” Riza remarked casually the next morning over breakfast as she took note of the lethargic manner in which he bit into his toast. Initially, she thought it might have been because she did a bad job at preparing breakfast, but her toast was fine. Impeccable, even. One of her better accomplishments in the kitchen.

Roy sipped at his tea drearily. “Wha-what? No, I’m fine,” he mumbled, before attempting to shove the toast into his mouth with greater gusto. It was a poor mimicry of how he normally devoured his food, but it seemed to placate Miss Hawkeye a little, at least.

Casting a quick glance at her, he realised that she still looked rather jittery. Miss Hawkeye couldn’t stop jiggling her knees while frowning at her toast like it’d committed a heinous crime, and Roy wondered if she was still worrying about her missing necklace.

“Thank you for the lovely breakfast, Miss Hawkeye,” he said sincerely, hoping to distract her a little while stuffing the final bit of toast into his mouth. He leaned back into the chair to stretch his arms, preparing himself for the day ahead and to give her his gift.

Truthfully, the latter was quite the daunting task because he didn’t know what to expect. Would she punch him, thank him, or bury him six feet under for even daring to search for her necklace of his own accord?

She merely nodded at him before rising to clear the plates, though he rose immediately to halt her actions. “I can do it, Miss Hawkeye. It’s no problem at all,” he sputtered before positioning himself in front of her.

It was now or never.

“Um, I have a present for you,” he stammered, reaching into his pocket to show her the reason behind his dark circles and intermittent sniffles.

Roy hoped desperately that he wasn’t coming down with a cold. He still had plenty of work to catch up on, and he doubted that Miss Hawkeye would take to him sneezing in her face kindly.

She let out a muted gasp upon noticing the familiar silver gleam. “You… how did you get it?”

The accusatory edge in her voice wasn’t lost on Roy. He wanted to sigh in exasperation, frustration - here he was, doing something nice for a girl who glowered at him on a daily basis, treated him like he was a curse to humanity…

Nonetheless, he reined in those feelings quickly. It was probably more urgent to correct any misconceptions that Miss Hawkeye might have first, lest she thought he stole it from her or something. “I… uh, I found it in your school yesterday,” he mumbled under his breath.

“You… went to my school?” She stared at him incredulously.

Roy nodded. He could feel the embarrassment springing in his chest, making its unwelcome appearance on his pale features. “I managed to fix it - I think you might’ve dropped it because the chain broke,” he held it up, as if to demonstrate his craftsmanship. The chain was shiny and pristine and brand new under the welcoming, fulgent rays of the morning sunlight creeping in through the lilac portieres.

All in a day’s work!

“Here you go.” Roy inched forward to put it on for her, reaching over her shoulders to clasp the necklace securely in place. It nestled in the hollows of her neck peacefully. Upon observing that the modified length was better fitted for her petite size, as he’d predicted, Roy couldn’t resist the urge to let out a pleased smile.

She said nothing. He raised his arms slightly in defense as he stepped back, but she made no move to hit or strangle him. Instead, Miss Hawkeye only fingered the medallion reverently with bright eyes - oh God, please don’t cry - as if to reassure herself that it was indeed real.

Taking this as a sign to continue, he dug out the earrings he’d made the night before, allowing them to rest on his outstretched, sweaty palms.

Roy inhaled before launching into a senseless rant. “I, well. I shortened your chain a little because it looked like it was too long for you, and there was some leftover metal, so I made you a pair of earrings. I don’t know if you have piercings, but I thought they would match your necklace well, and also they’re less prone to being lost or misplaced or stolen…”

Miss Hawkeye interrupted his nervous rambling with an extended hand of her own, reaching out to pick up the pair of studs. “Thank you,” she murmured indistinctly, before making a move to leave for school, bag slung over her shoulder as the slightest hint of a blush began to grace her cheeks.

“You’re welcome,” Roy replied, suddenly feeling very awkward himself. Did she like his present, or did she think he’d crossed some invisible boundary by taking the liberty to make a pair of earrings with the remainders of her chain?

Roy stared into his reflection in his cup of tea, wondering if all that effort had been for naught. With a despondent sigh, he began to clear the plates, snivelling and rubbing his nose with his sleeve as he scrubbed at the crockery idly.

Little did he know that Miss Hawkeye had fastened the studs securely onto her earlobes as soon as she was out of the door, and from that day forward she wore them every single day without fail.

#royaiweek20 #royai fic #young royai #royai #HAPPY ROYAI DAY #read till the end for a surprise :')

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spookyspaghettisundae · 4 years ago

Text

One More Round

Tiny explosions cracked and clapped, thundering about and piercing the air. Flurries of snow cascaded down from the dreary sky, flaring up time and time again by bursts of colorful light.

The clock had yet to reach midnight and these goofballs were already letting their fireworks rip too early to celebrate the advent of a new year. Idiots, Holly thought with a sneer. A facial expression that made her wince, delivering the sting of a cracked lip and bloodied nose from the drunken brawl she had gotten into and gotten herself thrown out of a bar over.

Spiting the pain with sheer grit, she shrugged off whatever the multiple blows to her body had left her with and grinned to herself. Holly buried her fists in her jacket pockets and wandered about the deserted boardwalk. A little cloud of condensed air formed in front of her as she sighed.

A small tent that looked like it had come straight out of some carnival freakshow stood at the end of the pier. Soft crimson light poured out from the crack in between curtains covering the entrance to that odd tent. Written in patchy white chalk upon a small blackboard in front of the tent, the sign’s sloppy writing caught Holly’s attention.

She walked up to it and read the words written there:

FORTUNE TELLER

Discover Your Future $10

Her head still swam on a sea of booze-fueled stupor and a cocktail of dried-up adrenaline and endorphins that had followed her experience of decking some jerk in the bar fight.

And boy oh boy, she thought, had she decked him good. Probably cost him some teeth.

She dug around in her pocket and crammed out a wad of crumpled-up dollar bills.

Flipping through them and counting the last few in audible whispers, she shrugged and entered. Her self-destructive streak had been giving her a good time that night, all things considered—looking back upon one of her worst years in life—and she could use a silly little pick-me-up in form of some kook reading tarot cards or whatever their deal was.

Holly’s eyes watered and she coughed from the stinging wooden scent of sweet incense hanging heavy in the air, waving it away with a hand in front of her as if that helped at all. She blinked a few times and took in her surroundings.

Strange paraphernalia, such as amulets of feathers and animal teeth and dream catchers and silly crystals and rabbit feet and other nonsense dangled from silver chains connected to thin beams, encircling a small round garden table with two foldable plastic chairs in front of and behind the table each.

Dirt or gravel crunched as she pulled out the nearest chair and took a seat. The weary plastic frame creaked under the weight of her body. She exhaled and savored the strange warmth captured inside the confines of the tent. But the sensations of pain flooded back over her again, coupled with the sore aching feelings left over from her extensive workout before heading out for her sad little session of solo New Year’s Eve drinking.

Just before she could dwell too much on her loneliness or how that asshole in the pub had had it coming for how he talked to her, and she gazed too long at the blood where the skin on her knuckles had split, the curtains swished. A gust of cool air swept through the tent’s interior, and a figure emerged from the shadows of the tent’s darker, deeper bowels.

An elderly lady—whose face a deep purple hood concealed—hunched over and leaning against an elaborately carved wooden cane beset with what must have been fake plastic jewels, hobbled over to the table and sat down across from Holly.

A real damn cliché, she thought to herself, looking the feeble old woman up and down.

The fortune-teller had an air of precision and routine about her, each movement studied and repeated a million times. Common for any good grifter, she figured. Holly had not even noticed when this fortune-teller hack had placed candles upon the previously naked surface of the table, but the old woman now leaned forward and lit them with a cheap-looking red plastic lighter.

“Ten thousand dreams you have, yet with the insight of a donkey they’ll do nobody any good,” the old woman croaked in a thick accent.

Russian? Holly neither knew nor care, she did not get around much. She had avoided education and learning about the world as much as she could, focusing her life’s work more on trying to flush any memories of her traumatic past down the toilet.

“You callin’ me a donkey, you old hag?” Holly asked the fortune-teller.

The old woman looked up and the growing glow of candlelight illuminated her face, shedding some light on her countenance. A roadmap of wrinkles and a hideous scar along her cheek marked a face weathered by time and sanded down by bizarre experiences. She glowered at Holly, the reflection of burning wicks dancing in her irises.

“I see you walk a path of self-imposed exile, looking to engage in pleasure that interferes with any sort of deeper introspection,” the fortune-teller replied, grimacing at Holly. “Drink, fuck, drugs, drowning yourself in a dullard’s entertainment. Yes, I’m calling you a stupid donkey.”

Holly blinked and shook her head once the space for several sentences unspoken had spread between them.

“I mean, I guess you’re not desperate for business or ten fucking dollars, you fuckin’ asshole,” Holly said after swallowing an even angrier response.

Right before she pushed herself back up in a huff, a set of gnarled and bony fingers slapped down on Holly’s hand, pinning her in place. She refrained from leaving or even budging now, taken aback by this sudden physical response. Holly’s muscles twitched—she pushed back down the urge to lash out and give this old woman a fistful of knuckles like she had bequeathed upon the serial sexual harasser from the bar earlier.

Would probably split this old hag’s skull with one straight hit.

Another gust of cold air breezed through the tent’s interior, cutting across Holly’s burning cheeks and sending a shiver down her spine. It was like she felt the creepy thing that was about to happen before it happened.

Then the old woman spoke again.

“You dream of a black palace, hidden in between the cracks of this world. A world between worlds, where an old giant sleeps and only emerges to spread his dark seed in the world and reap the souls of those who he believes commit wrong.”

The blood drained from Holly’s face and her spine tingled anew. Over the course of those two creepy sentences, she had gone from wanting to snap this woman in half, to just wanting to up and leave, to sitting in shock, frozen and yearning to hear what else she had to say.

Because the old hag was spot on.

She indeed dreamt of that black palace. The place haunted Holly in her nightmares, ever since the events of her traumatic childhood. Constant medication and therapy had led her to believe that that palace was not real. That those infinite halls were only imaginary.

“You hear its whispers; you hear his words of caution. Yet you seek to commit sin after sin, sacrificing your innocence and drinking every humiliation as it feeds your rage, hoping to return there, and finish what he started. Your blood boils at the thought of all the things he took from you, the life you never lived, and now you want to tear the walls of his black palace down.”

Holly tossed the wad of crumpled dollar bills onto the table, convinced that this fortune-teller was worth her salt. But the old lady seemed to ignore the cash.

“I’m listening,” Holly told her, the words hissing out hoarse and tortured.

The flames danced in the old woman’s eyes. Little explosions crackled outside when new fireworks erupted, likely closer to midnight than the ones earlier. Holly was frozen in place, enraptured by this old hag’s presence.

She knew. Therefore, everything she said came crashing down on Holly with the crushing weight of horrible truth. Each word sliced through the haze of drugs and alcohol and woke her up more and more, awakening her to a secret world, a hidden entity with long blackened claws that peeled away at the layers of hollow pretenses of what people dubbed reality.

This time, Holly took the old woman’s hand into her own. Shook it, silently imploring her to go on. That gnarled hand was light and lifeless, as cold as the wintry air outside. Perhaps even colder.

The old woman let her but produced something from the folds of her veiled garments with her free hand. A crinkled old Polaroid photo which she gingerly placed upon the table in between them, right beside where their hands had met.

Though time had faded the image on the simple square photo and age had yellowed the originally white rim framing it, Holly recognized the picture right away. The black palace. Marble walls streaked with white and crimson veins, engraved with incomprehensibly alien writings, they stood out in the background of the picture, obscured by fog.

She could practically taste the dust of that place. That smell rust and iron in the air, and light that came from both everywhere and nowhere. Holly remembered slipping in that puddle of pus-like white substance on those sleek, smoothly polished floors.

She remembered that huge hand, encased in blackened iron, palm open and beckoning her to wander into the light. Attached to an arm too big to fit into the picture, just out of frame, huge and ominous and dwarfing the photographer.

Although she had not seen this exact scene with her eyes, she remembered sitting on the lap of that giant, that reaper, that monstrosity that dwelled in the world in between worlds, drinking in a dark destiny before it released her into the shambles of her rotten life.

“You can return there now, if you dare,” said the old hag.

Holly’s lip quivered, anticipating the words she wanted to utter without hesitation yet held back only by a budding seed of dread.

“Yes,” Holly whispered in reply, though inside she yelled it out for every world to hear.

“You can pursue your revenge, if that is what you wish,” the witch offered Holly.

“Yes.”

The old woman’s hand slipped out of Holly’s grip, which had gone limp with the dream-like state that had befallen her.

Her head swam again. Not in any stupor or haze of being under the influence, but the swirling cosmos of stars in her mind, the infinite sea of possibilities. And hurtling through that darkness between the stars, homing in on the brightest one, the flaring sun that shone out to her, representing her yearning to end things here and now.

The old woman stood aside and, with a sweeping gesture of her withered old arm, motioned towards the darkness between the curtains from which she had emerged to give Holly her “reading.”

The chair underneath Holly got knocked away, tumbling off the side and clattering against the worn rugs on the tent’s inner grounds, so eager was she to return to the black palace. To finish this, once and for all.

To find her own brand of peace, either way. Holly’s heart pounded with certainty, embracing the imagination of horrible deaths. Of the mental image of that skinless corpse, resting in a pile of human refuse and bodily fluids emitted only by decomposition. Of blood seeping from cut flesh—her own cut flesh. Of the giant sitting in his massive throne, commanding an innocent child to leave, lest he judge her like he had judged her parents.

“Wait,” said the fortune-teller.

Her gnarled, almost claw-like fingers rested gently on Holly’s leather-jacketed shoulder.

The old woman hastily scooped up the dollar bills and stuffed them into a well-hidden pocket upon her person. She paced back and forth as if uncertain where to fetch something she had forgotten, then produced a brown egg from another pocket.

Holly’s brow arched as she watched in disbelief, eager to enter the darkness within the tent and return to the black palace, but patient as the old woman seemed to know what she was doing.

The fortune-teller slapped the table’s surface thrice, sending drips of wax to fly from the candles.

“Iä, iä,” she chanted. “Wgah'nagl fhtagn.”

She slammed the egg down onto the table, hand flat, where yolk and egg white oozed out from underneath her palm. Blood trickled out along with the egg white in slimy, bizarre coils, like black oil floating on water and refusing to mix.

“Go. Now,” she said, and pointed to the darkness behind Holly.

Holly need not be told twice. Fireworks erupted outside, as if to orchestrate her steps into that place. Loud artificial thunderclaps, rupturing the deceptive silence of the night. The clock had ticked past midnight. The new year arrived.

She turned and pushed past the curtains.

Frosted tendrils of ivy and shards of rock crystal and quartz cracked underneath the treaded soles of Holly’s boots. Clusters of black berries drooped from thick sheets of plants creeping down the walls, and she pushed through the foliage that followed the silk and velvet drapes that she left behind her in her advance.

Fog billowed out around her and the tent turned out to be far larger on the inside than it looked like from the outside. For this was not the realm of the fortune-teller’s tent anymore—it was the black palace.

After decades of nightmares of this place, after all the time she spent being told and letting them tell her it was not real, she had returned to it. Found her way back, in the most unexpected of places. Instantly discarded all that conditioning, knowing this to be real—more real than any other experience in her whole life.

She ripped at the vines in her way, digging her strong fingers into anything that allowed her to grip it; dragging strands of plant life, snapping twigs and tearing leaves apart in her struggle to push forward. Every step took her deeper into that place of mist and marble and despair made flesh.

The underbrush tripped her up and Holly stumbled forward until her boots slapped against the hard floors of the black palace. The crevice in the wall, lined with sprawling tangles of wild plants, loomed like a wound in the shiny walls behind her. She still could have turned back now, but had no intention of doing so, nor would she even waste a thought on the mere notion.

Before her, a mummified skeleton rested on the floor, right where she had seen the skinless body of her father.

Each step she took landed on the ground with more force than the one preceding it. Her courage and anger swelled in her chest in equal measure and she knew where she had to go.

The pounding pulse of her heart drowned out the chorus of whispers that hailed from the walls all around her, and she arrived by the back of that tremendous giant throne. That monolith of wrought iron and cold stone.

Its shape and edges looked more jagged, sinister, vicious, sharper, and pointier than she remembered them. Like time had filtered them in a haze, dulled them to the point of blunting the breathing horror that the throne exuded in her memories, but her hatred and drive to find the owner of that throne lent her a clarity that pierced the veil of the fog around her.

She marched towards the throne and rounded its corners, craning her neck to see who sat upon it. But no legs rested there. There was nobody there. The throne stood empty, tall and imposing.

His voice returned, finally, like it had reached her through the curtains of dreams, haunting her nights and rendering them sleepless.

That monotonous tone, that detached, uncaring inflection riding on every word.

“Finally, you have returned to your true home,” he spoke.

A voice that came from nowhere and everywhere simultaneously. Even swiveling and looking around, she could not pinpoint its origin.

Instead, Holly grunted and gritted her teeth and scrambled her way up the side of the throne, grabbing hold of every angled diagonal and engraved indentation that afforded her hold, climbing up onto the seat of the throne upon which she could stand and better survey these twilit halls, perhaps rise above the fog.

“Behold the codex,” Holly spoke, every word ringing out with the same monotony as his voice.

Her blood ran cold with the realization. The giant was no more, for she had taken his place.

“Finally, a successor to the throne,” she said, speaking to herself. Imperious in volume, calm and stoic in the distinct and sharp absence of song that her speech delivered.

Herald of the void.

From where she stood, the mists swirled along the blackened floors of these halls. Still, the ceilings reached to dizzying heights, swallowed by darkness and unfathomable to natural human sights.

But as blood shot into Holly’s eyes and her transformation commenced on the most microscopic of levels, her vision changed as well. She saw windows into the world within that darkness, framed upon the horizon of the walls of the palace around her. Moving, living, fleeting images of the world beyond this world between the worlds, teeming with life, bustling with people.

Some gazed up at the fireworks, marveling at their splendiferous colors and bright lights. Others drank themselves into a stupor, laughing and carousing till they committed acts of unspeakable stupidity. There, someone cheated on their spouse. Elsewhere, someone stabbed a man to death over nothing but naked greed.

Holly saw it all. She witnessed every crime, saw every even so minute transgression unfolding before her eyes—eyes growing wide with terror, and the unfettered hatred in her heart taking over, with cold and slimy tendrils snaking outwards from that darkness within, infecting every fiber of her being, and filling her with murderous purpose.

And come one year from now, it would be time for her to ride. To embark upon the gifting and reaping. It would be her first round, her first turn as the new successor to this throne—as the new master of the black palace. A first time of tasting their despair and relief and drinking in their fear.

With many more rounds to follow.

In time, she would grow to fit upon that throne.

But for now, she had a year’s time. To watch. Remember every transgression. And make note of those whose punishment would arrive by the end of the year.

—Submitted by Wratts

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