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angeart · 4 months ago

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hhau mimic arc rambles part III bonus: the eclipse

(~2,8 k words) // other parts & au masterpost here

Every couple of years, there’s a total eclipse in this world. The moon is big, obscuring the sun in a horrible totality, entrapping it for what feels like too long. This is a big event, but not because people are eager to spectate the sky and bask in its weirdness. No, it has much worse connotations.

Because the eclipsed moon affects many of the hybrids. Especially the animal ones.

Hunters look forward to the eclipse because it promises a lot of loud, distressed, instinct-driven hybrids scattering about without many defences. They prepare traps specifically for this occasion and organise big hunting parties, eager for the upcoming bloodbath and bounty.

The eclipse happens mid-winter while Scar and Grian are on the server.

And it’s awful.

[cws violence, murder (no known characters), panic, mind-altering states and a loss of self control, haywire instincts, non-consensual manhandling, horrory vibes]

They don’t really know what is happening at first. Hermitcraft is a safe server which has many things coded differently, and because eclipses hurt many hybrids, they never happen there. So Scar and Grian have never experienced anything like this, and the yank it has on Grian’s state in particular is startingly sharp and terrifyingly confusing.

Scar himself is alright, because—and the two of them don’t know this at the time—vexes are immune to the eclipse.

Actually, that’s not quite accurate. The eclipse helps heighten their magic.

They thrive.

Grian does anything but thrive.

His instincts go absolutely batshit haywire. He starts getting disoriented and incredibly uneasy, anxiety holding him in a choke hold, and all rationality and caution leave him, replaced by pure fear.

He starts making inadvertent chirping sounds, panicked, and no matter what Scar says or does, Grian can’t seem to stop.

It’s so dark outside. And Grian’s chirping isn’t the only one that sounds through the forest.

In a world where they thought avians might be all nearly hunted to extinction, there are now suddenly, in this darkness, piercing faraway chirps. Just as panicked and lost-sounding as Grian’s own.

But those are not the only sounds the looming forest has to offer.

There’s also hollering and cheers. Whistles and barks. Twigs snapping under careless boots. Hunter parties following every single hybrid noise right to its source only to slice it shut. Shrill, chilling screams before some hybrid inevitably plunges into absolute, horrifying silence.

Scar’s desperately trying to get Grian to shush. He pleads him to stop, to be quiet. Tries to calm him down.

But it’s all futile. Grian has no control over himself. He can’t make it stop; it’s a wholly new kind of fear, overpowering and unfamiliar, yanking at his instincts. (It feels, a little bit, like a huge moon crashing down while the ground underneath him shakes and disintegrates.) (It feels like locking eyes with someone and not being sure if he’ll ever get to see them again.) (It feels like apocalypse. Like the end.) (His mind screams at him and he can’t help but scream along with it.)

Scar wonders if he should put a hand over Grian’s mouth. He doesn’t know what to do, but the hunters are out there, in large numbers, tireless and eager, and Grian’s voice is now the beacon luring them over, pinging with their exact location.

Grian is slowly backing away, hunched, feathers puffed. His wings are semi-curled around him, no longer tucked under the cloak, even though they’re out in the open.

He doesn’t seem like he’d do well with being touched.

But Scar needs him to be quiet. For Grian’s sake too.

Before Scar can do anything, though, Grian’s earwings flit wildly and he whips his head to the side, honing in on some noise.

It’s a distressed chirp, one that sounds closer than any of the other ones.

It’s an avian in distress calling for help.

Grian thought there aren’t any avians but him, and now there is one, still alive, so very close, desperate for aid, and— Grian’s mind blanks. There’s only one single thing to do here. He isn’t thinking. His heart beats wildly in overdrive. His body moves.

Blindly, Grian bolts in the direction of the sound.

And it’s up to Scar to scramble and run after him.

It’s more than that. More than just following Grian. Because there is so much at stake, and he needs to stop him and quiet him and— And he might have to exert force, and—

Oh. He is basically hunting Grian down here.

He is the hunter following in the steps of a terrified avian.

And Grian, in his dazed and fragmented perception of the world, feels just like prey. There is so much happening for him right now: it’s dark and all he can see is Scar’s piercing vex eyes when he glances over his shoulder; he’s lost in panicky instincts, trying to reach another avian in distress, hurtling blindly towards potential danger; and he does feel hunted.

On top of that, he can’t stop the stream of bird noises. He can’t pull his wings under his cloak either. He’s stumbling and tripping and scaping himself all over, but he feels like he needs to keep running.

He no longer knows if he’s even heading the right way. The chirping he was following fell dead silent. His head is just screaming at him. Hot white panic and a cacophony of unstoppable, overpowering instincts.

Scar has to stop him before he gets himself killed.

As awful as it is, Scar doesn’t care about that other potential avian (it could be a trap) nearly as much as he cares about Grian. His priorities here are clear, desperation thick and loud in his lungs, pressing at his ribs. There’s no time for bargaining or for steeling himself.

He needs to act.

Scar grabs Grian and tackles him to the ground.

He’s pinning him down, sort of straddling him, hands on Grian’s mouth, hopelessly trying to muffle the noises. He feels absolutely vile, but he doesn’t know what else to do. His breaths come in little sharp huffs of blue magic, shiny through the darkness as he expels a ton of emotional energy just to keep himself from panicking and crying.

He finds that it’s not as easy to hold Grian down when he doesn’t want to be pinned down. But also it is. It is easy, far too easy—harrowingly so. Grian’s so light. (It frightens Scar to even touch the thought of how simple this would be for the hunters too.)

He’s terrified of hurting Grian accidentally. He’s very capable of it; Grian’s made of brittle hollow bones after all, and Scar’s grip is a bit too strong, but he doesn’t have a choice here. Grian won’t stop thrashing, fighting to be freed. (But Scar knows that letting go would almost surely result in Grian’s death.)

And where Grian’s attention is kind of selective, not processing things at all, Scar’s attention is sharp—sharpened by panic—keenly attuned to their surroundings. He hears all the various noises come and go. Not necessarily chirps; other hybrids, too. Them falling silent. The hunters yelling. And the screams. God. The awful screams.

They’re all too far away for now, thankfully, but if Grian won’t stop, they’re bound to come this way. After all, if Scar can hear them, surely they can hear Grian too—?

Scar feels nauseous and horribly helpless. The hunters cheer and laugh as the hybrid noises go dead silent, one by one— only the hounds left barking and howling in their wake.

Scar knows that, even though it’s awful, they can’t help any of those hybrids. But he’s going to do everything in his power so that at least the two of them can survive this.

Despite all his (pointless) efforts, the hunters catch up to them anyway.

As they approach, Scar is struggling to quiet Grian down, and Grian isn’t thinking straight enough to properly fight. It’s the worst possible situation.

There’s no point in quieting Grian down anymore when the hunters are right here though, and so Scar moves on the defensive, ready to give it all to keep Grian alive. The fight is ugly, drenched in frightening desperation; Scar is numb to the pain even when something tears. Grian’s chirps get worse. Warmth drips down Scar’s face.

But then a different sort of howling breaks through Scar’s mounting panic, and—

A group of wild vexes rushes in. Not to save Scar and Grian in particular; it’s just a lucky timing.

Because as it turns out, just the way hunters set off to hunt down hybrids during the eclipse, the vexes—who are more powerful at this time, magic thrumming strongly in their veins—set off to hunt down the hunters. So nicely accumulated for them. So loud. So easy to find.

The vexes and the humans clash, and in the swell of the chaos, Scar manages to drag Grian away.

He wants to keep going, increase the distance between them and everyone else as much as possible, but all too soon the forest opens up into fields, and no way he’s pulling a dazed Grian out there where they can’t hide. So instead he swerves, anchoring them against a rock formation—an array of boulders and a jagged cliff wall.

He presses Grian into a small dent there, covering him with his own body (imprisoning him there, in a way). Hiding Grian’s wings, muffling his chirps, whispering frantic things that are meant to be soothing. The sky is still dark, and Grian’s still chirping, although it’s quieter now; it’s clear he’s exhausting himself, but he’s still making noises. Still unable to stop, despite the terror and the fatigue.

They get found again.

But it’s not the human hunters that find them this time. It’s the vex group, sneaking up on them, all their sharp edges drenched in blood, glowing with magic.

Scar turns his back to Grian, still pressing against him, tucking him against the rocks, hiding him as much as possible. He’s ready to lash out. He’s ready to fight with these vexes, even if he’s outnumbered. (He’s got no species loyalty here, after all.)

In a curious tone, one of the vexes says: “That avian is going to get you killed.”

The words register to Grian through the haze. He’s still absolutely lost amidst this all, barely understanding the world around him, struggling to process anything. But there’s something about the words avian and get you killed, and the thought of Scar, that makes it through the fog.

It only serves to make him more distressed. He breathes in sharp, shallow breaths, and his chirping grows louder again, high pitched. But it’s not just the chirps this time. Some of the sounds he makes are choked, merging into something more like himself—the sound of helpless sobs.

Scar is shielding Grian with his back, but that means he’s turning his back on Grian’s cries and all of his misery. He cannot comfort him. He has no words that would make Grian not afraid right now.

The vex suggest leaving Grian or—worse—using him as a bait.

Scar’s staring them down, growling lowly, one eye squinted as blood runs down his face. “How about you leave.”

The vex don’t budge. They think they’re after a good thing here, after all. Surely, Scar also wants these hunters dead?

What they’re suggesting isn’t to sacrifice Grian as a bait—they don’t actually want to outright hurt or endanger him, even if it maybe doesn’t translate well through their stance and words. They’re not malicious in that way. What they’re suggesting is simply pragmatic in their minds. (I mean, they wouldn’t grieve if the avian happened to die there, but it wasn’t their goal to let it happen.)

“We’re hunting the humans,” they note, as if that should’ve been enough to sway Scar. “We could use the avian—”

“No.”

One of the vex, white hair braided and smile sharp, peeks past Scar, trying to glimpse the feathers. The violet shade reflected in the glow of their magic tells him everything he needs to know, sating his curiosity, and he whistles, impressed. Amazed that an avian like this has lasted so long.

Scar lunges at him for getting too close.

He gets laughed at in return. What’s he gonna do, all alone? Not even channelling his magic to heal his own wound. It’s just funny to them. Cute. “What’re you going to do?” they tease, a bit too cheerily for the situation at hand. It rings threatening. “You’re outnumbered, pal.”

Scar doesn’t back down. “I’d take at least one of you down with me.” It’s a big statement. Covering up all of his nauseating fear and unending tension. Because he’ll do it. He’ll fight if he has to, and it will be ugly, and he might fail—he might die—but he’ll for sure give it everything he has.

And he can tell there’s camaraderie between this group of vexes. That they don’t really want any of them seriously hurt.

They, as vexes, know the best how dangerous a feral, cornered vex with something to protect can be.

There’s a sliver of respect this earns Scar, unbeknownst to him. The will to stand up to them even when he’s outnumbered like this. To not give in to the pressure and instead fight for his values. For what he cares for.

The white haired vex—seemingly a leader of the group of sorts—reiterates, tone a bit lower, that the avian is going to get Scar killed. That he’d be better off without him. (Essentially voicing the deep rooted fear Grian already has.)

He also extends an invitation, almost in the same breath, impressed by Scar standing up to them. But it’s only Scar who is invited, and it’s blatant—the condition laid down is drop the avian or let’s use him as a bait and hunt together.

With sharp ire and a swell of protectiveness, Scar counters that he’d be better off without them, actually.

There’s a snort and a mocking, “Aight, let’s see how long you can last.”

The relief Scar feels when they relent and leave is immense, leaving him weak in his knees.

He thinks they’re foolish, risking themselves like that. In his mind, they’re the definition of the violent vex, that dark reputation that seems to now stick to Scar and follow him too by the virtue of being the same kind of hybrid. He doesn’t want anything to do with that.

And of course, he’d never leave Grian.

Grian is his last connection to home. He loves him, even if it never feels like it’s enough.

Excruciatingly slowly, sun eventually peeks back out. But even then, it takes Grian a very long time to untangle himself from these dazed, nonsensical instincts. It’s such a heavy, sticky veil and he’s left disoriented and confused for the longest time. Through his exhaustion, he feels weak and dizzy and out of it.

Scar is also exhausted, but they’re nowhere near safe yet. Still pressed against the rocks. Every nerve ending is flared up, Scar’s senses alert to the point of flinching at the subtlest sound, hypervigilant. But as Grian slumps and quiets down, Scar’s firm grip on him follows.

Slowly, so slowly, Scar’s hold on Grian becomes comforting instead of restricting and terrifying.

He can tell that it left bruises.

Scar hates everything about it, but— They’re alive.

The sun is back, Grian is quiet, and they’re alive.

But they still need to find safety. And Grian’s so frazzled, still processing what even happened. The blurred memories of chirps and howls and screams swirl through his mind. He feels lightheaded, and like his skull is stuffed full, unable to think clearly. He doesn’t quite understand any of it, and his body feels locked in place.

Grian wants to stay sitting here until everything starts making sense, but they don’t have that kind of time. They can’t stay. They need to move. They need to properly hide.

Scar feels awful, but he needs to push through. He needs to force Grian to move.

The snow is splattered with blood. The forest is dead silent, scattered bodies left behind all across it. The area is riddled with traps, some activated and others still hidden, waiting to be triggered.

The sun is shining.

The silence is eerie.

The scent of blood is thick and fresh and nothing feels safe.

Later, when Grian’s more coherent, he says, “They were right.” In an incredibly quiet, fragile, unsteady voice—but laced with determination—he tells Scar: “You should’ve taken their deal.”

Scar immediately tries to dismiss it. Preferably to not engage with this conversation at all. “Not interested.”

Grian registers the shut down of the discussion, but that doesn’t make it any less loud inside of his mind (and heart). He simply goes quiet and withdraws. Lips pursed, lightly frowning, staring somewhere away.

They don’t talk about it again.

Late at night, when Grian can’t sleep because he’s too high strung, he thinks of how it’d feel like, to be used by those vexes as a bait.

He dreams about it.

He dreams of faraway chirps and laughter and hounds finding him.

He has so many nightmares after this.

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BONUS screenshot for shits n giggles:

#hhau #mimic arc #yeah this was absolutely AWFUL #hope u enjoyed <3 #the scattered bodies might get looted later but the scene is dreadful #please imagine that human-vex clash like that fight in LOTR #you know the one #anyway also yes #this is where hhau scar gets his eye scar #this is just the first in a string of harrowing incidents that make grian lose control #we’re awful to him oops #this vex group is from the commune yes #nico mention #he said not nice things #no foreshadowing there at all dw dw #so anyway. this is where and how they met the vexes for the first time #it was far from pretty #mmmhm #the vex's mission wasn't to save hybrids #it was just to kill as many hunters as they can #hey is mimic part III now wrapped up????#nope!!#there's still one ramble left #which is what happened to juni!#does anyone wanna know what happened to juni?#after that disaster of a betrayal haha #we're really just jumping all the way around now between rambles and arcs pff #but i'm so very happy i finally got these eclipse rambles done for u!!!

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kaviary-blog · 4 months ago

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Brutal Honesty

A/N: Takes place after the events of Horrors of the Scriptorium. I wanted to show more of their dynamic and showcase that they are truly Not Friends, and that Sebastian doesn't like her. Sebastian, Ominis, Katherine (F!MC) Warnings: Sebastian is an asshole, language, bullying, depression, Ominis is an enabler, more angst but nobody is surprised Word Count: 2.5K

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There they were, arguing. As per usual.

Katherine and Sebastian stood in the Undercroft, the latter yelling at the prior.

“Because you got in the way!” His sharp tone echoed off the stone walls of the hidden room.

“Maybe if you actually communicated what you were doing, we wouldn’t run into as many issues.” Katherine tried to keep her head level, refusing to be dragged down to his level.

“Perhaps if you didn’t take up too much damn space”

She stopped at that, the venom in his voice dripping into her soul. He had leaned down to her level, an inch from her face as he spat out his disdain for the Ravenclaw.

Holding firm, she didn’t allow her lip to tremble or her eyes to cloud. Katherine held his dark gaze with a flat one of her own, which only seemed to fuel his anger.

“God, you’re like a fucking doll!” His knuckles were white with the effort of holding back shoving her into the wall, anything to just get some kind of rise out of her. Give him the satisfaction of seeing her suffer. He suppressed a smile at the thought of the sound her head would make as it slammed into the stone.

She didn’t miss the way he opened and closed his fists or the dangerous look in his eyes; and that made her skin crawl and throat tighten. The brunette couldn’t recall what he had been yelling at her for this time, her focus was centered on his body language; Ready to bolt if he lunged at her.

It had been like any other run of the mill outing he dragged her along for, both fully aware of the fact that Sebastain was simply using Katherine for her ability to see and sense ancient magic. It was a vain hope and mission to save Anne. She wanted to help the poor girl, she really did, but Sebastian’s thinly veiled threats made it hard for her to have any kind of pity outside of who her brother was.

Another goblin camp blown to pieces, the occasional ‘friendly’ fire shot at her. Which, of course, he would say was an accident and she just happened to be in the line of fire. She knew all too well that he wasn’t above causing her harm, she had one too many scars to forget. Not to mention the nightmare that happened inside the scriptorium. Which meant that she spent an equal amount of time watching her back for oncoming attacks from foes and the one who was supposed to be on her side; potentially more so for her ‘partner’.

Anytime she heard his specific pattern of footsteps she felt herself stiffen up, senses prepped and ready for a fight. She tried not to look him in the eyes, except for when he got in her face. She refused to show weakness, refused to show him the fear that coursed through her body at the mere mention of him.

But there she was, face to face with him as he spat her loyalty back in her face. Telling her that she “took up too much space” and that she was worthless to his endeavor, worthless to everyone and everything.

She knew he held no kind regard for her, but to have him throw it directly in her face with words rather than unforgivables was a completely different ordeal. There was no roundabout way he could try to play it off as a necessity, no hidden agenda, nothing outside of the pure disdain he held for the girl he manipulated and forced into being his “friend”.

She looked into his hate-filled eyes. Her voice came out soft spoken and matter-of-factly, “You’re mean.”

He blinked. Not the reaction he expected or hoped for.

Sebastian expected tears, yelling, expletives. Not the words of children.

She stared at him as his mind reeled, once he came back around he was fuming. Him? Mean? He was doing absolutely everything in his power to save his sister. He was a lot of things, but Sebastian Sallow was not mean.

“Have you taken a look at yourself!?” Somewhere in his disbelief he had taken a few steps back from Katherine. “You! The one who is never not in the way! The one who has never once done something right! You’re the reason we were stuck in that godforsaken crypt for two days! I’m the one that got us out, and we would’ve gotten out a lot quicker had you not insisted that there was another way. I am the reason we’re alive. Don’t act like you’re all high and mighty.”

The composure she worked so hard to maintain cracked. She swallowed, her lip trembled, and most damned, she looked away.

He smirked and straightened up to his full height, further proving her small and insignificant. He won.

She didn’t have to see the look in his eyes to know that he knew it too. So instead, she just shoved past him and out the gate of the Undercroft. Walking out into the hall she bumped into someone, she made out the red glow through her tear-streaked vision. A quick apology and she disappeared into the rest of the castle, not wanting to get another lecture or scolding from the Prince of Slytherin himself.

Back in the Ravenclaw dorm rooms, Katherine sat alone on the side of her bed. Sebastian’s words echoing in her head. Staring down at her hands, her nails had finally grown back and there was still subtle scarring all over her fingers. She wore gloves to hide them, but she knew that they were there. Just as she knew all of her flaws and hidden scars. And that bastard Slytherin put them on blast.

Her breathing heaved and sped up, even in the warmth of her room the chill of his presence haunted her. The tears barreled their way out of her eyes, flooding down her neck. Gasping for air, grasping any semblance of comfort. Her skin was too tight, ”too much space”, she pulled at her hair trying to release the tension in her mind.

She looked up across the room where the mirror stood. She stared back at herself, but it was a shell of the girl she was, the girl she wanted to be. Hair falling loose from a bun long forgotten, eyes red and puffed, red salt stains down her face and neck, her shirt was soaked with her own tears. Splotchy and unwanted. Katherine looked at herself and choked. The broken girl reflected in the mirror was a stranger to her.

A few weeks had passed, Katherine doing anything to make herself as small as possible. She kept to herself, hiding in a corner of the library where nobody ever looked. Sitting at the edge of the Ravenclaw table on the rare occasion she attended meal calls. She spoke less and didn’t answer questions in class. When not in class, the library, or her bedroom, she hid away in the Room of Requirement. She had taken care to remove all the mirrors from within its walls and removed most of the furnishings. Standing in the middle of the empty, expansive room made her feel small. How people wished she would be. She spent her time in the various vivariums, sitting in the comforting silence of the beasts she kept safe there. A book in one hand, the other threading through the fur of a mooncalf.

Her plan seemed to be working, nobody seemed to notice or care that she had retracted herself from their lives. Though it came as no surprise to her, being unwanted was a language she was fluent in; it was the only one she knew.

She avoided Sebastian and Ominis in the halls, she had long since figured out their usual habits and knew how to fly under their radar, so as to not tempt their wrath.

It wasn’t until reviewing Boggarts in Defense Against the Dark Arts that the water once again began to boil over. Professor Hecat had instructed Katherine to go first, and students began whispering upon the cupboard door opening.

Sebastian Sallow.

Tall and glowering, eyes glowing with intention, wand gripped in white knuckles. He stalked towards her, red sparks at the tip of his wand. She had learned long ago to swallow her fear in the face of him. But at this moment, there were two of him in the room; both making their way towards her.

She steeled herself for whatever the real Sebastian was preparing for her as she cast Riddikulus on Boggart-Sebastian. Only for it not to change. It simply stopped. Brown eyes met blue as they stared at each other.

Seconds felt like lifetimes before Hecat stepped between them, interrupting and instructing the lesson to continue. Katherine made her way to the corner of the classroom, acutely aware of the eyes on her. Especially a certain Slytherin’s dark glare.

As soon as class ended, she tried to escape but was stopped by a pale hand. Boney fingers wrapped around her wrist and began to pull her away, a whispered instruction to not cause a scene.

Ominis dragged her down the stairs and towards the Undercroft, and once realizing their destination she began to resist.

“Katherine. Don’t make a scene.” His voice was cold as ever, speaking orders as only the Prince of Slytherin could.

Though she didn’t listen. She tried to yank her arm from his grasp, but his fingers only tightened.

He sighed, “Merlin, why must you make everything so difficult.” He didn’t pose it as a question, but as an objective fact. His words, spoken in his posh, stone-cold tone, discouraged her. There was no winning this fight. A realization that was only exemplified as she heard the familiar rhythm of Sebastian’s footsteps behind her.

“Walk.” A firm hand pushed her shoulder, causing her to stumble forward a pace, falling back into step behind the blond that retained his vice grip on her wrist.

With a final shove from the brunet, Katherine was in the secluded “sanctuary” of the Undercroft. “What the hell?” She barked back at the two boys that had forced her into their precious hideout.

“What the hell, me? What the hell, you?!” Sebastian’s voice was angry as always, “That was some clever trick you pulled back there.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your boggart! Turning it into me? Very funny.”

“You think I did that on purpose? One can’t exactly control what it turns into, you clod!” How dense was this kid? Merlin.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure in that stuck-up little Ravenclaw head of yours you could probably figure it out.” He had taken steps towards her, backing her up further into the room.

“Or maybe you’re just that much of a dick” Her own voice was growing venomous as she tried to stand up against him. “Did you ever think of that?”

His glare deepened, his eyes growing violent. He went to take a step forward but was stopped by Ominis’ sudden grasp of his sleeve. He whipped his head back, gaze directed back to his friend’s expression of silent warning.

She should make a run for it. She knew that she should. But… would she make it? Would they stop her? Hex her? Curse her? Her fear held her in place, the boys exchanged hushed, angry whispers that Katherine couldn’t understand. Tentative test steps away returned the attention to her. Ominis’ dead stare locked in her direction and Sebastian turned back around, fixing her with a cold stare that froze her to the floor. And just like that, whatever hushed argument the boys were having was forgotten and the small Ravenclaw was the center of attention.

“Okay, fine. Maybe you can’t control it.” His voice was flat and cold, “The ‘Big Bad Sebastian Sallow’” He took a step forward with a taunting laugh. “That’s really your biggest fear? Not Ranrok,” another step, “Not Rookwood”, even closer, “Me”. He towered over her, smirking.

Katherine swallowed. She tried to take a step back, but he grabbed her arm, holding her hostage in his stare.

“All knowing, stuck up little Katherine Ambrose is afraid of me.” He laughed, a wicked taunting laugh. And she wanted to cry. The one thing that scared her more than him, was him finding out that he was what scared her; and what he could do with that information.

She wanted to crawl into a hole and hide. Before meeting Sebastian and becoming entrapped in his schemes and manipulation she had been so excited and full of life. And now… now she couldn’t wait to disappear. She was small and insignificant, and Sebastian made sure of it.

“... why are you so mean?” It took all of her to stop her voice from shaking.

Sebastian scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Again, with this ‘mean’ thing” He let go of his grasp on her arm, only to roughly grab her chin. “Am I really so scary?” He wasn’t asking and he wasn’t serious. He was mocking her. Smug, sweet enjoyment of her fear.

“Sebastian,” Ominis’ tired voice cut through the stiff air of the Undercroft. A sharp reminder to both that he was still present. “This truly isn’t necessary. I don’t know what you are hoping to accomplish here.”

Sebastian chuffed and growled, ignoring his friend. “I want to know why. You think I’m some terrible monster but you’re not all that great either.”

She held his gaze, lip trembling and brows stitched together.

“You are an insufferable goody two shoes that nobody likes. You are in the way, desperate, and pathetic. And I am the only person that is willing to tell you. And I am the bad guy because I’m honest.”

“You are not honest. You are mean.” Her voice shook and she tried not to cry.

He released her chin and took a step back, looking down at her with arms crossed.

“I might be a jerk, but I at least have redeemable qualities. I can’t think of any for you. What even is there to like about you?”

“That I am nothing like you.”

With a painful crunch and a flurry of expletives, Katherine realized that Sebastian had punched the pillar she was standing beside. Ominis perked up from his place in the corner at the sound and swiftly started approaching. Katherine took this moment to duck out from under his arm, careful of the blood that was smeared on the stone and was dripping from his hand.

Sebastian continued to curse as he turned on Katherine, holding his obviously broken hand with his other. But Ominis stopped him, scolding him about his temper and pulling out a handkerchief to wrap the hand.

But Katherine didn’t care, she held no pity for the Slytherin. She darted towards the exit of the Undercroft, not listening to the frustrated tones of the boys in her wake.

She charged ahead, up and out. Towards the Ravenclaw tower. She was desperate to cleanse herself, scrub her skin raw of where they had dared to lay their hands on her. And she silently thanked Merlin that he had punched the pillar and not her.

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy oc #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastard sallow #oops more angst #wrote this throughout a few grave shifts #pluv helped me overcome the writers block that was holding me hostage #angst #i dont believe in happy endings #please enjoy #Katherine Ambrose #this is the longest fic on this blog so far #go me #twoot twoot

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