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suwya · 3 years

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Till the Stars Had Run Away - Chapter 7

Summary: Killian Jones was a voyager. Actually, he was many things, or at least he had been - a lieutenant, a brother, a loving boyfriend - until everything had turned upside down and his life had hit an all time low. So, he gave up. Aboard his spaceship he abandoned Arcadia, his planet, navigating the stars and other solar systems in search of... well, he still didn't know what he was searching for, but his rule was "never remain in the same place longer than necessary."

Rating: M

Prologue; Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

AO3

A/N: Thank you @thisonesatellite for being the best beta reader I could ever ask for. And thank to all of you who are reading this.

Chapter 7

Everything exists,

everything is true

and the earth is just

a bit of dust beneath our feet.

(W. B. Yeats)

“Help yourself.” David had accompanied Killian to some sort of warehouse with various spare parts of spaceships piled up here and there on shelves. “Sorry, I don't understand much about mechanics.” He apologized.

Killian looked around him, some pieces appeared to be useful, others looked like half-broken remains from which perhaps a couple of bolts could be extracted but nothing more. “It seems more boneyard than storage.”

“Yeah, well, not everybody who landed here was lucky enough to tell the tale..” David sighed.

A look of understanding passed between them. Killian nodded and started to rummage through the pieces. They had just checked the Jolly Roger to assess the damages, passing through a hidden corridor that led directly to the hangar without having to go out into the open. If I had known this passage existed, I would have probably been spared my hospital stay, Killian had thought.

“What is like to grow up on this planet?” He asked nonchalantly, still trying to decipher the man next to him.

“Nobody is from Vernal-Den.”

Killian looked at him suspiciously “Then, how did you land here?”

“Probably, same as you did. We had entered the gravitational field without even realizing it. Sadly, we were less fortunate than you, our spaceship was destroyed. It’s a miracle we survived. And in no time we were trapped here.”

“And you built an underground city.” There was astonishment in his voice.

“It’s not that big, and the tunnels were already part of this planet, we just repurposed them for our convenience.”

“How many of you live here?”

David appeared lost in a faraway thought. “There were more than twenty of us in the original group. Some had already gone away, joining a fleeing ship. Some… well, let’s just say they had tried an escape route that did not turn out to be the best choice. There’s just a few of us left now.”

“Why didn’t you leave?” Killian was curious to know what kept the other man tied to this lost land.

“I contemplated the possibility a couple of times. But at the beginning it was chaos, people needed a leader. Someone who took responsibility for organizing things down here.”

“You?”

“I was their leader on our home planet.” David answered, and Killian studied the man in front of him, his stance, the way he always looked straight into the eyes of his interlocutor. He exuded confidence and Killian had no trouble imagining him as a charismatic manager or even a king. But when he was about to ask, the other man went on. “When things started to run by themselves, I considered going somewhere else, but well, you can imagine, we don’t receive many visitors.”

“So if the opportunity arises to leave now, you will take it on the fly?”

“I don't know,” David shook his head, “but I would certainly think about it.”

Killian spent some time choosing pieces from the shelves. When he felt satisfied with his choices, he said “I think I have everything I need.”

David nodded and they made their way back to the ship. Killian was eager to get started on the repairs, the other man said he had some tasks to do and would be back to pick him up in a few hours, so Killian found himself alone in the hangar. But that was no problem, he loved devoting sweat and tears to his ship, and fixing it was for him like healing the wounds of a close friend.

Time flew by when he was with his lady, and when David returned, Killian was covered in grease and oil stains. “I’ve just talked to Mary Margaret”, the blonde man stated, “dinner should be ready soon, we better go home.”

A few corridors and passages down, David stopped in front of a double door. He seemed to ponder something, but in the end, he said “Let me show you something.”

Behind that door there was one of the most amazing things Killian had ever seen. A greenhouse. The man remembered when Henry mentioned it. Now he understood why the boy was so enthusiastic about it.

The place was enormous. Plants and trees of all kinds and species grew in full bloom under an artificial source of bright light and the temperature in the room was slightly wet but pleasant. Scents of different flowers filled the air and Killian recognized some fruits that he had only seen in pictures. He was staring with awe. “Well, this is…”

“Outstanding? Extraordinary?” David finished his sentence. “Yeah. Exactly my thoughts when I found it.”

“What do you mean, found it? Was it already here when you arrived?”

David nodded.

“But how could it be? You said that nobody was living here when you landed. Who is in charge of this place?”

“The place runs all by itself.” Under the astonished look of the other man, David added “Many things are strange on this planet, and I don’t have all the answers.” He shook his head. “I wish I had.”

~·~·~·~

Back home Killian took a quick shower to get rid of all the grease of the engine and when he was redressing with clean clothes, Emma approached him and started to help him with the ointment and fresh bandages for his bruises. They were alone in the upper part of the loft. She was chewing her bottom lip, maybe because she was concentrating on the task, or so he thought, and that’s why he was surprised when she abruptly said “We need to talk.”

He arched a brow. “I’ve found that when a woman says that, I'm rarely in for a pleasant conversation.”

She rolled her eyes. “I want you to know what Sidney Glass told me about New-Tolemac.”

Emma had just finished fixing the last of the gauze, and Killian put a hand on hers stopping her movements. She lifted her gaze, staring into his eyes perplexedly. He nodded, trying to silently tell her that she could trust him with whatever she wanted to reveal.

But the closeness, her hand on his chest, the way she was looking at him, it was too much to bear for Killian. Intense and maybe inappropriate thoughts were forming in his head, and he needed to pay attention to what she was about to say. He took a step back and started to put on a shirt.

Emma sat down at the end of the bed. She was fidgeting, clearly uncomfortable and worried. “The King and Queen of New-Tolemac have joined forces with the Industry.” She blurted.

“Well, that’s a powerful partnership, indeed.” Killian conceded.

“But why? For years they have built and perfected a plan to defeat the Industry, they have been preparing for war. Now they want to be their ally. I don’t understand.” Emma shook her head.

“People often change sides according to their benefits.”

“Yeah. Mr. Glass said they have a common goal. But he didn’t know what that was. Or he didn’t want to reveal it to me.” Emma had been staring at her feet so far. But she frowned and raised her gaze to find his. “I don’t know what to think.”

Killian sat down next to her and covered her hand with his. “What is exactly troubling you?”

“If New-Tolemac doesn’t fear a possible attack of the Industry, maybe they won’t be needing Henry as their heir anymore. So I should be relieved. But if they still need Henry for their future business, they are more powerful now, and finding my son wouldn’t be much of a problem for them.” She shivered. “I’m terrified.” She admitted.

Killian looked sympathetically at her, then he opened his arms and she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. “We will protect Henry. Nothing bad will happen to the boy.” He tried to reassure her, and she mentally thanked him for his choice to use the word we.

~·~·~·~

When Emma and Killian went downstairs Henry was immersed in a story. Mary Margaret was putting some things in place on her shelves, which in Killian’s opinion was not at all necessary, as they already seemed in order; he noticed that the boy glanced confused towards the brunette woman but didn't give it too much weight.

David was in the kitchen, browning some vegetables. "You absolutely have to try these," he told his audience, "they don't have all the intense flavor they had on our planet, but, given that they are from a greenhouse, they are not bad at all."

“What was your home planet?” Killian inquired.

“One of the NTH-Confederates.” It was Mary Margaret who answered.

“No way!” Henry had stopped giving attention to his tablet.

“Yes, why? Do you know them?” Was David’s question, while his wife simultaneously asked: "Have you been there?"

“Everybody in the multiverse knows them.” Killian stated. “I traveled a lot, but I never went that far away. Those planets are surrounded by legends and myths.”

“Well, it’s a very tangible and existing myth.” The brunette said with a nostalgic look in her eyes.

“It’s so cool! It has to be a wondrous place.” Henry was as enthusiastic as usual.

“Yeah. Well… I’d like it to be as cool as it used to be.” There was a hint of sadness in David’s voice. Then he shook his head as if he didn't want to indulge in melancholic thoughts. “But, they still have the best fillglow team of the multiverse!”

“What are you talking about?” Killian rhetorically asked.

“Why, The Buttercups, of course!”

“No, no, no.” Killian accentuated it by swinging one finger. “I mean, they are some fine fellows, I won’t argue with that. But The Black Clippers? That’s a team as it ought to be!”

“Oh, come on! The Buttercups have won four major leagues. What did your team win?”

“It’s easy to have the most requested players on the market when you are loaded. My boys, they cut their teeth on the field, they fought to reach where they are. They were not a guaranteed winning team, and look at them now, top end of the MFC table this year. Plus, they play fair.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” David was staring back at the other man, chin raised, one hand on his hip. He might even have looked threatening, were it not for the fact that in his other hand he was brandishing a wooden spoon and wearing an apron that read "the most charming chef in the world".

“Easy guys.” His wife tried to make peace. “Dinner is almost ready, would you like to help set the table?”

They all ate quietly, the boys still talking about sports, but with Mary Margaret's gentle interjection now and then, and some glances at her husband, they didn’t argue much. Emma, instead, was delighted, looking at Killian talking about his favorite team as if he was defending his honor.

When they finished eating, the brunette stood up and said to her husband “David, you should go and do your patrol, while I check at the hospital if they need anything.” Something that Killian had already listened to the previous day, as well just after dinner.

Henry looked at the woman frowning. “Why do you always repeat the same actions, day after day?” He was perplexed.

Killian hummed as if he had the clues to the boy’s puzzle “This is a stuck-track planet, my lad.” he explained to a confused Henry. “I’ve been on some of them when I was young.”

“You say it as if you were an old fellow.” Emma snorted. “What are you, a million years old?”

“It’s more like two hundred.” Was his reply.

And to her surprise, she didn’t detect any hint of a lie. “Are you kidding me?”

Killian was about to reply, but Henry interrupted their banter “What’s a stuck-track planet?”

“It means that time runs differently here.” The man explained. “The days or even weeks we spend on this planet are probably just a couple of minutes back home.”

The boy seemed fascinated by the idea. “Wow! Now I understand why my watch gives almost the same hour, it's not broken, it just moves really slow!”

“Exactly. And it affects people, too.” Killian went on. “They don’t age, or at least not in the way you do on Althea-Seals.” Then he drew near Emma, whispering so that only she could hear him “Stuck-track planets may have given me experience, but as you can see I’ve retained my youthful glow.” He winked at her, who just rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile.

“This is why the days all look the same here.” Henry deduced, who was giving further thought to the subject.

“This is why we follow routines so strictly.” Mary Margaret chimed in. “It helps count the passing of time.”

“Does that mean that you and David aren’t the age you appear, either?” Emma questioned.

The other woman thought about it. “Add twenty years, give or take. But it’s hard to say exactly.”

The married couple excused themselves while heading out of the loft to carry out their duties. Killian and Emma started to put away the remains of the dinner. Henry was probably still eager to know as much as possible about this strange planet and its slow time, but when he stood up with his dirt plate in his hands he couldn’t suppress a yawn. His mother insisted on him going to bed.

~·~·~·~

“Where do those flying rocks around the planet come from?” Killian asked David after he had come back from his patrol.

Henry was already sleeping upstairs, and the three of them were sitting around the table.

“Ahm, it’s not so easy to explain.” The blond man answered.

“Give it a try.” Killian wanted to understand how Vernal-Den worked.

David shook his head. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, more than I don’t actually know about it.” He made a pause trying to find better words to explain his point of view. “I would say it’s remotely directed.”

“From where?” Emma asked curiously.

“We don’t know.” This time was Mary Margaret’s turn to answer, who had just entered the loft, back from the hospital, and joined the other adults at the table.

“But I assure you, there’s none else on this planet, apart from the people we know about. And I trust all of them.” David had the urge to defend his friends.

“A couple of people we knew had tried to go outside to search for other forms of life, enemies, whatever... to understand who or what supervises this planet’s activities.” Mary Margaret sighed. “Let’s just say it didn’t end well.”

“But there should be someone else on this planet, defending it.” Killian didn’t comprehend.

“There’s nobody else living here, apart from the people we already know.”

“How can you be so sure?” Emma asked.

“Nobody else uses the greenhouse and its products.” David explained. “Nobody else wastes the energy generated by the planet. It’s just us.”

“But it’s clear that someone really wants to protect this planet from intruders, therefore the rocks. For what purpose?” Killian’s attempt to solve this puzzle only created more questions and doubts.

“Well, the greenhouse could supply oxygen and food for an entire population. I think that someone is interested in keeping this planet as a possible lifeline.”

“A lifeline.” The dark man wondered about it. “Who’s behind this?”

“My theory is just as good as yours.” The blond man shook his head again.

“But you do have a theory.”

“Who’s playing with planets as pawns for his own benefits?” David grimaced.

“You think the Industry is behind this?” Emma almost whispered, as if she was worried that the Industry itself could hear her. She shivered, and Killian put his hand on hers resting on her knee under the table. He was willing to tell her that everything was going to be ok, but he didn’t want to generate indiscreet questions from his hosts.

David shrugged. “Any other ideas?”

“I don’t know. We haven't lived here for a long time. You tell me.” Killian teased.

David looked straight at his guests. “We did some research, with the limited resources we have here, but I assure you it’s nothing we had seen before. What generates all the power needed to maintain the greenhouse and the system that propels the rocks outside the atmosphere … it’s not material, if you understand what I mean.”

Killian passed his bionic hand over his stubble thoughtfully. “Not material.” He repeated. “Antiparticles? But that’s preposterous! A fantasy! You can’t create energy from nothing.”

“Yeah. You would say so. But there’s no other explanation. It’s a power so strong that can create an entirely new world…” David made a pause, and then: “or destroy one.”

“Antiparticles,” Killian repeated, while all his theories were starting to fit in. “So that’s how that vile crocodile annihilates the planets he doesn't need anymore.”

The blond man nodded. “After looting everything the planet has to offer, the Industry injects some of those antiparticles underground. And they disintegrate every last molecular bond and electric impulse until the planet itself implodes.”

“Is that what happened to your planet?” Emma asked Killian even if she didn’t need an actual answer, and then she turned to the couple “Yours as well?”

“We’re not sure about that,” David answered. “From the sources we have, it appears that the NTH-Confederates planets are still alive and kicking, all of them. I think Mr. Gold has other intentions, some obscure interest in them. But I don’t know what it is.”

“Do you miss it? Your home.” Emma inquired. She didn’t miss hers. Life on New-Tolemac when she was a child had not been that bad, she couldn’t complain. But the lack of freedom and the memories of the last events there had left a sour taste and no desire of going back ever.

“Yes. We do.” There was sadness in David’s voice. “Most of the time. But we know that returning there doesn’t necessarily mean that we could go back to our lives. Many things have changed. And I’m not sure I’d like to see how our planet has become.”

“We had to make some difficult decisions before leaving our home. But it was for the best of all.” Mary Margaret sobbed. “It was a long time ago, but it still hurts like the first day.” David put his hand on hers, smiling faintly, trying to give her courage.

“What happened? If it’s not too much to ask.” Killian softly asked.

“We were under attack,” David explained. “We tried to defend ourselves, but the Industry’s power is difficult to overcome. We realized that the only way for us to survive was to abandon our land…”

Mary Margaret stepped in, “We believed that it was the end, that we wouldn’t be able to escape alive.” She sighed loudly “I had just had a baby, and we knew that taking her with us was too risky, it would have been her death sentence.”

“So we contacted a woman who promised us that our daughter would be taken care of, she knew that the King and Queen of a faraway planet were searching for an heir.” David went on telling the story, but his voice wasn’t as steady as he tried to make it. He was still affected by the sad memory as well as his wife. “We wrapped her in a white blanket with a purple ribbon and we gave her the best chance to be the princess she could have never been with us.”

“So you decided to sell her!” Emma shouted.

“What?” - “No!” David and Mary Margaret reacted simultaneously, shaking their heads in bewilderment.

“We never said anything about money.” David pointed out.

“We could have never done anything like that to our child.” Mary Margaret seemed shocked by her guest’s assumption and even a bit outraged.

Emma looked at them with an open mouth, but no sound came out. Then she abruptly stood up and rushed out of the house.

The married couple exchanged a questioning look. “Did I say something wrong?” Mary Margaret asked worriedly.

Killian shook his head. “I should apologize for her behavior. This is a sensitive matter for her. If you would excuse me.” He said standing up and heading to the door.

~·~·~·~

“Are you alright, love?” Killian found Emma sitting on the corridor floor, with her arms around her legs and her face buried in her knees.

He waited for a reply, but it didn’t come. So he sat down next to her. She was crying, her back shuddering.

“Swan…” he tried, but then... “Emma, talk to me.”

She raised her face to look straight at him. Tears rolling down her cheeks. “I have a white blanket with a purple ribbon from when I was a baby! I always had it!” And there was pain in her eyes, but also anger.

It was his time to keep silent. He didn’t know how to react to this new piece of information.

“It’s them!” She exclaimed between sobs. “Those people inside the house are my parents! How am I supposed to look at their faces?”

An immeasurable feeling of protection spread within Killian, but he had to swallow his urge to hug her as if their lives depended on it, because it wasn’t the right time. She was struggling against enough demons, he could not burden her with further emotional matters. “Well, love, if it were me finally finding my parents, I would be very pleased to spend as much time as possible with them, to get the chance to know them and understand who they really are.”

“They sold me! They didn’t want me!” Emma looked at him as if he were an alien. How he could not understand her point of view was beyond her comprehension.

But Killian did understand her, given that he had been sold as a child as well, he knew the feeling, he just didn’t think this was the same case he had lived through. “That’s not what they said in there. They were trying to protect their baby, to give her her best chance to live a life they couldn’t afford for her. And they didn’t seem happy about that decision. I saw regret and what-ifs in their eyes.”

He knew she too noticed the pain in David and Mary Margaret's strangled voices, but he also knew she wasn't ready to admit it. “They are lying.” She hissed.

“Are you sure about that? Henry once told me you have this superpower, that you can detect a lie when you hear it. I had the impression they were being honest while telling their story.”

“But I saw the contract!” She was grasping at straws.

Killian had to take her to a more practical level, something tangible that she could hold on to if she wanted to. “Aye, you saw it. And who exactly signed it?”

“I…” Emma tried to recall a ten-year-old memory, but it wasn’t easy. After all, she had been in shock when she had discovered she wasn't the real daughter of the King and Queen of New-Tolemac. “I don’t know… I mean, I’m pretty sure there were my adoptive parents’ names in the paper, but…”

And that was when Killian realized that he had bought her some time, at least. “So you are not completely sure that they are your parents.”

He saw how her shoulders hunched as she was looking at him with watering pleading eyes and he understood that part of her was yelling to run away from pain and old scars, but another part was whispering that maybe she could finally find that love that only parents can give and that she had never felt in her life.

“You know what? We’re going to go back, and we’re going to spend a few more days with those people. We could even ask them if they would like to come with us on our journey back.”

“But..” She started.

Killian stopped her with the raise of one finger. “If it turns out that they really are your parents, well, you’ll have more time to understand why they decided to abandon you when you were just a baby. And only after that, we’ll choose if we hate them or not. Sounds fair?”

She didn’t move for a few minutes, dwelling on his words, but then she put a hand on his bionic one, and even if she knew he couldn’t feel it, she squeezed it with gratitude. Thank you for bearing this weight with me. She would have liked to say the words, but they didn’t come. She didn’t have the strength to analyze why he was doing this for her. Too many feelings for one night, to face new and unfamiliar ones. “Okay.” was what she finally said.

#cs ff #cs au #Till the Stars Had Run Away #alternative universe - science fiction #space au #my writing

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dichenlachmandaily · 3 years

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Talk beauty with incredible beauty Dichen Lachman? Yes, please! In addition to her diverse acting credits — she can be seen in next year’s “Jurassic World: Dominion,” and in “Severance,” the upcoming Ben Stiller-directed series airing on Apple TV+ — Dichen has a diverse background that is at least partially responsible for her stunning, singular appearance. Born in Nepal, her father Australian, Dichen says she has eclectic taste and likes “to try different looks.” From brows to Botox, we discussed all things aesthetic with the actress and mom to five-and-a-half-year-old, Mathilda.

The Bare Magazine: First, let’s talk about your cool background, born in Nepal, raised in Australia. What did you internalize from each place about beauty?

Dichen Lachman: In Nepal, makeup was very linked to the culture; the third eye and the kohl around the eyes. They even put the theekha on little babies. In the West, it’s not linked to anything spiritual. It’s more about aesthetics and trends. I like observing how all cultures incorporate makeup into their identity. I find it fascinating. In terms of me, I don’t wear a lot of makeup unless I need to do a work thing — I’m more interested in taking care of my skin than painting it.

Bare: Perfect segue! How do you take care of your skin?

DL: As a mom, I really don’t have a lot of time to take care of it. I use witch hazel to clean my skin, and there are a few different products from different lines that I’ll mix and match. It’s kind of a journey finding the right product as a woman, and as you get older, your skin changes.

Bare: Speaking of getting older, who do you think is doing it well and with grace?

DL: I’ve been embracing this idea over the last few years: If it feels good and you’re inspired to do it, and you’re not hurting anybody, then do it. It’s easy to see somebody and say “that’s a lot of work,” but if they’re happy…Of course, in some cases it goes into body dysmorphic territory, but I think that’s when it is up to the people around you to check in and ask, “Are you okay?”

Bare: It’s a slippery slope, for sure.

DL: It’s really interesting, there are so many people in this business, and they’re aging so gracefully, and then you find out they’ve had work. But, like, I get it because it’s a business where people have to look at you. And also technology is so advanced that when you see your face through a filter you’re, like, ‘look how I great I look!’ and then you take it off and you’re, like, ‘oh dear God, who is that? I like the other person!’ I don’t like that we are doing this to ourselves. It’s nice to look and feel good, and it’s nice to take a good picture. A little manipulation is nice, but when it gets to a point where it’s unattainable, that only makes us feel worse. I think it will take a generational push back to change it. Maybe my daughter’s generation will be, like, ‘oh my God you filtered your face?’

Bare: What message do you hope to pass on to your daughter about beauty?

DL: Just that she’s enough. She likes to play with makeup and stuff like that. And sometimes she sees me using it and wants to try it. I tell her she doesn’t need it. Children are beautiful. They don’t need anything. In fact, keeping it simple is a good policy for any age. Less is more.

Bare: Do you ever see yourself getting Botox or fillers?

DL: I did do “Baby Botox” once. I tried it because I have a completely crooked smile, so I went to a derm out of curiosity at the end of 2019 and I was, like, ‘I don’t want to do anything, I just want to know what you see here, and what should I do.’ Half an hour later I was, like, ‘sure, let’s try a tiny bit of Botox here.’ It helped straighten out my smile.

Bare: Do you have any beauty idols?

DL: There are so many incredible, gorgeous women out there. Madonna, of course, embracing so many different looks. She was a trailblazer. There are a lot of beautiful actresses from the 50’s, too. And my mom! She didn’t wear any makeup — she didn’t even pluck her eyebrows. Her mom would rub butter on her face as moisturizer.

Bare: Do you have a favorite on-screen look of yours?

DL: In so many shows, I’m covered in dirt or blood! I think in terms of beauty, the makeup artists on “Altered Carbon” did an amazing job. My face is very strange, not everyone knows what to do with it. I have a lot of surface area, and my eyes are Asian, so they’re not always easy to do. It’s very easy to make me look over the top.

Bare: Shifting to more spiritual things, do you have any wellness practices?

DL: I love meditating and thinking about creative ideas or things. I do that while I’m cleaning. I think that your environment informs how you feel, so I like creating a nice environment…even if it is ultimately destroyed by my daughter. I find it meditative. My husband is, like, “You’re vacuuming again?” But it’s so satisfying to hear the crumbs get sucked up by the vacuum cleaner — and you can see real progress. I like painting for that reason, too. I painted a house with a friend. It’s rewarding to see things change right in front of your eyes.

Bare: We’d be remiss if we didn’t ask about your tattoo. What does it say?

DL: It’s actually a Virgil tattoo, which is hilarious because I didn’t know it at the time, but apparently it’s common to get a Virgil tattoo. I was in Cardiff Castle in Wales, and in the ladies’ tea room I saw one of his quotes: “Love conquers all things, so we too shall yield to love.” So I wrote it down, and at one point I decided to get it inked on myself. I could have many more, but I don’t like sitting in the makeup chair getting them covered all the time.

Bare: We like to close our interviews by asking our subjects for their Bare Essentials. As in, what do you absolutely need in life?

DL: Probably Witch Hazel for my skin. I get it at Target. I love aloe vera from the garden, too. But what I really couldn’t live without is my family. Even if I need alone time sometimes.

Editor: Didi Gluck

Photos and makeup: Tina Turnbow using Ogee

All clothing from Zara

#dichen lachman #interview

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artificialqueens · 3 years

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Gimme Love, 6/9 (Miz Cracker/Blair St Clair) - Grinder

AN: Welp, I'm back from travelling! For anyone interested to know how it went; it was great (if you love stress). Liverpool is a lovely place but I've destroyed my bank account :D

Anyway! We got 4 more chapters of this fic! This is where the conflict begins. I hope yall enjoy.

TW for this chapter: Homophobia, homophobic slurs

2020

The cake was in the fridge. We'd be seeing him later. For now, we settled for some spaghetti. It had become a sort of tradition for Jujubee and me for moments that needed celebrating. But we hadn't done it in so long, what with the stress of work.

"So, Juju, as you can see, I've labelled the pages you're allowed to read, so don't go looking at other shit, OK?" I asked, chopping up a red bell pepper.

"Why? If I do, am I gonna find some porn-y shit?" She quipped, running a hand along with the butterfly print book.

"Honestly, you know all of those details anyway." I gave her a smirk, taking a piece of pepper and throwing it over to her.

I almost expected it to fly past her head, but she caught it in her mouth. Skill.

"OK, but what's in the box, though?"

I almost forgot what she was even referring to. But following her gaze, I saw it, sitting on the kitchen counter beside the fridge. "Oh, that?" I scraped the peppers into the saucepan, "That is my memory box."

"Ooh, that's even more exciting." She beamed.

"No. We're not opening it." I moved on to an onion.

"Aw, why not?" Jujubee whined.

"Because I made my Mom promise me she wouldn't give it to me until I turned 50. But I was weak and begged her to give it back. So now, I've promised myself to not look inside until I turn 50." The air was no longer clean, poisoned with the acid from the onion. My eyes were beginning to sting.

"Aw, Brie, you don't need to get all emotional about it." She had to go and joke about the tear now trickling down my cheek.

"Girl, this is torture," I wipe my eye along my wrist, pretty sure my eyeshadow has been fucked up. "Did I fuck up the smokey eye?"

"Nope." I knew she was lying to me, but she couldn't take her eyes away, "You look absolutely gorgeous as usual."

"Not as hot as you, though." I sniffed. I needed her to focus on reading so I could finish chopping the onion as soon as possible. "Anyway, you wanna read something in there?"

Jujubee opened the book and immediately laughed, "Jesus Christ, Brie, bit dark."

She showed me the first page, childlike scribblings read 'Brianna's Diary. DO NOT TOUCH! Or this will happen to you!' An arrow led to a picture of a grave.

"I never even noticed that before," I chuckled.

"With a warning like that, I better find some crazy shit in here." she cleared her throat, "So starting in 1994, 'Diary Diary, Today, I had a fight with Jujubee. She really upset me, but I upset her too. I should say sorry. That's all. Bye.'" Jujubee lowered the diary, "you bitch, why did you upset me?"

"I have no idea, girl. I mean, didn't we do that a lot back then?" I shrugged.

"I bet you started it though," She lifted the book again, a coy smile on her face. "OK, moving on to 1995," she cleared her throat, "'Dear Diary, today Mommy and Juju's Mommy took us to see Pocahontas at the movies. It was very good. Goodnight.'" Jujubee paused to giggle, "God, I love how detailed this is. You could have added so much more."

"Girl, I was 8 years old. Writing more than 4 sentences was like writing the bible to me." I countered, finally scraping the onions into the pan with the peppers.

"Yeah, but we did so much more that day. We went to McDonald's after, we found that little frog pond in the woods." She pointed out.

I hadn't even remembered that. Now I kind of wished my younger self would have pushed herself to write more.

I was too busy rifling through my messy cabinet for oregano to notice Jujubee just flicking through page by page.

"But, you wrote 3 pages worth of poetry to Blair St Clair?"

Once I found the spice, I spun around to look at her, "Juju, I told you to only look at the pages that were labelled."

She held a hand up, "OK, I'm sorry." She closed the book.

I felt bad, thinking maybe my harsh tone brought the fun to a grinding halt. Squeezing my eyes shut, releasing a sigh, I said, "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."

She took a sip of her water while I added the oregano to the saucepan.

"So, did you text her back?" She played with the glass in her hands.

I pursed my lips and shook my head. "Why? Do you think I should?" I asked quietly.

"Nah, not really."

"Well, why not?"

Jujubee shrugged her shoulders and went to look at her nails. "Don't know."

I clicked my heel, my tongue running along the top row of teeth behind my closed mouth. "Well, I've been thinking about it. I mean, maybe that's the problem. Maybe I could be a bit more responsive."

She made a humming sound. I was unsure what it was supposed to mean.

"OK, what's going on?" I put both hands on the counter.

"I don't know. I just think…" she paused, trying to find her words, "I don't see the point because the same shit will just happen again."

"The same shit?" I repeated, "what's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, her speaking all but 10 words to you and then completely ignoring your existence." She put a hand under her chin.

"Well, maybe that wouldn't happen if I actually spoke to her like I wasn't terrified for once," I suggested.

She squeezed her eyes together, "Oh no, Brie. I knew this was going to happen."

"What was going to happen?"

"The whole Blair thing. I thought you were over it. Well, until she messaged you recently, I had a creeping feeling that it was all gonna come back."

"Juju, listen to yourself. You're talking like this is an actual problem."

"I hate to say it, but it is. Do you remember the time she hung out with you in the library? You were so excited the next day. I hadn't seen you so happy in so long. You wouldn't stop talking about how she would probably be there again." She paused, "But she wasn't. And you were so disappointed."

"Yeah, but things could be different now."

"And how's that?"

"Well, I'm a different fucking person now, that's one thing. I'm successful, I'm smart, I'm hot as fuck, rich as fuck - -"

"And you think that's gonna be the game-changer for her? That she's gonna come running into your arms? Because if that's the case, that says a lot about her." Jujubee rolled her eyes.

"Well, I'm a big girl, now. If it happens again, I'll just get on with things. I'll move on.

"That's a lie."

I squinted my eyes. "Why are you being like this right now? You're so salty just because I fucked wrote a private letter to her as a child."

"This isn't about the letter, Brie. You know why I'm being like this. You shouldn't need to ask." But she continued, "You've never dealt with never having parents. You think that if Blair was to suddenly be truly interested in you, you'd get over the feeling of being unwanted. Yet you're surrounded by people who love and support you, who'd stick with you to the end. But right now, you don't give two fucks about them because you're too busy panicking about some girl from high school."

I lift my head again, putting one hand on the desk and the other on my hip, "Well, congratulations, Juju. Sounds like you got me all figured out. Hey, you wanna talk about my Grandpa next?"

She only reacted to that with a scowl. And she spoke again.

"You remember the prom? Do you remember what happened? Do you remember how she didn't do anything to stop Trevor?"

My eyes shifted away, just for a second. "She told him to stop."

"Which did nothing."

I wanted to argue how she was unfair. How it was so wrong to blame Blair for the prom incident. But I was distracted by a burning smell. Only now did I notice the onions and peppers blackening.

I quickly moved the saucepan off the heat, feeling it only radiating in my own face. I put a hand on the counter, the other on my hip. "OK, Juju, maybe you should leave."

It was safe to say Jujubee was taken aback. She remained still for a second before pushing her stool out. "So that's how it is? Kicking me out when you're faced with the truth?"

"Juju, just leave, please." I felt my hands clench around the edge of the counter, my nails digging into my hip.

"I am!" She grabbed her coat and stormed from the kitchen. I flinched upon hearing the door slam shut, and only then did it sink in - the dread, the feeling of regret.

I looked at the hob, the burnt vegetables unsavable. So they went in the trash. My stomach grumbled. But I couldn't bring myself to start over again.

Opening my fridge, my eyes were immediately on the cake. And I glanced over my shoulder, looking where she had sat, now feeling a sense of emptiness. Not in me, but the room. Like I was alone.

I was alone.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." I repeated as my hand clenched on the door. The cool air from the fridge felt nice but not enough to stop my panic.

I looked at the cake again, feeling the urge to throw it out the window. Or maybe just send it back to her.

Bitchy, I know. But I couldn't help it. I wouldn't be feeling like this if she hadn't acted the way she did.

I slammed the door shut, kicking it for extra measure. And in my heels, I almost tripped.

Filled with more anger, I paced around for a few minutes, aggressively cussing to myself.

Don't get me wrong, one part of me said she was right about Blair.

No. She isn't. I was going to prove Jujubee wrong.

I picked up my phone from the counter, found the message and began to type with trembling fingers.

"Blair…" I panted, "So sorry...for getting back to you so late... I'm a busy woman, as you...probably already know...Look... I'm just gonna say it...I really like you...I always have...You make me feel so confused...yet so happy at the same time...I feel a connection between us...I always have...I don't know whether you ever felt it or not...but I do hope so...I would love to meet up with you sometime soon...and maybe have a coffee...I don't know...maybe even some wine, if you want. I look forward to hearing back. Brie x"

My thumb hovered over the send button. The only sound I could hear was the ticking of the clock. Not even my own breathing.

I pulled my thumb away, closed my eyes and breathed out. "Brie. You sound fucking crazy. You sound insane. You can't just send shit like that." I repeated words of the same nature to myself, trying to usher myself off the edge before I could do something idiotic.

"Jesus Christ." I opened my eyes again, which were now glossy with tears. I wouldn't blink. I wouldn't let them fall.

Big mistake.

I thought I tapped the chat bar, going to delete the message. But my blurred vision said, "haha, no."

I tapped the button next to the chat bar. The send button.

The little noise my phone made as it was sent may as well have been the same as a gun clicking.

"Oh, God." My eyes couldn't tear away from the small screen. My heart rate increased. "No, no, no, you fucking idiot!" I pressed my thumb down on the message.

There was a delete option.

I clicked it.

'Are you sure? The recipient may have already seen the message.'

I backspaced to check.

There it was, the tiny version of her profile picture falling to the bottom of the screen. She was reading it.

"Fuck!!" I blurted.

I put the phone down on the counter, began pacing for a moment, and looked back at the phone. This went on for a few minutes. I wanted to be as far from my phone as possible. But also needed to know if she had replied.

This was it.

Blair was going to know how I was weirdly obsessed with her.

She was going to know I was checking her out in the library that one time.

She was going to know that I had fingered myself so many times at the thought of her.

What were my options?

Suicide - Not gonna happen.

Running away - But the project.

Reply with 'Hey, sorry! My friend took my phone, haha' - did anyone ever believe that excuse?

Block her before she could reply - then she'd think I was even more crazy.

Call up her place of work and somehow get her phone confiscated - why, though? That would involve Facebook stalking her again, trying to think of an excuse. Even if I did so successfully, she still saw the message.

All of the options just lead to cons. It was hopeless.

With shaky fingers, I switched my phone off and practically threw it onto the counter.

My body sank to the ground, now holding my head in my hands.

What do I do? What do I fucking do?

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

2004

I was shaking. Only slightly.

There was something about the prom that made me feel so on edge.

Maybe it was all the people, all together in one room.

Perhaps it was the fact the chess boys asked to make out.

Or perhaps it was the fear of missed opportunities. Opportunities that involved a certain someone.

I watched from the side of the room as Blair took pictures with her friends on her pink digital camera. There was a feeling of regret causing my stomach to twist, my fists clenching onto my purple dress.

That could have been me.

I felt a hand moving a curled lock of hair from my shoulder.

"Just think, girl; we're almost there," Jujubee appeared in front of my vision, "College is just around the corner."

"I can't wait to be out of here," I spoke quietly.

Everyone turned their attention to the stage as Rosé appeared, announcing it was time to crown Prom King and Queen.

"Well, it's pretty obvious who our queen is." Jujubee crossed her arms.

I knew who she was thinking of. To be fair, it was pretty obvious. But I wasn't complaining.

Trevor was our Prom King, not my King anyway. I scoffed as he cheered, being pushed up to the stage by his team.

"Jesus Christ, who would have thought." Jujubee took a sip of her punch, spilling a drop on her lilac puffy-sleeved dress.

"And your Prom Queen is…" Rosé paused, pulling the result from the envelope.

3...2...1…

"Blair St Clair!"

I smiled for the first time since walking into the place. I applauded her victory as she walked up onto the stage.

Blair hugged Rosé and whispered something in her ear. I had no idea what it was, but I was too distracted as Trevor just stared.

"You wanna make a speech, girl?" Rosé joked into the mic.

Blair laughed, covering her face with embarrassment. She turned down the offer.

"OK. Everybody," Rosé held a hand to Blair and Trevor, "You're King and Queen of 2004."

Blair looked slightly uncomfortable as Trevor put an arm around her waist. Why couldn't he get the hint she was done with him?

The two got down from the stage, Trevor's gaze following her in confusion as she moved far away from him.

"Aren't they supposed to do a dance now?" Jujubee asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know, Juju. I've only seen proms in movies, and they're quite obviously exaggerated."

My eyes landed on Blair once more. Trevor was whispering something in her ear, and she shook her head, rolled her eyes and walked away. Yikes, he was desperate.

"Jesus, I'm fucking nervous." Rosé was approaching us now, well, the punch table we stood beside. "Getting up on stage gets my body shaking, you know?"

"Wish I could do that." Jujubee replied.

"Yeah, well, sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do." Rosé replied.

I eyed her suspiciously. This was odd; she'd never really spoken to us before.

"But of course," she looked left, then right, before pulling a flask from her bra and pouring it into a cup, "this helps. You ladies want one?"

"Nah, I'm good," Jujubee made a stank face.

Me, on the other hand, having never drank alcohol in my life, piped up, "Actually, yeah. Could you just pour me a shot of whatever that is?"

"Yeah, of course," and she didn't lie. She poured me a shot of vodka. No spitting in the cup, no adding anything sneakily, no hostility.

She passed the cup to me, giving a mischievous wink.

Tossing it back, I was totally shocked by the burning sensation it caused to my throat. I began to cough and splutter.

"Girl, chill out, or you're gonna draw attention to yourself." Rosé looked around.

I placed the cup down on the table, the plastic practically crumbling in my hand.

"This is it. The beginning," Jujubee joked, dabbing the corner of my mouth with her pinky. I didn't even know there was a drop of liquid there.

And I didn't know there was a hair out of place either. Because she was stroking a soft hand down my temple to my cheek.

"Brie, do - -"

"Juju, I'm gonna ask her to dance with me," I said all too loud.

The hand dropped instantaneously, her smile falling in a matter of seconds. Of course, I expected this shocked reaction. Even Rosé had nearly choked on her drink.

"For real?" Jujubee asked after a silent moment.

"Yep," I answered proudly, putting my hands on my hips.

"I guess you've never touched a drop of alcohol in your life, loser." Rosé leaned close to me.

"Something like that." I felt slightly uncomfortable now that she was dangerously close to me.

She snorted a laugh, holding up her hands as she walked away, "I'm not responsible for this."

So this was what they called liquid courage. Yeah, it was one shot, but it was my very first. And I was already feeling it. The buzz.

I turned to make my way to the girl I loved when Jujubee grabbed my hand, "Brie, are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Yes," I replied too quickly, tugging to pull away.

"Are you sure?" Her brows knit, "You're not gonna be upset if she says no, right?"

One final strong tug was enough to release her grip on me, "No, Juju. I'll be fine, just...stop questioning me, OK?"

She was silent, her arms dropping by her side.

But I continued on in my mission, vision slightly blurred, insides warmed.

Everyone around us was gone like they had just stepped into another world, leaving Blair and me in this reality. Or maybe it was the two of us who disappeared, somehow falling into the wormhole and ending up in the other world.

Or maybe it was just liquid courage.

There were only a few metres between us now. "Blair?"

She had been taking a sip of her coke when she looked up and noticed me. Wiping the corners of her mouth, she put the can down.

"Brianna!" She beamed. Her eyes looked me up and down, causing a brief moment of panic, "wow, look at you. You look great."

"Yeah, right, compared to you." I stifled a laugh.

"Oh, shut up." She smirked.

"So, um…" I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, looking away and to the ground, "I was just...wondering...if you'd wanna dance with me?"

I didn't lift my gaze. Only now did I understand what Jujubee meant. The girl hadn't even said no yet, and my heart was already sinking.

"It's just...this song is so good, and it's the end of the year, and we may not - -"

Before I could continue rambling, she cut me off.

"Sure. Yeah, I'll dance with you."

I lift my gaze to see her glittering smile. Like in the library, time didn't feel real anymore, and I needed to remind myself to breathe. "Really?"

"Yeah, of course." She briefly knit her brows like it shouldn't have been questioned. She took my hand in her perfect french manicured one, "Come on."

As we made our way to the dance floor, I was only now reminded that there were people here. So, we didn't slip through a wormhole. This was real. This was reality.

Blair found a spot on the floor, turned to me and wrapped her arms around the back of my neck.

For a moment, I was unsure of where to put my hands. I glanced over her shoulder, noting the couple also slow dancing. She has her arms around his neck. He had his arms around her waist.

I was hesitant at first but eventually gave in. Blair didn't mind. And I felt myself relax.

She just stared at me, the sweet smile still on her face. The music echoed around us. The lights were low. Pink tinted.

"So, how does it feel winning Prom Queen?" I asked. Of course, it felt amazing for her, but I needed to find an excuse to speak. Anything to avoid the somersaults my stomach was doing.

"I mean, it's nice, I guess. But, it's all bullshit anyway?" Her smile faltered, "Not something anyone in the future will give a fuck about, right?"

I disagreed. If I were to win prom queen, I would feel validated. And I would make sure I'd bring it up to everyone I ever met. Pathetic, I know.

"Well, I can't think of anybody better," I admitted. "Maybe they could have chosen a better King."

"Agreed." She nodded. "You know, literally just now, he tried to use this whole King and Queen thing to 'try again'. Not even that long before you came up to me. Brianna, I've already given him another chance. And he blew it."

"During the Summer?" I recalled.

"Yep." She pursed her lips.

"What did he do, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Oh, he just had some major anger problems," her eyes widened for a moment, "He never hurt me, though. He just...got so angry over the dumbest shit. It was just too much."

She puffed out a breath, the frown on her face appearing.

"You don't have to tell me any more," I said quickly.

"Sorry, I don't wanna get emotional." She looked back at me. "It's just... it's hard not to. You're a good listener."

How should I have felt knowing that was her analysis of me from very little time spent together? She really trusted me. "Blair... I'm sorry about that time in the library. When you mentioned my Grandpa. I feel terrible now."

"Please, don't. You were grieving."

'Was I really though?' I held back from saying.

"I never really had a Dad," I smiled, seeing his stupid smile in my head, "But he was the closest equivalent to that."

"I know what you mean." She began, "My Dad…" she trailed off for a moment, "He wasn't the best. You probably remember that one time I ran away as a kid. When you walked me to my Grandma's."

I wasn't even tense in the first place, but my body felt like it relaxed. "You remember that?"

"Of course I do. It really meant a lot, Brie." Her thumb stroked the back of my neck. I don't know if she did this intentionally or subconsciously. Was she even thinking about it? "That day, I never went back. Ever. My Grandparents took full custody of me, and they became my second parents. The ones I always deserved."

I felt my body relax even more like this was normal. "Blair, I wanna carry on something my Grandpa started."

"What's that?"

"It sounds crazy," I pause, "But he wants me to find a parallel universe."

I paused to take in her reaction. She did look taken aback for a moment. Could you blame her? "Is it even possible?"

"I mean, at first I thought he was a bit out there asking me something like that, on his deathbed and all. But I've been studying really hard, and I think it's achievable."

"That's interesting." She nodded. "So, what are you gonna do at college?"

"Drugs." I giggled before the smile dropped, "OK, not funny. Bad joke."

"I'm laughing, though." She was.

"Um, no. I'm gonna do Astronomy and Space science."

"I didn't know that was a major you could do," Blair replied.

"Me neither. What about you, though? Something in theatre?"

Blair lowered her gaze for a brief moment, "I dunno, Brie. I honestly don't see college as a me-thing. I'm constantly torn between theatre, fashion merchandising, cosmetology, politics..."

"Politics?" I laughed and instantly hoped she didn't take offence to that.

"What?" She smirked. "What's funny?"

"I just…" I paused, feeling my heart skip a beat as a particular memory came back. "This is crazy. I can't believe I remember this. All I can think about right now is the day we met. Remember the first day of elementary? On the bus? I told you I wanted to be a politician when I was older, just 'cause they liked to shout a lot. And you couldn't say the word right."

"Oh fuck, now that you mention it, I do remember." Blair laughed, "That was such a long time ago. We were so little." She looked away as if her mind had transported her to that moment. Did she remember it like I did? Did she remember how she held my hand and told me she was my friend?

And then never sat with me ever again?

My eyes had drifted away, looking over her shoulder at nothing in particular. The bad thoughts were taking over. I didn't want them to. I wanted to enjoy this moment forever. Just swaying back and forth with Blair in the middle of the dance floor.

She stroked her thumb on the back of my neck again, causing a spark to course through me.

Blair's looking at me again. "Brianna, how come we never talked more?"

I don't know if it was just me fantasising again, but her face was moving closer to mine, ever so slowly.

I had the answer to her question. But it couldn't ruin this moment. "I don't know," I whispered.

She was closer now, head tilted to the left.

And I found myself doing the same.

This was another fantasy. This isn't real.

I felt her breath on the corner of my mouth.

It felt real.

It was.

There was a frustrated roar.

A tight fist clenched around my arm.

I was pulled back forcefully.

My feet gave way.

I was on the ground.

"Are you kidding me??" Trevor stood in front of Blair, his face red with anger, "You won't fucking dance with me, but you'll dance with her??"

Everyone around us was just standing there, too shocked to do something.

"Trevor, what the fuck??" Blair went to move around him, trying to get to me. He only pushed her back.

"Of all the people, why her??" He grilled Blair with more questions. She looked afraid now.

Why the fuck wasn't anyone doing anything??

I felt a hand on my shoulder, but looking around, I saw it was actually Rosé. "Trevor, what the fuck??"

He turned to look as if offended that anyone else got involved. How could they not? Seeing her helping me stand must hit a nerve. Because he's snatched a cup of punch from a bystander, "Why are you defending the dyke??" And he threw the cup forward, the liquid drenching my hair and splattering my dress.

That was the final straw. I could feel my chest heaving.

I ran to the nearest exit. Running from the school. As soon as I felt the cool air on my skin, I wrapped my arms around my stomach. I was bent over, throwing up all the panic. Sparks of the bile dotted the bottom of my dress and shoes. I didn't care. My dress was already ruined.

I heard the door open behind me and immediately began to move again.

I tried to run, but the heels made it hard.

The person was in front of me now, hands on my face, tears streaking her face.

I expected it to be Blair.

But it was Jujubee.

"Brie, it's alright. I punched him for you." She whimpered, her hands on either side of my face, holding me tenderly.

My breathing was rugged, trying so hard to listen to her reassuring whispers. But in my head was the sound of the crowd gasping and Trevor shouting.

No one was going to forget about this. I'd be reminded by the stares in the corridors, how they'd whisper to each other.

"Let's go to my house. You can stay over if you want." Jujubee's sweet voice brought me out of my thoughts.

Words still failing to surface, I nodded.

As soon as we got in, she ran me a hot bath. Whilst I cleaned myself of the sticky punch that covered my hair and face, she made chocolate mug cakes with ice cream.

Sitting there in her room, dressed in her fluffy pyjamas, eating her food, I should have felt better. I should have been happy. But I just stared at the mug in my hand, still thinking of Trevor's anger and Blair's distressed face.

Jujubee took the mug from me, set it aside along with her own, and enveloped me in a hug. "Don't cry, Bri. Please, don't cry."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know I was crying." I wept.

"Don't apologise." She shushed me, "It's OK. You're OK."

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

2020

And even now, I didn't realise I was crying again. And as it was too late to stop myself, I remembered sobbing into Jujubee's shoulder, holding her tightly, like she was the only one who could get me through it. She was the only one who could get me through it.

The events of the prom left me scared, always so on edge when walking those school corridors. Just terrified that Trevor would round the corner and do something worse.

But Jujubee was there for me every time. She'd hold my hand, not giving a fuck about who looked at us weird.

I know I should have grown a backbone and defended myself, and what had actually happened shouldn't have been as damaging as it was. But, hey, I was only human.

Jujubee got in a lot of trouble for punching Trevor in the face. But she didn't mind. "Just as long as he got what was coming to him," she had said.

Hearing her retell the event, I wish I had been there. She had jumped on him, tackling him to the ground and punched him over and over again.

But as exciting as that all was, I didn't speak to Blair again. I didn't think about her. I didn't talk about her. I didn't even look at her. Blair wasn't the one to come after me that night. She never even approached me to talk about it. She didn't give a fuck.

So I kept my distance.

And just as life went on without her, she just had to go and message me. After years of silence, she couldn't have left well enough alone.

I finally lifted my head. I reached up and grabbed my phone. Turning it back on, I immediately deleted Messenger, hoping to never see Blair's response.

This would be the beginning of my journey toward happiness.

Yeah. That was it. That's what I would do.

#rpdr fanfiction #s10 #as5 #miz cracker #jujubee #blair st clair #blair x cracker #coming of age #hurt/comfort #lesbian au #high school au #angst #gimme love #grinder #tw homophobic slurs #tw homophobia

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biiscione · 3 years

Text

Instinct - trigger warning: everything.... jk jk. breeding k!nk, exhibitionism - @constylations ‘s estrella and raph being whores, ig. cute whores, nonetheless

“Cosa?” Voice, low and commanding, inquiries nonchalantly, eyes never lifting from the printed pages. “Use your words, Principessa.” How long had she been gawking, watching him idly turn the papers of that local newspaper like he hadn’t just rearranged her insides moments prior? Estrella has sat so still, so patient, twirling her fork in her fingers and destroying the yoke of the egg on the plate below. She should eat, she knew that, it was the reason they had stopped and settled on the garden terrace. Unfortunately, she’s still lust - drunk, mind clouded by carnality. It’s something that isn’t so hard for the vampire to spell out on her features, onyx hues peeking over the folded corner of his newspaper, having not gotten the response he had so kindly requested.

Steel orbs watch him from under dark brows, her anxiously nibbling on the nail of her thumb. Her vampire looks handsome, cute, scantily clad in his smoking robe, an outdated smock he effortly makes look good. Estrella uncrosses sticky, cum - slick thighs and flattens the long skirt of her day dress. It’s not something she would usually sport, but it was quick to put on ( and take off ) and she relishes the dressing ease. She mulls over her response, what she really wants from him, and speaks it confidently, “I want you inside me.” It is the emptiness that gnawed at her, consumed every thought, kept her from sustenance. “Bisognosa.” His tone is cool and accusatory, gaze having long removed itself from her. His fingers meticulously refold the newspaper into the form they had received it, tucking it under the empty, clean plate before him. She watches this, how tediously he tends to that stupid newspaper he’s always like that, huh? DILIGENT. “Well,” lengthy arms open, beckoning her into his lap. Obliging with giddy delight, she crawls off her seat and steps between Raphael’s long legs. Strong fingers assist her as she lifts the skirt of her dress, settling on the warm flesh of her hips and guiding her onto his cock. Her heat takes him fully and with great ease, like she was made for him, molded to him. She sits happily on his lap, knees together and feet strained so their toes barely touch the ground. A shaky sigh of relief garners her a kiss between her shoulder blades as Raphael shifts, chest against her back, and reaches for her plate. Full plate atop his empty one, she takes the time to pluck the newspaper from underneath them, unfolding it with less care than he had taken to fold it and scanning the articles. “Where did you leave off?” She musters through the smoldering ecstasy of fullness. He pulls the hand from under her dress and silently indicates the printed words. With his other hand, he takes her fork and diligently cuts up the egg she had so mindlessly destroyed. His nonchalance feels like a challenge to her and she tries to match it, but it was so cruel how he flexed and swelled inside her. Estrella feels he is doing it on purpose. So she shimmies her hips as she reads him the news but is stopped by a wide hand, the pads of his fingers squeezing harshly into her thigh. With whine and a sharp turn of her head, stern gaze watches him. Dark, heavy brows rise. “You need to eat first.” Turning her head back, she meets a fork full of eggs and cedes with a sigh, taking a bite before continuing in Italian. Chewing and talking stops as he shifts again, hips lifting slightly to press into her further, the shock of arousing pain as his swollen tip tickles her cervix causing her to stutter. “É arri arri ” “É arrivato?” Yes. He’s absolutely doing it on purpose. “É arrivato . . .” Estrella huffs at the correction and at the settling of his hips back onto the chair, swallowing her chewed food and continuing. Now, he knows he is being too cruel, hand delicately caressing her clothed thigh with reassurances. She ignores his petting while taking another fork - full of food. He isn’t going to win this if she had any say. This alpine villa set against a beautiful, old lake always had a way of lulling one into a state of insouciance, and that’s why the vampire brought his bride there. The terrace on which they sit is on the ground floor and offers a view of the crystalline waters of the lake. Its garden is flanked by two public paths of cobblestone, blocked off by short shrubbery in an attempt to offer pretty privacy. Not many travelled the path, all except for fishermen, at dawn and dusk, and sometimes the usual elderly local “Buon giorno, signora, signore.” Essie freezes, stops chewing and reading, and does not immediately turn to greet the voice But Raphael does and so easily strikes up a conversation with the old man on the perimeter of their garden. How could he do that? Speak so carefree about the weather, the day, to a stranger? With his swollen cock deep inside her? It’s shamelessness really, and the fact the long skirt of her dress, the arms of the patio chair, his own towering frame, shields them. They simply look like a couple at their breakfast table, a wife on her husband’s lap. The vampire shifts as the pleasant man indicates the creeping wisteria on the villa’s walls, resulting in him twisting inside her. Her legs tremble at the sensation and she bites back a whimper. The pads of his fingers press firmly into her thigh, cementing her against his hips as he ends the conversation with the passerby, who flashes a smile at a now - staring Estrella. For a moment, she doesn’t know what to do, cheeks obviously flushed with the heat of arousal. Swallowing back the sickeningly arousing idea that the stranger knew, she returns his smile as he offers his farewell. “Buon giorno.” She chirps back, not seemingly suspicious to the poor stranger but her tone was everything to the knowing Raphael. “Ciao . . . Buon giorno.” Her lover echoes. Dark hues purposefully eye her profile. His gaze burns into her flesh. That, coupled with the embarrassment and subsequential arousal, sets her off, hand relinquishing that stupid newspaper onto her plate when the stranger is long gone. “Eres asqueroso.” She insults him, not daring to watch him in her cold periphery. “IO?!” Laughter growls into her shoulder. “You can hardly go an hour without my cock inside you.” That was mean and foul but the sting of truth excites her more. She shifts in his lap, the squelching from the connection eliciting moans from the both of them. He couldn’t deny her any longer, his cool, nonchalant façade hastily deteriorating. Long arms assist her in changing positions, pulling her knees to her chest and guiding her legs to straddle his waist. His cock still seated inside her, the movement was agonizing. “You feel so good inside me.” Shaky hands hold stubbly cheeks, kissing him, sloppy, open mouthed and sinful. He growls happily, a hymn of praise that was music to a goddess’s ears. “I need to fill you with my seed.” NEED. Her walls clamp down on his cock, she too needing her womb to be filled with his cum. She yelps as he forcefully pushes the iron table from them, garnering his legs more room to outstretch and allowing him, and her, to settle on the edge of the chair. He forces their lips together harshly, hips lifting and slamming into hers with the newfound leverage. “Say it, mia principessa.” “I need I need you to put a baby in me,” she wasn’t done yet. “I’ll look s-so pretty with a swollen belly . . . so full.” He curses against her lips, arching his hips a final time, his cum pooling inside of her. She falters in her own climax, trembling and crumbling against his chest. Long, strong arms wrap around her as he hoists them fully back onto the chair. Her body continues to shake, riding the waves of ecstasy, and he coaxes her through it, wide hand cradling her head against his neck, where she manages to plant several weak kisses. His laughter at the sensation is deep but sweet, dark hues searching patiently for her gaze. Lifting her head weakly, she presses a sloppy, grateful kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You did well,” Estrella compliments him, sex - hazed eyes finally meeting his. “So did you, cara mia.” Laughter is pressed to his lips. “Carry me in? Before we get an audience. . .” Surely, her legs were too weak to walk, and she is far too unwilling to forfeit both her title as his cocksleeve and the cum that had pooled inside her. Raphael obliges with a kiss, hoisting her up as he stands. Shared laughter rings in the air as they steal themselves away from the light of day and into their den of sin. In truth, neither of them would have had it any other way.

#tw long post #r.estrella #r.writings #eye....... :))

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itsclydebitches · 4 years

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RWBY Recaps: “Gravity”

Good lord, folks. Buckle your seat-belts because we’ve got a lot to get through this episode. I think this is my longest recap to date, so settle in.

Episode Eleven’s “Gravity” starts out simple enough, focusing on the two fights we’d set up during “Out in the Open.” First up, Ironwood vs. Watts. Overall this fight does a really excellent job of showcasing their different fighting styles. Right from the start Watts is pointing his gun forward to take a clear shot at Ironwood, whereas Ironwood points his backwards to use as a surge of momentum.

He’s going to do this frequently throughout the battle, constantly using his gun to maneuver in the air, slow falls, regain his balance, and change directions, a much more complicated series of choices than the one-off shots we see Ruby use with her sniper rifle. This is partly because Ironwood seems to have a much larger supply of bullets---some sort of energy/dust ammo---than Watts does. His steampunk-esque gun holds only nineteen bullets, requiring him to keep track throughout the fight. Which is always a fun trope but sorry, Watts, you can’t compare to the king.

Thus, with limited weaponry available to him, Watts is forced to get creative with the arena itself. We see him manipulating gravity, shooting up columns of water and fire, and making use of his own pathways between platforms, all in an effort to throw Ironwood off and catch up unawares. However, Ironwood is, frankly, the much better fighter. He was right last week to assume he could handle Watts even though he sent three off to tackle Tyrian. He’s able to recover much more quickly and learns from any mistakes, as evidenced by his ability to hit Watts dead on while in the air the second time he takes out the gravity. When they come together in hand-to-hand Ironwood easily dominates, no doubt thanks not just to his military training and huntsmen lifestyle, but also in large part to his prosthetics which I would assume grant him more speed and power. Throughout the course of the fight we see Watts consistently take more damage to his aura and he’s unable to sense when Ironwood is sneaking up on him. After that little maneuver, Watts (presumably) grows reckless and lets off his last three or four shots in a random barrage. All of them miss.

This emphasis on emotion continues when they land back onto the main stage with Watts shouting, “You never appreciated my genius, James! You just stood atop it and called yourself a giant.” Oh, did Ironwood actually do something horrendous in the past? Is there something juicy that would explain---though not excuse---Watts’ turn towards villainy? Nah. He quickly follows that up with, “You chose that fat imbecile over me!” referring to Pietro. So... nice one, Watts. Crazy arrogance, willful ignorance of Pietro’s own, clear genius (anyone who can create Penny is no slouch), as well as a bit of fat-shamming on top of it all. No sympathy from me.

This moment emphasizes how unhinged Watts is becoming though as the fight turns against him. Even when he manages to setup a head shot Ironwood reveals, “You’re smart, but you’re not the only one who can count,” referencing that Watt’s emotions got the better of him, leading to him wasting his last bullet before it could be of real use.

...except not. I’ve got to admit, I was very pleased when all of this---or at least this particular moment---was merely a plan to get Ironwood to let his guard down. Watts is way too smart a character to be done in by the “You got too emotional and that made you sloppy” trope. So kudos there (even if it remains to be seen whether that Pietro comment was really his motivation, or just another part of the plan). Instead, he uses Ironwood’s confidence in his victory to trap him with the rings that control the arena, essentially pinning Ironwood’s non-prosthetic arm through the energy shields he’s been using. We can immediately see that the parts that have touched Ironwood already have horribly burned the skin.

And that ends up being Watt’s downfall. Not stupidity on his own part, but his lack of understanding of Ironwood himself. He assumes that this truly is a trap for him, rather than another sacrifice. After all, what fool would ruin their one remaining arm to stop him? Watts himself wouldn’t. Don’t pull, he cautions Ironwood, not “unless you’re hoping to add more metal to that body of yours.” Watts goes so far as to turn his back on Ironwood who then makes the sacrifice we all knew he would. One burned, useless arm later and he’s free.

I would like everyone to keep this moment in mind. Namely the utter devastation of it. I’d go so far as to say it’s as bad at Yang losing her arm in Volume 3. Despite seeing it bandaged later, Watts at least thinks it will be a complete loss if Ironwood sacrifices it. He’ll need to “add more metal,” AKA replace his arm, so though he obviously still has it in the following scenes, we don’t know if it will ever be functional again. Just as important, Ironwood had to choose to do that to himself. That wasn’t a horrific, but ultimately clean cut done in a moment of surprise. That was a conscious decision, a slow pull through all that pain, and then having to finish your fight immediately afterward. It’s a very different kind of psychological trauma, no better or worse than having someone take your arm from you by force. Throughout this volume I’ve seen a lot of fans being critical not only of Ironwood’s main decisions, but just his overall attitude as well. Too strict, too stern, doesn’t smile enough, yells sometimes, etc. basically associating someone who isn’t all sunshine and smiles with someone who is “bad.” Ignoring for the moment that we can say the same thing about many of our group---notably Yang---I have little doubt that I’ll see similar posts after this episode. Writings in the vein of, “Ironwood is unhinged! I can’t believe he yelled and hit his desk like that!” So everyone just keep this moment in mind and ask yourself how calm you’d be if you’d sacrificed your arm like that all of half an hour ago. And then found Salem’s calling card on your desk. And then came to the realization that the allies you trusted have been lying to you from the start. And then Salem herself appears to mock you. And then your city is about to be overrun. Basic summary of the rest of the episode: holy shit. So yeah. If Yang is allowed to be angry and upset after losing her arm, or just angry in general like she is in the later half of “Gravity,” I think we owe it to Ironwood to let him be angry too. I have a lot of feelings about the utter insanity he’s been forced through with little to no support and if he wants to take all that out by hitting his desk once, by god I’d say that’s a good coping strategy given the circumstances. Both the writing and the fans tend to erase trauma once you’ve passed age 25. The girls have every right to be upset, to break, to not trust people because they’ve been through a few months of hardship, but Ozpin isn’t allowed the same after a couple thousand years of that. We’re going to see the same hypocrisy later in this episode---the group can be upset about lies but Ironwood is not---and I’m hoping (against hope) that the fandom doesn’t make that worse by sweeping this injury under the rug. It’s horrific and absolutely has a bearing on his inability to keep his cool with the group immediately afterwards. We’ve long passed Ironwood owing them endless reassurances and calm responses.

Anyway, Ironwood still manages to finish the fight because his remaining arm is his robotic one, giving him the strength to easily drag and raise Watts into the air one-handed. He dangles him over the edge of the arena, announcing that he will “sacrifice whatever it takes to stop [Salem].” A clear bit of foreshadowing for his decision at the end of the episode. Watts responds that he hopes he does.

We then move to the Tyrian fight which, on the whole, I don’t think was done quite as well. Granted, there are a lot of enjoyable and badass moments. I like that Clover’s first act is to announce that Tyrian is under arrest, maintaining the law that Atlas (and Ironwood) works to uphold. It doesn’t matter that Tyrian is a crazy serial killer in league with an immortal sorceress hell-bent on destroying the world. Even crazy serial killers have rights and are given the option of surrendering, even when everyone present knows there’s exactly zero chance of that happening. It’s the principal of the thing and the ability to say, “We gave him a chance.” In a world overrun with inequality, this is a small but important attempt to level the field. If you do something wrong you face legal action and those rights are announced to you. Same for Tyrian. Same for Team RWBY. But we’ll get to that.

For now, we see Qrow attack first and like back in Volume Four he and Tyrian are pretty evenly matched. The tide doesn’t turn until Robyn and Clover come into play. Throughout this exchange we see a lot of cool combos among the three of them. Tyrian will block an incoming arrow with his tail only for Clover to snag it with his hook. Robyn can get another arrow to perfectly bounce off the walls and then Qrow’s scythe, hitting Tyrian dead on. Clover can dive between Tyrian’s legs, giving Qrow the opening he needs to attack. It is, as said, pretty badass... almost a little too badass. Personally, I would have appreciated them messing up once or twice. They’re all professionals, yes, but Qrow and Clover have only had one fight together. Robyn, meanwhile, wasn’t even allied with them until an hour ago. This is a situation where skills shouldn’t really trump, “We’re three very distinct people who don’t know each other’s fighting styles well, trying to attack one guy in very close quarters.” There should have been some screw-ups. Especially when we take semblances into account. What, are we supposed to assume here that Clover’s semblance just conveniently overrides Qrow’s? That no mistakes---let alone anything bad---will happen in this fight despite the fact that it’s an extreme parallel to Volume Four? That whole battle emphasized, “Don’t come closer!” because when people fight near Qrow bad shit happens. Now, he fights with two other people in a narrow alleyway and there’s not a single repercussion. Based on their travels looking for the geist, I don’t buy that Qrow’s semblance is just conveniently inactive while near Clover. Even if I did... that’s not a very good writing decision. To me, it’s just more evidence that Rooster Teeth doesn’t understand its own rules/doesn’t know what to do with an ability like Qrow’s. It causes problems only when they explicitly want it to. Then, miraculously, it’s no longer in effect.

Still, we’ll acknowledge that RWBY had a lot else it wanted to accomplish in this episode, so the need to power through this fight is somewhat justified. I personally would have had the entirety of this episode be the two battles---I was shocked when both ended just eight minutes in---but I’m obviously not the one writing the show. Thus, instead of an episode devoted to both the action and the emotion of confronting our two main villains this volume, Tyrian loses his cool after getting punched in the gut, manages to catch Robyn’s arrow in his teeth...

But it’s a bomb.

Down he goes. Fight’s done.

Which leads us into the second half of the episode. I want to preface this with a short acknowledgment before we go any further.

Did these last ten minutes give me what I’ve been looking for since the beginning of Volume Six? No. It’s easy to assume it did because all the pieces are there. Ironwood is finally angry about the secret keeping. The Ace Ops are criticizing the group left and right. Surely this is the “The group is capable of making mistakes and they should be called out for it!” that I wanted, right? Not really. For the simple reason that there is a massive difference between:

A story that acknowledges mistakes as mistakes. The characters either grow from this lesson or dig in their heels and are painted as being in the wrong for that decision.

and

A story that takes what the audience (me) perceives as mistakes and frames them as justified choices. The characters do not grow because they’re 100% sure they’re in the right and those who would criticize them are painted as in the wrong.

“Gravity” is so far into that second option I don’t think the series can come back from it. Does the group face criticism? Yes, but every single time the writing insists that it’s undeserved criticism. It paints the group as the underdogs facing unfair odds, rather than equals---with all the responsibility that comes with that---facing criticism that they need to own up to. Absolutely nothing in this second half implies that the group is going to learn from their mistakes because they, and the writing, still insists that they weren’t mistakes. Which is precisely what we’ve gotten before. Cordovin might criticism them, but Cordovin is in the wrong. Winter might criticism them, but Winter is in the wrong. Every time a character goes, “Hey, you shouldn’t have done this” the group responds with, “Yes we should have!” and the story backs them up. Yes, you should have attacked Argus. Yes, you should have stolen an airship. Yes, you should have lied to Ironwood and spilled the secret to Robyn. Yes, yes, yes. That’s the takeaway every single time. The group is never in the wrong. Others just think they are and those others are painted as cruel, militaristic, unhinged characters.

It’s not at all what I was looking for. Just more of the same.

So that’s the preface. In terms of what we actually get, Ironwood returns to his office with his arm bandaged and in a sling, carrying Watts’ bag, only to drop it when he sees the queen piece on his desk. He calls Winter asking, “Was anyone caught entering the school grounds while I was away?” and when she says no Ironwood has her race off to the Winter Maiden, unknowingly leading Cinder there in the process. “Now show me where you’ve been hiding her.”

We then cut to the group where the trouble begins. They’re not just curious about why Ironwood is recalling them with Mantle still in need of evacuation, they’re actively questioning it. This is the attitude I simply don’t understand. The group acts as if Ironwood is deliberately screwing everyone over when they know better. This is no longer the beginning of the volume where they thought he was some horrific dictator hell bent on destroying his own Kingdom. This is just an hour or so after, “We should tell Ironwood!” and the happy-go-lucky ‘We trust him now’ moment. Even less time after Ruby stared up at him in awe with, “He’s doing it.” They had reason to trust him before they even made it to Atlas. They were given even more reasons in the form of Ironwood sharing his secrets, early licenses, and being allowed to work on the tower. They then still waited until Ironwood was doing everything they wanted before giving him some of that trust back... but the moment he stops doing precisely what they want---we want to keep evacuating Mantle---he’s deemed suspicious again.

I mean seriously, is the group that dense? Are they incapable of thinking to themselves, “Wow, something must have happened if Ironwood is recalling us before evacuations are complete,” which is precisely the case. The scene tries to frame it as “Group Good” and “Ace Ops Blinding Obeying Orders Bad” but that aspect doesn’t even come into play. There’s nothing blind about it. It simply takes two seconds of critical thinking skills to realize that something really awful must have happened back at the Academy that trumps what you’re doing in Mantle. This is what I mean by the writing being biased. Before we even reach the fight in Ironwood’s office it’s trying to paint him as potentially cruel, potentially suspicious, potentially abandoning his people, look how worried our heroes are about this secret decision he’s made... when all that requires ignoring some really basic deduction in order to reach those assumptions. Remember that intelligence is a plot device in RWBY. If they want Ironwood forced to spill his secrets, he’ll randomly start talking about them in front of his enemies. If they want Ironwood painted as the villain, the group will randomly be incapable of realizing that maybe, just maybe, something went wrong on the home front and you’re needed there.

Things just get so much worse from then on. The group splits with JNR going off to find Oscar and, admittedly, I was shocked we got that at all. I mean yeah, it’s setup for the final reveal at the end of the episode, but the fact that anyone remembered Oscar was missing---let alone happily went off to find him---was still a surprise. So only Team RWBY heads back to Ironwood’s office where they find him (rightfully) panicking over the queen on his desk. Weiss tries to baby him, acting like he’s freaking out over nothing, when all these characters should recall precisely what Ironwood himself points out: the last time we saw this symbol it was a message that Beacon had fallen. He’s not paranoid here. He’s entirely justified in his panic. Ironwood likewise points out that they may have been duped into bringing thousands of people into Atlas as easy targets and Vine agrees, setting up that the Ace Ops are on Team Ironwood throughout the course of this conversation. Not out of blind loyalty, but because he’s right. That is a concern. That may be the plan. We do need to try and do something about that. Team RWBY, however, isn’t convinced.

That is, until Ruby realizes that the chess piece is made of black glass. Which means Cinder left it. Normally I’d congratulate her on that deduction---it is the one smart move we see Ruby pull this whole episode---but I just hate what follows. Namely that Ruby and Ruby alone controls her team’s opinions on a situation. Again. We saw it back in the snow, then again when Blake announced in the elevator that they’d do whatever she wanted. Team RWBY is the one who blindly follows their leader, not the Ace Ops, the only exception being Blake and Yang going rogue in regards to Robyn, but we see that hive-mind mindset here again. Ironwood brings up a good point? Nothing. Ace Ops support that point with more logic? Nothing. Ruby supports it? Oh, suddenly Weiss and Blake are taking this seriously. Suddenly Yang is fired up and ready to do whatever is necessary. Ruby controls the room. It’s only when she’s on board that her teammates decide this is worth getting riled up about.

Which, as I’ve said before, is a horrible way to write a diverse group. Especially when the writing is trying to paint the Ace Ops as mindless soldiers. For all their claims that they just have to follow orders, they’re the only ones parsing through this situation and coming to their own conclusions. It’s just that their conclusions do end up aligning with Ironwood’s which is the “bad” take in this scene. Team RWBY, however, waits until their leader makes a decision and then simply rides her cloak tails. The day that Blake, Yang, or Weiss legitimately disagree with Ruby---not a token “Are you sure we should keep secrets from Ironwood? We’re not actually challenging this. Just checking in”---is the day the writing will disagree with her. AKA, no time soon.

Blake tries to give some bland reassurance about them all being with Ironwood to which he responds, “Are you with me? How did Robyn know about the global communications tower?” Thank you! Thank you for giving us Ironwood’s characterization back and acknowledging that he has no reason to buy their generic ‘Got your back’ statements when everything they’ve done this volume has proven otherwise. They don’t support Ironwood, only themselves and their own teams. The minute he does something they don’t like he’s chucked under the bus. Too bad the writing doesn’t acknowledge any of this and instead continually paints the group as being justified in their decisions. It’s that hypocrisy again. When the group yells at Ozpin for keeping secrets we’re supposed to be on their side. When the Ace Ops yell at the group for keeping secrets we’re... still supposed to be on their side.

Weiss tries to diffuse the situation with “None of this matters right now!” which is real rich when they were just complaining about Ironwood not telling them why they were called back. They get to worry over that, but Ironwood isn’t allowed to worry about them outright betraying him? “Loyalty always matters!” he shouts back and he’s right. Why should Ironwood trust them to have his back in this crucial moment when they’ve never had it before? I’m already seeing more of this hypocrisy among the fandom. When Ozpin kept secrets and told lies the group was given a whole volume to be pissed about that and fans still, to this very day, insist that it hasn’t been enough time for them to get over it, to regain even a portion of that trust. But now that Ironwood has been lied to and betrayed in the same manner? People are annoyed that he’s not just shrugging it off. How dare you not get over in thirty seconds what our heroes got weeks to work through. His inability to just suck it up, as it were, is used to make him seem irrational here. I don’t see anyone, characters or fans alike, acknowledging that his anger is as righteous as the group’s was out in the snow. That there is the disconnect.

Of course, something has to break the tension. Drawn by all the fury and fear, a grimm pops out of Watts’ bag. A fail-safe for if he was defeated and captured. Salem immediately takes control of the grimm and kills it, using its form to appear before them. She reveals that it doesn’t matter that her men were captured. They were just there to “set the stage,” which they’ve done. Still doesn’t explain the random Penny side plot to my mind (seriously, why did the story bother to resurrect her when she has done nothing plot-wise or emotionally?), but whatever. Much more importantly, the stage is set for Salem herself. She’s approaching with the grimm army we saw her amassing which is... iffy.

First off, why? Why after a thousand years has she suddenly changed her MO from keeping to the sidelines to a full-on attack? Again, what’s the catalyst for that massive change? We don’t know. Meanwhile, from a writing perspective, I’m hesitant about having our Big Bad thrown into the mix before the finale. We know there are plenty of volumes left in this series, which automatically undermines any battle they might have with Salem. Will they win?? Of course not! Because RWBY isn’t over yet. Granted, this could all just be a ruse of some sort. Maybe Salem just wants them to think she’s approaching with an army, which would be much more up her alley in terms of long-distance manipulation. But if not... seriously, what’s the point of that?

Here’s hoping it’s a bluff.

Speaking of manipulation, we get a fantastically creepy moment where Salem tells Ironwood to “simply accept the futility of your situation” while smiling like a kind mother. That’s the Salem who is truly dangerous. Ironwood reaffirms that he won’t give up the relics and Ruby pips up with, “We don’t have to kill you to stop you.”

Hey wait. I’m gonna give you all another graphic.

This is Ozpin’s stance! This is his plan! His version of hope! We spent all of Volume Six having the cast beat on him for, “Omg Salem is immortal?!” and with the exception of Nora’s comment, no discussion of this in Volume Seven... but now suddenly Ruby is making this announcement? The group came to this revelation sometime off screen which we a) don’t get to see and b) once again created no scenario in the form of, “Wow! Ozpin was right all along! Maybe we should go talk to him...”

I’m just... wow. The number of times the writing takes what the group and the adults do, the exact same perspectives and decisions, and twists it so that the group comes out looking like heroes and the adults look like misguided, unhinged fools who need to be put in their place... I’m really over it at this point. And by extension the group themselves. Their characterizations have been so badly mangled at this point I legitimately don’t like them as people. I don’t care if they say they want to protect Mantle, or if they say they’ll support Ironwood, or if they say they’re unsure about their choices. All their actions claim otherwise.

Rather than grappling with the huge revelation that the group is apparently no longer obsessed with Salem’s immortality (or rather that Ruby isn’t. The rest of the group doesn’t actually matter. As established, they sync up with her beliefs the second she announces them), we return to Summer Rose. Salem goes, “Your mother said those words to me” and Ruby... loses it? What? I would have been 100% on board with this if we’d gotten it last Volume because then we saw Ruby losing her cool periodically. The smashed alcohol bottles. Chucking her scroll. Screaming at Qrow. That was all building to something. But then we had a year and roughly twelve episodes of normality. Ruby jumps into her fight with Cordovin and has been fine ever since. Hell, she’s been bubbly and confident, goofing off with Penny in one episode, then giving strong orders to her team in another. The one time we see her falter was in her conversation with Qrow and he reassured her completely that she was both doing the right thing and in no way comparable to Ozpin. Now, suddenly, one line from Salem and Ruby collapses? Full on incapacitated? I could buy the crying while still standing strong, I could buy a collapse if we’d kept her characterization going from Volume Six, but this kind of reaction in this context just felt so extreme. Doesn’t help that I really wasn’t sold on the voice acting here. Those cries sound less like devastated sobs and more like weird hiccups. Not to rag on Lindsay. On the whole I think she does a really excellent job as Ruby, it’s just this particular moment didn’t read right to me. I didn’t feel Ruby’s supposed grief here.

So that was... a lot for one line from Salem in a volume of otherwise confident and cool-headed Ruby. We also don’t see it amounting to anything, as per usual with RWBY’s writing. Ruby isn’t out of commission for the rest of the conversation or anything. She pops right back up after a second in Yang’s lap, just as confident and go-getting as before. There was no lead up to this and there are no consequences for the breakdown. Rooster Teeth honestly seems to think they can just chuck random things into the story---Ruby needs to show emotion at some point!---and then just leave it at that, entirely disconnected from everything else around it. Would we have known that Ruby just had her first breakdown of the series a minute later while once again betraying Ironwood? Nope.

Finally, this scene shows us again that the Argus battle was a bunch of nonsense. Ruby’s eyes nearly activate when she’s grieving for her mother, imagining---or perhaps seeing via Salem?---a sad Summer, not a smiling one. Just like her eyes activated while seeing Pyrrha die. Just like they activated when Blake was nearly killed by the Apathy. They activate now while thinking about her mother’s death. The montage of happy moments in lieu of the sad ones not working last volume was entirely out of place.

Salem finally leaves. Now everyone is panicking about this army. Elm points out that they’ll know if anything approaches. Vine checks and realizes that Watts took out their perimeter. Either that or Salem has already destroyed everyone and everything out there. It’s impossible to know. During all this Blake asks if the Amity tower is actually finished and we get more nonsense about how Ironwood is evil for telling a lie, but the group is always justified in telling theirs. The writing really tried to compare Ironwood telling Mantle---who I guarantee 100% does not care about whether a communications tower is finished while they’re getting attacked by grimm---a lie to lure out one of their biggest threats to Blake and Yang going behind Ironwood’s back to tell a potentially non-trustworthy outlaw about said tower, risking that the information would fall into the wrong hands and doom the project before it could be completed either way. Those are not in any way comparable situations, yet the writing really has Weiss going, “General Ironwood?” in a ‘How could you betray us like that?’ tone while Yang continues to look pissed.

And as if they didn’t know! How is this a personal betrayal? They were all helping to build that tower. Surely they’d know it it was that close to being done. Again, critical thinking skills, people. Anyone with two brain cells and their insider information should have looked at Ironwood’s announcement and gone, “Oh, that must be a bluff. Just a few days ago we were arguing about whether to continue taking resources from Mantle. No way is Amity ready. He’s going after Watts. Who is indeed the much bigger threat. Considering that he has control over the entirety of our technology and there’s literally no downside to telling Mantle about a finished tower when they’re getting devoured by grimm.” This is another, “But lying is wrong!” in the face of “But lying kept us alive...?”

Does everyone get what I’m saying here? How RWBY takes these situations and tries to paint them in an absolutely ridiculous light, expecting the audience to blindly accept this perspective despite everything else they’ve seen for themselves? Like, two episodes ago? I swear I’ve never encountered writing that treats its audience this badly. Scene after scene relies heavily on the viewer having no ability to think for themselves. Just accept that Ironwood is a horrible person for lying about the tower even though there are no repercussions for that and we JUST watched him defeating Watts as a result. Like, five minutes ago. That just happened. In this episode.

Ironwood then drops the bomb that Winter has gone off to claim the Maiden power. Interesting development. I wonder what that means exactly. Is she just going to lock herself away until the Maiden dies naturally? Do they have her on some sort of life support and is there an agreement to pull the plug if necessary? Are they going to use a machine similar to the one Pyrrha was in and try to force the change early? Or is this just a misleading comment and Winter is merely off to protect the Maiden, no intention of taking the power now? Who knows. We’ll have to wait until next episode to find out.

Ironwood likewise announces that the staff and the lamp need to be locked away now that they’re compromised, even though they’ve been compromised since they first saw Tyrian in Mantle. Insert another [this scenario is so stupid and contrived] explanation here. It’s made worse by Ruby’s childish “You said we could keep it.” Excuse me? What, did you think the lamp was your personal property now forever and always? Is Ruby really sitting there arguing that something Ironwood told her weeks ago trumps the obvious logic of putting the relic where it’s somewhere safe? That’s the characterization we’re going for, a leader who cares more about, ‘But you said we could have it!’ over the fate of the world? What even is this? The fact that Ironwood has to explain to them that the situation has changed just reinforces the group’s overall attitude. That is, one of arrogance and importance. They literally need to be told why putting the relic in a nearly impenetrable vault is better than letting them have it just because they want it. Plus, you know, they lied about the lamp from the start. So there’s that too.

Finally, Ironwood reveals that Amity was originally a plan of Ozpin’s but he didn’t push it far enough. Instead, he intends to use the staff to lift all of Atlas instead, hopefully taking two relics and a Maiden far out of Salem’s reach. Ruby wants to use the tower for its designed purpose instead, which is only a valid option in her mind because the writing was stupid last week. If there had actually been any logic there---if people had been allowed to react naturally and in a variety of ways to the Salem announcement, rather than a super convenient “Yeah! Let’s all work together!” across an entire, panicking city---she wouldn’t be quite so eager to tell the whole world. But we all know at this point that logic bends to the protagonists’ whims, so Ruby wants that same perfect ending across all of Remnant. She stands her ground, as does her team. Obviously.

Meanwhile, the Ace Ops aren’t just following Ironwood’s orders like the writing wants us to think via Harriet’s earlier comment. Rather, they’re each thinking through the situation for themselves and making very good points. If Salem has taken out our perimeter than we know our tech and people don’t stand a chance against this army. We just finished up the fight in Mantle and none of us are in a position to start another. Notably, Harriet brings this up, the one whose aura took a massive hit while nearly getting crushed underfoot. Vine points out that sometimes you have to lose a battle to win the war, but Team RWBY, to be blunt, simply doesn’t care.

I’ll be blunt myself here too: I don’t have an easy solution to this particular scenario. I don’t know what the “right” or the “wrong” choice is. Weighing starting a fight with VERY high stakes you’ll lose against abandoning the people of Mantle is just a straight up horrific decision. Like so much of what Ozpin faced, there is no clear-cut, good answer here. Do you stand by the people and risk the world, or work to save the world and doom the people? I don’t know and I do commend Rooster Teeth for writing a difficult choice... just not in giving each side the weight it deserves. Because as said, we’re meant to root for Team RWBY, always. Theirs is presented as the “right” choice every time, despite the fact that, as established, this is far from a black and white decision.

What frustrates me the most is when faced with all of these logical and very important considerations (we might not have backup, we’re in no position to fight, if Salem gets the relics and another Maiden the world is screwed) the group won’t even acknowledge these things. They’re so set in their own perspective they won’t even give these HUGE concerns the time of day. Rather, Yang shoots back, “You can’t just back down from a fight!”

That’s it. That’s the group’s problem in a single line.

This is what got Pyrrha killed.

It’s something the group should remember. She also insisted on fighting when she should have retreated and, since this was back during the days when characters actually faced consequences for their actions, it cost Pyrrha her life. Granted, going after Cinder was a truly useless endeavor. Pyrrha achieved nothing with her sacrifice. Here, Team RWBY hopes to save the people of Mantle, adding a clear justification for their insistence on fighting... but this is nevertheless indicative of that larger “punch it until it stops moving” mindset. It’s not that they decide to fight instead of retreating that’s the problem, it’s that to their mind fighting is the only option. Ever. This is what led to them attacking Cordovin and destroying Argus’ mech, drawing a massive grimm in the process. When faced with the option of backing down, Team RWBY doesn’t consider that an option at all. Which is heroic when up against an actual enemy, far less so when you’re facing an ally and the choice to fight has serious repercussions attached to it. Hell, the group doesn’t even consider compromises. They could have easily acknowledged that collecting the relics, the Maiden, and getting the staff to work on Atlas will take time. You do that while we focus on evacuating the rest of Mantle to the city. But no, even the concept of a compromise simply isn’t possible. You just always fight. Straight up. Anyone who suggests anything less isn’t a true huntsmen. “We’re loyal to the people!” Ruby shouts, as if “the people” doesn’t also include the rest of the world that Ironwood is trying to save and that they’re endangering by keeping the relics and Maiden within Salem’s reach.

That is one messed up perspective to tout in a story infused with the complex and the morally gray.

The real kicker though? Ruby’s ‘My way or the highway’ attitude obliterates a solution that fell straight into her lap. Jaune calls and says straight out that they have another situation. If Ruby had listened to her teammate for just three seconds they all would have learned about Oscar, thereby undermining Ironwood’s plan. He can’t keep the lamp safe if he doesn’t know where it is. You look for it while, again, we evacuate Mantle. Then we take everything out of Salem’s reach. Win-win. Instead, Ruby blasts her way through the situation. Literally, dodging Ironwood and hiding behind his desk shouting a highly bias version of his plan in the hopes of getting everyone on her side. And it works.

Because those like Clover don’t get to hear any of that context. Like how the perimeter is gone, there’s an army potentially coming, no one is in a position to fight, we’ve already lost a relic... they just here a Ruby’s version of events that paints Ironwood as the callous man Robyn thought he was---oh my god he’s abandoning Mantle for no good reason!---and people will react accordingly. Ruby likewise doesn’t care that shouting such information over all channels does things like, say, clue Tyrian into their plan. She just wants to do things her way, right now. Pausing to think (because thinking isn’t fighting) simply doesn’t happen.

I used to adore Ruby as a hero. Someone who was intrinsically good, hopeful, and wickedly clever in her ability to come out on top. Now she’s stubborn, arrogant, at times cruel, and charges in headfirst like her sister, refusing to consider any perspective other than her own. And her team endlessly supports that. The writing endlessly supports that. This isn’t our hero working through her flaws, but rather a flawed character that the writing refuses to acknowledge is flawed. When Ruby flies behind Ironwood’s desk the music rises triumphantly, just like it did when she attacked Cordovin’s mech. When Ironwood announces that they’re under arrest, Ruby spits back, “We won’t just let you take us” and we’re supposed to cheer.

Which brings us back to the question of whether the group really faced consequences here. Let me give you all a random, non-RWBY example of two scenes. Scenario One:

Parent: You punched her?

Teen: She insulted me!

Parent: I understand that, but that doesn’t mean you were justified in attacking her.

Teen: Oh, I was.

Parent: Maybe you were, maybe you weren’t, but you can’t solve all your problems that way.

Teen: I... I know that, okay. Back off. I just get so angry...

Parent: I know. We’re going to work on that. You’re grounded this weekend. We can discuss this more then.

Teen: [sighs] Fine.

vs. Scenario Two:

Parent: You punched her?

Teen: She insulted me!

Parent: I understand that, but that doesn’t mean you were justified in attacking her.

Teen: Oh, I was.

Parent: Maybe you were, maybe you weren’t, but you can’t solve all your problems that way.

Teen: Screw you! It worked didn’t it? I think a good punch goes a long way.

Parent: That’s not... okay look. You’re grounded this weekend so---

Teen: Like hell I am. [Proceeds to run off]

Teen: [Later to friend] ---and then she tried to ground me? Can you believe that?

Friend: Holy shit what an asshole.

If we put aside my own iffy dialogue for the moment, Scenario One acknowledges the complexity of the situation while likewise pointing out that the teen didn’t handle herself well. RWBY has achieved that here: the ethics of this scenario are acknowledged as complicated, but the group did things they shouldn’t have, as evidence by Ironwood’s anger and the Ace Ops’ criticism. However, Scenario One goes on to let the teen acknowledge that mistake, thereby validating it in the first place. A consequence is set, grounding, and they accept that, thereby further validating that their behavior needs work. They accept the consequence because both they and the writing acknowledge that the consequence is deserved. It takes what was previously two subjective stances---they say I’m wrong, I say I’m right---and encourages the audience to find the middle ground. Neither was totally wrong or right. The teen might be justified in some respects, but still made mistakes in others. She needs to improve.

RWBY, however, steers firmly into Scenario Two wherein the teen (Team RWBY) insists points blank that they never made mistakes in the first place, thereby encouraging the audience to question whether Ironwood and the Ace Ops (the parent) is right to be calling them out at all. We see no humility or guilt, only confidence. Ruby shouting “No!” at Cordovin when she’s told to surrender. Yang keeping silent after admitting that she and Blake told Robyn, not bothering to apologize or admit that this might have been a breech of trust. They challenge the validity of the claim that mistakes were made and by virtue of being protagonists encourage the audience to challenge it too. Finally, we see them reject the consequence because they will not admit that it’s deserved. The teen will not accept a grounding. Ruby: “We won’t just let you take us.” We’re then told by others that this rejection was warranted. The friend reinforces the view that the teen was right to run because that punishment is undeserved. The message is, “You never did anything wrong in the first place.” The plot of RWBY likewise reinforces the view that resisting Cordovin’s arrest was right by having her randomly let the group go. The consequence is replaced with a reward and, presumably, we’ll have a similar situation wherein the group either defeats the Ace Ops or is released by them. The consequences never take hold because the writing doesn’t think there should be consequences in the first place. Team RWBY isn’t going to be arrested here. They’re certainly not acknowledging that on some level they deserve to be. We didn’t see that humility while they were cuffed on the airship---that most basic acknowledgement of, “Did we make some mistakes? Could we have done something better? Is Ironwood right to be this mad?”---and there’s none of it now here, either. The tone is pure, “How dare you try and arrest us? We’re the good guys here!”

This remains as pro-protagonist as it has been the last two volumes. There are no consequences, only another hurdle for the group to overcome, painted as heroes for doing so. It’s Team RWBY vs. The Ace Ops and there’s no confusion about who we’re supposed to be rooting for. The Ace Ops because the group should rightly be stopped from hindering Ironwood’s attempts to keep the relics and a Maiden out of Salem’s hands, for their own lies and secret keeping that endangered them all this volume? Nope. It’s Team RWBY as the presumed heroes, facing off against soldiers who (supposedly) prioritize orders over what’s “right.”

And yeah, Oscar is gone. There are a number of dismantled robots and blaster fire in the room where Neo presumably took him. So unless they do a flashback we don’t get to see if/how Ozpin reacted to this initial attack. I hope they do provide a flashback because otherwise that’s another crucial scene of Oscar’s that happened off screen...

Can’t wait to see what else we’ll end up with next week! Until then, 💜

#rwby #rwby volume 7 #rwby volume 7 spoilers #rwby recaps #mymetas

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inmyownlittlecorner5 · 4 years

Text

Moonlight Chapter 26: Scraps

A fanfic Novel by la-topolina

Rated for Mature Audiences

Warnings: Language, Violence, Sexual Content

Chapter 26/26

Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter Twenty-Five+

Wherever she was, it was quiet and safe. It was also dark. She thought that her eyes were open, but she could not see anything at all. It was like the time her family had gone to that cave that Jesse James had hidden in, and the tour guide had turned off all the lights so they could see how dark it was. She and her brothers had waved their hands in front of each others’ faces, laughing themselves silly at the fact that they couldn’t see them. But she wasn’t worried; not now. The taste of elderflower tickled her tongue, she was bone-weary, and whatever she was lying on was deliciously soft. A sound like water lapping at the shore rocked her, and she felt no pain in this half-world.

It was her time; and she was ready to go.

Something cool touched her; something sharp and prickly that prodded her forehead, her cheek, her chest. She wheezed and tried to protest the invasion, but no words came out. It was like trying to talk underwater. A babble of sounds mixed with the rushing noise in her ears; and though she thought she heard voices, she could not make out their words. Her eyes were shut after all, and she had not the energy to pry them open. She wished they would stop, these things that tormented her. As the voices grew louder and came into sharper focus, she tried to flinch away and failed. Being touched hurt. The voices hurt. Moving hurt. Breathing hurt. Everything…

“….Miranda….”

Oh. That voice. She knew that voice. It washed over her like dark honey and she panted, desiring more of its soothing tones.

“Severus?” Her own voice was a pathetic plea, but she was past caring about trifling things like dignity and pride. She was thirsty for his voice, thirsty for his touch, thirsty for his very presence, and dying—of thirst or something else—but dying all the same.

“I’m here. Don’t talk. I’m taking you to St. Mungo’s.”

Her heart tripped; and though she had surfaced to intolerable pain, she was willing to bear it for a little longer, if only for the pleasure of hearing him speak. She was no longer content to lie still and wait, she had to move, had to touch him. But her limbs ignored her like rebellious children, and she could only whimper her disapproval as the thing underneath her jerked her body. White-hot streaks of agony stabbed her everywhere, and she heard him swear brokenly under his breath. That wouldn’t do. She would be brave for him. She quieted her complaints and willed her eyes to open. And, though it took every ounce of strength she had left, open they did, and she saw him.

His face was pale, like always, and his hair hung limply on either side of his angular cheeks. It was oily today, like it was when he’d spent too much time in the potions room, or when he’d forgotten to wash it for too long. When they had first met, he had been careless about that aspect of his appearance. But after she’d gone to Romania, every time she saw him, his hair had been scrupulously clean. She’d never mentioned it, but she had noticed. He must not have expected to see her today.

“Severus,” she whispered, “it’s been good.”

His tone was stern when he answered her. “Miranda, I absolutely forbid you to die. It is completely out of the question.”

A laugh bubbled up in her, and she tasted blood in her mouth. “I don’t think there’s anything that can stop that now.”

“You took the Stasis Potion, did you not?”

She struggled to remember, but her brain felt soft. “I…think the Spiridus…fed it to me.”

The ground jerked beneath her, and her stomach rolled as the world around her started to spin. A sickening heat flashed through her body, and she thought she might retch. She could not tell how long the torture continued, but just when she thought it might go on forever, it stopped abruptly. Now she was blessedly still, and a soft, wet rain was kissing her face. God she was thirsty.

“Kiss me, Severus.”

A shattered moan escaped his throat, and he brought his lips down on hers. She drank the life she knew he was willing into her, even though she could feel it pouring back out of the innumerable wounds that had destroyed her body. Everything she’d ever felt for him; desire, anger, friendship, compassion, blended together into a brilliant mass. She sank into it, and as it washed over her she felt a tenderness beating at its core. As the jackel-men had ripped open her body, this feeling wrenched open her soul, and she was undone.

His heart was in his eyes, and he was close enough that she could feel his breath. She would tell him now, before she lost the chance to do so.

“Severus, I want to tell you…”

He laid his finger over her lips, and she closed them against the weight. “I said you are not allowed to die.”

His hand rested gently on her cheek, and she turned her face towards it. Then there was darkness again, and an awful sensation; she was being sucked dry, pulled apart, suffocated.

Then there was nothing.

*****

Apparating in a state of agitation, particularly while bringing the body of an injured person along for the ride, was a feat that Severus did not desire to repeat any time in the near future. He glanced at Miranda’s inert form, finding that the experience had thrown her back into unconsciousness. As he choked on the malodorous stench of decay that hung in the air, he reflected that it was probably better that way. Whoever was responsible for the brilliant idea of placing the emergency entrance to St. Mungo’s between a line of Muggle dumpsters should be submerged in one and lit on fire.

He flicked his wand violently at the stretcher he’d transfigured from Miranda’s sofa, levitating it off the filthy street with a sickening jerk. Berating himself for his carelessness, he ran his fingers lightly over her battered face. Her breath was still coming in shallow, irregular pants, and the pulse at her throat was thready. A steadier wand swish set the stretcher moving, hovering through the air on invisible strings. He hurried up the delivery ramp with his patient close behind, to a large metal door painted with the warning “Do Not Block.” His slapped the ‘D’ with far more force than necessary, and an unpleasant pulling sensation drew both of them through the entrance into the brightly lit passage beyond. A witch with dark hair and enormous, rectangular glasses was perched at a desk, imperiously directing a queue of witches and wizards in various degrees of distress. He joined it begrudgingly, burning through the remainder of his patience with the speed of an inferno devouring tinder.

“Welcome to St. Mungo’s,” the witch said in a voice like a strangled goat when she finally deigned to notice him. “What is the nature of your emergency?”

“Severe injuries sustained in battle,” he replied tersely.

The welcome witch was unimpressed. “Name of the injured party?”

“Miranda Jane Rose.”

“Affiliation?”

“Order of the Phoenix.” He put his hand on Miranda’s wrist, reassuring himself that her heart was still beating as the inane interrogation continued.

“Magical I.D.?”

Would the witch never get on with it? “I don’t have it.”

She gave him a disapproving sniff and thrust a stack of parchment into his hand. “I see. In that case, you’ll have to fill out all of these.”

“I hardly think this is the time for such nonsense. Or is it the hospital’s practice to allow patients bleed to death while they attempt to satisfy the insatiable demands of pointless bureaucracy?”

“Hospital protocol exists for a reason, sir.”

“Apparently so. The more patients who perish in the anteroom, the fewer you actually have to bother with treating.”

“It’s not my fault you forgot the necessary parchments. Residence?”

“A cabin at Upper Diddling, near Brighton.” Two more questions and then he was going to cast a Confundus and take her to triage, protocol be damned.

“Place of birth?”

“Edgewater, Kansas.”

“Kansas?” The welcome witch peered over the rim of her oversized glasses. “Do you mean the Kansas in America?”

“No, I mean the Kansas in Northumberland,” he sneered. “Of course I bloody well mean the Kansas in America.”

“Is she a MACUSA citizen?”

“Yes.”

She clucked her tongue. “Why didn’t you say so at the beginning? Foreign citizens require a completely different set of parchment.”

“What this woman requires is a healer’s attention immediately,” Severus growled, sliding his wand out of his sleeve. “And if you possessed the brains of a flobberworm, she would already be receiving it.”

“One more word like that out of you, sir, and I’ll be calling security.”

“Professor Severus, I wasn’t expecting to see you again today.” Healer A’isha appeared from around the corner, and Severus quickly replaced his wand. “Has something happened? There is blood on your lips.”

His hand automatically went to his mouth and his fingers came away streaked with red. “It’s not mine. It’s…”

“What is going on here?” Healer A’isha had cleared the desk and now had an unobstructed view of Miranda’s mangled body. “Is she one of yours?”

“Yes.”

Healer A’isha began barking orders. “Miss Rhea, I am taking this woman and Professor Severus to triage.”

Miss Rhea put her hands on her hips and snarled another attack. “Healer A’isha, these people are not cleared to enter the hospital. I was just about to pull the files with their security questions. That is, assuming they’re even on the Order’s list at all.”

“I am overriding that protocol.”

“If they turn out to be Death Eaters, I want it noted that it was your rule-breaking that let them in.”

“I’ll put it in my report. This way, Professor Severus.”

“But the parchments,” the welcome witch whined as they maneuvered Miranda around the impediment of her desk.

“Send them up with Healer Augustus. He will be on the hourglass within the next ten minutes. And send up Healer Hippocrates, too.”

“Healer A’isha, you know he hates to work when he’s already flipped his hourglass for the day!”

“He’ll hate it more if he misses this, I promise you.”

Severus could have kissed her. As they moved swiftly through the candlelit corridors, he felt air moving through his lungs for the first time since he’d seen Catalina at the castle gates. Even as they walked, Healer A’isha was making her preliminary examination, her long brown fingers moving lightly over Miranda’s motionless form.

“Tell me what happened,” she said in a tone both firm and gentle.

“She was in Romania on a mission for the Order. There was a battle with an army of creatures. We thought she was lost, but a being called a Spiridus brought her here.”

“A Spiridus? I have only read about them. What potions has she taken?”

“At least three vials of Strengthening Solution.”

“Ah. That accounts for her pulse. She should not have taken so many.”

“I am aware of that. She also took a Stasis Potion.”

“I am not familiar with that potion. Is it one of yours?”

“Yes.” Unlike the welcome witch’s sniping, this volley of questions was somehow soothing to him.

“When Healer Augustus comes, I will need you to list the components of the completed potion to him.”

“I understand.”

“What were the creatures she fought?”

“I don’t know what they are called. I lent her comrade my portkey to come here. She will be able to tell you more about the battle itself.”

At last they entered the winged doors of triage, and Severus brought the stretcher to a halt. Healer A’isha ran her wand slowly over Miranda’s body. As she traced each limb, an image of her patient’s bones and organs appeared in color-coded light. Green for health, yellow for mild injury, purple for severe injury, red for mortal injury…Merlin there was so much red…

“I should have brought her via portkey as well, it would have been faster,” he blurted. “All the members of the Order have been carrying portkeys since Arthur’s attack. But I remembered what you said this morning about moving injured persons and I thought…”

“Peace, Professor,” she said, halting his babbling. “It was better to bring her the slower way and avoid moving her as much as possible. You did the right thing.”

“Thank you,” he choked, his vision blurring for a moment. He shut his eyes, he was not going to cry again, not here, not now.

“Healer A’isha?” A disgustingly chipper nurse in blue robes swept into triage, with an irate Romanian witch close at hand. “I’m not sure, but I think this witch is looking for someone. She came in with the finger-print linked portkey, so I don’t think she’s a Death Eater; but the Rosetta Stone is acting up again; and she doesn’t speak any English; and we’ve just been going round and round for the last twenty minutes.”

“Thank you Nurse. That will be all,” Healer A’isha said, dismissing the woman briskly.

“{Professor Snape, this is the most disorganized hospital I have ever seen. Things are not like this in Romania,}” Catalina complained.

“{I don’t disagree, Doamnă Dragnea,}” Severus replied.

The next half hour was a blur of answering questions, translating between Healer A’isha and Catalina, and doing his best to avoid staring at the lighted map that revealed the extent of Miranda’s internal injuries. He could read the thing well enough to tell that his Stasis Potion had worked better than he’d ever hoped that it would. Unfortunately, he found that he was in no way gratified by that knowledge. Rather, he felt vaguely sick when he realized that his efforts at brewing an experimental potion were the only thing standing between his lover and her grave.

A rotund Healer with spectacles and a white handlebar mustache joined them presently. He barely bothered to introduce himself as Hippocrates Smethwyck before he and Healer A’isha whisked Miranda away for treatment. For a moment, the ground seemed to shift beneath Severus’s feet, as though he had been running for hours and had come to a sudden and unexpected stop.

He had no idea what to do next.

An athletic boy in lime green robes, surely too young to be a Healer stepped up to him, saving him the trouble of taking a decision.

“Hello, Professor Snape,” the boy said with the wide-eyed eagerness of a Hufflepuff. “You probably don’t remember me. I’m Augustus Pye.”

Severus eyed the boy—young man—shrewdly. “Of course I remember you. Class of ’89. Decent N.E.W.T. work.”

“Thank you, sir. Coming from you, that’s a compliment. I’m a full Healer now.”

“Congratulations.” A headache was starting to pound behind his eyes, and he was beginning to see stars at the edge of his field of vision.

“Why don’t we go find somewhere quiet to sit,” Augustus suggested. “I’m afraid we’ve got a little more parchment work to fill out. Might as well be comfortable while we do.”

“As you say.”

Answering yet more questions sounded as appealing as taking tea with Dolores Umbridge, but Severus had not an ounce of fight left in him. He allowed the new Healer to lead him and Catalina into a deserted alcove, fitted up with a low-burning candelabra and three enormously comfortable armchairs. Catalina promptly curled herself into a ball and fell asleep, and Severus couldn’t say that he blamed her.

“Okay, Professor. Let’s take it from the top.”

*****

Severus’s throat was raw when he pried his stinging eyes open sometime later. He did not ever remember closing them, but when he had rubbed them with the backs of his chapped hands, and glanced out the arched window that graced the alcove, he saw the moon was high in the sky. When he’d arrived at the hospital on this second errand it had been barely sundown. It must be near midnight now. Catalina still slumbered in the chair next to him, and Healer Pye was nowhere in sight. He made an attempt to extract himself from the armchair, but his joints were so stiff that it was not worth the effort. His stomach rumbled, requesting his attention, but he ignored it, as though his discomfort might somehow aid Miranda in surviving the night.

Light footsteps drew his attention, and he saw Healer A’isha enter the alcove. She had dark circles under her eyes, and her expression was implacably serene. As she sank into the vacant chair, he braced himself for the blow that he knew he could no longer avoid.

“Miss Miranda is alive, Professor Severus.” Healer A’isha’s voice was as cool and calm as her bearing. “Healer Augustus and Nurse Grace are settling her in a room, and then you will be able to see her.”

“Thank Merlin.” It was as close to a prayer as he’d ever said in his adult life.

“Infidel,” Healer A’isha teased with the ghost of a smile. “We have done as much as we can tonight. We must wait until her body has cleared the Strengthening Solution before we attempt anything further.”

“It is dangerous to wait, I take it?”

“Yes, but it is more dangerous to add to the stress on her systems now.”

“I see.” He no longer felt hungry—he felt like his stomach was full of lead.

“It will be as Allah wills, but do not lose hope. She is strong, and we will do our best by her. I promise.”

He snorted. “You say that to everyone.”

“I do. And I mean it every time.”

“Healer A’isha, I am well aware that your promise is worth fifty of any other Healer’s. But don’t lie to me. If she is dying, simply say so.”

“We are all dying, Professor Severus. But if she has any family or friends who would want to see her alive, you may wish to give them the opportunity.”

She did not torture him by completing the thought, and he nodded numbly, grasping the mirror she held out to him with stiff fingers.

“Just return it to a Nurse when you are finished. I must go home now, but you are in good hands, and I will return in the morning.”

“Thank you, Healer A’isha.”

“It is my pleasure, Professor Severus.”

He forced his creaky legs to stand so that he could return her bow. Once he had gained his feet, he paced the alcove, loosening his limbs and avoiding the calls that he knew he had to make. He allowed himself five minutes of procrastination, then he turned the mirror over in his hands.

A wizard with bright eyes and a voice too cheerful for the witching hour appeared in the glass. “Good evening, sir. Where can I direct your call?”

“Mr Aaron Lee, number 76, MACUSA Embassy, London.”

*****

“{I think she looks worse now than when we brought her here,}” Catalina said darkly.

“{I don’t recall asking for your opinion,}” Severus retorted, privately agreeing with the Romanian’s assessment.

The three of them were alone at last in a cramped, windowless, but mercifully private room in Jude the Unfortunate’s Ward for Hopeless Cases. In addition to the poisoning from the extra Strengthening Solution and the physical damage to Miranda’s body, the căpcăuns contained a venom in their claws that was spreading a slow, deadly infection throughout her system. Add to that the Stasis Potion which, while it was working for her, was also, in some ways, working against the Healers, it was anyone’s guess as to whether or not she would ultimately pull through.

Severus was pacing the paltry length of the sterile space, dodging chairs not nearly as comfortable as the ones in the alcove. His attention was divided between staring at the charmed etching on the wall that claimed Miranda was still breathing; and staring at the body on the narrow bed that was so still he hardly believed that the etching was correct. Miranda was laid out as for the undertaker, as pale and motionless as a marble gisant waiting to grace a tomb. She was clean though; someone had washed away the blood and sweat and dirt. The wounds were staunched and dressed where required. Her caretakers had even taken the trouble to comb her hair and plait it into a shining braid that snaked over her shoulder. She looked like the storied princess, patiently awaiting the live-giving kiss.

Unfortunately, he was not that kind of a prince, and this was not a fairy tale.

Around two in the morning, according to the miniature astronomical clock above the door, Rachel Lee joined the somber trio. She came bearing a pair of bento boxes and a thermos of hot tea, and she would not be satisfied until both Catalina and Severus were crammed into the chairs, balancing the offerings on their knees. Catalina dug in immediately, but Severus picked at the miso salmon and the rice, until Rachel cajoled him into trying the cucumber salad. The tanginess of the vinegar married with the depth of the sesame oil coaxed his dormant tastebuds to wakefulness, and he found he had more than enough room to demolish the whole of the dish and wish there were more.

“{I can’t stay long, Maggie is waking up constantly to nurse these days. Growth spurt, I think,} Rachel said in ponderous, but intelligible Romanian.

Severus cocked an eyebrow at the American witch. “{Rachel. You didn’t tell me you spoke Romanian.}”

She winked at him. “{You didn’t ask. I picked it up when I was procrastinating translating all those potion texts. Why don’t you both come back and sleep for a while? We have loads of room in our flat.}”

Catalina’s exhausted eyes brightened at the mention of a bed. “{But only if it will not be any trouble,}” she stipulated wearily.

“{No trouble at all,}” Rachel insisted. “Well, Severus? Won’t you come too?"

“No, I thank you. I want to be here when Aaron arrives with Miranda’s parents.” He did not, in point of fact, want to be there when Miranda’s parents arrived, but he felt that he owed them his presence, even though he doubted they would return the sentiment.

“I understand, and it’s a standing offer. Anytime you want to drop in, day or night, no warning necessary.”

She collected the dishes and left him with a MACUSA eagle that would gain him admittance to the Embassy. Catalina trailed after her, yawning. He shifted in the chair, but every position was equally uncomfortable. Eventually his legs fell asleep, and he sat, staring at Miranda over his steepled fingers, wandering in and out of a doze as the minutes ticked away.

Mercury was halfway across the painted sky on the clock, and Severus’s sleepy brain registered it was nearly dawn, when the door opened again. Aaron, almost unrecognizable without his carefree grin, led a pair of Muggles into the hushed room, and Severus rose stiffly to his feet with all the eagerness of a man facing the gibbet. Miranda’s father was a barrel-chested man, nearly as tall as Aaron, with piercing blue eyes and a neatly trimmed, hoary beard. Her mother was a willowy woman, her dark hair peppered with silver, her grey eyes the mirror of Miranda’s and brimming with tears.

“Conor, Monica, this is Severus Snape, the fella I told you about,” Aaron said, breaking the silence. “Severus, Conor and Monica Rose.”

Now that he was facing Miranda’s parents, pinned by Conor’s suspicious glare and Monica’s gaunt sorrow, Severus wished he had taken Rachel up on her offer of respite. What a damned, sentimental idiot he was to think he should be here at a time like this. What was he even supposed to say to these Muggles? So nice to meet you Mr Rose, I’m the one who’s been fornicating with your daughter for the last year or so. Mrs Rose, how enchanting to finally make your acquaintance. I am a great admirer of your embroidery work, especially the piece gracing the wall of your daughter’s bedroom, with which I am intimately familiar.

In the end, when Mr Rose crushed his hand in an iron grip, he simply muttered, “Good morning Mr Rose. I am sorry we did not meet under better circumstances.”

Conor pumped his hand once and released him. “So am I, son. So am I.”

Severus bristled at the epithet ‘son,' but bit his tongue. Conor had obviously not meant it as a compliment, and in any case, he had already moved past Severus and drawn up a chair to sit at his daughter’s shoulder.

Monica held out her hand to him in a polished, but distracted greeting.

“Professor Snape, we’re glad to meet you. From what Aaron was telling us, we have you to thank that Miranda is still among the living,” she said warmly, but her eyes kept darting between his face and her daughter’s body.

Her gratitude made him feel worse than Conor’s spite ever could have accomplished. “I’ve done nothing to deserve your thanks, madam.”

She neither confirmed nor denied his statement, and he let go of her hand in order to place a chair for her by Miranda’s side. She slipped into it, and brushed a stray lock back from her daughter’s bruised face. Aaron took the final chair, and Severus backed away as far as the room would allow, feeling as unwelcome as Actaeon in Diana’s wood. He wouldn’t put it past Conor to turn and rend him if the opportunity presented itself.

“I don’t know, Conor,” Monica said in a strained voice after she’d examined the state of her child. “She looks better than she did after that time with the Jersey Devils. Remember? It took the Healers a week to set her straight and we still had to get Father Donnelly to exorcise her.”

Conor glanced up at his wife, and a boyish smile broke across his face, making him appear years younger. “You might be right, Butterfly. Do you remember that, Aaron?”

Aaron let out a low whistle. “Sure do, Conor. The Tin-Hat Brigade was busy for a month, writing copy for the tabloids, trying to convince the No-Majs that the whole shebang was a result of fumes from a putrid cranberry bog.” He gave a jaw-splitting yawn. “She’ll pull through. She’s too tough to die.”

“Don’t I know it. Takes after her Ma.”

“You’ve got the eagle I gave you?”

“Yessir.”

“Good. The welcome witch’ll be able to call an escort for you when you’re ready for a break. Rachel’ll be around later this morning, and I’ll be back after work.”

“Thank you Aaron, for everything,” Monica said.

“No trouble at all. I’ll see you soon.”

The room seemed smaller after Aaron had taken his leave, rather than more spacious. Severus was painfully aware of the awkwardness of the situation and, much as he was loathe to leave Miranda’s side, he was becoming more certain by the second that his presence was not at all desired by her progenitors. With a sick heart, he slunk towards the door, Bellerophon repulsed for having dared to sully paradise.

He was in the hallway when Monica spoke his name; but he pulled the door shut after him, pretending not to hear.

He would rather wander the world blind and broken by his own decision than give the gods the pleasure of casting him out.

*****

On Tuesday the Healers decided to risk administering the first round of antidotes to the struggling patient. That night, Miranda was feverish, tossing and muttering nonsense; still unaware of her surroundings. In the small hours of the morning, she finally settled into a quieter sleep; although her face was still flushed and her breathing rapid and shallow. Monica dozed, feet tucked up on her chair and her chin resting on her knees; Conor sat, busily whittling with a large pocket knife, letting the scraps of wood fall heedlessly to the floor; and Severus paced, determined to wear a track in the tile beneath his feet. He had not bothered to enquire if the Roses desired his presence at their daughter’s sickbed, and he had come into the room, both this evening and the one previous, prepared to insist on his entitlement to be there. He had a list of reasons, carefully curated and impeccably logical; not one of them stooping to the baseness of feeble-minded emotion. Neither of his antagonists condescended to question him, and while Monica was unwaveringly polite, Conor's adroit blend of silence and pointed observation communicated his opinion of his daughter’s paramour with perfect clarity.

“Miranda never mentioned you,” Conor said matter-of-factly without looking up from his creation.

Although he had thought his armor impervious to slights, Severus was taken aback by how much that revelation stung him.

“That does not surprise me,” he replied evenly.

“Aaron mentioned you’re wrapped up in some dodgy shit over here.”

“That is not untrue.”

“Said you’re head-over-heels stupid for my girl, but that nobody’s supposed to know.”

Severus was going to hex that American blabbermouth at the first available opportunity. “Aaron talks too damned much.”

“He does, don’t he?”

Conor let that comment hang in the air for a while and continued his work; slowly transforming the smooth wood into a trim little sparrow. Severus resumed his pacing, dividing his attention between crafting an appropriately acrid diatribe with which to revenge himself on Aaron Lee, and berating himself for the mistake of giving the man that much information in the first place.

At last Conor spoke again, and his voice was soft, unmarred by the edge of hostility that had been present in it up to now.

“You know, I’ve always been proud of Miranda. Couldn’t ask for a tougher, smarter girl. And sweet too. Sweeter than she ought to be. But damn if she don’t scare the shit out of me something regular. I suppose every father comes to the understanding that he can’t protect his children, ‘specially once they’re grown. But most fathers don’t have to watch their girls get cut to pieces by things that ain’t supposed to exist except in nightmares or Hell. Humbles a man.”

“Most unfortunate.”

“Eh, a man has to be humbled now and then. It ain’t good to have too much pride, makes your head soft.” He looked up from his whittling finally, and his eyes had the twinkle in them that Severus had only witnessed when Conor was talking to those in his favor. “What I’m saying is, I’m glad that she’s got you at her back. Even if you are stuffed shirt Englishman.”

It was the most flattering insult Severus had ever received, and he was embarrassed at how much it soothed his troubled heart. “I take it you expect me to thank you for that.”

“Nah. I expect you to sit down and play a round of Rummy with me. That pacing’s driving me nuts.”

*****

By the end of the week, the Healers were cautiously hopeful that Miranda would recover. The balancing act continued between the spells and potions she required, and the amount of stress her damaged body could stand; but the scales seemed to have tipped decidedly in her favor. Severus found that he was firmly ensconced in the strange little coterie of her family and friends; and—stranger still—he found that he was pleased to have been accepted into it. His days had settled into a grueling, but satisfactory, routine which allowed him to spend most of his unscheduled time in Miranda’s hospital room. He did yield to Monica’s insistence that they take a walk in the early evenings, and he did consent to eat whatever food Rachel foisted on him. But he drew the line at actually retiring to the Lees’ flat to sleep, preferring to catch what rest he could at Miranda’s bedside, or in his office between classes.

On Saturday evening, the entire party conspired to drag him away to the Embassy for dinner. Rachel had prepared a feast of sushi, sukiyaki, pickles, and sliced mango. Intoxicated by the mutual good-will, and one glass too many of sake, he had relented to Rachel’s gentle commands that he lie down after dinner for a catnap. When he opened his eyes several hours later and stumbled into the darkened kitchen, he cursed to himself that he’d let so much time slip through his fingers. With clumsy hands he lit the lamps and put the kettle on for tea, flinching at every clang and clatter that he made. He did manage to wrestle both the tea leaves and the water into the pot without breaking anything or burning himself by the time Catalina slipped into the flat.

“{Good evening, Severus,}” she said, looking amused by his state. “{It is good that you finally slept. We were becoming worried for your sanity.}”

“{A concern I share every day, considering the company I keep,}” he quipped. But the nap had done him good—though he’d never admit to it. “{How is she?}”

“{The same. The Healers say it is only a matter of time before she wakes up, and that then they will have a better idea of how long it will take for her to recover.}”

He poured them both a cup of tea and they gathered companionably at the table to partake of it. “{Will you be returning home soon?}” he asked.

“{Yes. I want to stay until she wakes if I can. But I cannot put off going home for much longer. Gabi is waiting for me.}” Her brow furrowed at the mention of her brother, and she hastily turned the subject. “{Before I go, I would like to meet your son, if opportunity permits.}”

Severus choked on the tea he was attempting to drink. “{Pardon me? I do not have a son.}”

“{I…you don’t?}” Catalina eyed him dubiously. “{Are you certain of that?}”

The memory of the appalling conversation he’d had with Miranda in this very flat sprang to mind and he shook his hair forward to ensure that his ears were concealed. “{Quite.}”

“{Oh. Well. Never mind then.}” She took a prim sip. “{Is English weather always so dismal this time of year?}”

“{Catalina,}” he said in as stern a tone as he could manage in another language. “{Why were you under the impression that I had a son?}”

Her cheeks colored and she pursed her lips. “{I was making assumptions where I shouldn’t have. I knew that Miranda had a son and I thought that her child would naturally be yours as well. Pardon me for the mistake and for prying.}”

Had the lights in this room always been so blinding? And why had he suddenly forgotten how to breathe? Quick, fool, pull yourself together and get whatever information you can out of her.

“{How do you know about Miranda’s son? It’s not something she talks about with most people.}” Like her lover, for instance.

Catalina gestured like an angry bird. “{We talked about it on the mountaintop when we were waiting for the Sânziene. I already knew she was a mother because Doamna Lupul made it a stipulation that she be one to participate in the competition. I was exempt from that requirement because my brother was one of the lost children, but Doamna Lupul said that a mother would have true sympathy for the families who had lost their sons and daughters, and so could be trusted with competing, even though she was a foreigner.}”

“{Naturally.}” It took every ounce of restraint to hold his tongue in the hopes that she would continue and reveal whatever else she knew.

The silence discomposed her and he was rewarded. “{She said his name is Isaac and he’s eleven this summer. I assume he is in America?}”

“{Where else would he be?}” Merlin, if he were that old he must be David Clearwater’s progeny. He would be at Ilvermorny by now. How could she never have mentioned him?

Catalina hastily finished her cup and excused herself to bed, but Severus hardly noticed her going. He let his tea go cold and left it sitting on the table as he wandered out into the night towards the hospital. But when he reached Purge and Dowse, Ltd, he kept walking, venting his frustration on an empty beer can that he hexed up the deserted street as he fumed.

A son. David Clearwater’s son. And she’d never told him—never even hinted—insisted she couldn’t have children at all. But then, he’d never thought to ask the devious woman if she already had children, had he? None of it made any sense to him. No, that wasn’t true. Some of it did make sense; and as the threads wove together, he did not like the picture they made in the least. But he was a logical man; a sensible man; and so he did what any man of his ilk would do, and made a list.

Item the first; Miranda had a life that he knew nothing about; moreover, it was a life with which she wanted him to have nothing to do.

Item the second; Miranda was pleased enough with his services as a companion and a lover that she had spoken favorably of her return to Britain following her Romanian misadventure. As far as he knew, she had no immediate plans to return to America.

Item the third; Miranda was a capricious witch, and he would not be at all surprised if one day she left him with no warning whatsoever.

Item the fourth; she had beguiled him to the point that, if he were not already in love with Lily Evans, he would think that he harbored the traitorous emotion for her instead.

Item the fifth; he had even started to hope that one day—in some far off nebulous time that would surely never come to pass because he would be dead before it could—they would make a home together with a stone cottage and a potions room and a dueling hall and a garden in the back (not that he’d imagined it in any sort of depth, thank you very much).

Item the sixth; She obviously was making no such plans. How could she wish to make a future with someone when she could not even be bothered to tell him such pertinent information as the fact that she had a bloody child back home that called her Mama?

Item the seventh; if he were wise, he would end this whole incautious affair immediately. It was an irresponsible whim and indulging it—especially since she obviously did not suffer the same doltish regard for him—was moronic at best.

Item the eighth; Hecate’s Withered Tit, he did love her. Thank Merlin he’d never been stupid enough to say so.

Item the ninth; he was a damned idiot.

He slashed the can with a savage hex and it skittered through a broken grate into the sewer. His breath came in pants and he raked his fingers through his hair, as though he might plough some sense into his brain. The moon was his only witness; and he thought that he could see the cold goddess’s face; heartlessly taunting him from her chariot on high.

*****

Something was resting on Miranda’s chest. Something warm and comfortable. She wanted to wrap her arms around it and keep it there, but she couldn’t seem to move them. She also wanted to scratch her nose; the itch there was driving her crazy. But there was no sense in fretting about things she couldn’t manage, so she just floated along in this dreamy limbo; certain that at some point she would be directed what to do next. She knew she was dead. And since she wasn’t in torment, she assumed that she’d avoided Hell. Maybe this was Purgatory, and soon she’d be handed her load to carry up the mountain where she would sing the praises of God with her fellows on the climb to Heaven.

Gradually a chill seeped into her bones, and the pressure on her chest became crushingly burdensome. She struggled to breathe against it, and wondered why she bothered. If she was dead, what use was oxygen? But struggle she did, and with every pant, another part of her body joined the chorus of pain. Her head hurt. Her legs hurt. Her stomach hurt. Her chest hurt. Good Lord, even her fingernails and her hair hurt.

Maybe she was in Hell after all.

There was a scraping noise in the world outside her body, and for a sick moment she thought it was a demon preparing a blade to vivisect her like she’d seen in a picture once as a child. She thought she’d been shriven before she’d made that final quest, but maybe it hadn’t taken.

Deciding it was better to see the evil threatening her than imagine what might be there, she bravely pried her eyes open. At first everything was a confused blur of light and shadows, but as she ponderously blinked, her vision cleared.

“You look like hell, Pixie,” said a voice that was almost as comfortable as the weight she’d left behind.

She peeled open her dry, cracking lips and mustered a smile at the sight of her dear Papa. “You should see the other guy.”

“I’ll bet you handed those mongrels their asses.” He leaned down to kiss her, and his whiskers tickled her cheek. “It’s good to see you, girl.”

“Where’s Mama?”

“I’m here, darling.” Her mother came into view next, kissing her with cool, soothing lips. “You gave us a scare.”

She tried to lift her arms to embrace her parents, but they were too heavy. “Why can’t I move?”

“You’ve been mostly dead for a week now. The Healers are pretty sure you’ll be right as rain eventually, but it’s going to take time,” Conor reassured her.

She should have been happy. Hell—she’d cheated Death—she should have been ecstatic. But instead she felt like an abandoned shell; like a stranded traveler who’d missed the last train; like the lame boy who had hobbled along after the pied piper only to be shut out of paradise.

“Mira, are you alright?” Monica’s discerning eyes were searching her face with concern. It would frighten them to know that their daughter was lying there wishing she were dead. They mustn’t know. She wouldn’t let them know.

“I mean, all things considered, I’m peachy.” She tried to smile for them and doubted she managed. “How long have I been here?”

“Severus brought you here a week ago tomorrow,” Conor said with an ease that startled her.

“Severus? When did you meet him? And when did you get to be on a first name basis with him? He’s usually a stick in the mud.”

Her parents exchanged a knowing look over her head, the kind that usually made her want to roll her eyes in irritation. Unfortunately, her eyes hurt too much to roll at the moment.

“What can I say, Pixie, we bonded over our mutual terror that you were going to kick it.” Conor laughed. “I’m not denying that he’s a stuffed shirt, but the man’s crazy for you, that’s for sure.”

Miranda no longer felt the pressure on her chest—she felt like she was in free-fall. She hadn’t said anything stupid had she? She did remember being emotional when Severus had found her dying in her cabin, but she hadn’t thought she’d actually said anything about it. Hadn’t he stopped her before she’d passed the point of no return? God she hoped so.

“I don’t know about that,” she protested weakly, but the door opened, and her admirer swept into the room, commanding everyone’s attention.

He looked angry, but that was usual. Her parents greeted him like an old friend, which was strange to witness, but not unusual for them. Her parents had a way of befriending even the most standoffish persons. In a whirl of hand-shaking and congratulations, her parents tactfully excused themselves to the tea room, and before she could speak a word to defend herself, she was alone with him.

When he turned to her, he was a man at war with himself, and she could see the battle playing out in his eyes. The ever-present pique yielded to something softer, and while she told herself it was melancholy or fatigue that effected the change; she suspected it was something else that she did not wish to see.

“It is as I said,” he observed, “More lives than a cat.”

“I’m durable. It’s one of my more useful qualities.”

He smirked at her, burying his heart beneath his sardonic mask. But his lips trembled on hers when he kissed her, and she could taste the salt of his tears. She tilted her head back, taking what he offered, and refusing to think about the implications.

He did not linger there, but seated himself next to her bed and retrieved a book from the folds of his robe.

“As I recall, the only sure way to keep you in bed when you are convalescing is to read to you constantly.”

Her relief at the realization that she would not have to make conversation was palpable. She was far too exhausted to know what to say.

“You remember right. Although I don’t think I could move now even if the room were on fire.”

That softness flickered across his face again, and he reached out to grasp her hand with his.

“Soon, my Barbarian. Soon.”

*****

He was a genius, if he did say so himself.

When he’d first volunteered to superintend Miranda’s recovery, he hadn’t been certain he could manage the necessary alterations to his quarters that the situation required, but it had all come off without a hitch. The Extension Charm had worked perfectly, enlarging the interior of his rooms without requiring him to go about the drudgery of moving any of his books. There was space enough for Miranda’s turntable, for her pictures, for her books and sundries. He’d selected the best of her nieces’ and nephews’ drawings to arrange on the wall by her side of the bed, and he’d widened his armoire for her clothing. The pièces de résistance were the windows. Each room now sported windows running from floor to ceiling; charmed so magnificently that one could open them wide to let in a magical breeze and smell the air outside. It had taken a fair amount of trouble but, as he expected her sojourn in his rooms to be a lengthy one, he wanted her to be comfortable.

He set himself to the pleasant task of arranging her books on an empty bookcase, sorting them by subject and author as he did. If he were honest, he would admit that he harbored the foolish desire for her stay to be indefinite. But he was practical enough to realize that she would not wish for it to be so. Two weeks at St. Mungo’s and she was already chaffing; already longing to fly. He would keep her here for as long as he could, but in the end, he knew that she would leave him behind.

When he had been a child, he had learned to live on scraps. Scraps of food. Scraps of attention. Scraps of love. He had hoarded each paltry piece and squeezed as much good out of it as his tiny hands could muster, like a man squeezing blood from the proverbial stone. It hadn’t been enough, but he hadn’t had a choice. As a man, he had yet to come to a place where he truly had a choice. For fettered as he was by his vows to Lily, Albus, and the Dark Lord, how could he possibly be free?

Miranda was a better woman than he deserved, and even her trifling regard was preferable to being alone. He knew that, when she left, it would be worse than if he had never met her at all. But he also knew that, although the scraps of affection she let carelessly fall from her fingers would not satiate him, he would accept those scraps like priceless pearls and store them up against the black day when she finally left him for good.

It wasn’t what he wanted, but it would have to do.

*****

By the beginning of November, her parents and Catalina had returned to their respective homes, and Miranda had been released to Severus’s care. She had a daily routine of disgusting potions to take, and painful exercises, both physical and magical to perform; as well as a diet to follow that was designed with more strength-building than palate-pleasing in mind. Severus was a cruel task-master, and she was beginning to see the side of him that his students whispered about behind his back. But he also touched her with a tenderness that broke her heart, and fretted around her like a worried hen caring for its brood.

One Friday evening they sat in front of the fire while the rain pattered on the enchanted windows, echoing the mournful storm outside. He was at his desk, marking a pile of essays and muttering to himself about the idiocy of his students. She was curled up on the sofa, whittling away at a chessman for her nephew Brendan. Although she was going out of her mind from her confinement, she was trying to embrace the sedentary time as an opportunity to renew her acquaintance with the almost-forgotten hobby. If she were diligent, she might be able to make a present for each of her nieces and nephews by Christmas.

Severus threw down his quill and rubbed his temples. “Enough. If I read one more word of this rubbish tonight I shall go mad.”

“Encouraging words from their teacher.”

“It is not my fault that these dunderheads have had a string of incompetent teachers before me. Not only do I have the students’ natural stupidity to contend with, but I must repair all of the mistakes made by their previous so-called instructors as well.”

“I have every confidence that you will succeed, or die trying. You’re as tenacious as a pit bull when you get your teeth into something.”

“Your words of praise never fail to overwhelm me.”

He retrieved a stack of books from his shelf and deposited them in her lap.

“What’s this?” she asked, curiously examining the covers.

“Miss Lovegood gave them to me after class today. She said she used to read them when she was ill and she thought you would enjoy them.”

She opened the top book and smiled to see the opening of the first story. “ ‘To Sherlock Holmes she is always the woman. I have seldom heard him mention her under any other name.’ Did you ever read these?”

“I?” he said, feigning indignation. “I, muddle my brain with such common twaddle? Surely you jest.”

“Well if you haven’t, you should. A little light reading is good for the soul. How did she know I was down here anyway?”

He sat down on the sofa and took her feet in his lap, rubbing his fingers over them in practiced circles until she sighed and sank back on the pillows; content.

“Ah, that. She claims that the thestrals told her.”

“The thestrals? Does she talk to them often?”

“Only once a week when they have tea.”

“Tea?” Miranda laughed merrily at the idea. “I can see her doing that. Have you been to this exclusive tea?”

He cleared his throat and she could see the pink tinging his ears. “Certainly not.”

“Don’t you lie to me, you have!”

“I will not dignify that with an answer.”

“Do you think she’d let me come along?”

“Of course she would, she delights in the ridiculous. And I’ll have you know…”

His words ended in a hiss and he dropped her foot like he’d been burned. His playful mood turned instantly serious, and he got up without a word to fetch his cloak and mask. She bit her lip to keep it from trembling. She hated to see him this way. Hated to watch him go into the lion’s den alone. But she tried to keep her anxiety to herself. He needed all his wits about him, not the burden of a silly woman worrying for him at home.

“Tell the Dark Lord I said hello.”

“I think that I shall not say that, if it is all the same to you.”

He kissed her heartfully and she gave him a careless smile. Then he traced her cheek with his finger and left without saying goodbye. Neither of them ever said goodbye. It was a good luck charm; as though by refusing to acknowledge the parting they could ensure the return of the one who had gone.

She stretched like a cat and braced herself on the back of the sofa to complete the arduous task of getting up. Although the silence in these rooms never bothered her during the day, at night it pressed in on her with bony fingers; like a boogie man that only crept out from under the bed when the parents were asleep. Her turntable was nestled between two of the bookshelves, and her records were lined up neatly close at hand. She pulled one out and set it spinning, letting the rich, mellow voice cover her fears.

At the dark end of the street, That’s where we always meet…

The renovations to Severus’s quarters were beautiful. They must have taken him days to complete. He’d brought all of her favorite things to keep her company while she healed. He showed her every day by his actions how much he cared for her. And though he still often adopted the role of the cold, callous Englishman, he was letting her glimpse the man underneath the facade with such casualness that she wondered if he was even aware that he was doing it.

She loved him, she couldn’t lie to herself about that. But she was never, ever going to tell him. There was simply too much standing in the way.

A pile of wood scraps from her whittling had accumulated on the floor by the sofa, glinting in the light of the fire. She knelt down to scoop them up, even though bending that far made her body scream in protest. She welcomed the pain, as though she could expiate her failures with it. When she had pushed herself up to her feet again, she swayed unsteadily, then limped across the stones to the fireplace, and cast the scraps into the flames.

They sparked, and danced, and crumbled to ash, like the dross of obliterated dreams.

*****

End Notes:

The Rosetta Stone is a charmed translation aid that works about as well as google translate.

Gisant: a recumbent effigy for a tomb, representing the deceased.

Jersey Devils are something like wyverns.

Miranda is quoting from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s story, A Scandal in Bohemia.

The song she is listening to is At the Dark End of the Street by James Carr.

This story is the first of a trilogy. I’ll post chapter 1 of book two, libera nos a malo, by the end of the week.

As always—thank you for reading!

*****

Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter Twenty-five+

libera nos a malo masterpost+

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devilrising · 4 years

Text

Fallen Draco, Pt. 10

This story is following a prompt set by @mymindsmadness

Summary: AU where Draco is a fallen angel, and the way he gets his wings back is by guiding Harry in defeating Voldemort, but it all goes wrong when Draco starts falling in love with Harry.

Word Count (Part 10): 3,729

Word Count (Total): 31,581

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Mentions of abuse/torture (non-graphic)

***

17th April, 1998 (continued)

Someone is in Grimmauld Place. Someone has gotten past the wards, the locks, the ancient magic. Someone has opened Mother’s door. But who is that someone? Why would they? They wouldn’t achieve anything at all. Getting a grip on the terror coursing through me, I continue on my path of going downstairs. If they are still there, they will be expecting me to join Harry. If I walked in now, I might not leave.

“Hey Harry?!” I call to him.

“Yes?” He shouts back, his voice sounding strange through the amount of walls.

“What do I wear?”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” I can hear him laughing from the kitchen. My neck flushes as I realise how stupid that sounds out loud.

“Well, what are we doing at the Burrow?”

“I think it’s just a casual lunch, Draco.”

“Ok!” I call in response. Deciding that the black trousers and dark blue shirt I have on are fine, I continue walking down the stairs.

Grimacing at the dust and chipped paint that is still the staircase, I make it a point to redo them next. As I reach the kitchen, I take in the mess that’s covering the countertop. Harry is covered in flour, what looks like sugar, and somehow milk. There are various other ingredients strewn about, some spilled everywhere.

“What have you been doing?” I ask, trying to hide a laugh.

“Baking, obviously.”

“Are you baking yourself, or the kitchen?”

“Very funny Draco,” he rolls his eyes. “It’s the first time I’ve seen Fred and George since their birthday two weeks ago, so I thought I would bring them something.”

“How many people will be there?” I ask, suddenly nervous that there will be dozens of people hating me there.

“Just Ron and his siblings, his parents, and us.”

“Okay,” I breathe in relief. But my relief stops cold, because I remember why I’m down here.

“Hey Harry…” I murmur, not wanting to make a lot of noise.

“Yeah?” He asks, turning to me fully. When he sees my expression, concern takes over his features. “Is something wrong?”

I shush him immediately, nodding my head. “Mother’s door is ajar…”

“What do you mean? It’s open?!” He whispers fervently. I nod my quickly, desperate for him to react. “Okay, just let me clean up the kitchen, and then we can go.”

My heart clenches painfully, my blood rushing from my face. What does he mean by that? Unless… But no, Harry isn’t that smart. But then again… he is winning a war right now… My suspicions are confirmed when he draws his wand and casts various charms over both of us and the kitchen. He then pulls a silvery cloak out of his pocket and shrugs it on.

“Charms to silence our footsteps and breathing, and to clean the kitchen noisily. Come on,” he jerks his head to the stairs, turns away, and vanishes from sight. His invisibility cloak. Allowing myself to smile to his turned back, I follow him up the staircase slowly. I can somehow sense his presence in front of me, even through the spells. There must’ve been a spell he cast so we could hear each other up no one else could. He halts at the top of the stairs, which I find out by running into him. His back is solid and warm against my front, and I swiftly step away. I can’t be dealing with my attraction to him now. Not while we are trying to save my mother.

Through where I know Harry is standing, I can see the landing and all of the doors leading off of it. Mine is fully closed, of course, as is every other one on the floor. Everyone except Mother’s, which is still open ever so slightly. I sense him moving very slowly towards the door, so I draw my wand and do the same. From around one of the corners, Harry comes to a slow stop. This time I don’t run into him. My shoulder is cool where it’s pressed against the wall, and I scan my eyes over everything in sight. Nothing catches my attention at all. There is not a single thing in the area that seems off, everything just as it usually is. I reach my hand out to touch Harry in front of me, worried that this might be a trap. Everything seems too neat, too organised. It has to be professional.

My hand brushes against what I assume has to be the cloak, and I grab some of it and pull it away slightly. Harry’s face comes into view, and he is facing away from me, towards the door. There is a pensive look on his face, one that instantly drops away when cold air hits his skin. He freezes in place, before rapidly turning to me silently. Dangerously. Throwing my hands up instantly, I force myself to smile at the deadly warrior before me. Harry truly is made for this war, like it’s his destiny. I shudder at the gruesome thought, and allow myself to relax when he returns the smile hesitantly.

“What is it, Draco?” He whispers, his mouth moving nearly silently.

“What if it’s a trap?” I murmur back, gesturing to the flawless crime scene. “It’s too perfect, don’t you think?”

Harry looks around for a second, before nodding slowly. “Could be,” he agrees. “You stay here, I’ll go.”

Opening my mouth to protest, Harry shakes his head. “Draco, no. If it’s a trap, it’s me they want. You are safest here. Besides, I have training.”

“So do I,” I coolly reply. “Besides, they might want to draw you away from me to take me. They could be sent by my father.”

“Looks like we’ve hit a dead end then,” Harry says. “Fine.” He waves his wand over me again, casting a strong Disillusionment charm.

Harry smiles at me, for less than half a second, before throwing the cloak back over his head. I feel him moving away instantly, inching closer to the door. Creeping along after him, I stop behind where I know him to be. I strain my ears for any sound of movement, but hear nothing. The charms he cast are staying strong. I watch intently as the door very slowly drifts open, as if by a wind. Except there is no wind, Harry is the one pushing it silently. The door stops it’s motion for a while, waiting so as not to draw attention. And then it’s opening again, and I can suddenly see further into the room than the opposite wall. My pulse is thumping in my ears, becoming all I can hear and think about. A rush of air tells me that Harry has moved forward slightly, so I stop thinking entirely in order to enter after him.

The room looks much the same as normal. It needs a bit of redecorating, like the rest of the house, but it looks perfectly fine. Except, of course, for the empty bed and open window. My eyes widen, my heart clenching painfully. Someone has abducted Mother. Why? Why would someone do something like that? Fighting the urge to fall to my knees, I try to think critically. The first answer that comes to my mind is my father and his lord, but this seems too random. Surely they’d go after me directly? Not risk everything by trying to draw me out? But then again, they did always have an eye for the dramatic.

Harry materialises in front of me, a worried and apologetic expression shadowing his features. His arms reach out for me and he holds my shoulders. He is at arms reach from me, but his eyes are so green it hurts to look at them. Or maybe it’s just because I don’t have the nerve to right now.

“I am so sorry Draco…” he whispers. His thumbs start rubbing up and down, up and down, across my shirt-covered skin. I feel like the world is drifting away from me. Still in sight yet out of reach. My pathetic excuse of a father and his lord have destroyed my life. This is the last straw.

“We go to the Manor. Today.”

***

“Are you guys sure this will work?” Harry asks cautiously. Granger—Hermione as she insists—has been helping me ever since we found the empty room this morning. Harry ended up going to the Burrow for an hour while Hermione arrived at Grimmauld, and he told everyone there the situation. At least, as much of the situation that was possible to tell. Which ended up going something like ‘something has come up at Grimmauld, and I can’t stay long’. Apparently, everyone there knew something bigger was up, but they didn’t push it and let Harry come back as soon as possible.

“Positive,” Hermione assures him, pushing a strand of hair off her forehead. “The spell I’m going to cast on both of you will allow Draco to hear what you hear. He will still hear what’s happening around him, if faintly, but your’s won’t be compromised.

I nod along, having partially come up with the spell when at the Manor. I cast it on the House Elves sometimes when I was desperate for information, and they had no idea what was happening to them. Of course, it wasn’t anywhere near as good as this version. “It will work perfectly, as long as you can get through the wards.”

“What if I can’t?” Harry asks. “We haven’t exactly tried.”

“Well no. But you managed to when you rescued Draco, so it should be no different,” Hermione reasons.

“I’m still not used to you guys using first names…” he murmurs, so quietly I wonder if I imagined it. “Fingers crossed then.”

That’s clearly a Muggle saying, as Hermione nods along and physically places her middle finger over her index.

After a little longer of checking over plans and reassuring Harry, we all Apparate to the base of the long driveway. It’s really weird seeing the Manor from this perspective. As someone intent on bringing it down, instead of as a childhood home. But I can no longer think of it as that. Too much has happened here, and there is no going backwards. The driveway under our feet was once gravel neatly laid down. Now though, it’s an absolute mess. The small stones are kicked off the sides of the wide road, and there are patches where dirt pokes through. Hedges still line the outskirts, but there are none of the white peacocks that usually strut on the top.

As our little party arrives to the bend where the wrought-iron gates come into view, we come to a halt and duck behind a group of trees.

“Remember, the plan is for Harry to Apparate beyond the gates from here, where he will then shrink himself. Skipping the gate will prevent my father knowing of his entrance. If it doesn’t work, I try to get him. If that backfires, I activate the Portkey around my neck which will takes us back to Grimmauld.” Everyone nods as I quickly rehash the plan. It’s not the best one ever, as it was mostly fueled by anger and a lot of it is going to work by chance and luck. But it’s a plan all the same, and we get ready to initiate.

“Harry?” I ask as I turn to look at him for might be one of the last times. His hands are in balls by his sides, his face set. His mouth is pressed into a grim line of concentration, and I want to change that expression for even just a second. Taking a step closer to him, I lean in and whisper, “Thank you. For everything.” I turn my head and see that Hermione has completely turned away, giving us some privacy. On a whim, I wrap my arms around Harry and squeeze. It’s our third hug. I allow myself to rest my head next to his as his wrists lock behind my neck.

“Your welcome,” he whispers back. We stay in the hug for a little too long, but neither of us care. He is the first to step away though, and I immediately miss his body against mine. Pulling myself together, I address him properly.

“Good luck,” I say, praying that my voice doesn’t give away how scared I am for his safety. It trembles slightly, but beyond that it’s fine.

“Oh Harry,” Hermione exclaims as she turns back around. She rushes to give him a hug, her arms wound tightly around his neck. “Please be careful.” Her face buries itself in his neck, and he kisses her temple. When she pulls away, she cups his cheeks for a second before stepping back further. “If Ron knew we were doing this he’d kill me…” she anxiously laughs. “It’s a good thing he’s so preoccupied in Rivington Wo-” Harry slams his hand onto her mouth, preventing her from speaking.

“‘Mione!” He snaps. “I can’t believe you would blurt out his location here.”

I watch as she pales, blood running from her face. “Right, of course.” She rushes to draw her wand and cast some bubbles around the three of us. They glow in strong colours before she drops her wand arm, and they fade to nothing. “Rivington Wood is a very secure place, Harry. There is no way saying it out loud could put him in danger.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I press. “Harry, you need to go.”

“Right.” His eyes scan over Hermione and then me, taking his time memorising us before turning away. I wring my hands when he vanishes from view with a loud crack. Thank Merlin for the charms Hermione put up.

“Do you think he’s through?” She asks me.

“I can’t hear anything from my end, meaning he’s not activated the spell yet. So, I can’t be sure.”

She takes that as an answer for right now, and begins pulling things out of her bag. A Muggle quill is thrown out, followed by weird parchment book things and what looks to be a portable table top that sits on your legs. Hermione sees me watching and smiles. As she sits down behind the tree, and invite some to join her.

“What on earth are they?” I inquire when I see her click the end of the Muggle quill and press it to the parchment.

“This is called a pen,” she holds up the odd quill. It’s clear that she is latching on to a distraction from Harry, and I gladly allow it. “It acts as a quill, but is much more efficient. You don’t have to constantly dip it to get more ink, as it’s inside already. All you have to do is press on the end and you are good to write.” She demonstrates by clicking it again and writing her name on the weird parchment. “This is called a spiral notebook. It’s essentially thinner parchment called paper, and instead of being bound in a leather cover there are holes on the edge. A spiral is thread through the holes and holds the pages together.” Hermione rips one of the pages off easily and passes to me. It’s nearly transparent and is so light in my hand.

“Wow…” I murmur. I ask her for the pen so I can try it out, but a buzzing in my ear snaps me to attention.

“Are you okay?!” I rush to ask Harry, before remembering that he can’t hear me. There is a series of static in my ear, which I think is words. I grab my wand and sharpen the sound so I can hear Harry talking to me.

“-nything suspicious within the gates. Everything is good on my side and I will go ahead to Phase 2.” Harry’s voice is controlled, all business. He’s clearly done something like this before, and I can’t help but think he’d make a great Auror. Unless, of course, he is sick of battling dark wizards. I completely understand the sentiment, even though I’ve never done anything of the sort. I don’t want to choose a career in anything similar to this war.

“Phase 2 is complete,” he announces. “I have shrunk myself to the size of a blade of grass, and will now progress into the house and to Phase 3.”

I relay the information to Hermione, who scribes it down in neat little notes. As well as the listening charm that she created specifically for this purpose, she also tweaked a form Legillimency so that I can feed memories to Harry in order to help him. Once he says he’s completed Phase 3–which is entering through the first side door on the house’s right—he will ask me for instructions. From there, I have to either find a memory of myself going along the route, or quickly draw a sketch of the layout and send it to him mentally. Hermione is truly brilliantly clever, and it’s a wonder I haven’t seen more of her during this living-with-Harry situation. She appears to be the brain of the Golden Trio, as the only person who can actually think let alone strategise. I’m not sure what Weasley does, but Harry is clearly the field guy.

“Are you worried?” I ask Hermione as I sit back down next to her.

“How could I not be? I’ve known him for seven years and I’ve just sent him into one of the most dangerous buildings in England!” ‘Worried’ seems to be an understatement, but I don’t know how to comfort her without crossing a line. This odd understanding that’s developed between us is very fragile, so I don’t say anything for fear of breaking it. Not only would this mission become impossible, but Harry would never forgive me. If I’m going to be his friend—or even something more—I need to make an effort. Because I can feel Harry and I drawing each other in. It’s like a magnet, pulling me towards the man who saved me from my father and a lifetime of ill decisions and regrets.

“What about you?” Hermione rebounds my earlier question, drawing me from my thoughts.

It takes a while to figure out how to answer the simple question without giving away my true feelings. I stopped denying them to myself what seems like ages ago, but in reality it’s only been a day. Not that that’s the length of time I’ve been falling for him for, of course. That’s just when I stopped lying to myself about it. These feelings have been building up for nearly a month, and even before that I’ve always been weirdly obsessed with him.

“I don’t know what will happen if Harry isn’t the only one in there. I am concerned for his safety in that regard.” I decide that’s a neutral way to put it. A way that disguises my emotion by feigning nonchalance. I can see on her face that that doesn’t work.

“I’m not taking that shit, Draco,” she swears. “I know how you feel about him.”

The colour drains from my face, my heart skipping a beat. “I don’t know what you mean,” I say as I wipe my hands on my legs.

“I’m calling BS there.” Hermione sweeps her eyes over my face, as if she can read my every thought. “You know exactly what I mean.”

My answer is cut off by Harry’s voice in my ear. It’s amazing how quickly that cheered me up, and I once again jump to my feet. “Phase 3 is complete, awaiting instructions.” His voice is just as steady and emotionless as earlier, and it chills my blood to be seeing—or hearing—this side of him. Wordlessly, I send him a picture of how to get into the vents. It’s quite a task when you’re the size of a blade of grass, but it’s detailed enough in my memory that it should be enough.

“I’ve just given him the picture,” I tell Hermione, who swiftly writes it down.

“Was it a video or a picture?” She asks. I have absolutely no idea, so I just shrug in a tell-you-gesture.

“I am in the vent. Awaiting directions.” There is a pause before Harry adds, “Preferably in sketch format.”

I relay that to Hermione who rips out a page and hands it to me. It’s a copy of the layout she drew five days ago, and I send Harry a picture of it. From his end, there is a bang and swearing, before silence. He clearly hit himself on something, and I bite back a laugh.

“What’s a video?” I ask as I turn back to her.

“It’s another Muggle invention. Their photos don’t move, they’re just a moment in time where everything is frozen. Videos are more like our photos. They are essentially long photos. They have to be taken on certain devices, and can go for as long as the taker likes.” Her explanation doesn’t make much sense, but I think I get the gist of it.

“I sent him a video then, I think.”

“Okay,” she replies as she jots that down as a footnote. “Also, Draco?”

“Mhmm.”

“I fully accept your relationship with Harry.”

My cheeks heat instantaneously. “What relationship?”

Hermione rolls her dark eyes. “I know you two are dating. I’m fine with it and I want to be closer with you to show Harry that.”

“We aren’t dating…?” I feel dizzy, like my world is spinning.

“If you aren’t dating, then you are both oblivious idiots who are not-so-secretly pining over each other.”

“I don’t like him like that,” I deny.

“Yes you do,” she says on a sigh.

“Well, he doesn’t like me like that.”

“You really don’t pay any attention, do you?”

“I do! I am very observant.”

“But not to the way he feels about you.”

I groan, my hand moving to pinch the bridge of my nose. “Can we talk about this another time?”

“I guess so. But I’m telling you now, Draco. He likes you too, and you’d be foolish not to make the first move.”

“Draco,” comes Harry’s voice. This time it isn’t steady and devoid of emotion. This time, fear fills the trembling word. “I can see them. Lucius and Voldemort are both in the dining room having a feast with about thirty guests.”

***

A/N: Bit of a longer part today as an early Christmas present for you guys! Merry Christmas (if you celebrate it, of course. If not, then you just get a present 🤷‍♀️). Xx

Masterlist — Previous Part — Next Part

@draconianhorntail @megggg12 @edgy-things @queeneyart @ohheavenlylord @h0pehauntedmyw0rld @unsolicted-chick-picks @itsclayclay @harrybpoetry @slash-slut @jianing2603 @magical-fairy-princess-stuff @give-me-the-queer @youmakeprettybeautiful @hello-i-am-moi @slytherclaw134689 @sinnysin-sin @tony-stark-prorection-squad @rebelwolf91017 @irrelevantdrarry @glo-up-goddess @birdy1032 @d-addict @pizzasandwich72 @madison-is-a-small-baby @joshoriande @sugarhoneyice-t @imaginemymemories @shipperofalltheships @uniiicornen @thewanderingnomadsworld @randominternetloser @levi7755 @localxmermaid @biyaaaaaaaaaa @just-some-bibliophile @uniquehorn167 @champagnejasmine

#devilrising #fallen draco #drarry #draco malfoy #harry potter #fallen angel #fanfic #fanfiction #drarry fanfic

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awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands · 5 years

Text

A crying man, five pancakes and a kiss// tommy x nikki

summary: Nikki is dealing with the aftermath of metting his mom. Tommy is there for him.

A/N: English is not my first language so please feel free to correct me. Also first time writing Nikki/Tommy.

Nikki never cried. Well that’s not true, when he was little he used to cry a lot, but as soon as he stepped outside of his “house” and changed name, he also stopped crying.

The alcohol first and the drugs after helped him in that. Crying or feelings were the last things in his mind, for fuck sake he was the most badass bassist in the most badass band at the moment; he had everything anybody could ever want: booze, girls, money and drugs.

But somethings couldn’t simply change at all.

He could still feel all the hate for his family, for himself, he could still wake up in the middle of the night, panicking, due to nightmares or unpleasant memories. It didn’t matter how many fans would scream his name or claim to love him, he knew that he couldn’t be loved. He learned that the hard way when he was a kid and first his father then his mother turned their back on him, and also when everybody did that later in his life.

He hated how many times it would took only a single moment to go back to be Frankie again : painful memories flashing right in front of his eyes and he couldn’t stop them; seeing Deana after all these years only made them worse : her fake smile, that embarrassing hug and all the disappointment she brought. Why couldn’t she just leave him for good? Why his shitty childhood had to torment him even now that he was an adult? He wanted to scream, to destroy his room, hell the whole hotel, he wanted to punch Doc in his face because he brought there the only person in his world that could break his walls and made him remember that nobody will ever care about him.

And now he was in a hotel room, eyes closed and tears threatening to run down his cheeks while he tried to be as quiet as possible. There was no way in hell that he would had cry in that moment, fuck, emotions were for weak people and he was Nikki fucking Sixx.

“Hey dude are you okay” asked a familiar voice and Nikki almost jumped only to find Tommy’s brown eyes staring at him with confusion and a bit of concern.

“What the fuck are you doing in my bed?” Nikki asked totally clueless on why the drummer was there.

“Dude, last night I was so drunk that I couldn’t reach my room so I crashed into yours. Don’t you remember that, do you?” Nikki tried to remember and slowing flashes of the previous night resurfaced into his memory : a club, Tommy and him, many girls dancing around them and way too many bottles of alcohol. But something was missing, why did he ask to Tommy to get drunk with him? Well usually getting drunk was the most normal thing for them but he knew that in that occasion it was because of something in particular. And then again flash of the meeting with his mom came back; he must had asked Tommy to come with him to forget everything.

Suddenly the memories were too overwhelming and he felt like he was losing every bit of control he had. He was going to cry, in the best case scenario and maybe scream and wreck stuff in the worst one. He had to seem like a mess because Tommy gently tapped on his shoulder and asked him :“Nikki, is there something wrong?” Nikki was completely petrified, unable to react while he was concentrating to not cry right there in front of his drummer. Please don’t cry. Please don’t cry. Please don’t cry. He keep repeating to himself but a single tear rolled down his cheek.

As soon as Tommy saw it, he took the bassist in his arms and hugged him as tight as he could. Nikki’s first response was to push Tommy off him and storm out of the room, but there was something about the other man’s comforting arms, his beautiful smell and listening his heart beat that made the dark haired man completely relax and broke down.

He was absolutely quiet and still but now tears were streaming from his eyes, while Tommy simply held him without speaking, and Nikki loved that because words meant nothing, they were just vain and useless. Even if he was never going to admit it, that hug made him feel something that he thought he could never be able to feel again : being loved. He knew that an hug was not going to make years of shit disappear but it was calming down momentarily and that matter.

He didn’t know for how long they have stayed like that but Tommy broke the silent when he noticed that the bassist was definitely more calm.

“Would you like to eat breakfast, right now?” Nikki looked the alarm on his bedside, then he looked Tommy with a confused face.

“Tommy, it’s fucking five in the morning.” Nikki replied.

“So? I know a bar open right now and I haven’t eaten since yesterday.” Tommy said still hugging Nikki.

The last thing that the bassist wanted to do was to go outside, but something inside him was telling him that he had to show a little gratitude to Tommy. The younger man maybe had sensed that because he looked the dark hair man sympathetically. “Or we could eat it here, if you like it more Nik” he said smiling a bit. Nikki simply nodded.

“Great dude, let me just put on some clean clothes and I’m going.”

All of a sudden Nikki realized that Tommy would left him completely alone. He knew that Tommy would not leave him forever, he was only going to grab their breakfast, but his mind was tricking him into thinking that. “You better not show Tommy how pathetic you are. You look like a fucking clingy child.” he thought and maybe that was the truth because Nikki couldn’t be a child when he had the opportunity.

Distracted by his thoughts he barley registered Tommy saying a “see you soon” and the door closing, before he collapsed on the bed. He was exhausted but his mind was running so wild and nothing could stop it; so he just tried to lay there, not moving at all, hoping that at one point he would just pass out. He eventually did. --- Nikki had no idea how much time passed, but he woke up suddenly and Tommy was not there. He quickly looked at the alarm: 5.30. His drummer was gone for 20 minutes. The bassist started to bite nervously his nails, looking at the door every second; then again he started thinking that maybe he scared Tommy and he just decided to run away. Everyone always decided to run away. “He’s just another man in your life that you’re going to drive away, just like your did with your father” “It’s not true. It’s not true. It’s not…”

“ Hey dude, I’m back” Nikki vaguely heard Tommy saying. The drummer quickly entered in the bedroom, a big bag full of food in his hands, before he stopped in his track.

“Nikki man, are you okay?” Tommy asked for the second time that morning. The bassist had no idea how he must have looked like but it definitely was not calm and cool.

“I thought you were fucking gone” the dark haired man mumbled trying to sound as normal as possible. Tommy looked him in the eyes and then hugged him again; this time Nikki was not prepared so he stiffened at the suddenly contact.

“Dude, I’m so sorry. I kinda lost my way and the when I found the cafe they were taking forever to do the order, well maybe I should haven’t taken all that food but I’m fucking starving. But I swear I could never leave you Nikki. How could I If I’m totally in love with you.” As soon as those words exited Tommy’s mouth the curly drummer cursed quietly while Nikki just stared at him, shook on his face.

Nikki was not confused, hell no he was completely in another dimension, his mind incapable to processed everything, but damn if those words felt good, damn if a part of him hoped that Tommy would said those words to him. But he was too scared to react or to say anything; love simply was not something made for Nikki Sixx.

“I…uhm.. man… dude… look” Tommy tried to say but his voice died in his throat. The bassist looked at him, his mind full of so many thought, mostly bad, but there was also something inside him that was telling him to do it. Fucking do it man, what have you to lose?

In reality Nikki had a lot to lose like the respect of his other band mates, of the fans and maybe even a bit of his sanity, but as soon as his lip touched Tommy’s he didn’t care. Everything seemed to stop for a once his life and felt finally his heart beating not only to keep him barley alive, fuck maybe he could get used to feeling really alive.

When Nikki parted away he had a glimpse of the huge smile on Tommy’s face and he also cracked a little smile. Oh shit, somebody shoot him please, he was turning into a sappy bitch.

“That was… uhm.. unexpected. Good, fucking awesome don’t get me wrong but well… unexpected. I would love to do that all day but I’m fucking starving so can we eat first?” Tommy answered and Nikki knew that he’ll be stuck with basically a big child. Not that he complained.

“Since you took so long to bring it, I hope it’s at least good” Nikki said trying to recompose his “tough” facade.

Tommy only laughed and sat on the bed motioning Nikki to come next to him. When the bassist sat on it, the other man just pulled him into an hug with one hand, while with the other he searched for the food; this time Nikki tried to not tensed up or pull away and simply indulge himself into the sensation, enjoying the younger man’s smell.

“I hope you like blueberry pancakes, babe… uhm dude ‘cause I brought like 5 for each of us”. Nikki’s heart almost jumped at the nickname but Tommy’s change relaxed him: the drummer was not going to push things too far, giving Nikki the time to get use to.

“Well you fucker, you’re lucky that I’m actually hungry today” the bassist said and Tommy’s smile warmed a bit Nikki’s heart, even if he’s never going to admit it.

They just ate in the bed, Tommy occasionally rubbed circles on the older man’s tracing his tattoos and Nikki tried his best to not be too jumpy : don’t get him wrong he loved the sensation but he was not used to be taken care of and in the past usually people touched him roughly to beat him, certainly not softly with love. 20 minutes and three pancakes later( Nikki gave up after at half of the fourth and Tommy was more than happy to eat them), they just decided to stay in bed.

“Nikki, can I ask you why you were screaming yesterday in the lobby?”Tommy said. “ But if you don’t want that’s okay dude.” he quickly added, scared to upset the other man.

“ Doc made Deana come for Christmas but I didn’t know anything” he said biting his lips. Tommy simply nodded and slowly took the raven haired man’s hand in his.

“Thank you so much Tommy” Nikki blurted out after some minutes of silence.

“Uhm?” asked Tommy confused and surprised. Nikki Sixx doesn’t say stuff like thank you or I’m sorry.

“Thanks for the breakfast and for… earlier. I enjoy being with you.” Shit Nikki, let’s be more sappy, shall we? The drummer slowly kissed the other man on his cheek. He knew the it would take time for Nikki to say the L word.

“I love you too and I’ll do that again and again for you.” the drummer said.

Nikki maybe for the first time in years smiled for real. Maybe he wasn’t ready to said it out loud but that didn’t mean that he didn’t love Tommy and especially he will do anything to not drive this man away from his life.

#Tommy Lee #nikki sixx #tommyxnikki #Motley Crue #tommy/nikki #The Dirt #fanfic #terrorcest

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heartofsnark · 5 years

Text

Black Market Wonderland (Chapter One): Down The Rabbit Hole

Notes: This has been a long time coming, I never shut up about my oc and this idea. But, I’m finally posting this damn thing. This is gonna be pretty episodic and not have a lot of overarching plots, I’m gonna be stealing canon stories and adding my own spin to them as well as adding my own stories. It’s a shitshow and I hope you’ll come along for the ride.

Special thanks to @catoinette, @otomemonogatari , @d-om , @enchantedbythebidders , @voltage-fanfictions , and @piplup235 for not only reading through and giving me feedback but also being the incentive I needed to actually write and post this. Without you all, this would still be rotting on my computer.

Summary: Almost a year ago Tsuneko managed to destroy her entire life and she’s been stuck ever since. She works as a maid at the Tres Spades in Tokyo; it’s not her dream job, but it pays the bills and puts a roof over her head. Her days are spent peacefully enough cleaning hotel rooms, that is until she stumbles into Wonderland and discovers the secrets lurking within the hotel. Will this turning point be exactly what she needed or a tragedy in the making?

Word Count: 10196

Warnings: Some blood and violence, people being bought and sold (it’s kbtbb my dudes)

The colors of the sky outside her window are just beginning to shift, soft pinks and purple coming in as the sun starts to set. Tsuneko lets out a sigh and checks her phone again, still no response from Shinobu. While not surprising, disappointment settle in her chest. It’s stupid to be upset, she shouldn’t be so emotional. She scolds herself, setting her phone down a little harder than necessary. Her desk chair creaks as she leans back and lets out another heavy sigh.

Kiyohito is curled up on her bed in a position that doesn’t look comfortable. The dark sable ferret is in a dead sleep with his tongue peeking out, any hope of him being a distraction are dashed. It’s her day off from work and she’s desperate to keep herself preoccupied. Her thoughts wandering is always a danger when she has down time, more dangerous when she’s left to ruminate on the shit show that is her life at the moment.

It’s been almost a year since her life officially went to shit and she started working at the Tres Spades hotel. It’s a glitzy place, the first legal casino in Japan. She’s a maid, spending all of her days cleaning up after people richer and more important than her. And that’s the highlight of her days, besides Kiyo, because otherwise she’s in her apartment just trying to distract herself.

The job itself is fine, given her situation, she’s damn lucky to have it. Good pay, plenty of hours, employee housing, her coworkers are mostly nice, and she even has lots of chances for overtime. But, she can’t say this is what she wanted her life to be. Being a maid isn’t exactly what she dreamed of for herself. Disappointment seems to be the theme of the day and her life.

She’s done her best to be a busy bee throughout the day; her dorm is cleaned, she’s baked, done her laundry, played with Kiyo until he passed out, messed with every entertaining app on her phone, watched any video on Youtube that caught her interest, and messaged Shinobu. Maybe she could try getting in contact with Runa? Not that she thinks it will do her a lot of good, but even getting told to fuck off is more fun than staring out the window.

Tsuneko stands up from her chair, stretching her joints as she meanders into her kitchenette area. The dorms are nice, like one bedroom apartments essentially. Given how much she likes baking and cooking, a bigger kitchen area would do her some good, but beggars can’t be choosers. She grabs one of the cookies she baked and crams it into her mouth as she begins looking through her fridge. The sweet vanilla calms her nerves, if only marginally. But, she knows what will relax her most.

She groans, she’s out of booze. Of course. Her rum supply ran out last week and she downed her last bit of vodka yesterday. Looks like she’s gotta put on real clothes and stock up. A walk through the city might be nice to clear her mind anyway.

Her work ringtone echoes through the room just as she’s tucked Kiyo into his cage. She scrambles over to desk, stumbling over her own feet to do so.

“Tomori speaking,” she answers, holding the phone between her ear and shoulder so she can pick out a change of clothes.

“Yes, this is Kenzaki, I’m sorry to bother you on your day off. But, we’re short staffed for this evening, between the I.V.C and some people calling off sick. Is there anyway you could come in? You’d be given over time pay, of course.”

“I can be there shortly.” She throws on a tee and shorts, sliding on her shoes.

“Please report to Matsuda when you come in, she’ll give you a work schedule.” She rolls her eyes at the mention of Erika, the head maid has always had an issue with her, what that issue is remains a mystery. There’s still a huge pile of cookies on the counter, her coworkers might appreciate a snack, especially with such a busy day. And eating all of the cookies herself is kind of sad, something she’s done before, but still sad.

She says her goodbyes to Kenzaki as she starts packing the treats away into tupperware, stuffing one more in her mouth. Tsuneko picks out a sticky note, jotting down what’s in them in case of any allergies or dietary issues. Content, she grabs them and heads out the door, double checking her dorm is locked before she leaves.

Working during the I.V.C is like a double edged sword. On one hand, she’s extremely busy which she likes. She loves being able to bustle around and always having something to do. The International V.I.P Convention is a huge ordeal for the Tres Spades, a giant party held at seemingly random intervals where the rich and famous gather to stroke each other’s egos. Tsuneko has the lowest seniority of the maids, so she doesn’t have to deal with the V.I.P’s directly. But, it stretches the entire hotel staff thinner and the worse part is dealing with the V.I.P’s in passing. It may seem minor, but those kind of people seem to take even the smallest opportunity to be a pain in her ass. The last time she worked some man in a suit worth more money than she’s ever seen flagged her down to ask a question, then mocked her for her dialect, acting like she was stupid. And that was after some snooty woman grabbed her in the lobby to scream about the toilet paper in her suite. Looking back, that might have been the only time Erika was nice to her.

The evening air is cool on her skin as she leaves the dormitories, the Tres Spades looming just a short walk away. It stands out even in Tokyo among all the other huge buildings. She remembers seeing it when she first visited Tokyo, thinking how over the top it was with its giant impractical spade shaped cut out. Her feelings haven’t really changed, it’s just more relevant to her life now, fortunately or unfortunately depending on the day.

Her nose wrinkles, the acrid stink of smoke hitting her nose as she nears the back entrance. An older schlubby man is lighting a cigarette near the dumpsters. There are stomped out cigarette butts around his feet; has he been out here chain smoking all day? The stench of smoke seems to drift off of him in waves, like the man sweats nicotine. Who even is he? He’s definitely not a worker and guests at the hotel generally don’t come by the back entrance. And, as judgemental a thought as it may be, he doesn’t look like the kind of person who’d stay at the Tres Spades.

He starts to look up from his cigarette and Tsuneko ducks her head down to make a beeline for the door, just avoiding eye contact with the stranger. If he caught her staring, he’s kind enough not to say anything as she darts through the door.

She drops the cookies off in a thankfully empty staff room, she doesn’t wanna deal with any hassles or questions. She’ll just have to pick up her tupperware at the end of her shift, hopefully no one tries to take it, the cute Pokemon designs makes it a favorite of hers. .

The employee locker room is just as empty, so no one will question why the stink of cigarette smoke is now clinging to her clothes. She’s never been so happy to change into her uniform. Just a touch of perfume for extra measure then she ties her hair up in the neatest ponytail she can manage. She makes sure she has everything she needs for the work day on her, before taking a deep breath and venturing into the hotel lobby.

To the surprise of absolutely no one, the lobby is packed tight with people. Tailored suits and slinky gowns as far as the eye can see. The V.I.P’s bustle around and chatter, their words all blending into a cacophony of unintelligible noise. A select few members of the press are allowed in to snap photos and get quotes about the event. The party should be getting ready to move down to the ballroom, so with any luck this should be her only encounter with the V.I.P’s. Erika should be around here somewhere, given her seniority, plus she never misses an opportunity to kiss ass.

Tsuneko searches through the crowd for the familiar head of maroon hair. She carefully moves around people, muttering ‘excuse me’s as she goes, not letting her customer service smile and tone falter. Where the hell is Erika? She always seems to pop up when Tsuneko messes up, it figures, she’s nowhere to be found when she’s actually wanted.

Something warm and solid slams into her side, she’s knocked to the ground with a thud. A man looms over her with a scowl, she can feel the contempt emanating off of him. He’d be attractive, if he didn’t look like such an asshole. He’s tall, especially from her current vantage point, with layered oak brown hair and hazel eyes. Silence falls over the lobby, like the world’s been stopped. Everyone’s eyes focus on them, expressions of abject horror. Hushed whispers start to fill the eerie quiet, something about ‘the king’, but she can’t make out anything more. This guy is important; she’d have to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to realize that. Thankfully, she’s only one of the three.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” she apologizes, customer service smile in place as she get back up to her feet. This doesn’t seem to appease him, he glares at her like she’s garbage. Which while not inaccurate, is still rude.

“Get out of my way,” he demands with a sneer and brushes off the front of his suit, like he’s come into contact with something vile. Tsuneko takes a tentative step to the side and the man storms past her up the stairs. What a bitch. This is why she hates rich people.

A few people stare at the man’s retreating back, but once he’s out of sight, it’s like the whole thing never happened. The world starts spinning again and the lobby returns to its former state. She shakes her head, it’s not worth another thought, she doubts she’ll ever see him again.

“Are you okay?” A familiar kind voice asks, it’s Chisato, another maid at the hotel. She’s always been nice to Tsuneko and is among her favorite coworkers.

“I’m fine, that guy was just a dick.” Tsuneko says with a shrug, the crowd is loud enough she can get away with talking shit.

”Uh,” Chisato sucks in a deep breath, brown eyes soft with worry, “do you know who that was?”

“Should I?” Tsuneko doesn’t really pay attention to celebrities or the elite types, it’s all nonsense to her.

“Just what were you thinking making an idiot out of yourself!?” Erika’s harpy screech rises above every noise in the lobby. Her hands are on her hips and her glare is trained on Tsuneko.

“What were you thinking?” The twins, Rina and Kana, chime in from behind Erika with similar expressions, contributing nothing to the conversation.

“It was an accident,” she answers honestly, she was so focused on finding Erika she forgot to keep an eye out for where she was going. These things happen, all she can do is apologize and move on.

“It was your fault, you should pay attention to where you’re going!”

”I apologized, unless you have a time machine, there’s not much else I can do.”

”You have no business even being around V.I.P’s, especially if you’re gonna get in their way!”

”Oh, cause I’m sure your banshee screeches just make them feel oh so special.” Tsuneko and Erika glare at each other, she may be the head maid, but Tsuneko has never been one to bite her tongue.

“Go drop off all the special boxes in the basement storage room for the guests staying for the spa package, everyone else is too busy.” Her sharp gaze drifts over to Chisato at the last part, making it clear she shouldn’t offer any help. The task isn’t particularly difficult, just tedious and will take the rest of the day.

“Of course,” Tsuneko forces a bright smile and makes her voice sugary sweet, “maybe we should offer them some complementary ear plugs, as well.”

She scurries off before Erika can say another word, the head maid can screech into the void for all she cares, she got her work for the evening and that’s all that matters. It’s a couple flights of stairs to make it to the basement, so the elevator is best, whoever decided maids should wear heels is an asshole.

“I can’t take it anymore! It’s over, you cheater!” A woman screams as Tsuneko rounds the corner. A couple is standing outside the elevator, the woman throws a small mask at a man in a tacky red suit and storms off past Tsuneko.

The mask bounces off his face and onto the ground, it’s small and silver with intricate details. Judging by the man’s suit and the woman’s gown, they’re here for the I.V.C, which she doesn’t recall being masquerade theme. The man picks up the mask and tucks it into his jacket with a heavy sigh.

“Now I don’t have a date,” he murmurs then looks up, his gaze meeting Tsuneko’s.

“Excuse me, sir, I needed the elevator.” She points over his shoulder.

“You just saw the whole thing, didn’t you?”

“Ah, uh, yes. Sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to intrude. I’ll just take the stairs actually.” She turns around, content to evade the awkward situation, then a hand wraps around her wrist and tugs her back. He’s pulling her towards the elevator, she instinctively tries to get out of his grip, but he’s stronger than her.

“Aw, c’mon, no reason to run away. I’ll explain everything when we get there.” He continues pulling her away, he doesn’t seem to notice or care about her trying to evade him. A part of her wants to deck him, but that will get her fired in a heartbeat.

‘Sir, leave me alone.” She keep her tone even and stern, hoping something will make it through his thick skull. One more strong pull and he yanks her right into the elevator, making her yelp. She’s met with the sight of broad back, blocking the elevator doors and button panel. He jabs a button, the doors slide close, what the hell is this guy’s problem?

“Whew, I’m lucky I found another date. There’s no way I could go to the party without a beautiful woman on my arm.” He turns to face her, entirely too close, with a smile that would be charming in another situation. He’s trying to take her to the I.V.C, the ballroom is on the basement level, so that’s not that big of a deal. She just needs to get away from him once the elevator stops.

“Sir, I am not your date, I suggest you find someone else to accompany you.” She maintains her cool, taking a step back as the weirdo inches closer. He’s acting like a desperate romantic, though he seems a little old for that kind of thing.

“What are you talking about? I was so lucky to meet a pretty girl like you.” Her back hits the wall of the elevator, he’s closed in on her completely. His hand cups her face, his breath fansn across her skin. Her cheeks feel warm, whether from anger or embarrassment she’s not sure. He’s not unattractive, an older man with shoulder length light maple brown hair. But, regardless of looks, he’s being completely inappropriate.

“Sir, I’m working, I don’t have time for this nonsense.” Her words don’t seem to have any impact, caramel brown eyes busy taking in every detail of her face.

“Yeah, you’re just my type. This is fate.”

”I’d would hope fate wouldn’t be so cruel to me, sir.”

The elevator comes to a stop and the doors open behind him with a ding.

“Let’s go, princess!” His hand is back around her wrist and he pulls her out before she has a chance to fight. She tries to step back and pull, or twist her wrist out of his grip, but she can’t manage. Punching him still might get her fired, but they can’t expect her to just let a guest do whatever he wants. Why the hell is he so strong?!

“Let go of me, now!”

The noise of the ballroom drowns out her demand. She’s never been in the ballroom. She’s definitely never been in the midst of the I.V.C like this. The carpeting is a plush red, the walls have gold etchings, and white marble pillars are throughout the room. Everyone is dressed beautifully, perfectly tailored suits and designer gowns. They talk and sip from champagne flutes as they all bustle around. Spread of gourmet food are laid out, servers intermingle with the crowd, never letting a glass go empty for too long. An aquarium at the back of the room catches her eye, colorful fish swimming through crystal clear water, a dolphin passes through. The hotel owns a dolphin? She would have liked to know that. If the whole ordeal wasn’t a pretentious rich nightmare, she’d be into it. If only for the booze, food, and dolphin.

“Micchy!” A woman yells out and Tsuneko nearly slams into Stranger Danger’s back when he stops.. He lets go of her wrist and goes off towards the woman. All of this hullabaloo just to run off, he seems more like a hormone driven teenager than a grown man.

“Hey, do you have any champagne?” A voice asks just by her ear, their breath tickles and makes Tsuneko jolt. Her face feels hot as she turns to find the source; a man around her age with strawberry blonde hair and amber eyes. She’s clearly wearing a maid uniform, not a server’s.

“I do not.”

“You do work here, right? You’re looking around like Alice at the Mad Hatter’s tea party.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, he’s cute, but something is off about him.

“I’m going to level with you, sir. I’m not suppose to be here right now, sorry.”

“That’s fine, hope you make it out of Wonderland, Alice.” His fake smile turns into a genuine smirk right as he leaves. Yeah, he’s definitely off. Still, cute though. She decides to shake it off and starts on her way out of the ballroom. It’s gonna take her forever to deliver those packages at this rate.

A sweaty hand grabs her wrist, bringing her to a halt, what the fuck now? The world is truly testing her today. It’s a stocky man in a garish green suit, he leers and looks her up and down, her stomach churns.

“Mhmm, I love girls like you. You wanna come with me to give me some special room service? I’ll make sure to tip you for the extra work."

“Gross.”

“What was that?”

“This is a hotel, not a brothel, sir." She’s able to break away from him much easier and starts towards the door again, he’s not deterred.

“You’re pretty lucky you met me. My net worth is 500 million,” he tells her, reaching out to touch her, she dodges him.

“Not enough for my dignity, sir." Her blood boils, at least Stranger Danger had the decency not to treat her like a prostitute. Does he really think her and the rest of the girls here are so beneath him and desperate for cash?Her hands clench into tight fists, she’s not allowed to punch guests. An unfortunate fact at the moment.

“C'mon, everyone has a price.” His hand presses against her hips, fuck this guy. She spins to face him, she needs to stop this, if she doesn't he's just going to hound every other female employee, until he finds someone he can bully into it. She’s not letting that happen.

“Look here, sir! I don't have the time, energy, or desire to deal with you disrespecting me and the hotel. I assure you, there’s not enough money in the world to convince anyone here to touch your pathetic excuse for a dick. Now, get your disgusting grubby hands off of me!” The color drains from the man’s face, when did the ballroom get so quiet? Just a few whispers, it’s like when she bumped into-

“This party is getting trashy,” a deep and sadly familiar voice rings out over her shoulder, making her jump. The asshole from the lobby was behind her, a group of women cling to and hover around him. They glare at Tsuneko, but asshole is glaring at the pervert. The look he gave her in the lobby seems downright kind in comparison.

“Uh, I'm so sorry Mr. Ichinomiya,” the pervert apologizes and runs off. Ichinomiya, that sounds familiar, but she can't place it. She rattles her brain for a moment, but she can’t seem to find it. The headache she has coming on isn’t helping. His eyes find hers, now that the pervert’s gone, the contempt has waned. It feels more like he’s looking at a fly under a microscope, like he’s trying to dissect and understand her.

“You again.”

“You again,” she mimics without thinking, her patience with the day is gone. His expression grows angrier, same for his groupies. She bites her lip to hold back laughter, normally she’d be more polite, but she just called a guest’s dick pathetic, so she might as well mock Ichinomiya, whoever he is.

“Get out of my way.” This seems to be his favorite phrase.

”Happily.”

“I hate when people don't know there place,” one of the women says as they move past Tsuneko. She forces a smile, but rolls her eyes once they’re gone and starts another attempt to leave this god forsaken party.

Her shoulder knocks into someone, making them both stumble.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he assures her before going on about his business, as small as the exchange is, a friendly normal person feels like a breath of fresh air. Something on the ground catches her eye, a small good luck talisman. The cloth it’s in is a bit worn, black with small white rabbits. He must have dropped it when she bumped into him.

She tucks the charm into her pocket and finds his back in the crowd, she jogs after him. Calling after him does nothing, he either doesn’t hear her or doesn’t realize he’s who she means by ‘Sir’. His long legs take him further away quicker than her stubbier ones and she sees him go out door towards the back of the room. She manages to get through the door a few moments after.

The hall that greets her is absolutely empty, her heart sinks, he’s nowhere to be seen. Doors line the hallway, did he go into one of those rooms? She’d hate it if she wasn’t able to get it back to him. It’s clear he’s had it for a while, it must mean a lot to him. If push comes to shove, she may just have to put it in lost and found, but then there’s no way of knowing if he gets it back. She walks down the hallway, the dead silence is eerie after being surrounded by so much noise.

A few moments pass and she hears soft murmurs, they seem louder in the quiet hallway. There’s a door ajar, maybe that’s where he is, there’s a bounce in her step as she nears it. She peeks into the room; gunmetal glints in the low-light of the room. Suitcases filled with cash and guns are strewn across a table. Men in suits are standing around, speaking in a language she doesn’t understand. This is illegal, this is definitely illegal. Her breath catches in her throat, she’s seriously watching an arms deal right now.

The world goes out from under her feet and she’s spun around, her back slams against the wall. She’s at least a foot off of the ground, large hands pin her in place and sharp blue gray eyes glare at her. Her heart hammers in her chest, like it’s trying to escape her rib cage.

“What are you doing here?” His voice is harsh and demanding. A part of her wants to fight, but if he’s involved with what she just saw…. There’s no guarantee he’s not armed. She’s not keen on being murdered.

“I got lost looking for someone, sorry sir.” She doesn’t let her voice break and maintains eye contact. Showing her fear won’t help anything. He lets go of her and she falls to the ground, not too gracefully.

“You have five seconds to get out of here and forget everything you saw. Otherwise, you’ll be wiped off the face of the earth.”

“Understood.” She walks away, ignoring the impulse to run. Muscle memory leads her through the floor, the storage room shouldn’t be far away.

She steps inside, closing the heavy door behind her before she sits down on the floor. Her breath is shaky and she clutches her head in her hands, nails digging into the skin of her temples. What the hell is she suppose to do now?

She’s been threatened and there’s apparently gun deals going on in the hotel. People are getting hurt, there’s no way they aren’t if guns are involved. She can’t be certain how serious that man was about killing her. But, she doesn’t wanna test it and he didn’t seem like the kind of person to speak lightly.

Reporting it isn’t really an option; she has no evidence and there’s the whole being killed thing. Even if she is believed, if the hotel gets shut down, her and all her coworkers would be left without a job or home. Is the hotel even aware of this? Does Kenzaki or the owner know what’s going on here? Who even owns the hotel again? Some sort of CEO who’s head of a conglomerate group. What was it called again? Ugh, she can’t think straight.

She jolts to her feet, she needs to focus and get her shit together. Freaking out isn’t going to help anything. She needs to deliver those packages and go on with her work day, then she’ll drop the charm off in the lost and found. Work now, panic attacks later.

Tsuneko starts stacking up packages in her arms, her movements frantic and she nearly drops a few.. Her brain is a scrambled mess, she needs a dolly, she should have brought one over before stacking them in her arms. She’ll just carry the packages to the dolley, wherever the damn thing is. She can’t even see over the pile of boxes, she tries to look around them as she moves.

Something slams into her and knocks her back, the packages fall to the ground. A heavy thud rings out through the room, the sound of shattering follows. Her ass hurts and she can already feel the bruises forming. She’s spent the majority of this day on her ass.

“Fucking hell!” There are two men, they’re frenetic as they try to pry the lid off of a crate that’s fallen. She doesn’t recognize them, they’re not in any sort of Tres Spades uniform. Maybe they’re just here to move stuff?

The lid hits the floor with a clatter and she peeks inside, it’s filled with shards of what looks like broken glass. She can tell how high quality whatever the original object was from the quality of the material. It’s pristine and the light it catches reflects back iridescent.

“The statue's been smashed to pieces!” One of the men yells, his face turning red with rage.

“I’m sorry,” she struggles to keep her tone even, “I’ll talk to the manager, we’ll get it figured out.”

This entire day has been a mess, but if the worse thing to come out of it is having her pay docked for a decoration, she’ll be okay. It may be high quality, but she doubts a statue is worth too much. It’s just nice glass.

“This was the showcase piece for the auction! How are you going to pay for it!?”

“Look, I’m sorry,” she says again, but what do they mean by an auction? The men glare at her and creep closer, she takes a step back as chills run up her spine.

“You think an apology is going to cut it? You owe us?”

One of the men makes a grab at her and she throws a punch. Her fist connects with his nose in a spray of blood. The man staggers back and she makes a run for the door. His cohort gets in the way and pushes her back, knocking her flat on her ass.

“You really think you’re gonna get out of here that easy,” he taunts, standing over her.

The crate brushes against her as she scrambles away, she grabs a large shard of glass from it and buries it deep into the man’s thigh. He screams out and a gush of blood spurts out as she twists the shard out of his flesh. She clambers back up on her feet and makes another run for the door.

A weight slams into her back, her face smashes into the ground, her scream muffled. He presses his knee down on her back, his nails dig into the cuts on her hand as he rips the glass out of her grasp. One hand keeps her wrist pinned behind her, the other searches her pockets. She writhes and twists, trying to get out from under him, but it does nothing. He tugs her phone from her pocket and throws it across the room.

“I got an idea of how we can make our money back,” the other man says.

Wheels roll across the floor, stopping in front of her. She can’t wrench her neck up enough to see anything else. The man yanks her up on her feet and her heart sinks. A large golden bird cage glimmers on top of a dolly. Her throat tightens and her stomach churns.

“Do you just have this shit on stand by!?”

“Shut up.” The man in front of her opens the cage door, the other pushes her forward. She jerks back; kicks and stomps at the man’s feet. He digs his fingers into her hand again, pain jolts through her and her scream reverberate through the room. Taking advantage, he shoves her forward into the cage. Her hand sting as she catches herself, her head nearly smacking into the bars. They lock the door behind her, tears sting at the back of her eyes.

“She’s a little damaged, but she should still be worth something.” The men share a laugh at her expense, they can’t be serious. They can’t sell her, that’s ridiculous. She can’t get a deep enough breath, her lungs burn. She can hear the pounding of her heart, feel the thump of it against her ribs.

They roll her out of the room, slowly taking her through the halls of the hotel. It’s mostly empty at first, but slowly more people start to appear, moving random things. From art to what looks like a baby leopard, it’s a mishmash of things being carried through the halls. But, no one seems to care about her. It’s like this is just a normal everyday occurrence. She shakes the bars of the cage, they don’t budge at all, she yells out for help. Nothing. No one bats an eye.

“Hey, where’s the final item?!” A young man yells from beside a pair of double doors, inside it seems to be a backstage area. Her kidnappers start explaining that there’s been a change in item.

She pries a bobby pin out of her hair, it’s mostly lose already, her ponytail coming undone in the entire struggle. Taking advantage of her kidnappers distraction, she snaps the pin into two pieces and starts trying to pick at the lock. Her hand stings with every movement and she can’t clearly see the lock, but she’s desperate. If she can get it undone, she can make a break for it.

“What the hell-” His words are drowned out by Tsuneko’s howls of pain, his blunt nails dig into her open cuts pressing into tender skin and making more blood flow. The two broken pieces fall to the ground, he lets go after what feels like hours and she yanks her hand back, holding it close to her as she presses against the other side of the cage.

Her eyes sting, a few tears stream down her face. The men only laugh at her pain, she focuses on their injuries, the man’s broken nose and the steadily bleeding wound on the others thigh. It’s a small comfort to know at the very least, she gave as good as she got.

She’s rolled through the double door and her suspicions are confirmed, it’s definitely backstage of this auction, she presumes. As pointless as it is, a part of her is still hoping that’s a joke. It seems so unbelievable, like something out of a horror movie or a nightmare. She’s tries to steady her breathing, to calm down even a little bit. But, it’s all in vain. Her heart beat is frantic, she struggles to breath, her throat feels tight, and she struggles to keep more tears from falling.

The backstage is a bustle of activity as she’s taken to just beside the stage, still concealed from the audience, but she can look out and see what’s taking place. It’s a huge crowd of people, they watch the stage with rapt attention, faces concealed by masquerade masks. A man on stage talks and moves dramatically, dressed in what appears to be a mad hatter costume. His face painted a stark white and his eyes an unnaturally electric shade of blue.

A small clang catches her attention, she looks up and one of the men attaches a hanging chain to the top of the cage. Someone starts pulling somewhere and the chain starts to lift the cage off the dolly. Tsuneko yelps, if she’s suspended, her chances of escape become slimmer. It ascends higher and higher, until she knows that even if she could manage to shake the bars lose or bust the cage open, she’d fall and break something or bust her head open. The latter doesn’t seem like a bad option at the moment, at least it might kill her.

Slowly her cage is pulled to the side, taking her to center stage. Bright lights and eyes all trained on her. She’s really being auctioned off, someone is going to buy her.

“I present to you, our showcase item of the evening! A healthy young Japanese woman. Yes, that’s you!” The hatter gestures towards her with a flourish and bile rises in the back of her throat.

“Yeah, I caught that,” she screams back at him, kicking the cage. The bars still don’t budge, the gilded cage is firm and shows no sign of busting open.

“I’ll start the bidding at one million!”

Even if she managed to escape the cage and managed not to hurt herself in the fall, she’s surrounded by the crowd. There’s no way she can avoid being grabbed.

“Keep her as your slave, keep her as a toy! Do whatever you please with her, it’s truly up to you!” The hatter continues, not caring about her distress. She kicks and shakes the bars, at this point more an explosion of anger than a genuine attempt to escape, she screams in frustration. Tears prick at the back of her eyes and she doesn’t care enough to stop them anymore.

In the front row of the audience is a stocky man in a garish green suit, the masquerade mask does nothing to hide the pervert from the I.V.C. He grins and bids on her. She looks behind her and sees a screen just above her cage, a number on it rising more and more. More money than she’s ever seen. Her stomach churns and she kicks the cage again, no budging. The most she can do is make the cage sway back and forth, nothing shows any signs of breaking.

“She is a feisty one, all the more fun to break her,” the auctioneer taunts, all his actions colored with the flamboyance of a true showman.

“If I could reach you, I’d wring your fucking neck,” she screams, her throat raw from the force of it.

“Going once, going twice, sold to seat one hundred for twenty-million!” The hatter says as a bell dings, the number on the screen behind her has stopped. She can’t make out what seats are what numbers past the first couple rows. It’s not the pervert, he’s seat number five. But that doesn’t mean it’s anyone better.

The hatter closes out the auction; the lights die down and the curtains close. Tsuneko sits and pulls her knees to her chest, her cage lowers down. It’s settles back down on the stage with a small sound, it makes her feel just a tiny bit better, slightly less helpless than she was before. Someone is still staring at her, she can feel it, even while she’s curled up against herself. Peeking up, it’s the hatter. His harlequin style hatter costume is slightly unnerving, his unnaturally blue eyes are trained on her, his expressions seemingly curious. There’s something child like to it. Someone yells out and he jolts, like being woken up from a trance and goes scurrying off.

Her owner, her stomach churns at the the word, should be coming to collect her. Maybe, this will be a chance to escape. She’s not in the best state to fight, but maybe, just maybe, she’ll be able to take them down. She kicks again, a dull ache pulsing in her toes. She wipes away at tears, holding back sobs.

Footsteps echo out, growing closer and closer. Two men make their way to her cage, the small silver masks do nothing to hide their identities. At this point she has to wonder if they truly serve a purpose beyond aesthetic. She can tell right away it’s Stranger Danger in his bright red suit and the cute but off guy from the party. If it was just the latter, she’d be able to take him. He doesn’t seem particularly strong, shorter and thinner than Stranger Danger. But, she knows that the taller of the two was able to drag her around like a rag doll.

“This way.” Stranger Danger unlocks the cage door. She gives them wary glares as she stands on shaky legs and steps out of the cage. Tsuneko hides her injured hand in her pocket, not wanting to give them an easy target if they decide to hurt her.

The men stay quiet as they lead her to an elevator, the only one that goes to the penthouse. Sure enough, once they’ve stepped inside Stranger Danger pulls the penthouse elevator key from his pocket. The doors close and the carriage lurches into movement. She knew they were V.I.P’s, but not very many people have access to the penthouse. Sakiko has mentioned some people who stay their. An artist, who’s name escapes her, and the owner of the hotel. Who the hell owns this hotel again? She’s trying to rack her brain for that name again, Ishi, something? Her brain is fuzzy from everything going on. But, if she’s being taken to the penthouse, surely the owner is aware of what’s going on. It would be hard to hide the auctions, especially at that scale, from the person who owns the damn place.

It’s a silent tense elevator ride, Tsuneko racking her brain for an escape strategy. She already knows she can’t fight Stranger Danger, but maybe she could make a run for it when the elevator opens, go for the stairs. But, if the owner is involved, she wouldn’t get far. She doesn’t exactly have anywhere to go other than the employee dorms. Waiting for a better chance might be the best idea.

The elevator dings and stops, doors sliding open. She’s never seen the penthouse suites before. They step into the hallway, red carpeting and doors along the walls. A huge pair of double doors standing out among them. The only employee she knows of that has access here is Kenzaki, even Erika isn’t allowed in the penthouse.

The pair push open the double doors and Tsuneko follows, it’s a lounge. Lavish, with plush chairs and couches. A large set of of red carpeted stairs lead up to another level, a large window covers almost the entire expanse of a wall, showing a view of the Tokyo Bay. There’s an extravagant high tech television mounted on one of the walls. Two men are in the center of the lounge; both of which she recognizes. And there appears to be man passed out on one of the couches, he could be dead, she can’t be sure. The man who threatened to wipe her off the face of the earth and the asshole from the lobby, Ichinomiya, are in the center.

Ichinomiya. He’s the owner of the hotel. It hits her as hard as she hit the floor earlier. She sassed her boss. Prior to this auction nonsense, she’d be panicking, but the fear of upsetting her boss pales in comparison to the terror of being sold.

“We’ve brought her,” the cute but off guy announces, he doesn’t seem to have a care in the world. She’d like to punch him.

Ichinomiya sits on the red couch at the center of the lounge, crossing his legs as he looks her over. Him and the man who pinned her to the wall have intense stares, but she meets their gaze with the same ferocity. She’s not backing down.

“We bought you,” Ichinomiya states.

“I noticed.” Her response seems to amuse him, a smirk plays on his lips. She’s just happy her voice didn’t crack.

“So, we ended up catching you after all,” the tall man who pinned her comments, his dark hair is slicked back and his eyes are sharp. Even without him having her against a wall, he’s kind of intimidating, or perhaps it’s just the situation making him seem that way.

“You know this woman, Soryu?” Ichinomiya asks.

“You could say that.”

“He threatened to kill me.”

“Yeah, sounds like Sor,” Stranger Danger says with a laugh, pulling off his mask and adjusting his fedora. Cute but off guy pulls off his mask as well, both completely nonchalant..

“Look, you can’t actually buy me, this is stupid,” she decides to keep talking, maybe the more she talks the more it will all make sense and she’ll be able to get out of this.

“Anything and everything’s for sale at the auctions. If there’s someone out there to buy it, you can sell it. There are no rules,” Stranger Danger boasts, no one here seems to care about the abject horror she’s been through.

“Yep, you can get stolen art, secret information about politicians, even hire a hitman,” Cute but off guy adds.

“This is actually the first time a person’s ever been auctioned off, though,” Stranger Danger’s eyes seem to soften a bit as he looks over at her, a shred of empathy seeming to make its way through.

“You must have done something pretty bad, huh?” Followed by the apathetic question of cute but off guy.

“I accidentally broke some statue, that was apparently expensive, or whatever.”

“The statue of Venus. If it’s worth anything, it’s here,” Ichinomiya states with confidence.

“You’re reckless as always. This woman isn’t worth anything,” Soryu tells him.

“I agree, let me go home.”

“But, it’ll be fun thinking up ways to use her.” Cute but off guy is smirking, he’s a shit head it seems.

“No, it will not.”

“Who gave you permission to speak? Don’t open your mouth unless I say so,” Ichinomiya demands; she bites her lip and keeps her glare. She wants to strangle him, she wants to actually murder her boss. This fuckwit puts her through hell and doesn’t even wanna let her talk.

“If you got a problem with it, would you rather go back to number five?” Soryu asks with a smirk, at least none of them seem keen on violating her in that way, but she just glares at him. She needs to stay calm, as difficult as that is.

“C’mon now, Boss…Sor. You should be nice to girls,” Stranger Danger talks again, he’s calling Ichinomiya boss, too. He’s really the one she needs to get convince to let her go.

“Listen,” she starts, no one stops her, “there no reason to keep me. My existence does not benefit any of you in any way, shape, or form.”

“You’re just trying to lower your value,” cute but off dude chimes in, he’s getting less cute and more gremliny with every annoying word.

“Besides, a cute girl has plenty of benefits.” Any brownie points Stranger Danger earned have vanished, his comment and wink makes her grimace.

“I sincerely hope you aren’t desperate enough to waste twenty-million on getting your dick wet.” She levels a glare at him.

“Looks like she already has you figured out, Baba,” Gremlin, as he’s now being dubbed, says through a laugh.

“You wound me, princess.” Stranger Danger, Baba apparently, responds with a dramatic sorrowful expression.

“You know about the auctions,” Soryu takes back control of the conversation, “we can’t have you running off and telling someone.”

“No worries, I haven’t suffered recent brain damage.” Though her face feels significantly bruised after being slammed against the floor, Soryu raises an eyebrow at her, “Worst case scenario, you kill me and best case scenario I end up unemployed and homeless. I have no proof, police wouldn’t believe me and you’d kill me for talking. Even if they did, if the owner of the hotel goes to jail then the hotel goes under and I’m out of my job and housing. I’m not stupid enough to bite the hand that feeds me.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Ichinomiya smirks “you didn’t seem too friendly earlier.”

“To be fair, I didn’t know who you were, so,” his glare harshens, but she’s not done talking, “look, I don’t even have a phone to call the police. I’ll sign an NDA, confidentiality agreement or whatever, I’ll give you the legal right to screw me over if I even think about telling people about the auctions. There’s no reason to keep me, I’m not worth twenty-million, I assure you.”

Soryu looks to Ichinomiya, he almost seems to be on board with her idea. Maybe he’s not that awful, if he supports getting her out of here.

“Boring!” Gremlin complains, she could wring his fucking neck, but she keeps her eyes focused on Ichinomiya. He makes the decisions here, that’s painfully clear.

“No,” Ichinomiya says as he gets up from the couch, “I determine your worth.”

“What!?” Her voice breaks more than she’d like it to, indignancy ruining her composure.

“We bought you, you belong to us. End of story. You’ll be staying in Soryu’s suite for the night, he’ll assure you don’t go running off.” He’s still smirking, despite the fact that Soryu looks absolutely pained. Ichinomiya leaves up the twisted staircase, pulling out his phone as he does so.

“Man, Soryu gets to play with Koro first, not fair,” Gremlin pretends to whine, but he’s smirking; who the fuck is Koro?

“Time for introductions,” Baba winks at her, “what’s your name princess?”

“.…Tomori Tsuneko,” she murmurs, she feels completed defeated, there has to be a way out of this mess.

“Pretty name for a pretty girl. I’m Baba Mitsunari. I’m a thief, 35, single and ready to mingle. You can call me Micchan, Micchy, whatever you want.”

“Baba it is.”

“Pfftt, rejected. I’m Kisaki Ota, people call me the angelic artist,” Gremlin introduces himself.

“You already know Boss, so it’s Sor and Mamo’s turn,” Baba says, looking at the far less enthusiastic men.

“Kishi Mamoru,” The apparently not dead guy finally sits up and lights a cigarette.

“He’s a cop or unemployed, who knows?” Baba grins, “And the tall quiet guy is Oh Soryu, leader of the Ice Dragons.” Soryu looks so pained, you’d think he was the one who was just bought.

“Ice Dragons…?”

“Mafia,” Kisaki explains, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Enough of this,” Oh says curtly, “follow me, since I’m stuck babysitting you.” He strides out of the lounge without giving her another look.

“Sor’s kinda shy. You better go after him before he locks the door on you,” Baba tells her and she scurries off after Oh, who leads her down the halls towards one of the suites. She has to speed walk to keep up with his pace.

He’s stiff and rude, but if she’s being entirely honest, he’s pretty low of her current shit list. At the very least, he seems just as keen on getting her out of here as she is. His biggest concern seems to be keeping the auctions secret; she already told them she wouldn’t blab, but she gets the feeling if she steps out of line he wouldn’t hesitate to kill her. And the fact he still seems like one of the lesser evils here despite that, really says something.

She’s follows him into his suite, it’s easily five times the size of her dorm. They step into the living room, more than likely where she’ll be sleeping. The couch looks comfy, she’ll manage for the night. Oh starts pulling off his jacket, then unbuttoning his shirt. She catches a glimpse of bare muscles before she turns around, offering him something resembling privacy. It might seem naive, but she doesn’t think he gonna try anything, he seems pained by her presence let alone trying to touch her. Footsteps ring out, Oh walking past her shirtless. He’s in really good shape.

“Don’t get any weird ideas.” He steps into another room, a moment passes and then running water. Sounds like a shower, couldn’t he have started stripping down in the bathroom? She doesn’t really understand the point of the peepshow, she decides not to ponder on it too long and instead lets out a heavy breath.

She slumps onto the couch, exhaustion settling in to take the place of her anxiety. Running away isn’t an option, despite how tempting it is, the Ichinomiya Group has the power and money to find her anywhere. She’s not sure how far reaching the mafia is and she doesn’t want to find out. Even so, she has no intention of giving up. She’s got to convince Ichinomiya to let her leave. Though, clearly it isn’t happening tonight.

Tsuneko looks at her hand, surveying the damage done by the glass. It’s starting to throb and ache more. The largest mark is a nasty gash across her palm, then smaller cuts around her fingers. It hurts more when she bends or flexes them, but the slash across her palm is more concerning. She doesn’t think it needs stitches, but she isn’t a doctor, so who knows.

Something glints and catches her eye, from under the chair. She leans over to get a closer peek and her blood runs cold, it’s a gun. It’s not shocking, he was the one who threatened her after she saw the gun deal. But, she still can’t help being afraid. The potential of him killing her seems even more viable.

The water stops, doesn’t seem like a long shower, a minute or two tops. She tucks her hand back in her pocket and presses her back closer against the couch as the bathroom door opens. His hair is no longer slicked back, soft around his face, but it doesn’t look wet.

“You didn’t try to run away.” He was just testing her.

“I’m not stupid.” She can’t help the vitriol in her tone.

“That remains to be seen,” that earns him a glare, “As long as you keep behaving, I won’t do anything bad to you.”

“Got it.”

He walks around the couch to stand in front of her, she presses further into the back of the couch, he’s in her space. Oh cages her in, arms on each side of her head and hands on the top of the couch, he leans in until they’re almost nose to nose. She bites her lip and meets his glare, her face feels hot.

“I have no idea what Eisuke’s thinking, but let's make this clear. You better not tell anyone what you saw today. No matter what. Telling anyone else is the same as signing your own death warrant. Yours, your friend’s, and your family’s.”

“Got it.”

“You can use the living room and bathroom, just don’t come near my bedroom,” he tells her as he pulls away, gathering his discarded shirt and jacket.

”Understood. What about work? If I’m not there tomorrow people will get suspicious.” She’s not sure if they actually would, if any of them would care enough to notice, but any excuse to leave in the morning sounds good.

“You work as a maid here, right?”

“Yes.”

“As long as you remember to keep your mouth shut and don’t go running off, it’ll be fine. Understood?”

She nods as Oh leaves into another room, she assumes the bedroom. Tsuneko pulls off her shoes, her feet ache just a bit. He told her she could use the bathroom and a shower sounds nice, but she doesn’t have anything to change into. Plus showering in an unfamiliar place doesn’t sound too pleasant. There’s a shower in the employee locker room, she’ll wait til morning.

She curls up on the couch, carefully finding a position that won’t hurt her hand. A yawn escapes her, she needs to think of ways to get out of this, but she’s too exhausted to think straight. The whole ordeal has drained every last bit of energy she has. She closes her eyes and slowly drifts off to sleep.

#kbtbb #kissed by the baddest bidder #eisuke ichinomiya #Soryu Oh #mamoru kishi #mitsunari baba #ota kisaki #kbtbb eisuke #kbtbb soryu #kbtbb mamoru #kbtbb baba #kbtbb ota #black market wonderland

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splattales · 5 years

Text

Fifteen Questions. Fifteen Mutuals.

Repost, don’t reblog!

(HEY DID Y’ALL KNOW I HAVE LIKE 1,000 MUSES? I’LL DO THEM ALL. HERE’S A READMORE FOR YOU. SORRY MOBILE USERS)

1. Are you named after anyone?

Molly: Sorry, nah. Can’t really ask anyone though.

Finn: I believe my first name is my grandfather’s middle name. Dad’s side.

Marina: Maybe? I think I was named after a historical figure, but it’s, like, a really popular name anyway...

Brine: Nope! Just salty water.

Pansy: I’m named after a flower. It’s a tradition in my fam’bly to name your first-hatched after a flower...

Ribbon: Momma’s a Ribbon Eel!

Slushie named himself -- though technically, he’s named after a beverage.

Tay: Yes! Many rulers in my bloodline were also named ‘Octavio’.

Sabi: It’s shortened from ‘Wasabi’. Not very creative, I know, but ... I’ve had a few names. This is just the one I’ve gotten used to.

2. When was the last time you cried?

Molly: Nunya bizness. (About three days ago.)

Finn: I’m actually quite happy at the moment! Maybe two weeks?

Marina: I don’t ever cry, duh. (Last week after spilling her meal on the floor.)

Brine: Yesterday! Don’t worry, it was just a touchy subject that came up. Always cry when you need to, it can really help.

Pansy: Haven’t in a fair bit, I think I cried on Groa the other day about somethin’ real dumb. One of my workmates left n’ I burnt dinner n’ then something else happened and just… well, I sure hope he doesn’t think I’m weird ‘cause of that, eheh.

Ribbon: It was my birthday recently, so I haven’t felt like crying! I dunno.

Slushie cried the last time he ate a memcake, so two days ago.

Tay: That isn’t any of your business. (Ten minutes ago.)

Sabi: Sometimes I cry when I’m listening to sad music, so, um… Tuesday?

3. Do you have kids?

Molly: No! Adopting might be cool when I’m older, but I’m only 19 and I have way too much to deal with already!

Finn: Do I look like a father? I’m still in uni! … That said, a few of my classmates have kids, it’s really strange.

Marina: No, but I have younger siblings, so I know how to take care of ‘em. … I don’t think I’m gonna want kids for a while, if ever.

Brine: Haha! No! Maybe someday.

Pansy: Slushie’s my kid! He’s adopted, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t family. I hope he knows that.

Ribbon: You’re funny! Sometimes I pretend my dinosaur toys are babies, and then we destroy the town as a powerful army.

Slushie is 15 years old!

Tay: I think Reed could be considered my ‘child’, but I’m still not altogether sure about that. And Masako, I think? But I never had any children in this timeline, so it’s a little confusing…

Sabi: No, no, I don’t think I’d make a good father…

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

Molly: Here and there. I don’t like to overdo it, but it’s totally justified sometimes.

Finn: Yeah … my friends aren’t exactly a good influence.

Marina: All the time. I don’t think I could live without it.

Brine: Hardly! It wouldn’t be good if I sassed my superiors, and it’s mean. But a harmless eyeroll won’t hurt, on occasion.

Pansy: Eh, sometimes. I’m not really smart enough, I get out-sarcasm’d, and it ain’t the nicest thing.

Ribbon: Doing a sarcasm can be pretty hard… you get told off, too.

Slushie doesn’t talk enough to use sarcasm, but his body language often suggests it!

Tay: Oh no, I neeeever use sarcasm…

Sabi: …It isn’t kind to be sarcastic.

5. What’s the first thing you notice about people?

Molly: Their face. Some people have real distinguishin’ features.

Finn: Their ink colour! If they don’t have one, then I look at their style instead.

Marina: Uh, does it matter? It depends on the person, right? I usually notice if somebody’s an Octoling.

Brine: Usually? Their handshake. I know that’s kind of weird to say, but the way someone shakes your hand can tell you a bit about them.

Pansy: I try to look at how they carry themselves n’ the expressions they make. It helps you figure out what a person’s like – though how they talk and what they do’s the next important thing. S’ important to watch the eyes.

Ribbon: If they’re smiling!

Slushie pays very close attention to the way other people talk.

Tay: How they behave towards me! Respect can be the difference between a guest staying or being thrown out – and potentially a matter of life and death when assassins are concerned!

Sabi: How much of a threat they are to me, haha… I try to keep my head down.

6. What’s your eye colour?

Molly: Kinda… teal green? Lighter?

Finn: Rose pink!

Marina: Green eyes, green sclera. Just once I want somebody to say I’ve got eyes like emeralds, but I don’t see it happening. Nobody’s that suave, and I’d probably slap a stranger if they did.

Brine: Ocean blue!

Pansy: Deep pink. Cute, right? Haha, that was a joke…

Ribbon: Pink like dad’s!

Slushie’s eyes are purple, with a white sclera.

Tay: Soft blue on green~

Sabi: Blue – and um, I’m the kind of octoling that has green ‘whites’.

7. Scary movie or happy ending?

Molly: I like scary movies, they’re usually not that scary, haha. Happy endings make me think of those sappy films, but I don’t mind them in like … regular stuff.

Finn: I love happy endings! Especially in a romance film. Scary movies aren’t so bad, but some of them I’d prefer not to see…

Marina: Horror. Happy endings can be way too saccharine for my tastes.

Brine: I do love a good happy ending!

Pansy: Yeah, happy endings here too. I don’t mind horror so much if things work out in the end, though. What’s the point if everyone dies?

Ribbon: No scary films please!!!

Slushie isn’t a fan of scary films. He’d much rather watch something happy.

Tay: It depends on my mood. I like a happy ending, but it has to be written well, and scary films – well, I’m not scared of anything, but too much of it taints the mind, you know…

Sabi: Please . . . take one look at me and say I’d enjoy a horror film. You’d be wrong in every way…

8. Any special talents?

Molly: People keep saying my cooking’s good, but I don’t really see it? I know lots ‘bout weapons…

Finn: Art! I’m trying to make a career out of it.

Marina: I’m pretty good at mending up old human tech, and I can program. Real dab-hand at fixing technology. Betcha didn’t know that.

Brine: I’ve got a good eye! … Yup, that’s all I can think of, ahah.

Pansy: Me? Er, I guess I can cook pies pretty good. I used to be decent at all that detective stuff too, but now I’m not so sure.

Ribbon: I dunno what my special talent is yet! I’m hoping it’s to do with detecting.

Slushie is very good at puzzle solving, and has quick reflexes. He’s also an absolute STAR at learning languages.

Tay: I have so many talents! Always looking good is practically a talent, and there’s my overall intelligence – I’m especially good at mathematics – but I’m a creative mind too! I’m PERFECT at stage performance and mixing music, not to mention I’m excellent at tinkering with machinery, I’ve built plenty of things and […etc.]

Sabi: Oh, um, I’m pretty good when it comes to music, I guess…

9. Where were you born?

Molly: Small town just outside of Inkopolis, but basically Inkopolis.

Finn: I think my parents moved to Inkopolis around the time I was hatching? Yeah.

Marina: Octopolis. You know, underground.

Brine: Inkopolis, hatched and raised. (This is a retcon--)

Pansy: Cuttledown, it’s a little village right near Calamari County.

Ribbon: Here! Inkopolis!

Slushie doesn’t know when or where he hatched, but he was quickly picked up by the underground orphanage.

Tay: Oh, somewhere on the surface a very long time ago… (Actually, that isn’t true.)

Sabi: In a lab somewhere underground. It’s, uhm, not very glamorous.

10. What are your hobbies?

Molly: Turf War! I listen to music a bunch too, n’ play games.

Finn: When I’m not doing art, I like to play Turf War and hang out with my friends.

Marina: *gestures to her room full of human artefacts and study notes*

Brine: I don’t have a lot of time for hobbies, aha… sometimes I still make coffee…? I like stargazing and laughing at conspiracy theories.

Pansy: I garden a lot, but that’s also my job now.

Ribbon: I play videogames and draw and use my imagination and collect dinosaurs.

Slushie is still trying to find his place on the surface, so is trying a lot of new things.

Tay: Tinkering! I get excited about circuits and wires. Surprising, no?

Sabi: I really… REALLY invest a lot of my time into music. But I, um, I also like to read. Mostly science fiction.

11. Do you have any pets?

Molly: Nah. Banned. I leave too much to give ‘em attention anyway.

Finn: My little brother. … Okay uh, that was kind of a cruel joke, eheh. No.

Marina: Pets are cute, but I don’t have the time! Not to mention no space.

Brine: Haha, Mom would kill me.

Pansy: We used to have a nudibranch back at Ma’s but not anymore. Maybe I should get another…? They cost a whole lot, long-term.

Ribbon: I reeaallly want an axolotl but dad and mom say no! It’s not fair. Dad used to live on a farm so he basically had EVERY PET.

Slushie lives with Pansy, so likewise has no pets.

Tay: Hm, no… perhaps I should invest in one for companionship. I’d pay someone else to feed and clean up after it, of course…

Sabi: Ah, that’s a lot more responsibility than I could handle…

12. What sports do you/have you played?

[Everyone says ‘Turf War’ in unison, except for Tay who says ‘Sword fighting’ and Slushie who says nothing].

13. How tall are you?

Molly: *grumbles* 4’10”…

Finn: 5’4”, still waiting for that growth spurt.

Marina: 5’5”. I’d like to be taller.

Brine: 5’11”! Nothing more, nothing less.

Pansy: Not nearly tall enough. 5’7”. I’m the shortest of my siblings, and I’m the oldest, pffah.

Ribbon: Small! (She’s exactly 4ft.)

Slushie is something like 5’2”, I haven’t written it down anywhere.

Tay: Tall enough! (He’s 5’6” and insecure about it.)

Sabi: Aaah… I’m 6’8”, how embarrassing… I’m thankful I’m not any taller.

14. Dream job?

Molly: I sure as heck don’t know, my dude. Something where I could show off my knowledge about battling, I guess. A teacher?

Finn: An artist that gets paid!

Marina: I will become the world’s greatest archaeologist.

Brine: Almost there! I’d love to be a fully-fledged lawyer.

Pansy: … I already lost my dream job as a detective.

Ribbon: A detective!! Or a secret agent!! Or… a mailperson!

Slushie doesn’t really know what he wants to do with his life yet.

Tay: What could be better than being an emperor and a DJ? … being an MC? A showhost? I could do that too.

Sabi: My music is already selling well, so I’m very happy.

15. Favourite subject in school?

Molly: I hated school. Uh, I liked history sometimes, but I wasn’t great. Music? We used to mess around a lot…

Finn: Apart from the obvious ‘art’, I did enjoy literature too!

Marina: Human studies. As for the military side, I did always enjoy target practice.

Brine: Law! Since it’s a later subject, I also had fun in Social Studies and Inklish Language.

Pansy: Long time ago, uh… I remember bein’ pretty good at geography? I was awful at Inklish n’ Maths and that. Science was pretty good though.

Ribbon: Hm… I love all the subjects! Does snacktime count as a subject? We hardly get those anymore now we’re older.

Slushie likes foreign languages. He also excelled in agility training.

Tay: I’m not sure I remember exactly, but I do love mathematics.

Sabi: I technically never went to school, um…

Well, here’s the end!

Tagged by: @manysquidsandoctos

Tagging: meap

#pretty sure like 90% of my mutuals were already tagged so do it if you wish--#long post #EVERYONE.#Molly #Finn #Marina #Slushie #Brine #Pansy #Ribbon #Octwovio #Wussabi

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rattycattyfanfic · 5 years

Text

good girl

Fandom: Once Upon A Time Pairing: Regina/Maleficent Genre: Romance/Smut Rated: E Words: 3,079

Maleficent treats her lover after a hard day's work being the Good Queen.

Response to generated kink baths and water + good girls.

AO3

warnings: smut, swearing, praise kink, light D/s, pet-names, "good girl" and "little one" if that squicks you. kink prompt generated here.

It’s been one of those days at the office where all Regina wants is a lay down in a dark room and a glass of wine or three – the kind where everyone must be in on some plan to test just how good the Good Queen is these days with extreme fucking incompetence. The council meeting had dragged some of the fairies trying to butt in and monopolise, suggesting stupid, naïve solutions and being generally self-righteous, and then she’d gone to her office and had to correct Hook’s poor paper work, and it’s just been bad.

She’s irritable as she shuts the door of her mansion behind her and toes her heels off, sighing as she does. The house is quiet, dark, and she hadn’t realised how late it had gotten, hadn’t seen the clock tick past eleven while she’d been working away in her office, but it must have.

“Regina? Is that you?” comes a voice from the open study, and Regina smiles. Dark, quiet, but not empty – not anymore, never anymore. Big Henry doesn’t live here anymore, has a lovely little house near the forest with his wife and daughter and visits often between adventures, but King Henry, little Henry from the wish realm stays with her every other week, and now there’s –

“How was work?” Maleficent asks gently, coming around the corner into the hall where Regina is still lingering. She takes her into her arms, against her warm body, and Regina allows the touch, relaxes easily into it.

“Shit,” she answers, dropping her head onto Mal’s chest and wrapping her arms tight around the blonde’s slender waist. “I may just kill Reul Ghorm.”

Mal hums quietly and the corner of her lips quirks into a smile. “She’s not worth destroying everything you’ve built, but I’ll be happy to accidentally torch her if you like.”

Regina laughs softly and turns her head up to look at her girlfriend, drink in the welcome sight of her calm eyes and plump, red lips. “Careful, I just might take you up on that.” She wouldn’t, couldn’t kill the stupid fairy anyway – Blue really isn’t worth her reputation and family, her new title (she’s never cared much for her titles, but this one feels well earnt and sentimental). She’s well past ripping hearts out and snapping necks these days, even if some days that old familiar rage flares up.

Soothing hands run up over her back, firm and massaging and Regina groans softly, rolls her tense shoulders and leans in to press her lips against Mal’s chastely.

“You’re tight, little one,” the dragon murmurs when they part, focusing her attentions on the sore muscles of her shoulders. Regina’s stomach clenches, reacting instantly to the affection and the nickname. She knows what’s coming when Mal calls her that, and fuck, she needs it. “How about I run you a hot bath while you get a drink?”

Regina nods and smiles, squeezes Maleficent’s hip gently. “God, yes, thank you.” They separate reluctantly, and she stays to watch as Mal heads upstairs to the master bathroom, admires the curve of her ass and the dip of her waist before making her way to the kitchen.

Once she’s upstairs, a full glass of red in one hand and the remaining bottle and a second glass in her other, she’s greeted by the scent of lavender and chamomile, and the smokiness of matches blown out. Mal is kneeling by the bath, testing the temperature with a few fingers, and there are lit candles in the corner, the lights low.

“It’s ready whenever you are,” Mal tells her, turning the tap off and standing, and Regina just about swoons. Who’d have thought a scary dragon bitch could be so sweet? (She did, she always has since those nights in the castle, incense burning and soft kisses on bruised skin.)

Regina sets her wine down by the bath, hands the second glass and bottle to her lover with a small grin, and begins unbuttoning her shirt. Mal sits down on the edge, crosses one knee over the other and watches appraisingly. She quirks two fingers and uses magic to pour her wine so she doesn’t have to look away for one second, and Regina feels wet heat grow between her thighs at being admired so openly.

Her shirt drops to the floor and she reaches back to unzip her skirt, letting it fall down her hips next to the silk. She’s left in her underwear and stockings, and she’d love to drag this out and tease Mal a little, but it’s chilly today, so Regina peels away the black lace unceremoniously and climbs into the bath, slipping beneath the hot water. “Thank you,” she murmurs, stretching out her tight muscles and delighting in the relaxing effect of herbal oils. They’re her favourites, the same she’d enjoyed a lifetime ago as a trembling girl in Maleficent’s castle. Mal always remembers these things, and it’s one of the things Regina loves about her. A dragon never forgets.

Regina reaches for her wine and drinks deeply, and they both sit like that for a little while, in comfortable silence, enjoying the smaller pleasures in life. Everything is always so insane, so huge and earth-shaking for their families, even now after the uniting of the realms, and these moments of quiet are priceless.

The hot water and oils work on her muscles, soothing, washing away the grime of a day’s work, and as she relaxes and becomes more comfortable, Regina feels herself heating up, growing achy for the feel of Maleficent against her. “Join me?” she requests softly, setting her glass down.

Maleficent smiles knowingly, those cool blue eyes burning into Regina, and stands to undress. She sees the hunger in her lover’s gaze, and purrs, “So it’s like that, is it?”

Regina hums in agreement and watches just as Mal had her, drinks in the irresistible appearance of creamy skin being slowly revealed until she’s nude, tall and muscular. Her platinum waves fall over her shoulders and hide the hardened peaks of her nipples and Regina wants nothing more than to push it behind her shoulders and take the nubs into her mouth.

All in good time.

Maleficent steps in behind her, somehow elegant in a way that should really be impossible, and sits in the space Regina has shuffled forward to make for her. “Come here, little one,” she says, voice like honey, and pulls Regina back into the space between her thighs, her back flush against Mal’s chest.

Regina moans under her breath as her brain turns somewhat fuzzy and soft like it tends to when Mal calls her that when they’re alone. It’s a sort of haze that comes over her, and suddenly everything feels easy and calm. She doesn’t have to think too hard, doesn’t have to be anything she’s not or live up to lofty expectations of queen or good or mother or hero. Mal’s arms snake around her waist beneath the water, settling low on her belly, her fingers tracing teasing patterns, and the stress of the day just slips away.

They soak in the water for a little while, Mal humming a soft tune into her ear and Regina letting her eyes slip shut in bliss. At some point, the blonde grabs a small cup from the side and dips it underwater to fill it. “Tip your head back,” Mal instructs silkily, and Regina obeys.

The warm water trickles through her hair, a soft hand on her forehead to catch any stray droplets that might get in her eyes. It’s nice. It’s a kind of pampering that none of them have time for ordinarily. It’s luxurious, when Mal squeezes some shampoo out into her hand and eases it through her dark hair, massaging her scalp and the nape of her neck. Regina groans and reaches down to squeeze Mal’s thigh, to rub her thumb across the skin appreciatively. A silent thank you, thank you for doing this, for treating me good.

The soap is washed out slowly, and then the whole process repeats with the conditioner. Slow, always slow, a show of love more than just getting clean. Then comes the body wash, and Regina swallows when Mal eases her up, straighter so she can begin to lather the apple-scented gel over olive skin. She starts gentle, innocent, rubbing her hands over Regina’s shoulders and back, massaging the knots as she goes, and then slowly inches around the front to her stomach, her ribs.

Regina is holding her breath by the time Mal’s fingers and palms tease up the side of her breasts. The blonde moves up to cup each breast in her hands, squeezing lightly and drawing a needy sound from the back of Regina’s throat. “God, Mal,” she breathes and trails off. Please, she wants to say, wants to beg for her touch lower, down between her thighs where a slow, insistent throb has grown.

Maleficent shushes her soothingly, rubs soapy circles over each breast and then teases both nipples into stiffened peaks with her thumbs. “I want to savour you. You’ll have what you want soon enough, if you just wait.” And then, lower, into Regina’s ear: “Can you do that for me? Wait, like a good girl?”

Oh, gods, Regina thinks and bucks her hips ineffectually. “Yes,” she promises breathily.

“Good,” Maleficent purrs, and pinches one nipple hard, causing her lover to yelp. She twists the other, rolls it between her fingers, and the yelp becomes a low moan. “I’m going to make you feel so good. You’re going to be absolutely boneless when I’m done with you.”

Regina squirms through the slow teasing for a few minutes. A slight warm, relaxing buzz from the wine has set in and everything feels lovely. She can’t for the life of her remember what she’d been so tense about less than an hour ago.

It’s hard to think of anything when one of Maleficent’s hands slip lower down, dancing over her stomach, down under the water again to push her thighs apart. She pulls one knee up to rest against the side of the tub so that her leg is bent, and she’s spread open. Regina just thinks yes and hopes to god Mal finally decides to touch her properly.

“How are you feeling?” Maleficent murmurs. Her fingers just trace lazily over her inner thighs, from her knee to half-way up, side to side, little shapes and letters before glancing up, almost to Regina’s core and then back down again. She’s all but given up on actually washing Regina now, those little lusty whimpers and hitched breaths too irresistible.

“Good,” Regina answers quietly. “Relaxed. Horny.”

Maleficent laughs and gives her thigh a squeeze. “I’m sure.”

Regina’s lips quirk up at the beautiful, rare sound of Maleficent’s ringing laughing, and the mood is light, silly for a second, before Mal ghosts a finger up the length of Regina’s slit. She barely touches her, so torturously light and teasing, but it has her moaning all the same. “Gods, I need you, Mal,” and her mirth is gone. She just rocks her hips up enticingly.

“You’re lucky you’re so irresistible, Regina. I don’t think good girls top from the bottom like that.” Maleficent kisses the nape of Regina’s neck, the stretch of her throat, her jaw, and acquiesces all the same. Gently, lightly, she grazes her lover’s clit with her thumb, circles once, twice, three times and watches as Regina moans loudly and arches in pleasure. Sometimes, she wonders how the hell she lived without this for the three or so decades she’d been trapped as a dragon (and thank god they made it past that).

“Sorry,” Regina mumbles, and Maleficent hushes her softly, keeps moving her fingers.

“You’re forgiven,” she says, dropping a kiss to an exposed shoulder. “This is about you anyway.”

She keeps teasing Regina’s clit, flicking lightly and pinching it occasionally, until the woman is trembling, letting out a melody of whispering moans and stifled whimpers and soft curses. Only then, when she’s shaking with need, gasping fuck me, does Mal press a finger inward, into wet warmth. Regina clenches around her, pushes back, and Maleficent takes that as a good sign and adds another finger on the next thrust.

“You’re beautiful like this, little one. Always, but especially like this,” Mal praises as she fucks her. “Does it feel good?”

“Yes,” Regina gasps. “Yes, god, so good. I love how you touch me.” And then she’s twisting, tipping her head back to press her lips against Mal’s, a little sloppy with arousal. Their tongues brush together, lips moving, and Maleficent can’t help but hum in pleasure herself, a moan in the back of her throat. She doubles her efforts between Regina’s thighs in response.

Regina cries out, her thighs shaking, and she admits in a wobbly voice, “I’m close, Mal.”

She does moan at that, at her lover telling her how close she is, giving Maleficent the option to deny her like she occasionally loves to do. But this isn’t one of those nights, this is about Regina’s pleasure, and the admittance alone makes Mal suddenly yearn to feel the woman come undone against her.

Her other hand resumes toying with Regina’s breasts, squeezing harder now that Regina is on the edge. Maleficent speeds up her ministrations, adds another finger tentatively and begins to move faster when Regina stretches comfortably to accommodate her. “Come for me, little one. I want to watch you come around my fingers.”

And Regina’s breath catches in her throat, her chest heaving with pleasure. “Yes,” she moans loudly, the word echoing off the tiled walls. “Fuck,” Regina gasps, and feels herself coiling tight. Mal switches up the rhythm on her clit, rubs a little harder, a little faster and murmurs good girl, good girl, come for me.

Regina comes hard, feels herself go rigid as wave upon wave of pleasure hit her hard. She’s moaning with abandon and can’t stop herself, just thanks the gods no one else is home tonight as she clenches around the fingers within her and rides out her orgasm. Mal is whispering praise in her ear as she trembles, good girl, you’re so beautiful, my queen, her fingers still moving and the water sloshing slightly around them.

Slowly, Regina begins to come down, her muscles liquid and her cheeks flushing hot. Her entire body is electric with her high, but suddenly exhausted, boneless just as Mal had promised as she goes limp against her lover, breathing hard. “Thank you,” she murmurs, resting her head against Maleficent’s shoulder.

“My pleasure,” Mal replies and absolutely means it. “I love seeing you like this. You’re gorgeous when you come.” She kisses the top of Regina’s head.

Her lover hmms lazily, nudging Mal’s thigh. “Careful with your words, you’ll get me all hot again.”

“Maybe that’s what I want,” the dragon teases, flicking a hard nipple and smirking as Regina squirms, too sensitive.

“I thought this was about me,” Regina retorts with a curling grin, tipping her head back slightly loopily. It’s adorable, and Mal concludes that she’s been successful relaxing her lover and making her forget about whatever stress she’d dealt with today. “I don’t think you finished washing me,” she pokes when Maleficent is uncharacteristically speechless.

“I may be wrong, but I don’t think good girls make demands either. Maybe I’ll just leave you to do it yourself,” she murmurs into Regina’s ear only half-serious. She’d love to continue their little game, but the way her lover is heavy against her, eyes hooded, Maleficent doesn’t think she’s got another half-hour of sex in her. She looks like she needs pyjamas and bed and maybe a last glass of wine, and the water’s starting to cool anyhow.

She grabs the bottle of body wash despite her words, squeezes it out and begins to finish where she left off, fingers kneading, and Regina says nothing more, just sighs happily. By the time Mal finishes with the soap, Regina seems to almost be dozing against her chest, breaths deep and slow, and the dragon chuckles.

“Regina, dear,” she murmurs next to the woman’s ear, and gets only a sleepy hmm? “Let’s get you rinsed off and into bed before the water gets cold.”

“Hmm, ok. Bed sounds good,” Regina concedes, and shifts, coming to fully. She twists to meet Maleficent’s gaze, eyes glinting with promise and a devilish smile at the corners of her lips. “You deserve the favour repaid.”

That damn smile has Mal smiling too and murmuring, “We’ll see,” before kissing her softly. She’s strong and gentle as she helps Regina rinse off and step out of the tub, as she cocoons her lover in a huge fluffy towel and rubs her down, eases a brush through her damp hair and does the same for herself.

When they finally get into bed, Regina is in fresh, softly scented pyjamas and snuggles close to her dragon’s warm body, trails her fingers over the soft mauve silk nightgown. She fully intends to repay the favour, to slip down between those thighs and lick and suck until Mal knows just how much she’s appreciated, but there are fingers running through her slowly drying hair, rubbing the back of her neck and all she can do is groan and close her eyes. “Mm – stop distracting me, I want to taste you,” Regina says half-heartedly, pressing lazy kisses up the blonde’s throat and down over her collarbone, the tops of her breasts.

Maleficent chuckles, a low thing that rumbles in her chest, and shakes her head. “As much as I appreciate the sentiment, you can hardly keep your eyes open, Regina. There’ll be plenty of time for that tomorrow, and I fully intend to collect.” She wraps her arms tighter around the Queen and kisses her hair. “But sleep now, good girl.”

And Regina just grumbles quietly, but curls up all the same, giving up her leisurely assault and just resting. “Your good girl,” she murmurs, followed by a small, “thank you,” just as Mal begins to hum softly again, her voice intimate in the quiet dark of the bedroom. Tomorrow, she'll be working hard again, the Good Queen and all its stressors instead of just good girl, but for tonight, Regina basks in the feeling of complete and utter relaxation, of her lover’s tender, protective touches and words, until her breath evens out into soft snores.

#dragon queen #regina/maleficent #regina mills #maleficent #once upon a time #rated e #2019 #romance #smut #oneshot

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