I walk out the school’s double doors, wave to the front desk staff, and start this walk home for the last time.
My laptop bag is tucked against my side and bounces against me with each step. The sky is darkening from clouds rolling in. Luckily, I make it home still dry.
I jog up the stairs of my apartment building and happily toe off my shoes in the entryway, dropping my bags on the floor and collapsing face-first into the couch so I can hide my head under a throw pillow. I groan, and the sound reverberates from being trapped against the cushion.
My phone buzzes, making me jump. It’s either Honey or work.I debate checking it and eventually fold in case it is Honey. I wouldn’t want to leave her waiting.
Honey - How was work? Was today your last day?
I smile at her familiar, gold icon before standing to text back. I pace around the living room while responding and then check outside.
It’s snowing. I take a photo of the city in the white haze to send to her too.
Robin - it was. It was definitely work
Robin - first snow! hows your weather?
I watch the snowfall while waiting for her reply. The wind makes a small spiral of snowflakes on the balcony dust up for a few seconds before collapsing. It’s cold enough for the snow to stick right away, so there is a small film of white on the rooftops and tree branches already.
Honey - Congratulations! I’m glad you were able to get through the last day! The weather here is warming up. It’s approaching comfortable outdoor temperatures for me now.
Robin - thats good. Dyou have any warm weather plans?
Honey - I’m looking forward to walking in the garden without shivering. I also like how the lake looks in the summer when the flowers are all open and fresh.
I smile at her answer and wonder how to respond. I want to vent about work more, but I also want to stop thinking about it.
I bring up something random instead.
Robin - dyou watch the mv yet?
She replies immediately. I laugh under my breath at her enthusiasm.
Honey - Of course! It’s perfect! Have you?
Robin - not yet
I consider asking if we could watch it together, but we haven’t video-called before. She’s been skittish about showing her face, so I don’t want to ask. I’ve only ever seen her in heavy, cosplay makeup.
I don’t think she’s hiding who she is, but it’s still nerve-racking to ask to see a friend’s face for the first time. Especially hers, my brain whispers to me, and I sigh. I stop looking out the window to sit back on the couch.
It’s kind of pitiful having a crush on someone who doesn’t even know my real name. We’ve only shared our fake, internet names—Honey and Robin.
I watch the video to avoid thinking anymore. Honey’s favorite video game released a music video for their main theme by my favorite violinist. The concept went perfectly because the protagonist in the game plays a violin too.
Madrigal’s playing is excellent as usual, and her smoky voice suits the creepy ambiance of the game. It’s not often she sings in her songs, so I savor every second of it.
Honey was right, as usual. The video is perfect.
Robin - as expected, perfect!
Honey - Right!?
Honey - Can I be nosy for a second?
I hesitate, knowing she’ll probably ask about my job.
Robin - sure?
Honey - Do you have a second job lined up already? What is it?
I stare at her message for so long that she sends another.
Honey - Also I’m so proud of you for quitting! I could tell it wasn’t good for you. I’m glad you’re moving on.
I sigh and start pacing around the living room. Do I tell her everything? Should I omit some things?
Robin - thank you!! I’m honestly not sure what I’m going to do. I was hoping my writing would be enough but. I’m not sure it will be after that journal shut down.
Honey - Oh shit, really?
I blink at her sudden tone change. It’s not often that something can catch her off guard.
Honey - Are you actually in need of money then? I remember you really counting on them paying for that publication. (Which was incredible by the way. I still randomly reread it.)
I blush at her text despite the looming anxiety of running out of money.
I type, delete, type, delete a few times. I can’t decide what to tell her. Be honest and say I made a dumb, spur-of-the-moment decision? Lie and say I’ll be fine making rent next month? Lie and say I’ll gladly take any money she can scrounge up to help?
Robin - (I’m glad you like it) I’m not sure what I’m gonna do. I can save and be more careful and I’ll probably be able to stretch the savings until I find another job. I was counting on having more time, but I think I can still do it with the time Ive got. At worst, I just ask for a rent extension and explain to them what happened
Honey - That sounds stressful. How much time do you have?
I rub my eyes and laugh in disbelief at her ability to ask the one question I didn’t want her to.
Robin - About a month, but I can stretch it to two. I was /planning/ on having two months but you know how it is
She doesn’t reply for a while, so I distract myself with chores.
My stomach growls while I clean, but I don’t feel like I’ve worked enough to eat dinner today, so I ignore it. I drink a glass of water instead, and commit to writing more tomorrow so I can eat. I know it’s unhealthy, but hunger pains are my best motivator when it comes to writing and submitting to journals.
After cleaning up the kitchen, I finally strip out of my work clothes. I decide to take a bath instead of a shower so I can answer my phone if Honey replies. Her abrupt silence is worrying me, but this isn’t the first time it’s happened so I hope everything is fine.
My phone buzzes while I’m relaxing in the tub. The familiar anxiety spikes. Is it work or is it Honey? I hope it’s her again, and not a journal’s email. I have it set to notify me when my work is accepted or declined for publication.
I dip some of my face in the water as I hesitate, feeling childish for hiding but enjoying the warm water regardless. I eventually gain the courage to sit up, dry a hand, and grab my phone.
Honey - I’m sending someone your way that can help, but I wanted your permission first because I don’t know how prudish you are.
Prudish? I look up the word, not certain I understand what she’s asking me. I flush at the definition, rereading ‘reserved with sexual affection’ several times before it clicks what she’s doing.
Robin - WHAT
Robin - One, how on earth do you know this person? Two, I am not fit for having a sugar daddy! You dont know what I look like I could be a gross lil rat and you wouldnt know!
Honey - He’s really sweet! I met him the same way I met you. And it doesn’t matter what you look like! If he thinks you’re nice, he’ll definitely pay your rent. Just try!
I let out a relieved sigh that she met him from her cosplay like I did. I texted her a little over a year ago how much I loved her work, and we’ve been talking ever since.
I wouldn’t judge her for meeting him through more promiscuous means, only that she hadn’t brought it up until now. I don’t want to think about why she would have hidden something like that from me. She’s seemed very open so far, except with her appearance outside of cosplay.
I take a deep breath before replying, trying to calm down and not reflexively shoot down her idea.
Robin - what makes you think I even want to do that!? What if I say no!?
Honey - I know you. You didn’t say no! You’ll be fine! Just text him and see if he likes you. (Even if he doesn’t, he’ll probably pay for wasting your time.)
I groan and dip my hair back into the water, holding my arm out over the lip of the tub so my phone doesn’t get splashed. I consider it for a moment, listening to the resonant hum of my apartment while submerged in the bath.
Robin - fine. I’ll talk to him, then apologize for wasting his time and hopefully he’ll give me enough to cover next month’s rent
Honey - Great! And even more likely, he’ll text you, like you, and then you can have a sugar daddy for the next few months!
Robin - youre crazy
Honey - No, I’m right! You’ll see.
I laugh at her confidence and wonder how she knew I would agree to this. I don’t know what gave her the impression that this was something normal to do for a person.
An unknown number texts me, and my eyes widen. I almost drop my phone, desperate to escape this scenario by any means.
Robin - he texted already!!
Honey - Yay! You’ll do great!
“Oh my god,” I mumble and open the new message.
??? - Is this Robin?
Robin - Yes, who is this?
“Oh my god,” I groan again and rest my forehead on the side of the tub, sloshing the water around me and shivering as it starts to cool down.
??? - Jazz. I’m Honey’s friend. She told me you were in need of extra funds, but that’s all I know.
Before I can reply, he sends another text, which surprises me. He seemed professional, although likely a façade, so I didn’t think he would text twice.
Jazz - Well, she also said you two were close and she had faith you would be a good fit. Although that’s entirely up in the air. Don’t feel pressured and don’t act fake, please.
Don’t act fake? I’m offended before I remember he doesn’t know anything about me. He must think I do this all the time. Well… If he wants me to be real then I should clarify it, right?
Robin - Okay. This is all new to me. Honey sprung this on me Just now. I’ve never seriously considered this before
Jazz - What do you think this is?
I falter at the question. Is he being serious? What if I’ve got this all wrong? I stay vague, just in case I misread this. Honey didn’t correct me earlier, but if she thought it was funny, she wouldn’t have anyway.
Robin - You ask for photos and I ask for money?
Jazz - That’s possible.
Robin - Is that what you were expecting?
I wince and distract myself with the bath for a moment, adding more hot water so I can comfortably stay in longer. The phone buzzes as I’m drying my hands again, and I flinch, almost dropping the towel in the water.
Jazz - I’m expecting you to be a break from normal life. I want someone in my sphere that won’t be fake. Be yourself. Don’t lie if you think we’re disagreeing. Argue if you want. Ask questions if you want. Consistently text back and ask for money whenever you need to.
“What the hell…” I reread his message several times. Jazz must be a really lonely person. It sounds like he just wants a friend.
Robin - You need good company? I can do that, I think
After I hit send, I remember he said I could ask questions.
Robin - Whats your job? You must make a lot of money if youre doing this right?
Jazz - I work in tech, so I make a decent amount, yes.
Robin - so what exactly do you want me to do then? Just answer your texts?
Jazz - Yes. You’re going to be my new breath of fresh air.
This is the closest to exhausting my magic I have ever been. I’ve charmed more gloves, scarves, and coats today than should be possible. But so many people have arrived at the haunted house with red noses and stiff fingers that I can’t help but pull a few strings to make sure they’re warm under too-few layers.
You’d think everyone would be prepared for how cold it is tonight, but it’s like the closer and closer we get to Halloween, the less sense people have! The number of costumes I’ve seen consisting of tights, a skirt, and a flimsy little corset is criminal.
By the end of my shift, just after midnight, I’m swaying on my feet and wanting nothing more than a hot chocolate and to cozy up in Alfred’s bed.
“I told you heels were a bad idea,” Marsha jokes behind me.
“What?” I turn. I almost don’t recognize her without her snake around her shoulders. “Oh, yeah.” I wince and look at my heels. I wore boots my first week, but I wanted to look a bit fancier for the last few days. “Well, it’s over now.”
Marsha walks with me to the break room. Her snake, Claire, is bundled up in a huge crate with a heat lamp, and she coos at her like she’s a cat.
“How did it go?” she asks, peeling some of the prosthetic makeup off her cheeks. I don’t know Marsha’s real name, but she dresses like a bog witch and walks around the concessions area with Claire. Her job is to scare our guests before they make it into the House of Terror.
“It was lovely, but tiring,” I admit, and prop my feet up on the bench in front of me. She’s given me a convenient excuse to pretend I’m tired because my feet hurt and not because I’ve used a ton of magic to keep people warm.
“It was way colder than the forecast said.” Marsha taps Claire’s box, and I imagine the 8-foot-long boa lazily lifting her head into the pats. “Had to keep this poor thing boxed up most of the night.”
“Yeah? You could only scare people with your good looks?” I joke, and she fake-glares at me as she peels off another green patch of fake skin.
“Hey, guys,” Sophie greets us as she enters. The cabin door washes in cold air, and Leon catches it to slip in after her.
All four of us take a few minutes to rest before helping clean. A few other scare actors greet us as they come in and out, but these three have been my closest coworkers from day one.
Sophie is the other greeter and ticket manager, so we’re constantly chatting between incoming guests. Leon is one of the staff members who works the beer tent, and he’s friends with Sophie. And Marsha is the first person I spoke to, while trying to pet Claire, but she’s never let me anywhere near her beloved pet because of my supposed heavy makeup.
I don’t have the heart to convince her the blue is natural, so I’ve obeyed her wishes and stared wistfully at the sweet animal instead. I can’t get away with lying that my black hands are my natural skin tone either, because that color is also too dark to be believable.
When we’ve had our fill of snacks and warmth, we head outside to help throw out trash bags and put chairs back in their places.
I subtly warm up Sophie when she starts to look cold, but then my ears start ringing. I resign myself to stop using my magic for the rest of the night. She’s wearing her favorite bat leggings, which, while cute, are not the warmest things she could have chosen. She’s like me though—wearing nicer things before the House of Terror closes for the year.
“Any plans for the week?” Sophie asks me while we’re washing our hands. Everyone has the same Thursday-to-Sunday schedule due to the nature of working at a haunted house.
“Not really. Just helping Alfred. You?” Even just saying his name makes me happy.
“Just school.” She shrugs with a tired smile. She’s studying to be a librarian, and she always has at least two books in her bag of required readings for classes.
“Good luck?” I offer, and she laughs, clapping my shoulder.
“You make it sound like I’m going off to battle.”
I snort, then try to reflexively hide behind my tail. Luckily, it’s looped around my waist under my coat, so all I feel is a tug before I remember to keep it hidden. It’s the one part of my natural appearance I can’t pretend is a costume.
“Hey, I have good news actually,” she prefaces, right as we step back outside.
Leon looks up from his phone and parrots, “‘Good news’?”
Sophie laughs at his interest and kicks his shoes as we approach. He yelps and pulls his feet in to stop leaning against the picnic table.
“For Halloween,” she starts again, and that deflates some of his amused energy. We’re excited for the holiday but also saddened by the fact that our work will be coming to an end. “I’m going to bring you guys some of my apple pork chops and potatoes.”
We both gasp and turn to her with giddy expressions. I don’t eat meat, but I’m excited to try the potatoes. I don’t want to crush their enthusiasm by mentioning it, so I stay quiet.
“So… something to look forward to.” She looks happy with our joy before we get to even say anything.
“Yay!” is the first thing I get out, while Leon is a bit more direct with his:
“Finally! You’ve been mentioning it all month! I can’t wait to finally try your cooking.”
“Thank you! I can’t wait to make it.” She turns when Marsha exits the restroom next.
She scrubbed her face completely clean, so it’s a bit glowy and red. Paint is left only in her eyebrows and her nail beds.
We all fall into step with each other as we head out. Sophie’s keys jingle against her leg where they’re clipped to a belt loop, and a metal flag keychain clangs the loudest. I looked it up when we met and learned that it’s the asexual flag.
Sophie tells Marsha the good news as well, and she hugs the snake box tighter in her excitement.
“Maybe I’ll bring something too,” Leon subtly asks, and we tell him he should.
Marsha offers, “We could all bring food to share before the last day. Make it like a little event.”
I nod while the others talk, silently thinking that I’ll have to ask Alfred for help to cook something.
“Oh, my eyebrow’s twitching. You know what that means,” Leon jokes, and Sophie laughs under her breath.
I remember the quirk but not the purpose, so I glance at him and wait for the news.
“It’s going to rain,” he predicts, certain.
“Ah, that’s right.” Marsha nods along with me. Leon has an impressive ability to predict the incoming rain, and she checks the weather forecast to see if he’s right. “Hundred percent in Portstewart the next two days.”
“Hell yeah,” he says, deadpan, and Sophie snorts. She lightly shoves his side, and he clutches at his arm like he’s gravely wounded. They have such strong sibling energy that I used to think they were related, but they’re just close friends.
They met at Surtout University, like Salvia and Harkin did, but it’s clear that friendship is their end goal. Leon is a few years older, doing university later than most, just like Harkin and Salvia, and he has a long-distance fiancée south of us, in Ireland. He mentions her with almost every breath, and they’re as insufferably adorable as I am with Alfred probably.
I learned several decades ago that the easiest way to annoy my single friends is to talk about lovers all the time, so I try not to mention my three as much as I want.
Leon does not share such reservations, but it endears me to him more. I like that we can share our stories with each other.
Although I guess I’ve proven my point because I am not a single friend of his.
I’ve daydreamed my way to the fork in our walk, and Sophie and Leon wish us good nights before turning for the car park. Sophie will drive them back to Surtout campus, but Marsha and I stay in Portstewart.
She walks with me for another block before I turn onto a different road. I yell, “Bye, Marsha! Bye, Claire!”
She smiles and says goodbye for both of them, lifting the enclosed crate as if I could see the snake wave too.
It hurts a bit more each time we say goodbye to each other. I hate that this job is seasonal, and I have no idea what I’ll do once it ends. I blend in at the haunted house just fine, but anywhere else will be a hassle to convince I’m professional and not a crazed, daily cosplayer like strangers tend to think.
Getting to use my key to enter Alfred’s bookstore still makes me smile. It took him a few days to get me a key, and I bought a key cap that matches our cat Caramel with my first paycheck.
“I’m back!” I yell while undoing the straps of my heels and heading upstairs. One of my favorite things to do once I’ve left work is unravel my tail from my waist, and I sigh as the muscles relax from where they’ve been stiff for several hours. I also take down my hair from the bun it’s been in all day, and I massage my scalp until it stops aching.
“Welcome home,” comes muffled from the living room, and I make out the moving shadows of something playing on the TV.
“What are you watching?” I ask and avoid stepping on Caramel’s triceratops toy as I head over to kiss Alfred’s forehead. I tuck some strands of his pink hair behind his ear.
“Some old horror movie. I don’t know; I’m not really paying attention to it,” he mumbles and tilts his head up for a kiss. He was scrolling on his phone, and I catch a glimpse of Instagram before he shuts off the screen. “Dinner was the pasta again, unless you want to heat up more of your sandwich from the other day.”
“Mh, thank you.” I kiss him again before going to pluck leftovers out of the fridge.
“How was work?”
I ramble about the typical day, then join him on the couch. I tuck my cold feet under his thigh, and he pulls the blanket over my lap to share.
Caramel steps out of the bedroom and does a big stretch before padding over and brushing his side along the couch. He mrrps when Alfred scratches his back.
He uses the hand that’s stained from the ritual, summoning me. The dark gray lines dripped between his fingers and down his wrist, but they didn’t reach the bouquet of flowers tattooed on his inner arm. His other has a sword tattooed in the same spot, with ‘Listen to the Silence’ across it.
Caramel hops into the chair beside me and curls into a donut to nap.
“Eat, then go to bed?” Alfred asks.
“Yeah, I’ll shower in the morning.” I pull my hair over my shoulder and use my nails to take out a few tangles. It’s a bit wavy from being tied up, but my hair never holds a full curl like Alfred’s can.
He looks at me directly, scanning my face for the tiredness I’m trying to hide. I shift my plate to the empty cushion next to me as he leans close.
He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear and whispers, “Long day?” His naturally high voice always sinks lower when he whispers, and I love it.
I lean into the warmth of his hand and listen as his thoughts whirr into a concerned buzzing.
“A good one, but yes,” I whisper back.
He cups my jaw and pulls me the slightest bit closer to kiss softly. He hums low in his chest, pleased, and tilts his head to brush his lips past mine to kiss my cheek next.
I close my eyes and savor all the soft touches, melting into the gentle air around him. The more he enjoys himself, the more his thoughts deepen into a cello-like melody. I turn to nuzzle into his neck, and he peppers a few kisses along mine too before sitting back in his own space.
“Feel better?” he teases, then points to my half-finished plate. “Finish, and we can go to bed.”
“You should be asleep already,” I point out. I don’t need to sleep, but it’s the one aspect of me being a fairy that he ignores. He’s grown accustomed to everything else, but not the lack of sleep for some reason.
“I have tomorrow off; it’s fine.”
I grumble a generic complaint, but I don’t want him to go to bed without me. He knows this anyway. He knows how much his presence helps me unwind after work, so he’ll often stay up.
“That reminds me,” I preface as I’m washing the dish in the sink.
“Yeah?” He shuts the TV off and folds the blanket on the couch.
Caramel lifts his head and slow blinks at us as we start turning off lights. We leave the bedroom door slightly ajar so he can come and go as he pleases throughout the night.
I ask, “When are the two showing up tomorrow?”
“They didn’t say, but probably around eleven, like usual.”
“Okay. I might still be in the shower when they arrive,” I subtly warn him. He’s gotten better about being around Harkin and Salvia the past few days though. Less and less, he needs me to mediate all the affection they give.
As expected, he says, “That’s alright. I can keep them entertained for a few minutes without you.”
“Okay.” I kiss his cheek. “If anyone gets too rowdy, you can send them into the shower with me.”
He snorts and says he will. I can’t tell if he’s joking or not, and I curl my tail around his leg as we get ready to sleep.
Thank you for reading!
The PDF of this chapter and chapter 2 are free on Patreon.
it should be legal and acceptable to steal someone's ocs if they are a garbage human being. this is how we can separate art from the artist, by forcibly separating them.
for example, steal jk rowling's ocs. now declare all of the main characters are trans and your power level will be so high no one can stop you
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 3/3
Fandom: Original Work
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Characters: Original Male Character(s), Original Female Character(s), Original Female Character(s) of Color
Additional Tags: Dark Fantasy, Dark Western, post apocalyptic
Summary:
The Hunter encounter's the survivor of a time loop.
DANI WALLACE: human, has the mark that gives her the clear sight and an unsettling pull on people's trust. Keeper bloodline, still working out what that means. Contractually the group's glue.
BEX (never call her Rebecca unless you want a Look): Dani's wife, reads dead languages for fun, keeper of receipts and research.
ZORA: psychic, dating Lizzie, professionally unbothered.
LIZZIE: vampire, dating Zora, daywalks thanks to a necklace with more responsibility than most adults.
ERIN: witch, brings the actual magic, has set something on fire in literally every book.
SPENCER: werewolf, will absolutely maul something for you if you ask nicely.
There's also a bakery that isn't just a bakery and an organization called the Regency that everyone has complicated feelings about. Ask me anything — I have zero self-control about spoilers before 10am.
