Between Teeth, Between Claws, Between Them - Chapter 6 - Leona Kingscholar x Reader x Ruggie Bucchie
I took a week's break and now I'm back! Slightly shorter chapter (I think?), let me know what you think of it! This one picks up right after chapter 5, and brings us over the 10,000 word mark for the whole fic. Wow! That is more than the 1,000-ish words I intended.
(Masterlist: here)
(Link to AO3: Between Teeth, Between Claws, Between Them - Angel_Ashido - Twisted-Wonderland (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own])
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Positives always come with negatives. Positive: You spent the night cuddled up to Leona Kingscholar. Negative: You could no longer feel your arms because Leona Kingscholar refused to release you.
“Leona,” you whisper-yelled, squirming.
He grumbled, and his face twitched into a scowl. For a split second, you felt hope for your poor, lead-heavy arms. But then he sighed and relaxed back into a deep sleep.
This time, you spoke at volume. “Wake up!”
“Mmh… What..?” he grumbled, one eye opening. “‘’M sleepin’...”
“And I’m losing circulation!”
Leona’s eyes closed once more. Just when you had resigned yourself to eternal discomfort, he loosened his grip and rolled over. Before you could so much as thank him, his breathing deepened and he was rendered a sleeping beauty once more.
You sat up and wiggled your arms, trying to flail some feeling into them - a feeling other than numb, preferably.
Once your arms regained a semblance of relief, you glanced over at Grim, who was snoring on the sofa. Savanaclaw was quiet. It must have been early.
You turned your gaze to the slumbering prince beside you.
For someone so domineering and whip-sharp, he slept often, letting his guard drop completely. Was that arrogance? Did he think himself untouchable due to his status? Or was it apathy?
Leona had been willing to risk an international incident to knock Malleus Draconia out of the Spelldrive tournament. That was far from rational.
Ambition or cruelty? Arrogant or apathetic? You felt like you could argue either point.
He was smart. One of the smartest people you had ever met. Did he truly believe that his actions would have a favourable result? You and your friends had managed to uncover the scheme in a matter of days.
If it came down to it, Leona could have crafted a far better plan.
So… Did he want it to fail?
It was an unthinkable accusation to make. You had your secrets, and so did Leona. Ruggie too. Everyone had secrets.
I’d like for him to tell me, though, you realised. I want him to trust me the way I trust him.
Because… you did trust him, didn’t you? He wanted you. He could have acted without regard for your wants, your safety. But he didn’t; Leona was courteous, willing to push the boundary, but never crossing it.
If you had told him to back off, you had no doubt that he would have.
Your hand reached out, tucking a strand of his long dark hair away from his closed eyes. He didn’t stir, allowing you to watch him in a rare moment of peace. His carved cheekbones, thin lips and unblemished skin… Even without those features, you would have found him beautiful. Within them lay a dormant strength. The presence of a ruler.
Leona would never be king. You would never want him to be a king. Such a station would make him unhappy in the end, for gaining power would mean losing everything.
A governmental position might suit him. Somewhere where his brains could be put to use, but his ego could be kept in check.
Whatever his future was, you wanted to be in it. You, Leona and Ruggie… How long would your meetings of the mind, body and heart last? Was everything just a quick fling? Or could you go the distance together? What would a future together look like?
Returning to your world felt like a far-off dream when you were with them. Leaving Twisted Wonderland… It was becoming unthinkable.
“You’re thinking too loud,” Leona said, tearing you from your thoughts.
He seemed to have dragged himself into the realm of wakefulness. “Sorry,” you replied, suddenly unsure of where your hands should go.
You were in his bed. You had woken up in his bed. What were you supposed to do now?
Leona let out a mirthful, “Heh,” making the corner of his eyes crinkle. “What’s with that face? You look like a hornbill that just realised it's about to be lunch.”
“I do not!”
“Yeah, you do.”
Leona used one arm to lift himself up, the muscles tightening in an almost mesmerising fashion. Caught in the haze of your distraction, you didn’t realise that he was boxing you in until it was too late.
Leona was over you, arms caging you in. Your breath caught in your throat while your stomach flipped.
“Morning,” you said, voice bordering on a breath.
“Mornin’,” Leona replied, face far too close to yours. “Sleep well?”
He was smirking like he had won something.
“Yeah… Until I lost the feeling in my arms.”
“Still going on about that?” He rolled his eyes. His braids were hanging down, tickling your cheek. “Takes a lot of guts to cuddle up to me and then complain about it.”
“Next time I’ll put all my weight on you and see how you like it,” you challenged.
Leona didn’t rise to it. Instead, he fixated on something else; “Next time?”
You could back down and act as though you didn’t mean it, but there was little point in that. You both knew that there would be a next time.
“Yeah. Next time. Got a scheduling conflict?” you pushed.
“You’re getting awfully cocky now. Was this always a part of you, or have you just pulled it out of thin air?” Leona chuckled. “Doesn’t matter. I like it.”
I like it.
He said it like he meant it. Like that sole fact was carved into his very being.
Shivers sparked through your body.
Leona’s lips found yours, seemingly through a magnetic force, bringing your exchange to its natural conclusion. The threat of his body weight above you, never pressing but ever present, made you thank whatever sports god had blessed him. He felt as warm as the desert sun, offering you a heat that reached down your throat and ignited a raw, almost feral sense of want within you.
You finally realised where to put your hands when you wrapped your arms around his neck and clung to Leona like a lifeline.
When you separated, each panting for breath, there was a thick, palpable tension. A thread strung so tight that a wrong look might snap it.
That was how Ruggie found the two of you.
“Leona, rise and shin-” Ruggie stood in the doorway, taking in the sight. “Neeeeever mind. Looks like someone beat me to it.”
From the sofa, Grim started his usual morning bawling. “Five more minutes! I was having the best dream… So much… So much tuna…”
Much like Leona, Grim found his way back to the land of nod with ease.
Must be a cat thing… you realised in between flares of, Ruggie you’re the worst, and, Ruggie, get over here right now.
“You two look pretty cozy,” the hyena oh-so-helpfully observed.
“We were,” Leona responded, seeming more than a little peeved. “Until someone barged in.”
Ruggie’s ears flattened. “Yikes, frosty…”
“I’m sure you could make it up to us,” you tried, hoping that it didn’t sound too desperate.
“That’ll have to happen later, kitten. His royal highness needs to get ready.”
You frowned. “That’s a shame.”
“It’s a pain…” Leona grumbled, though he situated himself back to his side of the bed without protest.
You mourned the loss of his body heat, but took it as a sign that you had to get ready for the day too.
“Alright Grim, time to wake up,” you told the direbeast once you made it out of Leona’s bed. “C’mon, eyes open.”
“Mraah… It’s so early!”
Grim then began his usual routine.
He didn’t want to wake up, he thought that classes were boring, he was hungry… However, now he had the pitiful addition of, “I miss my fire magic…”
You and Ruggie shared more than one look of sympathetic comradery.
When Leona and Grim were both ready and everyone was making their way to the Spelldrive field, Ruggie whispered to you, “Looks like it’s gonna be a long day for both of us. Grim’s miserable and Leona’s extra peeved…”
“I can hear you,” Leona called over, irritated.
Ruggie waved a hand toward him. “See? Super peeved.”
An idea began to form in your mind. You sped up your steps in order to fall in line with Leona.
“Hey, Leona?” you began.
His green eyes burned into you. “What?”
You leaned forward, stood on your toes, and pressed a kiss to his lips. “One for the road,” you told him.
His expression didn’t change much, but his tail flicked, betraying the rise of some kind of emotion within him. “Thanks,” he murmured, seeming somewhat… bashful?
“What was that?” Grim asked. “What didja do?”
You smiled to yourself. “Nothing, Grim.”
Ruggie laughed from behind you, before dashing over to you and slinging an arm over your shoulder. “Aww, I’m feeling left out!”
“Consider it punishment for ruining my morning meal.”
Ruggie flushed, pulling a laugh from you.
It was a messy morning, but you could get used to wake-up calls like that.
The Earth is being held together by duct tape and sheer force of will, in some locations quite literally. Countries-wide rubberized titanium-alloy netting reduces the rate of continental collapse, globe-encompassing pipelines send expelled magma flows from the ever growing number of active volcanoes towards the Pacific Abyss to somewhat reduce the size of the hole and delay the inevitable calamity, and countless local efforts everywhere try and keep the rock beneath our feet from splitting further.
Despite this, Humanity keeps on keeping on with all other matters that have concerned us from the beginning and will continue forever onwards. Games, culture, love, innovation, squabbles, politics, war, and repeating ourselves.
After our ascension into the stars and amongst civilizations much older, some from before our pre-history even began, many were hopeful they would have a solution that could save Earth.
They didn't.
Most sapient races emerged from planets far more stable and comfortable than Earth was before we blew a 200km hole in it, cue all the consequences, so their standards for what a planet worth terraforming in the first place are much more narrow than our own. When we described and showed the current conditions of our homeworld, they were aghast at the fact anything was alive down here, let alone thriving.
To be fair, we were in the middle of a mass extinction event, then things got explodey, which caused another, far faster mass extinction event. Currently there are more archived species in deep cryo storage out in space, about 2.4 million in fact (mainly bugs and flowers), than living on the surface.
Still, there's no place like home, and no doubt there will be millions of people who choose to go down with it rather than leave Earth behind and witness its demise. Still millions more are trying every creative approach to fix things.
Since we're dealing with matters of the tectonic plates and the mantle layer, most serious efforts involve a lot of deep sea endeavors and expeditions into the dozens of literal cracks in the Earth that did not form into volcanoes simply due to the fact they're between several earlier formed ones, so there's just not enough magma flow left over between.
Thus were born the deepest and most insanely dangerous spelunking expeditions - and it's quite safe to say this - in the entire Galaxy. We're probably the only ones stupid enough to go down holes, some of which are well over a hundred kilometers deep, with the intent of closing the hole, or pushing the walls further to close a different, even bigger hole. Some are being filled in, and such efforts would succeed if the Earth weren't missing several quadrillion tons of matter and we had a few thousand years to do it.
The seismic activity of Earth more closely resembles that of a planet only a few hundred million years old. A thousand years ago we dismissed the term "Deathworld". Seven hundred years ago we redefined it. At present, many of us are try to deny it. In less than a century, Earth will fully live up to the term.
---beneath the deepest below---
(some context: 1 2)
The soothing pressure is weakening. The being at the center of anything it chooses, lays dormant still. Its focus, what little it has decided to maintain in its slumber, is on a distant something that should not be beginning to end yet.
Some being is acting out of turn, breaking how things are - for a fraction of a moment, before the Order of Things reasserts itself. Why must there always be a renegade...
Where it slumbers is exerting the faintest of feeling upon it. Another something that should not be. Yet all around there are nothings. Too many nothings. Some precede a further venting of the comforting pressure.
Nothings are still nothings. A something demands the only attention it maintains. Most eyes fully shut, another slightly shut. Should a matter be discovered to be worth awakening for, only then will all the nothings and almost somethings be done away with.
Nothings are a distraction when dealing with somethings in the waking state.
Many people claim to be capable of remaining calm under duress, to reason and think logically out of every situation and every possible bind, but most who say so are dirty fucking liars.
Jason can only watch in horror, nausea rising in his throat as he watches a woman scream for help, a blood curdling note that pierced the air as his fiery wings remained dormant. He wasn't allowed to help- hell, he wasn't allowed within 10 feet of an infected victim in case they lunged. As a human, like Barbara, Jason was required to stay inside at all times, armed with silver and wolfsbane. Dick, too, was benched because despite the aurae blood that whispered through the first robin's veins, Tim and Bruce weren't sure of whether or not it would be enough to save Dick from being turned into a werewolf.
-----
Gasps rose around them as the sky darkened, the air falling quiet as the birds fell into the dark-induced slumber.
Tim and Damian, with their eyes far more sensitive than Jason's, wore custom-enchanted sunglasses. Jason wasn't sure about how or what it did other than block out more sun, but that was besides the point.
But just before they could see the totality through, there was sound of screaming and bones cracking. Almost instantly, the crowd around them burst into chaos, with people stampeding and running over each other as a hulking wolf tore through the crowd.
"TIM!" Jason shouted as the Fox was driven away from him and Damian by the panicking people.
"Jason, we must go!" Damian hissed, grabbing the human's wrist and beginning to drag him away. Despite the dragon's small size, he was able to easy pull Jason along despite his thrashing and panicking, "Timothy is capable, and will not allow harm to befall him! You, if you've somehow forgotten, are human!"
"I-"
Seemingly fed up with Jason's resistance, Damian hissed and opened a Doorway before shoving the human through.
=====
This is an insight on my new fic up on ao3, and if any of y'all are interested, you can read the first chapter here
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Every Cookie knows the tale of the cookie who went through the 9 circles of hell out of pure curiosity
But what if it was real? Well, it is.
The 9th circle of hell exists but instead of containing a cake demon trapped in ice
It's a primordial horror held up in chains, one who lived long ago as a scholar with a fascination for relics, from the trash of one kingdom to skeletons of another.
They called them the History Eater, sometimes the Archivist depending on their form.
Held in the archives of the City of Wizards and occasionally visited by the new archivist there, who's been watching them for years and years.
Today was like the rest, a common visit to observe any changes in the surroundings, and in the beast itself. The ghastly figure bound by chains to be forever bound.
The History Eater was always noted down as being dormant, a figure that seems to both sleep eternally and yet have.. an aura of a gaze, something that would leave chills down a normal cookie's spine, if they weren't mindburnt upon sight.
Yet, as the New Archivist's eyes turned away in trust of it remaining still, the chains rattled with a deathly echo, cascading down every corridor of the Archives.
And they looked back, a witness to the slumbering fiend's awakening.. still bound, but in a loop of weak, subtle thrashes in hopes of unbinding, like an insect crawling from its cocoon..
But there was no cocoon to crawl forth from.
The sounds of horror it produced as the creature thrashed around, what had awoken them? Why now? The History Eater shouldn't of awoken now! Did the New Archivist need to get someone to help? Perhaps someone more experienced.. like their mother.
The monstrosity roared as they struggled to get free, getting one claw out and using that to cut off their false cocoon.
"What have the cookies done to me while I slept?!"
They hissed as they pulled the rest of the chains off, fixing their antique outfit along with their luxurious long hair, only to realize that they still had more chains on them.
"WHERE IS BLUEBERRY PIE?!"
The New Archivist backed up, startled in such a way that revealed even their own flaws before promptly hiding them again.. No, fear is not what should be shown in response to the entity, just firm words.
"Archivist Blueberry Pie has entrusted me to the duties of- of watching over you!"
They spoke their voice quivering as they realized just how underprepared they were for this scenario, seeing how the chains were so easily manipulated to fit their form.
"You have been left undisturbed expect for being bound, We have not brought it upon ourselves to remove what has been previously on your being!"
The distance between the two wasn't far, but they only hoped it was far enough for the chains to prevent them from reaching out, and even if they were.. all this noise was sure to draw some attention.
"Ease your anger and panic, for we've wrought nothing upon your form besides an attempt to keep you still!"
Again, their voice quivered, they feared making it worse, and what had awakened the beast was a question without an answer, just a feeling of dread hovering over their being.
The towering entity looked down at the small archivist, there was obviously a mask chained onto their face to prevent extreme mindburn, two masks even.
"Are you her son I've heard her talk about every so often?"
They leaned down to lift up their chin using their claw to look at the New Archivist
"You've grown a lot, even got the traits of both parents."
They stood back up and looked around the archives, wondering why everything was so different.
"AND WHAT HAVE THEY DONE TO MY ARCHIVES?!"
They were enraged by the new age of Cookies, little pests who ruin everything they created, they created them and this is how they're repaid?!
The New Archivist flinched to the yelling, the features showing again as an instinct of fear.. but they didn't hide this time, The History Eater already knew who they were.
"T-The Archives, they have been updated, more books spread across all sections to record what has changed since your last awakening. The layout is different, yes, but all information detailed is still the same!"
A smell of aged paper mixed with fresh leather binds, faint smoke of candles but also the hum of distant lights. It was, indeed, updated to better withstand the constant influx of knowledge, but the aged remnants of the Archives also remained, an atmosphere that could shift at any time.
"We-We promise you, there has been no negative downgrades to the infrastructure of this building."
They tried to keep a calm tone now, tail flicking as they looked up to the large entity, feeling how the once previous claw never left a scratch, or even imprint on their skin..
"Is Blueberry Pie even still around, has her amortality failed her? Is my amortality going to fail me?"
They seem to freak out, forgetting that they're a primordial horror who's been manipulating doughmanity since they were only a thought in the Witches' mind.
"What had happened to me? Why am I so... different?! Is this a cookie form I took hold of?!"
The History Eater seemed to be confused, the mask must of done something to block their mind of knowing all up until this point, how they were wondering how they became a cookie after so many years of being chained up inside their own domain, unable to think, unable to see, unable to hear, only communicating through dreams that made cookies go insane.
"Blueberry Pie still stands strong, so fear not for her being! She has simply entrusted me for now as she takes care of other business away from your containment."
The New Archivist thankfully kept a calm tone, noticing the sudden activity that the History Eater began to use. Their panicked state of confusion from being in a slumber for so long gave them no knowledge of what had happened to their being..
"As for you taking a cookie form, I have no answers for that question, as even I know not of how such a thing can occur!"
"But for now.. you're awake, something that wasn't expected for a while. I... I am not used to such presence being out of dormancy, but I must remain to keep watch. Hopefully, from how much you request of her, mother will arrive soon to ease your troubles.."
They spoke softly towards the end, as if forgetting that the entity already knew of the relationship between the New Archivist and Blueberry Pie.
"Do you happen to have another parent, like a mother, a father, perhaps something like me? I know you're biologically a mess but is your biological parent gone?"
The History Eater was never as threatening as the tales said, they were curious but their curiosity usually lead to madness.
"I know you've gotten the Archivist side of your mother, my touch would of stung you, you're quite small for an Archivist too."
"But enough questions, I wonder if the others awoken from their dreams."
"I-I do have a father, but they are not here as of now. It would probably click once you meet them as to how the other half of me came to be..."
Their words drifted off, only to snap back once the History Eater spoke of other entities, a slight shift in their movement as they thought about it... before it clicked.
"So then, you must be late to the party? The other's have been active for some time now."
"I know I'm late, you try being in an eternal dream, you freak of nature!"
A tap on the New Archivist's head, knowing that they're all freaks of nature in the Archives.
"So what is new about this world, Archivist?"
They began to walk through the library of the Archives first, looking at the new tomes that have been added in, ones of varying knowledge, from the biologically of cakehounds to the omnipresent nature of the primordial horrors.
The New Archivist followed after the entity, the horn on their head lightly sparking from the touch before seeming to fade off into their hair. Their steps, unlike before, sounded more like clicking rather than a dull thump of normal shoes.
"More Entities have been uncovered, a new company has been established in hopes of research, The Predator was caught within a scuffle after attacking an offspring of a devil, losing 9 wings in the attack.."
They trailed on, describing everything they had learned of since the last awakening, making sure that the History Eater could know of it all, since they were The Archivist entity.
Everything gave off an echo in such a large, but quiet building. Their voices were the only thing that radiated out, bouncing back fainter and fainter. Books lined every shelf, the wood a beautiful dark shade from age. They seemed undisturbed except for being dusted off.. and checked every so often.
"And The Ever Reaching has had increasing unrest from their territory due to their actions against the people of The Silence."
"First of all, I'm going to kill the Ever Reaching, they think that enslaving cookies to do their dirty work is all they have to do? No! They've done this since the Fall of the Saint and it's getting worse for them!"
"Just.. what else happened while I was trapped in my dream? I haven't been awake since the Flower of White Flesh still had her cookie form solidified, the five heroes were still together and were a symbol of unity."
"It's unfortunate, but ever since the Flower of White Flesh had gone missing.. every ancient has deteriorated. Dark Cacao is no longer the same king he once was, now a creature of anger and despair. ■■■■■■■■■■ is now one with a draconic war lord, ■■■■ ■■■■■■■ has since remained amongst the castle in the sky, and any who come in contact are never heard from again, and ■■■■■■ ■■■■■■.. is dormant."
it could be imagined vividly now, The New Archivist going into detail of the ancients, and soon, even other entities. It seemed to last for so long, and one could wonder about how much knowledge was truly withheld inside such a novice.
"By now, things are growing more tense. Blueberry Pie, though not one to be involved with such problems.. is suspecting that sooner or later, things are going to turn south."
"Well maybe if she wasn't so curious, this mess wouldn't of happened! just.. she caused this entire thing to happen, and just to fix this, I will make the Metamorphosis happen."
The History Eater kept walking through the archives, rushing over to the relic section of it, chains clanking as they ran, it's shocking they can even run in that antique dress with that corset too.
"I'm saying that if she never wanted to know the truth, I wouldn't be here in a cookie form!"
"We all learn the truth eventually, don't we? It's.. inevitable, if I'm using that right. We can't hide things forever, as eventually, the truth will come out, even if it means years after things have passed on."
They commented, though they felt some sort of curiosity, especially towards the entity known as the Flower of White Flesh.
"May I ask why you seem so.. upset over her? What had she done to spur a response like that?"
"Well first of all, she's already caused a witch gone rogue to terrorize her friends once, and now this?! She's ruining everything! Maybe I'm just upset because my nap was disturbed, I should go back to the chains, but everything is so new, what is this technology? Why is it all so bright? The smell of jam no longer being a thing.."
"Cinny baby! where have you gone?"
The Old Archivist called out, along with the sound of clicking.
"Oh there she is-"
The History Eater stared at the other biological parent of the New Archivist, a unicorn of pastel and cream that was tall like Blueberry Pie, monstrous yet gentle.
"You're a mix of Archivist and Archive Creature, I'm not even shocked at this point."
"Cinnamon! What have you done?!"
Blueberry Pie ran over to grab her son away from the primordial horror, almost seeming like she was gliding across the floor, looking up at the History Eater.
hey! i’m late and starting on day 9- i’m still working on previous days and i’ll be posting links to them (on archive) here in the next week as i finish them <3
all my prompts for this year are from @oc-growth-and-development !
i’ll put the link here for anyone who’d rather read on AO3
for this prompt, i decided to give y’all an introduction to my favorite friendship in the universe: camila and grant
camila has been going to grant’s coffeeshop for years, she becomes his “apprentice” after high school (with the help of certain connections ;) ), and four years later here we are after months of a pandemic
yes this takes place in the pandemic; no i did not think two years ago it would
here it is <3 =)
my mentor in americanos and strawberry scones
october 1, 2020
The long winded whir of the coffee machine downstairs stirred Grant awake. His eyes cracked open to the still darkness of the odd quiet atmosphere surrounding him. He looked over to Summer noticing that she was still asleep. He looked over to the clock. He was confused at his wife’s slumber, knowing she’d be up knitting by now. The red animosity of 4:27 A.M made him groan inwardly, realizing exactly why that was. He brought his hands up to rub his eyes tiredly.
Grant sat up slowly, as to not disturb his peaceful wife. He slipped his feet into his worn slippers and rose up slowly, all the creaks and pops making his age known to the room. He grabbed his cardigan from the bedpost, slipping it on and making his way into the living room. He grabbed his phone from the kitchen island, the bright light suddenly blinding him.
He moved his face away from the light, bringing his hand to his eyes once again to rub at them. He sighed, whispering a curse to whoever made him wake up this early. He moved to sit in one of the barstools, making sure he was comfortable before dealing with the new day’s nonsense.
Blinking his eyes open to readjust, he turned the screen back on. A slew of messages popped into focus. Several from his insufferable granddaughter, one about a pesky neighbor from his own daughter, and multiple from the cafe’s order website. No cheerful greetings and “hi, how are you”s; not even from his own family. He exhaled exasperatedly. He decided to ignore the messages, and scroll quickly to his game.
The soft padding of footsteps outside the door disrupted his peaceful round of Sudoku. However, as quick as the footsteps on the landing appeared, they vanished. He frowned towards the door, but made his way off the bar stool, closing his abandoned game.
The door creaked open, the lock on it blocking most of his vision. Through the crack he could see two medium sized cups and a plate of steaming pastries on the accent table outside the door. He peered to the right and saw a flash of a ponytail waiting at the bottom steps. He unlatched the lock and opened the door, glimpsing at his employee. Upon seeing him step out onto the front step, she pulled herself from the doorjamb, making her way towards the back of the kitchen.
He moved back over to the table to investigate the goodies. A note was attached to the to-go cups and the plate was stacked with several scones. Strawberry. Grant read the note carefully.
“morning grant! sorry to wake you up if i did. It’s the loyals delivery day, so i thought i’d come in early to start up packaging and stuff. monty and peyton will be here around 5 to start sending them out. i brought up your americano and summer’s ginger tea. p.s the scones are fresh :)”
He smiled at the note before putting it on the plate. Grabbing the cup holder and plate of scones, he pushed his way back into the compact living space. He placed the plate down near the fridge, along with the tea. He pocketed the note, grabbed the coffee and a scone, and made his way back out of the door. He closed the door behind him, taking a sip of the hot drink in his hand. He made a little grimace at the taste and chuckled. He started his way down the steps.
When he reached the bottom step, he glanced at the scene in front of him. The kitchen was a bustle. Boxes were lined up along the front counter, their contents clearly placed in a specifically organized way. Little bags of candy, mason jars of an amber liquid, and sheets of tissue paper were piled next to even more cardboard boxes. The espresso machine sat dormant, but looked freshly wiped down and tidy. The beans and fridges looked restocked. The chairs were still stacked high on the tables, but there was no change there over the past few months. The space was calm, even with the natural flurry in the middle of it.
Camila took a sip from the metal straw, the ice clinking against glass and metal. She set the drink down, grabbing another box. She crumpled a cluster of tissue together and placed it at the bottom. She wrapped a jar of apple cider in a couple spins of tissue, setting it gently in the corner of the box at a diagonal. She placed two bags of assorted candy against the glass, then made her way over to the pastry counter. She picked out three packaged pastries at random and set them haphazardly in front of the candy. She stuck the special note card in the other corner of the box before grabbing the industrial tape. She sealed the box twice, swiftly pinning the address and cafe logo onto the box, running the tape over that as well. She let out a sigh as she gingerly shoved the box to the side.
Grant took tiny sips from his coffee as he watched her repeat the process a handful of times before setting the cup down. He took a bite of his scone finally deciding to announce his presence.
“For someone who’s worked here for four years, you still can’t make an Americano.”
Camila jumped, dropping the newly picked up mason jar onto the counter with a loud thunk. She turned around, suddenly startled. Her shock turned into a quick scowl before grabbing her coffee glass again, forgetting about her packaging task.
“How long have you been standing there?!” She hissed, the scowl easing back into a smaller frown.
“Long enough. How many boxes you got there?” Grant walked over to the full counter, starting to count before she could respond. He didn’t pay attention to the number in his head.
“About fourteen. I was just finishing up Ms. Crabtree’s box before you so rudely interrupted.” She aimed the glare at her boss, setting her cup down on the cold marble. Grant peeked over at the extra item in the box. A small bundle of pet treats that he knew she probably made when she first got here this morning.
“Ah. The old woman asking for pet treats for her Snookums again?” He let out a light chuckle.
Camila only nodded. She moved toward the pastries again, this time grabbing two snickerdoodles and one chocolate croissant for the picky old lady. She laid them neatly in the box, pulling back to grab the tape again.
Grant looked on to his former mentee with an appreciative smile. She had come a long way from tripping over air and focusing on only one task at a time. Now she was packaging specific likes for customers who had been coming here for longer than she was alive. He remembered a small eighteen year old, still unsure of who she was but knowing where she wanted to go. Now a grown woman with her head placed firmly on her shoulders stood in front of him, still trying to hide the easy smile behind a fake frown. Still the ever dramatic child she was at heart.
“Once you’re done there I want to go over how to make an Americano again, since you still don’t have the proportions right. Preferably before Dumb and Dumber get here.” Grant pulled his cardigan around him, hearing the tape pass over the box. Camila just kept closing the box.
“Please. You can come back to being a gold star employee later. I need to make fun of you a little bit while I still can. Lillian will clobber me if she knows how much I’ve made fun of you.” He said hurriedly. It was a known truth. His granddaughter would kick his ass for the years of teasing he made the ‘love of her life’ endure. The tape made one final whoosh over the box.
Camila made a show of rolling her eyes, setting the tape down to the side. She made her way over to the espresso machine and crossed her arms. When Grant didn’t move, she waved her arm out towards the machine, annoyed but now letting a smile show.
Grant moved towards the espresso machine, making quick work of removing the portafilter* and flushing the grouphead*. He wiped the filter down before stepping slightly over to the coffee grinder. Making sure to go at a teasingly slow pace, he filled the bowl, leveled it, and grabbed the tamper*. He tamped the grounds to make a puck*, looking over to see Camila still watching attentively, and promptly wiping the excess off the sides.
Camila made a grab for the filter, but Grant pulled his arm away out of her reach. He locked it back into the grouphead and hit start. The machine came to life quickly, the deep whir louder than it was earlier.
“Grant. I know how to make an espresso shot,” Camila huffed out.
“I know you do. Just like you know how to make everything else in here. I’m just showing you the whole process, like old times,” right then the machine stopped and the smell of fresh caffeine hit his nostrils. He grabbed the small cup and made his way over to the serving station. Luckily, Camila was right behind him with the boiling water.
He noticed the small smirk she held had disappeared into a bittersweet smile.
“It hasn’t been that long. Besides it’s not like I’m going anywhere,” she turned towards him, sure of her words. He only nodded, causing her to turn away. “I’ll still be here tomorrow to make fun of too,” she partially muttered. He slapped her arm lightly, letting out a croaky laugh.
“I know Mila. I know.”
A peaceful silence fell over them as Grant poured the hot espresso over the perfectly proportioned water. He put the cup on a saucer and pushed it over towards Camila. She carefully grabbed the edge of the cup, bringing it to her lips. She blew on it and took a small sip, then gently placed the cup back down. She let out a small sound of approval, nodding her head vigorously. She stared at the cup’s contents.
“Yeah no, that tastes exactly like when I make it.” Grant gave her a look. “Okay maybe a tad bit less bitter, but overall it’s the same thing.” She gave him a look right back.
Incidentally, a soft knock at the front brought both of their attentions to the windowed door. Monty and Peyton stood out front, hugging themselves from the chilly wind out front. Monty simply waved through the door, his eyes hinting at his normally goofy grin on his face behind the mask. Peyton sported her signature uncaring look, the mask hiding her scowl, even more uncaring due to the cold temperatures. Grant nodded in the door’s direction, Camila immediately pacing to the door, pulling her mask over her face, to open it for their helpful volunteers.
Grant pulled his mask from his cardigan’s pocket, pulling it on as the door swung open. He grabbed two cups and two bags of black tea that were to the left of him. He shifted back over to the serving station with the hot water in hand. He prepped the tea bags and poured the water over them, the color seeping immediately into the clear water. He secured the lids on top and pushed them towards the boxes.
Camila had already started going down the list of customers and their respective addresses on their walk over to the counter. The mask made her slow down her average lecturing speed.
“- there’s Mr. Richfair on Newberry. If you see his newspaper on the driveway, can you put it on top of the box. I don’t want him hurting his back more. Then make sure to ring the Leminwells doorbell. They’ll be up at this time-”
Grant sat down in the stool under the station counter. He grabbed his phone out of his pocket, clicking on the first notification he saw. Of course it was his granddaughter’s. The ghost of an amused smile passed on his face.
“camila is coming in an hour early, sorry in advance :)”
“i tried to tell her that she didn’t have to, but she kept going on about time management and keeping the loyals happy, especially that old Crabtree”
An hour went by between the last and next message.
“she’s starting to sound more and more like you, might as well just hand down the crown now”
“i was kidding in the last message”
A brief pause before another one was sent in.
“kinda ;)”
“love u, tell grandma morning for me <3”</i>
Grant sent off a quick message, now looking back up to his prized worker. She was still rattling off instructions. He made eye contact with the two teens, signaling them to the counter, where their drinks had cooled considerably. Camila noticed the silent exchange and sighed begrudgingly.
“Fine. Each of you have seven deliveries today, but who wants to take the extra special one?” Camila crossed her arms at the two of them. Grant could tell she was smirking.
“Is the delivery to our precious Liliian,” Grant questioned, already knowing the answer.
“Yup!” Camila’s eyes crinkled more in a hidden beam of a smile while the two groaned loudly.
“We don’t get paid enough for this,” Monty wheezed out from behind his mask.
“Aye! You get paid in experience, free treats, and any tips you get while delivering,” Camila scolded. She glanced at their blank stares before promptly deflating, “And I’ll give you gas money for a week.”
Monty quickly raised his hand, beating Peyton to it. Grant made his way back to the fridge grabbing the pre-bagged treats and the small bottle of pink lemonade from the back of it for Lillian’s impromptu order. He pushed them toward the smaller teen without a word.
“Be safe. Keep your ringer on and if there’s anyone that bothers you, you better call me.”
“Yes sir!” Monty chanted out, quickly snorting at Camila’s dejected look. Peyton only gave a small, uninterested nod her way.
Peyton started walking to the door, followed by a still giddy Monty.
“See you later Mr. Park!” They threw a wave over their shoulders, letting the door shut behind them softly. Camila exhaled loudly, making her way back behind the counter.
“Teenagers.” She pulled one of the mask’s ear loops off, letting the mask hang, and making her exhaustion clear to him again. Grant lightly pushed Camila with his shoulder.
“You were like that- no excuse me, you still are that. Especially around my granddaughter!”
“Leave Lillian out of this!” Camila turned red, still beaming anyway.
Grant huffed a laugh, standing up from his stool. He put his hands to his back, another litany of cracks and pops sounding out loud. Camila grimaced and huffed at the sound.
“Go on and take your break. She probably wants to scold you still from coming in early. I’ll start the opening shift and you just come on back after you’ve eaten something.” Camila silently nodded at him in a questioning motion. “Yes, I’m sure. I gotta practice making the specialty drinks again anyway.” Camila let out a boisterous laugh at his remark. Grant laughed, annoyed. “Now get on outta here!”
“Ah so the apprentice becomes the master-” Grant kicked his leg out smoothly, aiming for Camila’s right one. Camila jumped away from it and sat down in the stool he had risen from. A grin reappeared on her face.
“Yes it appears so.” He smiled right back at her as the whir of the machine came back to life.
——–
- translations for those who do not understand coffee jargon
+ portafilter = attaches to the grouphead; holds the actual espresso grounds
+ grouphead = metal, permanent attachment that brings water out of the machine and into the filter
+ tamper = tool used to pack the espresso grounds into the filter; makes the grounds compressed
+ puck = the compressed coffee grounds look like a hockey puck
There’s a killer on the loose in the brittish school of witchcraft and wizardry, or at least that is what it seems. When the teachers returned a month before the students a body was found in the dungeon halls. A young girl, too old to be working at the school and therefore assumed to be a trespasser, the teachers were stumped at how to go about the matter. The ministry was called in and a quick investigation was done with no answers. The body and investigation was moved so the school year could start as scheduled, but the hall was sealed off, wanting to preserve the crime scene if they had to go back. Hufflepuff head of house and the potions teacher both complained about a soft whaling in the night, worrying that it might distract the students from their studies. As the year starts they put up a muffling charm and warn the students to keep away from the hall, not giving any details away. But as the year progresses the students become aware of the strange phantom roaming the hallway they cant get to, and with no further answers the teachers get fed up with the questions, banning anyone to speak about it until the case is solved. But if the answers are not given, they can be obtained in other ways, and a group of students decide that they need answers despite the ban. They just have to refrain from asking and go to the source. Getting past the ward was hard but when they realise that the ward is only put up one way they find themselves looking for a different way in. Dark and damp they find a passage behind the arguing couples painting, finding themselves in the closed off hallway. It’s colder than the rest of the inhabited castle and to their surprise there’s a large plant, like none they have ever seen, sprouting from the cracks in the walls. As they get closer it swings it’s tendril looking branches at them and retreats into the wall. A puff of warm wind emerges from a grate located just a few meters from the ward itself and the girl, sad looking and slumped, materialises. She’s unaware of them at first, longingly looking towards the warded off area, until one of the students catches her attention. She screams and starts disappearing, letting herself get sucked into the metal grate. The students decide to go down, or at least try to, and when they finally wrench the grate from the floor they see nothing but darkness. There’s a soft sniffling coming from below, like the ones they’ve heard before from the girl. They jump, taking a leap of faith and lands on hard gravel. They look up and figure they cant have been falling more than about two meters down and could probably get up pretty easily later. Further in the dark they find the girl, crying. Her hair is silver and long, her eyes golden and slanted. She appears to be dressed in all black besides from a green ribbon tied around her neck. She’s surprised when she sees the students but immediately sad and tells them they’re going to die, like she did. Behind her a large tree trunk is growing with tentacled branches trying to get to her but fails time and time again as they pass right through her. It’s been dormant as long as it had her body but when a group of small houselves tried their hands on a rescue, perishing in the process, they left her just out of reach from the Snargaluff tree. The tree comes after them, wanting flesh after so many years dormant. When the students defeat the tree they turn to the girl. She tells them her name is Anabelle Nott, a bastard of the pureblood Nott family. She attended the school in 1823 but was not allowed home after that. Anonymous and deemed weird she was shunned by her classmates and took to roaming the halls of abandoned parts of the castle. That was when she stumbled upon the Snagaluff tree, only a sapling at the time, she saw it growing underneath the grate and took it upon herself to nurse it. As it grew, it also grew more dangerous and one day she disappeared. The search for her was short. The ghost, whom she had been most acquainted with, the most diligent but even them gave up after a short while. Anabelle fell into a deep slumber, wasting away in the cradling arms of the tree. Anabelle sobs as she mourns the tree that she cared for so deeply but realise that this is for the best. She glows and disappears. The case remains unsolved after the students manage to get back. Though they tell the teachers about the girl, her name and story, they tell them there’s no record of anyone named that in the Nott family archives. The hall opens up as the caste grows cold and the rest of the year is pretty much, uneventful.
Minimum preparations
At least 3 NPC teachers
At least 3 NPC students
At least 2 players
One Snargaluff tree (Found in creature list)
One Ghost of Anabelle Nott
At least one Ministry agent
Dungeon map
The adventure is in 7 parts. The HM has the responsibility to spread the parts out to where they fit and make sure that the players have a chance to actually complete the parts in a satisfactory way when they encounter them.
Overview
The train signals it’s departure and pulls away from the station. Finally the anticipated year is about to start, but a whisper travel between the carts. The rumour of a body found in the dungeon. Where exactly it had been found differ depending on the storyteller, placing it in the Slytherin common room, potions classroom, or even outside the kitchen at times, but what they all told was that no one knew who the person was. It was not a teacher, not a student and not a creature known for working in the castle. The mystery thickens in some circles, spawning conspiracies and such, but other then that the excitement of finally getting to the best magical school is overshadowing any fear anyone might feel. The train sings, billowing out white smoke, and the slight rocking cradles all the students, new and old, to the safety that is Hogwarts.
Part 1: Following the ceremony the students gets a warning from the faculty. Be aware of anything strange and don’t stray from the classroom map for the time being. The players hear older students talk about a corridor in the dungeon that is closed off, an invisible wall having been put up, but that one of the prefects has seen golden eyes shine in the dark hall. Nervous giggling ripple through anyone that heard the gossip but it soon dies down with the head girls and boys shouting and leading the new students to their dorms.
Part 2: On their way to their potions lesson a breeze, that should not be, caress the players legs, making them shudder. The breeze comes back, stronger and pushes the players toward the closed off corridor. The players must do a check to stand their ground. If having a Sensibility of 5 or higher they hear a soft but heartbreaking crying from the dark hall. If they decide to call out they roll a persuasion check. If all present is successful they see an almost seethrough figure of a young girl stand up from the floor, floating just above a metal grate. She lingers just for a few seconds but disappears as soon as someone calls out.
Part 3: More rumors are passed around as more students see the figure, speculations of who they are getting more ridiculous by the breath. The teachers tire of the questions and decide to ban the topic for now. The students that want answers will need to get to them another way.
Part 4: There’s a painting, right across from where the toilets are near the potions classroom. The arguing couple in the frame always horrible to each other. This time they are arguing about the the hole behind their painting, one saying it’s making it drafty and cold, while others argue that they can’t feel if it is cold since they are a painting.
Part 5: tentacle like branches quickly pull away into the walls. The floating figure of the girl disappear beneath the grate.
Part 6: Under the grate the large trunk of a tree lie behind the crying girl, swiping through her over and over. She tells her students are going to die like she did and the tree attack.
Part 7: If defeated the girl called Anabelle Nott tells her story and finally passes on. The students are free to get back and tell their story, or keep it to themselves. The rest of the year is mostly uneventful.
